Myri Antilles barely knew her cousin, once-Imperial Head of State but now just Mr. Jagged Fel. She did know that he'd always come off as a stuffed-shirt. He'd probably get along better with Syal.
She stood across the table from him in the briefing room on the Imperial strike cruiser Wessex. It was an old ship, heavily remodeled with all sorts of surveillance and reconnaissance devices Myri knew they'd never let her see. Its commander was standing next to Jag, and she was definitely not what Myri had expected: a small, red-skinned Twi'lek woman with alert gold eyes and tight-pressed lips that seemed equally likely to curve into a frown or sly smile. Myri didn't like her already, but admitted that she was an interesting addition to a briefing that already included a genetically-modified Gamorrean and a human-raised Yuuzhan Vong.
Viull "Scut" Gorsat was wearing a home-grown neoglith masquer now, and his face was that of a forgettable human in his early thirties, but Myri and Voort had agreed that it was best to be honest about his species with Fel and Lieutenant Colonel Fy'lyor, even if they didn't plan on advertising the fact to the entire Imperial crew.
"My parents adopted me when I was a small child," he was explaining to them ever now. "I still don't know much about Yuuzhan Vong culture, aside from what I've read in books."
"But you know about their technology," Red said evenly.
"I made a point to study it as I got older," he nodded. "I've worked a little with the sample creatures still in possession of Alliance Intelligence, and attempted to replicate it using organic material native to our galaxy, like the masquer I'm wearing."
"That makes you the closest thing we have to an expert," Fel said. "We'll see how you can help us in the coming days."
"I'll do my best," Scut said, though Myri could see the doubt in his eyes. He wasn't conflicted about potentially fighting the Vong; he was scared he wouldn't be up to the responsibility that was falling on his shoulders. Privately, on their way here, he'd told Myri he'd always been afraid a day like this would come.
Red tapped a button on the table and a holo-map of the Imperial border sector and neighboring systems materialized. She said, "Our current plan is to send two-fighter reconnaissance missions into each system. At twelve fighters, that's six missions at a time. We'll allot three hours to each mission. It's going to be a very long, tedious slog, but it's important to be thorough. There's a million planets, moons, asteroids, and nebulae they could be hiding in."
"It's like looking for one grain of sand on a beach," Voort shook his head. "We'd almost be better monitoring space for signals of another battle, then responding when necessary."
"We're already on the lookout," Fel said, "But as of right now we haven't found anything."
"What makes you think they're even any place near here?" Myri asked. "This battle was over a week ago. They could be on the far side of the galaxy by now."
Red shook her head. "It's very likely they've dived deeper into the Unknown Regions, but we can't go deeper ourselves without making sure our back is clear. Like I said, it will be a long slog. Thankfully, the star charts you brought with us should make things somewhat easier."
"Glad to help," Myri said quietly.
"The rotation of pilots is up to you, of course," Fel said. "We've already prepared an extensive list of planets to be searched, though if we uncover traces of either fleet we will of course consult together to determine the best course of action."
"Of course," echoed Voort.
Red took a datachip out of her breast pocket and slid it across the table to Myri. "This is the master list of all systems to be searched. It also contains data on the recovered wreckage, for all your pilots to view."
"Thank you," Myri said, picking it up carefully and placing it in her vest pocket. "I'll be sure to."
"As for when we're not hunting phantom fleets," Red said, "Your pilots have free access to their quarters, of course, as well as the eatery and all facilities on decks four and five-B. The identity cards we've provided them have such access keyed in. Everything else is off-limits."
"Including to their commanding officer?" Voort asked.
"Yes," she nodded. "Including you. You understand, I trust."
"I do," said Voort. "And our service weapons?"
"Yours as well, though I hope you have no cause to use them."
"Neither do I." He extended a fat green hand across the table. "I look forward to hunting with you, Lieutenant Colonel."
The Twi'lek woman gave the Gamorrean an appraising glance, then reached out and put her small red hand in his. "Likewise, Mister SaBinring."
-{}-
Jag and Fy'lyor watched them leave. When the door hissed shut behind them, she turned to him and said, "A Yuuzhan Vong raised by humans, a talking Gamorrean who escaped from the lab, and your colorful cousin. Tell me, does the head of Alliance Intelligence have a sense of humor?"
