Chapter Eleven

Um...hi there, Star Wars fans. It's been a while. If you're curious what's occupied my time in the last, oh, decade, check Amazon for some actual non-fan fiction (see my profile for titles), have a look at my author page for my Girl Genius work, and of course, there's life in general.

For reference, from this point out the story will in fact go in part where I originally planned (including the fact the third installment, TIE Fighter: Resurrection, will be a blatant crossover-the alien superpower and Aleishia's other allies are indeed foreshadowing of that) but thanks to the new "Legends" status forcing me to reevaluate canon, I've decided...you know what, canon is whichever bits I want. I will NOT be attempting to go back and make everything 'historic' including dates, track with the prequels. Fuzzy time is our friend. So from this point on, references other than the DVD releases of ANH, ESB, and ROTJ include: the LucasArts game TIE Fighter (including continued use of the Greek-letter call signs), Mike Stackpole and Aaron Allston's Rogue Squadron and Wraith Squadron books (up to a certain point that will become obvious), Troy Denning's "Tattooine Ghost" for reasons that should be obvious, "Galaxy of Fear: The Swarm" (if you don't know why, hunt it down and read it, if you like Thrawn), the short stories "Command Decision" and "Mist Encounter" from the Adventure Journal, and all of the Heir to the Empire trilogy...up to a certain point. Please note the absence of "Survivor's Quest" (which, much as I love Zahn, I found borderline-unreadable) and the Hand of Thrawn duology-this goes for practically all worldbuilding in them (though Csilla works for a planet name as well as any). Essentially, nothing after a certain point in "Last Command" happened, we can assume more went on in the background there than we saw, and much of the prequel era can be considered ignored (though there may be "Rebels" cameos. I do like "Rebels".) Which has made the plot of the third one far better than I ever planned anyway.

While I promise there won't be QUITE so long a wait for the next chapters, while you're waiting, I suggest a read of Malicean's "Welcome to the Club" here on . I'm a huge fan and some of her portrayals are making it very hard for me to follow the basic plot of ROTJ, no matter how much I need to. The Executor will now always be the Lady in my head and if a Veers eventually makes an appearance somewhere, well...he's too awesome not to.

I'd put in the usual disclaimers or lack thereof, but by a weird quirk of corporate purchasing and my having been a Disney shareholder since I was an infant, they're oddly not as straightforward as they used to be.

Deep in the caverns, the pounding was reduced to a dull thumping like distant thunder. The civilians, and the technicians who might as well have been, were grouped in the narrow tunnel Gena had found with suspicious ease, with some of the surviving stormtroopers guarding the passage, while the others were ranged along the walls of the main tunnel. Thelea and Rurik, armed with the blaster rifles they'd taken from the storage locker, were crouched on opposite sides of the tunnel near the junction leading back up to the governor's mansion. Dallen Torak was just ahead of Rurik, a remarkably forward position for a Colonel, at least in Thelea's experience. Her knees were starting to protest the cold, hard rock she was kneeling on, but she wasn't going to be the first to stand and stretch. Not in front of humans.

And she had to remember, Rurik was human. No matter how good that kiss might have felt (and she had to admit, it had ignited nerve endings she hadn't even realized she possessed) they were incompatible in more ways than one. Not only was he her junior officer and wingman, he was an entirely different species. The parts might be similar (enough that as far as basic function went it wouldn't make any difference, not that she'd made any investigations into the matter), and really, she could get used to the strange eyes and pallid skin. Had, really. Human eyes were so expressive, how they tolerated it she didn't know. Rurik's gave away his thoughts as clearly as if he'd spoken them. What they'd been saying right after he kissed her had been terrifying.

She shook off the thought. "Jamming still on?"

Dallen tapped his comlink twice. "Still there. I can communicate with my troopers, and hear what they're saying, but anything up above . . . ." He grimaced. He'd put on armor plates not unlike trooper gear (if she was reading the pieces correctly, a scout trooper specifically) but foregone the face-concealing helmet. He looked as comfortable in it as she felt in her flight suit, confirming her suspicions that he'd come by that trooper personality honestly. "Not a good sign."

