CHAPTER 13

I.

In the bustling port of Eriadu City, Mara Jade tailed a rebel agent. The operative was a woman with striking blond hair that was almost white. She currently had it partially hidden under a cap, but the braid coming out of the back was enough for Mara to mark her.

She should cut it off. Or change her code name to Target.

Targeter, as she was called, was one of the Alliance's top intelligence operatives, and was rumored to have a holographic memory. While not as infamous as Skywalker or Organa, or as highly placed as Mon Mothma, she did manage to make it onto Director Isard's want list. Getting a make on her had been no easy feat, and ordinarily, Mara would have been more than happy to capture or kill her. But not today.

Today, she was protecting her.

A Rodian came out from a shop and was walking on a course that would intersect with Targeter's.

Here we go.

The handoff was seamless, neither one breaking stride or appearing to have looked at the other. But Mara knew a data chip had been handed over.

She had, after all, sold it to the Rodian two weeks ago.

She continued to shadow Targeter from thirty meters back. She would be the operative's guardian angel until she boarded her transport and got off world. Mara would make no attempt to bug or track the vessel, because the vital element to this plan was for Targeter to give the data to the rebellion and to have no reason to believe she may have been compromised.

Mara sensed something that made the back of her neck tingle unpleasantly. She let her gaze track to the left. A humanoid figure in a hooded cloak was making his way through the crowd of pedestrians and moving subtly in towards Targeter. His gate was wrong for a civilian or even a criminal. He had military training, but more importantly, he had aggressive intentions towards her mark.

Damn it. I have to take him down fast and do it in a way that makes Targeter think it's unrelated to her. Or do it so quietly that she doesn't even know it happened.

Mara liked the latter choice better, and pulled a long vibroblade from the inside of her jacket. She was closing in on the cloaked figure. Five meters away now. Three meters. She drew her arm back, holding the knife so the long blade was concealed against the inside of her forearm.

Sorry, friend.

As she moved into her thrust, the man spun around, cloak whirling and hood falling back. As he brought up his assault rifle to bear on her, Mara saw her own shock reflected in the visor of his battered Mandalorian helmet.

Holy frack.

II.

Just as Boba Fett leveled his blaster carbine at the young woman's face, her heavy vibroblade connected with the barrel, lopping it off with the high-pitched chime of metal-on-metal. Fett didn't miss a beat. He threw the ruined weapon at the girl and brought up his wrist blaster.

The girl didn't miss a trick, either. She readily ducked the carbine toss, and lashed out with her left hand, catching his wrist before he could take aim. He jabbed his left fist into her abdomen and was prepared to let fly his rockets when she thrust a metal cylinder under his mask and into his chin.

"Stop, I'm with the Empire!" she said breathlessly.

"Then frack off," came his metallic reply. "I'm hunting the rebel for Iceheart."

She nodded in understanding. "I know. But she has to make her rendezvous—it's part of a bigger op. I'll see that you're paid whatever she's worth."

"I don't give a damn about your op or your money. She's got a contract on her and I've been hired to take her, so back down now."

The girl didn't budge, and her green eyes went cold.

"I know who you are and I know why you're here, but it's off. That's not a pistol against your throat, it's a fracking lightsaber, and I carry it for the Emperor himself, so if you don't walk away quietly I'll light up the inside of your skull and when you see your old man you can trade notes on how it feels."

Fett jerked at the mention of his father, who had fallen under the blade of a Jedi almost thirty years ago. It took all his restraint not to blow her smug little ass to hell. But there was something larger at stake here, and he had to keep his eye on the larger prize. Syrella deserved nothing less.

He pulled his fist back and took two steps away from her. She let the weapon slip out from under his helmet, and he was a bit surprised to see that it was, in fact, a lightsaber.

"Targeter's a small fish, and I can find her again," he said. He lifted a hand to point at her. Despite his legendary cool, it trembled slightly. "But you had better pray I never see you again."

He pulled his hood back over his helmet, and faded away into the crowd.

Mara looked out at where Targeter had last been.

She was gone.

III.

Commander Luke Skywalker stood at the small podium in the pilot's briefing room on Yavin Victory. The display screen on the wall behind him showed a grey planet with vital stats listed next to it. The eleven pilots in his squadron sat before him.

"Mordus VI," Luke began, "is an Imperial weapons depot near the BlasTech factory in the Seswenna sector. They stockpile light arms to be distributed to Imp ground divisions—everything from the standard E-11s up to the E-Web series."

"Are we going shopping, skipper?" Janson asked.

"You got it," Luke answered. "Princess Leia has briefed command on the Sullustan revolution, and as you could imagine, they need more guns. We're going to get some for them."

Luke tapped a key on the podium and the display screen changed. It showed a large armored bunker with shield generator alongside. "This is the facility. You've probably noticed the shield emitter. We've just gotten some intel that the whole unit is down for repairs, and they're having trouble getting it back online."

"Nice," Hobbie said.

"However," Luke said, "they've made alternate arrangements."

He tapped another key. A Victory-class star destroyer appeared.

"Crap," Hobbie said.

"Now, as much as I know this squadron is itching to mix with a capital ship, we've made some arrangements of our own to avoid that. There will be a feint at another Imperial target—details are need-to-know—but suffice to say that the VicStar will be called away to assist. We'll break atmo, soften up the bunker, eliminate any defensive batteries, and hit any targets of opportunity along the way."