"The Twi'lek raised by humans asks that to the human raised by Chiss." Jag reminded her. "You could say the same about Head of State Reige."
Fy'lyor looked thoughtful. "Tell me, has your wife ever spoke of the Force as having a sense of humor?"
For some reason Fy'lyor talking about his wife made him uncomfortable. "Not to my knowledge."
"Never mind," Fy'lyor waved a hand. "Tell me about your cousin."
"I don't have much to say. She's my uncle's daughter, but I barely know her. She has an older sister who I believe is a rising officer in the Alliance navy."
"Well, after losing so many senior officials, I'm not surprised," Fy'lyor seemed to purr. Like a lot of Imperials, she took more than a little pleasure in every mess the Alliance government got itself into.
"If they have anything of their father in them, I'm sure both Antilles girls are more than capable."
"Are you so sure? We've both seen plenty of their type, Fel. The ones born of great war heroes, govern-ment officials, or rich businessmen, who get every honor handed down to them by birth."
"Not everyone has to be born to a slave, or raised an outsider," Jag said firmly. "I trust Wedge Antilles to raise his children right."
Fy'lyor favored him with a sly smile. "You're a bit of a romantic, aren't you, Fel? I can see how you charmed your Jedi princess."
Jag looked away. "Regardless of the professional abilities of the Antilles women, I'm sure Chief Loran sent us his best. My uncle used to fly with SaBinring."
"Yes, you said he was a product of the old Warlord Zsinj's experiments. Not only did they give him speech, but a superior intelligence as well."
"He was a mathematics professor for a while, but he's clearly returned to intelligence work."
"And what about the Vong? Do you know anything else about him?"
"Nothing beyond his personnel file, and not about any of the other pilots either. No, I'm sorry, there's also one older pilot named Sharr Latt. I fought with him during the Yuuzhan Vong War. He's clever, good at schemes and propaganda."
"This Chief Loran sounds like a very... creative man, to make such a unit."
"It was originally my uncle's idea, but I believe Loran's creative too. And he has a sense of humor."
"Well, we'll see how long this little partnership lasts," Fy'lyor sighed.
"What do you mean?" Jag asked.
"Oh, come on, Fel," she said. "You know it as well as I do. If there's some rogue Alliance fleet out there fighting the Vong, they're not going to let us stroll back to Bastion with proof. They'll try to silence us and keep their secret."
Jag shook his head. "That's might be the way the Empire operates, but not the Alliance. Not Chief Loran."
"I don't believe you," she said. "Which is why they'll be monitored at all times. At the first sign of trouble we can gas them in their quarters and dump them into space."
Jag glared at her. "You will do no such thing, not while I'm aboard."
"Then you can go with them," Fy'lyor said, voice icy. "This is my vessel and under no circumstances will I allow her or her crew to be destroyed, either by Alliance agents or the Yuuzhan Vong."
Jag sighed. "You disappoint me, Lieutenant Colonel."
Fy'ylor seemed to hesitate, then asked, "Why, if I may ask?"
"There's a fine line between practical and ruthless. One keeps you alive, the other makes everyone your enemy. If the Empire has any future in this galaxy, it will have to learn the difference."
"You're the one who tried to bring democracy to the Empire, then dropped the whole mess in Vitor Reige's lap and walked away. I don't need a man like you lecturing me about responsibility and command."
That attack stung, because it was what Jag had been trying not to tell himself for the past two years. Surrendering his position to Reige had been the only way out of a civil war that could have destroyed the Empire, and at the time he'd congratulated himself for his cleverness, but on reflection he knew it had been unfair to Reige, and worst of all, the thing he'd been raised from birth to despise: a cowardly dereliction of duty.
The hurt must have been visible on his face. Her features softened slightly. She said, "Tell me, Fel. Do you think the Empire has a future?"
There was rare vulnerability in her voice. He examined her face, trying to tell if she was putting him on, but she'd shown no proclivity toward acting thus far.
"I can't say. For now, with the Alliance still getting back on its feet, we have a place. In the long run? I don't know. But I think the Empire has to adapt. That's not what you'd think the Empire would be good at, but you never know. The fact that you are here, command-ing this mission, is a good sign in itself. I expected to be working with some Moff's preening son, but instead I have someone who earned her rank through devotion and skill." She kept from smiling, but still looked proud. "Maybe you've spent so long climbing the ranks that you see everyone as an enemy. I don't know. But I can tell you right now that real leadership requires trust. Sometimes it involves letting go. I trusted Reige enough to hand the Empire to him."