Rurik smirked bitterly. "On the contrary, if they're jamming, there's still enough humans alive to keep them blocking communications. We've still got them worried."

"Or they enjoy messing with our minds." Thelea grimaced. "Whoever they are I'm not certain we worry them at all."

"Then let's give them something to worry about," Dallen said. He checked the charger pack on his blaster, which of course was still fully charged, and raised his comlink. "First squad, advance!"

From behind them, a group of four troopers moved from their spots against the walls and moved briskly forward, their armor clacking with that sound that was almost as distinct as their bright-white color. They moved up the tunnel, back towards the entrance, quick sprints forward and a pause to cover the darkness ahead. Thelea looked across at Rurik, and he had gotten used to reading her expression enough to see the skepticism there. Suicide charges weren't what either of them had in mind. On the other hand, not knowing what was going on above wasn't going to work as a strategy forever.

The first trooper in the squad rounded the curve of the tunnel, and the others paused and covered him. The clattering reduced to a single set of footsteps, getting farther away. Rurik held his breath, his finger hovering over the blaster rifle's trigger. He didn't even have to look to feel the tension radiating from Thelea like a beam. Her glowing eyes were fixed after the troopers, as if she could will herself to see around corners. He saw her fingers tighten on the blaster grip, and he would have sworn she was moving an instant before they heard the unmistakable sound of a firefight somewhere ahead.

Thelea sprinted forward, ignoring what was probably an order to hold position from Dallen. She was fairly certain between this being a ground operation and a Colonel outranking a Commander in general that was some sort of insubordination, but the instinct pushing her on was too strong to ignore. If they all lived long enough for him to file a report she'd argue her point later. Now, though, she could hear the whining of blaster fire and a lower, crackling sound that she didn't recognize but which had to be the invaders' weapons. There was a heavy clatter she recognized as the sound of an armor-clad trooper hitting the ground.

She ducked around the curve of the tunnel, and had a half-second's warning from that same sense told her to duck before a white blast of energy shattered the rock where her head had been an instant before. She saw another trooper crumple, the discharge from the weapon crackling over his armor. The steam and dust raised by the battle was obscuring her vision, but she could see shapes that were decidedly not humanoid through the smoke. Insectoid? She rapidly filtered through the races she knew that had back-bent legs, as she was fairly sure from the movement these did, but nothing came to mind with weapons this sophisticated. Certainly none that were on conquering rampages across the fringes of Imperial space.

For an instant the smoke swirled clear, and she saw another figure, farther back in the shadows. This one seemed humanoid, cloaked, and she had a brief and frightening image of Lord Vader, but she shook it away. This figure had the same slightly stilted gait that implied armor, but was far more lithe than the Dark Lord, and lacked the massive sense of presence. Instead it almost seemed part of the mist, and as it swirled she caught a flicker of metal, and near its face, a flash of red where its eyes ought to be. She blinked, for an instant caught with the notion it was one of her own people, but as the figure moved she saw the beam and realized it was a helmet or goggle light, not the thing's own eyes.

There was a thud of boots close behind her as Rurik arrived. "Are you crazy? Even Dallen's not up here and stormtroopers are usually the suicidal ones." He winced as another trooper went down almost in time with his words. "I didn't mean that quite so literally."

"Sh." Thelea tried to blend into the rock wall. "There's someone commanding them on the ground. If we can take him out, they might be disordered enough for us to gain an advantage."

"And just how do you plan to do that if stormtroopers and ground batteries can't?" A blast slammed into the rock above them, showering them with grit and making their hair stand on end from the static charge. Thelea ducked and Rurik rose, returning fire with no discernible effect. "What is it with the sights on these things?" he snapped, ducking back down. "I'd have better luck flying an Interceptor blindfolded through a mine field."