"Do they have any TIEs?" Wedge asked.

"I imagine they'll have something, but the bulk of their squadrons should be stationed on the VicStar. When they jump away, I'm hoping they'll take the TIEs with them. Obviously, we'll have to deal with anything left behind."

"How are we seizing and transporting the weapons?" Tycho asked.

Luke smiled. "That's our next order of business." The display changed to show a Corellian blockade runner. "Antares III will be joining us—

This elicited grumbling protests.

"—and I've been assured that their hyperdrive is in perfect working order this time, so we won't be left high and dry. Antares will land on the surface when we give the green light. They'll be carrying a commando unit that will raid the facility and load the guns onto the ship. Then we make a break for it before the VicStar returns."

The pilots all nodded in understanding.

"Unless there are any questions, you can report to your fighters for preflight. We launch in one hour. Dismissed."

The orange-clad pilots all got to their feet and headed out of the briefing room. Jenna Teradon, the squadron's sole female pilot, lingered at the rear of the pack until they had all shuffled out. Luke noticed she was holding a black tube that was a little over a meter long. She walked over to him.

"Something on your mind, Jenna?"

"Yes, sir. I wanted to thank you."

"For what?"

"I think you know, sir." She fixed her blue eyes on him, and Luke could see that she was tearing up just slightly. "Girls don't fly for the Empire and they rarely fly for the Alliance. If you hadn't stood up for me and made me your wingman, I'd have been the bantha's ass of every joke in the squadron."

Luke stifled a laugh by putting a fist to his mouth and clearing his throat.

"I thought you might enjoy the reference," she said with a mischievous smile.

"Yes, I did," he said with a nod.

"Anyway," she continued, "I wanted to give you this." She handed over the tube, but Luke held a hand up.

"Jenna, I can't accept any gifts—it's not appropriate."

"It's not really a gift, exactly. Think of it as surplus military gear I procured and presented to my commanding officer."

Luke smiled. "Well, that sounds both proper and intriguing. I guess I'll have to take a look." Luke popped the cap off of the tube and slid out its contents.

A long, black scabbard slid into his hand. It came to an end at a handle that was tightly wrapped in tanned nerf hide. The pommel was an oval of brushed metal.

It was a sword.

Luke looked at her in disbelief. "Is this what I think it is?"

She smiled proudly. "Yes, sir. It's a replica, of course. You obviously can't get a genuine Katana sword anymore—but it's supposed to be as good as the originals carried by all the fleet captains."

Luke pulled off the scabbard to reveal a gleaming silver blade. He thumbed on the button inset in the finger guard and the long vibroblade hummed softly with a steady tone that spoke to its quality.

"I know it's not a lightsaber, but it'll penetrate a stormy's armor. I can't wait to see you lay into the next bunch we take on."

"A Katana sword," Luke marveled. "How did you manage this?"

"Quartermaster owed me a favor. It came in with the last batch of ordnance."

Luke turned it off and slid it back into it's sheath.

He shook his head. "I don't even know how to thank you for this," Luke said softly. He moved forward, lifting his hand for a shake, but Jenna had moved in as well, and threw her arms around him in a tight, quick embrace. She shot him a fast kiss on the cheek and immediately pulled back to a respectable distance. She stood at attention.

"Permission to join the squadron, sir?"

Luke, feeling his cheeks reddening, was at a loss for words. He nodded absently.

She tossed off a salute, winked at him, and walked briskly out the door.

"I hope no one saw that," he mumbled to himself. He looked again at the sword.

"And as for you, my new friend, you'll be riding up front with me from now on."

IV.

Onboard Imperial tanker ship 684, a TIE fighter pilot knelt next to the inner hull of the tank section. He had a portable computer on the deck with a cable running into a small satellite dish.

"We're on, sir. Rogue Squadron just made the jump to lightspeed."

"And no other ships have left since Organa's arrival yesterday?" Commander Kedarin asked.

"Affirmative."

Kedarin smiled. The unkempt beard that had grown over the past six months bristled against the inside of his flight helmet. He tapped a button on his chest-mounted control box. "This is the Commander. Man your ships. We launch on my signal."

The black-clad pilots all made for their fighters, eagerly climbing the access ladders on the deployment racks. The six months spent waiting for this moment had been unbearable for all of them.

A stormtrooper in zero-g armor came up beside Kedarin and saluted.

"You have your gear, Lieutenant?"

The trooper raised an industrial cutting torch and lit the flame for a moment and then let it go out again. In his other hand, he held a large, long case containing a portable missile launcher.

"Good. Make sure your aim is exactly accurate—everything depends on it."

Kedarin clapped him on his armored shoulder. The trooper nodded and moved towards the hull. He would begin cutting as soon as all the pilots were in their ships.

The commander made his way to the assault wing's lone double-hulled TIE bomber and dropped into the cockpit. He checked his readouts to make sure the payload was secure. It was.

He took a deep breath. He knew that without shields or hyperdrives, the odds of any of them surviving the attack were remote. Even though he would send a signal to fleet command with their position, it was unlikely that any capital ship could arrive in time to assist.

But it didn't matter. This would be a pivotal moment in Imperial history. He just had to stay alive long enough to launch the bio-weapon.

It could very well be the shot that wins the war.

To be continued…