She regarded him carefully. "And do you trust me, Fel? At all?"
"I'm not sure," he admitted. "I'm still trying to decide myself."
She smiled. It was a weak, honest smile. "Very well. I suppose I'll have to earn it."
He watched her exit, leaving him alone in the briefing room. Gripping the table-sides, he let out a long breath he hadn't known he'd been holding. This was going to be a very interesting mission.
-{}-
Two X-wings hung, barely visible, in the blackness of space. The StealthX fighters were painted matte-black, and modified to elude all but the most intensive sensor sweeps. If there was anyone in the system, they wouldn't know they were being observed.
It was either their twelfth or thirteenth recon since the mission began, Scut couldn't remember. He and his Clawdite partner, Turman, had been jumping in and out of systems of days, running intensive sensors sweeps of ever planet, moon, asteroid, or space rock, hoping for some signs of activity. Most of these systems didn't have names, only alphanumeric designations assigned by Old Republic researchers decades ago. Missions like these reminded Scut just how immense the galaxy really was, and how much of it was filled with nothing except lifeless rocks and gasses drifting through the vacuum.
In a way, though, he was glad of it. If someone did find Yuuzhan Vong ships lurking in the Unknown Regions, he didn't want to be the one to do it. It wasn't that he was afraid of fighting members of his own race. He was more afraid of letting down his peers in Wraith Squadron, or just as bad, appearing weak or indecisive in front of them.
He and Turman drifted at sublight speed toward the X-3Br19 system's largest planet, a silvery gas giant with a dozen moons and a broad ring. As agreed, Turman ran sensors sweeps for unusual minerals or energy signatures, while Scut searched for life signs. By now this was such a routine that Scut barely paid attention to the readouts. Nothing, nothing, and a whole lot more nothing. The only thing that kept him from falling asleep on these missions was that nagging worry that maybe, just maybe, they'd run into the Vong somewhere.
"Hey, Scut," Turman's voice crackled over his comlink. "I'm picking up water on the third moon."
"Ice, you mean?" Scut asked lazily.
"Not sure. Looks like ice, plus geyser eruptions on the surface."
"Doesn't sound relevant," Scut said, but intensified his own sensor sweep on the moon anyway.
"Temperature readings are patchy too. Probably denotes tectonic instability beneath the moon's surface."
"Are you sure that's our business, Shifter?" Scut asked. Then something lit up on his screen. "Hey, I'm getting organic residue readings from the moon."
"Let's swing by for a closer look," Turman said, and the two X-wings veered onto a direct course for the moon. Its surface seemed to glimmer in the reflected light of the system's primary, and this in turn reflected on the ice particles in the planet's ring.
"Pretty thing, ain't she?" said Turman, and Scut reluctantly grunted agreement.
As they drew closer, Scut's sensor scans became slightly clearer. It looked like there was some organic material floating in low orbit over the moon, which was strange. He felt sweat prickly underneath his helmet, and his heart beat harder in his chest.
"Might have something," Scut said. "Follow me lead. Let's check it out."
Turman sent his affirmative, and Scut plunged closer to the moon. He could see nothing with his naked eye, but the sensors were pointing out small chunks of organic material drifting in orbit. He followed where the sensors told him to go, and soon he saw tiny flecks of black drifting over the moon's icy surface.
"See it?" Scut said.
"Yeah," Turman replied. "What do we think it is? Debris?"
Yuuzhan Vong debris, of course. It was the only possibility. Scut felt cold settle in his gut as he brought the X-wing closer still. He could make out jagged, twisted shapes, the kind wreckage you'd expect from a small space battle, except all of his readings labelled them organic.
"Hey," he asked Turman, "Anything artificial showing up on your scans?"
"No," Turman said, "Looks like this was a one-sided fight, if that's what it was."
"I don't know what else it could be," Scut admitted. As they drew close to the debris field its contents became clearer still. Fried chunks of yorrick coral, some two or three meters long, drifted in front of his viewport.
