Deception

Not moving a muscle, Jag stood ramrod stiff. He had been in this position for so long, the ache was becoming a numbness. Jag called on years of unrelenting physical training to hold his form, to pretend that every drop of his attention was focused on the speaker pontificating at the podium.

While his body paid the Granjanjin Magistrate full respect, Jag's mind was light years away, swimming on the event horizon of despair. He should have known it had all been too good to be true. He should have known the time spent with Jaina on the Rising Storm was simply the last brilliant flash of a dying star. Now all that remained was the hollow nothingness of his heart. The aches gnawing at his body paled in comparison.

Sensing his commanding officer's proximity before she dared whisper in his ear, Jag turned his head aside to disguise their discussion. "What is it, Colonel?"

Shawnkyr leaned closer. "There appears to be some unusual activity in the plaza's northwestern quadrant."

Jag glanced past the dome of Shawnkyr's ebony hair and spotted the Storm's Chief of Security waiting just off the dais. To an outsider he might have appeared as unaffected as a rock on a glacier plane, but Jag knew better. The simple fact that the Chief had bothered to deliver the news personally was troubling. The Granjanjin Magistrate had assured Jag that the last holdouts of the insurgency had been taken into custody, including the group responsible for the attack on the Rising Storm.

The Magistrate had been eager to make this public address; Jag had been just as eager for much different reasons. The sooner the Chiss formalized their ties, the sooner Jag could move on. He wanted to put the Rising Storm and Granjanjin as far behind him as possible. Command of the Fifth Fleet was going to be exactly what he needed to distract him from the woes in his life. If nothing else, his father's insight had served –

"Sir," Shawnkyr hissed in his ear. "Should we move our teams?"

He could not delay making a tricky decision. But his thoughts on the matter were no easier to rectify than a single snowflake among the blizzard. "Do what you think best."

She dipped her head in understanding, then signaled to the Security Chief. To most, the Chiss mobilization would be transparent, but Jag watched it unfold like a ribbon of blue moving among a sea of colorless beings. The whole time Magistrate Pomo'ador droned on and the crowd cheered in adoration. Between the waving arms and rattling banners, Chiss commandos slithered toward the northwest quadrant of the immense indigin stone plaza. Another team of Chiss banked over the side of a northern building, rappelling toward the street level. On a western tower, Jag could make out the flash of a sniper's scope.

It all happened in less than a minute. The Magistrate never stopped proclaiming his new policy of freedom and the crowd never wavered in their laudations – until the Chiss contingent made its move.

At first only a ripple of movement gave any indication that something was amiss. The Granjanjin security detachments were quick to spot the disturbance, and in short order a quiet deterrent operation by the Chiss became a boisterous struggle for all to see. Innocent bystanders shied from the area, and happy cheers turned to shouts of fear. Soon forces – Chiss and local alike – were converging on the area from every corner of the square.

The entire focus of the crowd had shifted from the Magistrate's glorious victory speech to the unrest deep within the audience. Then a shout erupted from near the dais.

"Down with Pomo'ador!"

Jag barely had time to recognize the brilliance of the terrorists' feint. They had executed a masterful diversion while the true danger lay hidden within feet of the Magistrate all along. Drawing his weapon, Jag charged forward only to be met by a violent blast of air. His breath ripped from his lungs, and his world disappeared in a cacophony of sound and light.

"Are you all right, sir?" The voice was familiar yet distant.

He blinked, trying to assess the answer to that question.

"Jag?"

He turned and looked into the blue face of an old friend, one he wasn't sure he even knew anymore. "I am fine."

"You have been huddled at this science station for nearly two hours. You should use my office if you have more work to do," Shawnkyr offered. "It is more comfortable there."

"That won't be necessary. This station will suffice." He glanced away so she couldn't see the truth in his eyes. Some time ago there would have been no secrets between friends. Jag would never have needed to conceal the reason he had chosen to work at a public station within walking distance to the hangar. Nor would he have had to conceal the secondary monitors activated at this location behind false screens of post-Tenupe battle assessments. As it was, he needed Shawnkyr to leave, and quickly, so he could follow Cem's progress. While Jag knew his plan was brilliantly conceived, he was farthest from a fair-haired fool. For the last hour he had been taunted by the sneaking suspicion he had overlooked something.