"I'm thinking about it!" She snapped off a shot and it went wide, too. Maybe Rurik had a point about the sights. She heard the armor clatter behind her–Dallen must have sent the second squad up, not that it would likely do much good. "Wait a moment . . . do these have an overload setting?"

"I think so." Rurik wasn't sure what she had in mind, but with that question as an opener he doubted it was something safe. "You know, they invented plasma grenades for a reason."

"Do you have any of those lying around?"

"No."

"Well, then." She crouched low, studying the blaster rifle and ducking further as another energy blast hit the wall near her. "If you're not going to do anything else helpful could you at least give me some covering fire?"

Rurik bit back a sharp, sarcastic retort and instead rose, snapping off two more shots into the dust cloud even though he was fairly sure any hits would be pure luck. Ducking back, he heard a click and a whine. "Find it?"

"I certainly hope so." She half-rose, then looked up at him, the glittering red eyes narrowed. "Your arm's longer than mine. Here."

Rurik found himself suddenly juggling two blaster rifles, hoping desperately he didn't forget which was which. "Wait, what?" The high-pitched whine, increasing in frequency, was a good reminder.

"Aim for the middle of the corridor and hope these are easier to throw than they are to aim." She grabbed the still-working rifle out of his hands and fired three shots. "If I were you I'd throw that fast–I have no idea how long the delay is."

"If I had wanted this kind of stress I'd have joined the infantry," Rurik muttered, but he got a more solid grip on the blaster and, hoping he had better luck throwing than he had shooting, reared back and threw it as hard as he could towards the cluster of invaders.

Thelea counted. She wasn't sure how long, but overload settings generally allowed enough time to get clear, meaning perhaps half a minute, or slightly more . . . .

Even over the blaster fire and energy weapons, she heard the pitch of the power pack rise and shift to a solid tone not unlike a missile targeting lock. "Rurik, down!"

He dropped without arguing back for a change just as the tone ceased and the hall ahead erupted into a blinding ball of light and a shock wave blew back up the tunnel. He pushed Thelea down, crouching over her as the debris blew past and for once she didn't say a word, only ducked. The shrieks sounded less like living beings and more like horrifically-stressed metal, a rasping, screaming noise that bypassed the ears and went straight to the bone. Rurik squeezed his eyes closed, as if that would help, and as such didn't realize for a moment that Thelea was no longer beneath him. He looked up in time to see the slight figure, whiplike braid lashing behind her, disappear into the debris cloud, something small in her right hand. A glance down told him that she'd left the functioning (for certain values of the term) blaster rifle. He could only hope that was her holdout-blaster sidearm she'd been holding, but given her impulsive stand as they were trying to escape Dreghan's moon, he wasn't going to make any heavy bets on it.

He heard trooper armor clattering behind him–Dallen and his men, moving up to take advantage of the distraction. The smart thing to do would be regroup with them and count on Thelea getting herself out of whatever she was running into. Chances were a squad of stormtroopers had a better chance of backing her up than he would rushing in solo.

Still . . . that wasn't exactly what a wingman did.

He picked up the blaster and grimaced. "Thelea, you are going to be the death of me yet." Fighting the urge to scream a battle cry, he snapped off a volley of shots to try and clear a path, then plunged after her up the tunnel.

Thelea had only a few seconds to consider this might not be the smartest thing she'd ever done before she was in the fog of debris and smoke. Her boots clattered against something that sounded like insect carapace, and crunched under her feet in much the same way. She had a very distinct sense she'd be happier if she didn't look to see what it was and the smoke mercifully obscured her vision. Then she was through it and she caught a swirl of the humanoid figure's cape, sending the last of the mist swirling away.

She ran a few steps towards him, before realizing this was not a retreat, even at tactical one. He was still facing her, his stance far too relaxed and still for someone injured or even mildly concerned. The haze was clearing enough that she could see what she'd taken for armor actually seemed to be some kind of support suit–a black bodysuit, not dissimilar to the bodysuits worn under trooper armor, overlaid not with plates but what looked like wiring and circuits, as if someone had grafted an exoskeleton of computer components onto him, or stripped away the synthskin from replacement limbs. The sparking, twisting web continued up his neck and around his face, a curve of metal across his forehead proving to be the source of the red light.