"Maybe somebody got ambushed," Turman suggested. "It doesn't look like a big fight..."
"A patrol, maybe," Scut suggested. "Can you pick up any residual energy signatures?"
"Faint, maybe. It's hard to tell. Hey, you see that big chunk over there?"
"Where?" Scut scanned the debris field visually. "Hey, you're right, I think I see something. Not sure what it is though..."
As he flew toward it, though, he recognized the profile. It was about the same size as his X-wing, bulbous in the rear but elongated in the front. The coralskipper's cockpit gleamed in its nose like a polished gem. Morbid curiosity drew Scut closer. The cockpit's gemlike face was lined with cracks, and part of its aft section looked torn away. It drifted dead in space, and Scut cut the engines on his fighter so he could drift with it. He flipped his fighter so he hovered above the dead coralskipper, aligning his cockpit over the broken gem-face. Part of its surface reflected the moon's silvery glow, but the tried to peer beyond that and see into the cockpit. He thought he saw the head and shoulders of the pilot, still strapped to his vessel, staring dead ahead.
Then the pilot shifted, lifted his head, and stared up at Scut.
"Fierfek!" Turman shouted. "Watch out!"
Scut barely had time to jerk his fighter away before the coralskipper fired its dovin basals to life. The vessel jerked away, pitched upward, and began shooting fiery bursts toward Scut's X-wing. The pilot swore and wrestled with his fighter, pulling away from the debris field.
"A little help here?" he shouted.
"I'm on it," Turman reported, and on his sensors Scut could see his wingmate trying to vector in on the coralskipper. Neither of them had ever faced the Yuuzhan Vong in combat, but they'd seen recordings and played simulations. They knew coralskippers could be far more nimble than and Alliance or Imperial skip, using their dovin basals to slip and slide in all sorts of crazy directions regardless of thrust and momentum. Scut pulled his X-wing into a sharp dive, hoping to give Turman a shot at its broadside.
The skipper followed all right, but it kept weaving from side to side, evading Turman's sprays of laser blasts. Scut veered toward the planet's rings. He remembered that the best way to break a skipper's defenses was to overwhelm its dovin basal shields, and the countless tiny rocks and ice particles of the planet's ring might just be a good way to do that, assuming his own shields held, which was a decent-sized assumption.
"Hey," Turman barked, "Are you doing what I think you're doing?"
"You got a better idea?" Scut grunted, still bobbing and weaving to keep from being hit.
"If he holds still for second I can get him..."
"If he holds still that means he's already killed me!" Scut snapped. "Hold on, I'm going to try something stupid..."
Scut threw his X-wing into a corkscrew and plunged into the planet's ring. His shield's flared around the cockpit and he slowed his engined to prevent a high-speed collision, though he knew his ship was going to get knocked up regardless. On his rear scanners, he saw the skipper, too, had slowed down, and shunted its power to its forward dovin basals.
"Gotcha!" shouted Turman, and burst of energy lanced into the skipper's aft. The vessel veered off-course, tumbling through the ring. Scut pulled up, out of the ring, but his alarm sensors were still screaming. Damage to his bottom-port S-foil. Damage to his upper-port engine. One torpedo tube out of operation. Well, at least he still had atmosphere in his cockpit.
"Where is it?" squawked Turman. "I lost him. Where'd he go?"
Scut pointed himself back toward the ring and ran scans for organic materials. Nothing came up, but something in the rings might have been messing with his sensors.
"Did you kill it?" he asked Turman.
"I don't know! I couldn't see! He's just gone!"
"Could he have jumped to hyperspace?"
"I don't know? Can these things even do that?"
"I... don't remember," Scut admitted. He'd been studying the Yuuzhan Vong for years, but in his panic he couldn't remember if coralskippers could fly into kriffing hyperspace.
Suddenly the spotted the flare of incoming projectiles. He jerked hard but one exploded just beneath his fighter, rocking him in his cockpit. He spotted the coralskipper's forward profile, its cracked cockpit gleaming like a gemstone in the planet's silver light. It was heading right for him.
"Break off!" shouted Turman.
"No, no I got this!" Scut wrestled with his fighter and brought its nose level with the skipper's. "I got this! I got this!"
"No you don't! Break off!"
"I got this!" Scut shouted, and tapped out two torpedoes from his starboard tube.