Jag hadn't offered Shawnkyr more in the way of conversation, yet she stood there questioning him with her red eyes. Finally, she spoke. "I was hoping to find a moment to speak to you privately."

Keeping an eye on his useless datastream, Jag said, "Now is not a good time." He met her stare. "Maybe later."

"I am afraid that might be too late, Jag'ged." She never said his name formally unless it was important, and personal.

He was not about to give up his position, though. Not even for Shawnkyr. "It's private enough here."

For the most part he was right. He had chosen this station for its location. He could be seen, but not really scrutinized by anyone unless approached. After a quick glance around them, Shawnkyr said, "As you wish."

The usually straight-forward, no-nonsense Chiss hesitated, her expression marking the fact that she was choosing her words carefully. With an uncharacteristic sharp inhale, Shawnkyr began. "We have not seen much of each other these last years, my friend."

"This is true. The war and all its –"

"The war did not bring us to this point. You know this as well as I do."

"What did then, Shawnkyr?" He wanted her to get to the point – berate or chide him, whatever her pleasure – so he could get on with his task. The time to move was very near.

"Jaina."

That single word made Jag's blood run cold. Did she know? Did Shawnkyr suspect? Why bring up Jaina now? Here? He had to respond as if it was otherwise. "Certainly our relationship hasn't been the same since I left the Rising Storm, but you don't mean to attribute that to my separation from Jaina, do you? The timing is merely coincidental."

"The timing is farthest from coincidental, Jag'ged."

"I am not sure I follow –"

"Let me finish," Shawnkyr snapped. "I believe Jaina left the Rising Storm because of something I did."

Suddenly Jag's reality began to swirl into an uncontrollable spinout. Shawnkyr explained the details of her rescue by Jaina the fateful day the Rising Storm had been attacked by the Granjanjin terrorists, and how she had been more than forthright with Jaina about Jag's promotion to the Fifth Fleet while the two of them had been alone in the damaged lift.

Jag couldn't breathe.

"Some selfish part of me," she finished, "wanted you to stay."

All this time, it had been Shawnkyr. She had been one who had betrayed him.

"I can't –" Jag's protest was interrupted by the conspicuous beep of his comlink. It was the private code meaning Cem needed to talk.

Jag shook off the stun bolt of the admission. "Shawnkyr, I don't know what to think. Right now, there is nothing I can say. Except this – if you ever valued our friendship, you will honor my request now."

"Anything."

Jag's comlink chirped more insistently. "Go."

The word came out harsher than even he had intended.

The lines around her eyes were the only outward sign that she had flinched from his rebuke. "If that is –"

"It is."

Shawnkyr looked from Jag to his comlink and back. Her lips parted like she had something to say, but then she about-faced and marched away. Jag's eyes followed her all the way down the bank of workstations. Just before she arrived the door whisked open and Cem barged into the room, forcing Shawnkyr to step aside. She turned back for a brief instant, appraising the two men, before striding from the room.

Paying the Chiss no mind, Cem barreled over to Jag. "Do you see what's happening?"

As Jag stared in disbelief at his brother, who seemed to have tossed aside years of secrecy at this most critical of moments, Cem reached forward and smacked a few keys on the station's controls. A cam feed from the hangar popped onto the flatscreen. Turning to view it, Jag's gut felt the pain of a phantom vibroblade.

A team of Chiss commandos, marked with the telling black and silver insignias of the Fleet's finest, were bludgeoning Jaina with a brutal flurry of Jo'ahkna sticks. They whipped around her, raining blow after blow, as she tried to ward off their attack. All of Jaina's energy was directed at defending her position, so she had no chance to deliver any retaliatory strikes. It was only a matter of time –

"Are you just going to stand here?"

Jag blinked.

"They're killing her."

"They won't kill her. The Admiral obviously has plans for Jaina."

Even as he spoke, Jag's words echoed hollow among the plethora of thoughts roiling through his mind. There was no need for the commandos to be this brutal with Jaina; they could simply have stunned her. And how was he going to explain Cem's outburst to the few Chiss still in the room who had unwittingly served as his cover? Shawnkyr had betrayed him before; had she betrayed him now?

There was something else to this. Jag just wasn't seeing the whole picture.

"I think the picture is pretty clear, brother," Cem hissed.

Jag started. Had he been talking aloud? "Koran tonah va tad oh," he chided his secret sibling in an old Corellian dialect they both had been taught just for moments like this.