What she could see of his face looked human, if pale, and she thought she saw dark hair under the web of wires. The details of his features were impossible to determine, both because of the circuits and because of the stomach-churning detail she'd noticed: where the wires traversed the skin of his neck and face there were indentations and she realized they were tiny leads boring directly into his flesh.

He flicked his right arm out from his body, and she saw something in it. Weapon, screamed her brain, and almost on instinct her finger touched the stud of her lightsaber. The head cocked to one side in a gesture that would have seemed more appropriate to a protocol droid's artificial joints.

"Lightsaber," and his voice was . . . reverberant, as if he were speaking in her head as well as aloud. There was a sound behind it as well, as if someone or something were screaming, wailing in a subsonic range in a weirding echo of his words. "Chiss. The machine remembers you . . . ."

The object in his hand emitted a glowing green blade that pulsed with the same deep hum as her own saber.

Thelea realized she was trembling. This was not battle nerves, or adrenaline, or what felt like a sudden drop in the temperature of the caves. This was terror, and she could not remember feeling it so intensely, not the day she'd stolen one of her so-called guardian's private shuttles and run for human space, not that first horrifying night at the Academy where she was alien among aliens, not even the first time her TIE had dropped into actual, non-simulated combat. The eyes boring into hers were sentient, but not, the voice slicing through her like a million vibroblades, and even with the stilted movements she had the sudden, horrible certainty that he knew exactly how to use that blade. And for all her bluster and half-hearted, secret experiments, she had never so much as sparred with a living opponent.

She heard a sliding, clicking sound somewhere behind her, and almost absently, the machine-man gestured with his free hand. She could feel something move, sliding around her rather than walking and flickering like a dark ghost at the corner of her vision, never quite settling so she could see them clearly. Whatever they were, they were moving back down the tunnel, towards where Rurik, Dallen, and however many of the stormtroopers remained were still located. Her opponent made a flicking motion and she heard the whispery clicks speed up, and there was a crackling in the air that made the hairs on her neck stand on end. The energy weapons, recharging . . . .

Well, how different could it be from sparring on the exercise courts? Besides the possibility of severing your limbs with your own weapon . . . . And if it slowed down the advance or distracted the drone troops, that might give Rurik and Dallen time to come up with a more permanent solution. She clamped down on her fear and let it boil into anger instead.

"In the name of the Empire," and it sounded hollow even to her, "you and your troops are ordered to stand down." She brought her own blade up in what she hoped was an effective at-ready position.

The man-machine tilted his head again and once again she had the impression of a droid, or an insectoid, more so even than the shadow troops who'd fired at them. "Empire . . . the machines do not recognize your Empire. The voices . . . they say you are gone. That the Others took you. Yet, the lightsaber . . . a Chiss . . . ." He seemed to shake himself. "You are an obstacle. You will be removed. Your Empire will serve the voices and the machine." His blade scythed up through the air between them and Thelea took an involuntary step back.

Thelea . . . listen to me . . .

The voice was hollow, distant, as if calling from far, far away and through a great strain. Thelea blinked, and for a moment forget the immediacy of her situation.

Not anger. Not fear. Only listen. Feel . . . .

Not fear? She tightened her suddenly-clammy grip on her lightsaber. If not anger, not fear, she wouldn't be feeling much of anything other than a deep-seated conviction that she was about to die and it was her own stupid fault. And she was going to leave Rurik, and the others, at the mercy of this man-machine and his army. Rurik . . . now she was really regretting how that conversation had ended.

Listen to me, Thelea! Now the voice, female but oddly amplified, was stronger, and she felt the press of more than one mind behind it. Like the shadow-silk sounds behind the machine, but . . . purer, stronger . . . brighter. And many . . . . He is stronger, he is faster, you cannot win on brute force. Be ready . . . .