His fighter shuddered around him as it fired off both torps. One collided with the skipper's own projectile, creating a flower-blossom of fire and debris. The second burst through the explosion and hit the coralskipper like a punch to the face, shattered the cockpit and nose before exploding the belly of the craft. Scut soared through one explosion, then another, leaving the skipper's burnt-out hull in his wake.
"Wooo!" shouted Turman. "Nice flying!"
Scut looked behind him at the burn-out remains of the coralskipper. The adrenaline drained away and the sinking feeling in his gut returned, only now it was so much worse. He was now the first Alliance pilot to score a kill against the Yuuzhan Vong in fifteen years. His gut told him he was far from the last.
-{}-
Jag and Fy'lyor sat the briefing room on Wessex, watching a replay of the dogfight at X-3Br19 through the onboard cameras of Turman and Scut's fighters. They sat two spaces apart, and sometimes Jag glanced sideways to see the blue lights of the projections reflected on her stern red features.
"I'll give the Vong credit," she said, "He's quite the pilot."
"Do you mean Scut, or his opponent?"
"Both," she said.
"I think this proves his loyalty, if you were worried."
"Loyalty?" Fy'lyor shrugged. "I never doubted his loyalty to the Alliance, if that's what you mean. But his flying skill is impressive."
"Well," Jag stretched in his chair, "Do we have readings from the second recon team yet?"
"They just came in," Fy'lyor pressed a switch underneath the table. The camera recordings vanished and were replaced by a readout of technical data. "Based on analysis from the debris, we can assume they were destroyed between thirty and forty hours ago. Not including the one the Alliance destroyed, of course."
"It wasn't much debris," Jag said. "Do you think some of it fell into the moon?"
"Almost certainly. The ones still there had retrograde orbits. The question is how much fell into the moon compared to the amount still in orbit."
"It wasn't much debris. Probably just a flight of coralskippers, maybe on recon, were ambushed and destroyed."
"That was my thought, but I think there was more to it than that." Fy'lyor said, and tapped the table again. The technical data vanished and was replaced by a diagram of the ringed gas giant and its many moon. She tapped again, and the holo zoomed in one one particular moon.
"Take a look at the minerals on that moon," she said.
Jag nodded. "Perfect for anybody who wants to refuel."
"Exactly. The unidentified fleet, either in part or whole, must have been refueling here when a Vong recon flight spotted them. Presumably they were able to destroy the flight before it escaped."
"Either way, that was only about two days ago." Jag stroked his beard. "Well, I suppose it's a good sign that we're on the right track."
"Yes, and it also shows we need to proceed with extra caution," Fy'lyor said.
"And extra thoroughness. I'll talk with SaBinring about stretching out recon mission to four hours instead of three. We don't want to miss anything."
"Agreed," Fy'lyor nodded.
-{}-
As a Wraith, you were expected to put up with odd situations and work under informal circumstances. That had, in fact, been part of the appeal when Myri Antilles joined. However, she had to admit that she had not been expecting this kind of unusual circumstance.
Their activities onboard Wessex were restricted, which everyone had expected. The Imperial cruiser was fitted with all the newest information-gathering equipment and offered a very tempting target to a squadron full of spies. They were only allowed to move about their quarters (which consisted of two rooms of bunk beds), the hangar area where their ships were kept, and the common mess hall.
The latter two they had to share with the Imperial crew. It was easier to do that in the hangar. The Imperial techs were competent and professional, and most of the interactions between Wraith and support staff was of a purely technical nature. Nonetheless, many of the Imps looked a little weirded-out by the fact that the Wraiths' chief mechanic was a two-and-a-half-meter-tall female Wookiee, and preferred to act with the human members of the squad.
Sharing the mess hall was stranger. During meals the Wraiths got in line with the Imps to get their food, then gathered at a table in the corner like a clique of schoolkids and talked very quietly among themselves, sparing occasional over-the-shoulder glances at the tables full of Imps, who in turns sneaked their own furtive looks at the Wraiths.
All in all, it was not a comfortable partnership. There-fore, Myri was surprised when she came into the mess hall to see a group of Imperial pilots, half in uniform and half in black flight suits, standing around the table. She felt a spike of alarm and wondered if somebody might be picking a fight, but they didn't look or sound tense.