"I will not be silenced." Cem pounded a finger into Jag's chest. "This is wrong."

"I gave Jaina her chance. We failed." Jag's thoughts floundered for ways to salvage the situation. In his mind, he had given Jaina more opportunity than she deserved.

"I thought you loved her? How can you let the Admiral's men make Jaina the postergirl for his anti-human agenda?" Cem refused to lower his voice, and the nearest Chiss technician cast a look of reproach in their direction.

"I owe Jaina nothing, Cem, and the Chiss have always been accommodating of our family," Jag said in a hushed tone. "Our loyalty has to be with them in the end." But as much as he tried to deny them, something about Cem's words rang true. The Admiral did have ulterior motives; there was something very amiss in all this. Jag could barely watch as the commandos dragged Jaina's limp form across the hangar.

Cem hissed in his ear. "I owe the Chiss nothing. You owe the Chiss nothing."

"We are out of options. It's that simple."

"No. There is one."

"You certainly aren't suggesting…" His question unfinished, Jag saw the answer in his brother's glacier blue stare.

"These are a people who denied me my birthright because of some warped sense of brutal vengeance between families that has existed for generations. I will never understand how you can say these are our people, when I, your brother, have been nothing less than a second class citizen – dead to you for all intents and purposes. They have denied me my family as much as their browbeaten ideology has denied you a chance at a happy, rich life – with Jaina at your side."

"You're talking treason!"

"So what if I am, Jag? How many times have you committed disloyalties of all sorts in the name of Jaina?" Cem placed a hand on Jag's shoulder. "Your heart has never belonged to the Chiss."

Suddenly layers of fear and hurt began to peel away. Barriers erected of the hardest mental mettle dissolved. At his core, all this – Shawnkyr's admission, the Admiral's maneuvers, Jaina's effort to save him, Cem's words – erupted in a flash of white hot energy, melting away the last bits of trepidation and apprehension to reveal the true essence of his heart.

"Jag, you have to choose –"

But he had already chosen.

As Jag stalked across the room, Cem pounded a fist into the a palm. "I knew it! I knew you still loved her."

"Jaina and I are a thing of the past. This is about honoring ties and doing what's right, not reclaiming what's irreparably damaged."

Cem paused at the door. "So you're not seeing a future with her?"

Jag stopped too. "The glacier's momentum is unstoppable."

There was a twinkle in Cem's eye. "Lucky me."

Sprinting from the room, Jag cautioned his brother. "There is no turning back."

Matching Jag stride for stride, Cem shrugged. "Do I look worried?"

Jag arched an eyebrow.

"Possibly." Cem smirked. "Maybe a little."

"Father is going to kill both of us," Jag muttered while his mind prepared for what lay ahead.

"Mother might. Father will wonder what took you so long."

Cem drew the blaster from his guard uniform. When Cem glanced over questioningly, Jag held open his uniform jacket, revealing one of his own.

"Always prepare for the worst," Cem noted.

"And hope for the best," Jag added.

The brothers nodded in grim understanding before charging around the next corner. Their weapons were leveled; their aim steady. Four shots from Jag and three shots from Cem dropped the entire unit of troopers before they knew what hit them. Arrogance had been their failing. They might have routed a lone Jedi, but they hadn't counted on two Fels on a mission.

The encounter was all but forgotten when Jag's eyes found Jaina. She laid sprawled across the floor, dropped by her wardens in the quick attack. He ran to her side and gently rolled her over.

"Jaina?"

A small moan escaped her lips, but her eyes remained shut.

"Jaina, can you hear me?"

"If your voice…that bantha dancing in…my skull…ughhh." Her eyes fluttered open. "Then yes."

"Jag, we need to go now." Cem knelt beside him and placed a hand on Jaina's brow. "Can you stand?"

"Just…show me…the way." She struggled to rise, grabbing Cem's arm.

The brothers stood with her; each offering her support. When her legs buckled, Jag's reactions were a split second faster. Quickly shifting her in his arms, he felt some satisfaction that he had been the one to catch her.

Cem struck off down the corridor; Jag followed, carrying Jaina. The hangar, and in it the Falcon, was a short jog away. His life as a Chiss was minutes from over, and oddly enough Jag had no regrets.

His only regret came seconds into their escape, when they burst into the hangar and were immediately surrounded by an infinite swarm of soldiers.

TKL/dl