For what? She asked before she realized she was forming the question.

Duck! The instruction came as the green blade swung for her neck and Thelea threw herself forward, rolling under it and slashing blindly upwards with her own blade as she did. The shock ran up her arm as the blades connected and her own bounced and skittered down towards the hilt of his and he disengaged, stepping back as if he were more bemused than threatened. Thelea stumbled to her feet, trying to force her ragged breathing into a regular rhythm again. She brought her saber back up to a defensive position.

Calm yourself . . . back away, you have to lead him away. Help is coming, but you have to lead him where it can do good.

"Help?" And she cursed herself for speaking aloud. If her opponent heard he gave no indication, instead arcing his blade around for another blow. This time she was ready for how hard the blow felt and braced against it. Somewhere, from wherever the strange voice/s came from, she felt a surge of energy, something warm and vast adding its strength to hers. Her boots had been sliding against the stone but suddenly she could brace herself, and barely, a fraction, but there nonetheless, she felt his blade pushed away.

The electricity snapped out from his arm, lashing up past their locked sabers and stabbing into her like a thousand bolts of lightning. She screamed and fell back, some instinct making her roll with the blow, out of range, even as the pain arced through every nerve in her body. She could smell singed fiber and hair and the sharp ionized odor in the air. Her heart and breathing didn't seem to want to work in rhythm and she staggered, pushing herself up and staggered back on sheer survival instinct.

Behind you. The tunnel to the left. Take it!

No longer bothering to question the voice's commands, she turned and bolted, far too unsteady for her own tastes but with little other choice. As the electric-burn scent started to clear her nostrils she caught another, this one warm, humid, the air of the outdoors instead of the stifling smell of the caverns. The tunnel ran upwards on a slight incline and while it might have been her eyes playing tricks, she thought the darkness was growing lighter.

She heard boots on stone behind her and the hum of the other saber.

Chiss eyes could adapt more quickly than human to changes from dark to light, and that was all that saved her as she burst into daylight. A brief surge of agoraphobia at the sudden skyscape gripped her, combined with acrophobia as she realized she was looking down at the forests surrounding the capital. The tunnel lead to a small ledge, with a narrow track even a monkey-lizard would have had difficulty navigating at any speed leading meters down the brush-covered slope in a suicidal switchback pattern. She could hear the pounding again, but this time she realized it wasn't just the energy weapons–there were green blasts as well, turbolasers firing in atmosphere, and besides a shrieking wail that sent chills through her nerves straight to bone, she could hear another sound, familiar and glorious and leaving her wanting to sob with relief if she only had the time: the sound of paired ion engines operating in atmosphere. Many of them. Somewhere, above them, reinforcements had arrived.

The presence in her mind, and the sudden slashing of a blade through the air gave her a split-second's warning and she swung her own saber in a desperate block. The gravel rolled under her boots and she stumbled, narrowly ducking under a killing blow. The screaming wail of the enemy drone fighters and the sound of a TIE in close pursuit, quad lasers blasting, was getting closer, much too fast, as she swung blindly at the machine-man attacker. A bolt missed its target and smashed into the cliff above, raining rocks and dirt down on them both.

Her opponent drew himself up, as if assessing the situation above, before the inhuman gaze turned back on her. Thelea backed away and froze as she felt her heel back against open air. She felt, rather than heard, the building energy of him preparing to deal another electric shock and knew she had nowhere to go.

The fighters above roared close again, and in her peripheral vision she saw the green flares of the lasers.

Thelea, jump!

The voices in her head had to be insane. Once again she risked a frantic look at the tens of meters down the rocky track, too steep to run down or even climb quickly. Above there was an explosion and she heard the whirring, doppler-shifted sound of a fighter spinning out of control.

The voice was now in stereo, and the sense of power and age and desperation lent it volume: JUMP NOW!

Touching the stud that deactivated her blade, she turned and had an instant to see an Interceptor spiraling out of control, one panel completely gone, headed straight for the cliff above them before she closed her eyes and leapt from the cliff.