When she got closer, she saw that they were all listened to Scut and Turman. The two pilots were describing their tangle with the coralskipper, demonstrating maneuvers with their hands and answering questions from the Imperial pilots.
Myri sat down at the other end of the table, where Sharr Latt and Jesmin Tainer were watching.
"This looks civil," she said in a low voice.
"Yeah, who'd have thought," Jesmin said.
Myri had known the tall blonde woman since they were children, and like Myri, Wraith Squadron was in her family. So was the Force; Jesmin's mother Tyria had become a Jedi Knight after her stint as a pilot, and her brother was one was well. Jesmin had some Jedi training, but hadn't been as strong in the Force as her mother or Doran. She often carried around a lightsaber, which was useful for all sorts of things, but on Wessex she left it in her quarters, lest it rouse up anti-Jedi sentiment common among the Imps.
"It's a good thing they don't know," muttered Sharr.
The Wraiths' executive officer was the second-oldest in the group after Piggy and had fought in the Yuuzhan Vong War. His hair had been white since Myri could remember, and his tanned dry skin gave his face a curiously ageless quality.
For a second Myri wondered what he meant. Then it clicked. None of the Imps knew there was a Yuuzhan Vong under Scut's masquer, and it was a good thing too.
"How's he holding up?" Myri asked softly.
Jesmin shrugged. Sharr said, "Seems fine to me."
"That's good. But, you know..."
Jesmin shrugged again. Sharr said nothing. The three of them watched as Turman and Scut finished their demonstration. The Imperial pilots thanked them politely and went back to their table.
Now that the event was over, the three of them scooted down to the other end of the table to join the stars of the show.
"Well, you kids got popular," Sharr said. "I'm envious."
"They're in awe of our superior flying skills," Turman grinned. "Now we'll get the rest we deserve."
"Technically we don't exist, so we'll never get the respect we deserve," Sharr reminded him.
"Damn. Guess we'll have to make up for it be being extra-cheerful."
"Yeah, have fun with that."
"So do we have any idea what is was you ran into?" Jesmin asked.
"I already went over it with Voort," Sharr said. "Fel and the captain think it was the remnants of a Vong patrol that met up with a larger fleet be accident."
"So the renegades, in other words."
"Presumably, though there wasn't enough non-Vong debris to make sure. Either way, it was a minor skirmish, not like the battle the Imps detected before."
"I guess that made us a clean-up crew," Turman said. "Which is fine. If I'm going to get my first taste of fighting the Vong, I'd like to have them outnumbered two-to-one."
"I know that feeling," Jesmin said.
Myri did too. She was not looking forward to going against them herself. She was a decent pilot, but nowhere near as good as her father or Syal, back when Syal had been a pilot instead of a desk-jockey.
She asked Scut, "How are you hanging in there?"
"I'm fine," he said, though his tone didn't invite further conversation.
In truth, Myri had no idea what he must have been thinking. She didn't doubt Scut's loyalty to the Alliance, but she also knew he was fascinated as well as repulsed by the Yuuzhan Vong. He'd always insisted that his admiration for their bio-technology was matched by his disdain for the rest of their culture, she always wondered if you could really separate to two so easily.
Since Scut apparently didn't want to talk any more, Sharr said, "Well, we're all going to be on longer patrols now, if you haven't heard. Four hours instead of three."
Jesmin moaned. "I get antsy enough sitting in that cockpit for one hour."
"You need to stop being antsy, Ranger," Sharr admonished. "You've got to learn to stick with some-thing."
Jesmin scowled. He was hitting on a sore spot.
He added, "Specifically, stick your butt in the chair and let it stay there. It's actually pretty comfortable. Those pilot seats were designed for long-term sitting, after all."
"I liked it better when I got to run around and cut things with my lightsaber."
"Those were simpler times," Sharr said with an air of false sagacity.
"Maybe we'll get back to 'simpler times' once this mission is over," Turman said.
"Maybe," said Myri, but in her gut she knew, just like the rest of them, that this one mission was probably just the opening volley in a much bigger conflict.
The best they could hope for was to keep the conflict from getting too big and spilling into known space. Myri had already been through one war in her adult life, and it had cost a lot of people dearly, especially her sister.
In a way, the Wraiths' mission now was nothing more ambitious than damage control.
