The day she'd graduated from the Imperial Naval Academy, Fy'lyor had donned her crisp new olive-gray uniform, stood in line with a bunch of pale-skinned human cadets, and recited the pledge of allegiance to the Empire that all new officers had drilled into them by heart.
It was a pledge as old as the Empire itself, though much of the wording had been worked and re-worked over the years. In its original version, every new officer promises to uphold the will of the Emperor. After the Emperor's sudden death, those lines had been hastily changed to mention the 'leaders of the Galactic Empire.' As that Empire had started fracturing, those lines were changed again. Instead of swearing allege-ance to specific people, new officers promised to defend values such as law, order, and the undeniable unity of the Galactic Empire, which at that point had become, to everyone outside, a Remnant.
When Fy'lyor had made the pledge, she had recited new lines purportedly written by Grand Admiral Pellaeon himself. She still swore to defend law and order, but she also swore to 'protect and serve all citizens of the Empire.'
For whatever it was worth, Jagged Fel and Vitor Reige hadn't touched Pellaeon's words during their terms in power.
Perhaps it was because she hadn't sworn loyalty to a specific person that Fy'lyor had found it so easy to turn traitor. That was a harsh way of thinking about it, but it was not a time for niceties.
Natasi Daala had sworn a very different oath than Fy'lyor had. Jagged Fel hadn't sworn one at all. There were things she admired in Jagged Fel, and very different things she admired in Daala, and when she had been forced to choose between them, eventually betraying the former for the latter, she hadn't agonized over personal loyalties, but rather her loyalty to the Empire itself.
That was why she kept asking herself whether using the bioweapon would really protect and serve all citizens of the Empire.
She never did it out loud. Despite the limited repore she'd built with some of Chimaera's crew, she was still a stranger on Daala's ship. During her moments of downtime she would go to her quarters and pace and roll that question over and over in her mind.
She knew she'd been naïve. Daala had gotten her to join by convincing her that exterminating all Yuuzhan Vong was in the best interest of the Empire. At the time, she'd expected such a genocide to happen in a flaming space battle, and a rain of turbolaser fire on the forests of Zonama Sekot. Slipping a bio-weapon into the planet and instantly con-demning all life there felt very different. It was less honorable, no ways about it.
But honor, too, could be a trap. Honoring his alliances and joining with Jacen Solo's fleet at Fondor had led Gilad Pellaeon to his death. If the old man had just slipped Solo some poison from far away, the galaxy would probably be a much better place all around.
Daala was not a woman who stressed honor. She was about getting the job done, quick and dirty. In theory, they could exterminate the entire Yuuzhan Vong race and not lose a single Imperial life. By that logic, Fy'lyor would be betraying her people by not assisting in Daala's hasty genocide.
But that was also too simple. Bio-weapons were notoriously unpredictable. If a single Yuuzhan Vong ship escaped Zonama Sekot, it would carry the disease to another world, where it could mutate and infect local life-forms. It could, in theory, keep mutating until it had destroyed all life in the galaxy.
And yet, other options seems scarce. The Yuuzhan Vong fleet was still somewhere in space, searching for them. Zonama Sekot had proven itself willing and able to destroy dozens of ships in a matter of seconds. Realistically, the bio-weapon was the only chance they had left for victory.
The options rattled through Fy'lyor's mind over and over again and she never found purchase. She felt like she could spin around forever in indecision, but she knew she didn't have that long.
She was lying on her bunk, thinking when she was supposed to be napping, when the call came.
She rolled off her bed and flipped open the channel. "Captain Fy'lyor reporting."
"Come to the bridge at once, Captain," Daala said.
All Fy'lyor had to do was straighten the uniform she hadn't taken off. Then she marched down the corridor, rode up the turbolift, and walked onto the bridge of her star destroyer.
Daala, of course, was already there. She was hunched over the communication console and wore a predatory glare. Fy'lyor felt a chill run down her body.
This, as they said, was it.
"Captain Fy'lyor, reporting," she snapped a salute.
Daala gave her a nod and she relaxed her pose. The old woman said, "We've picked up a signal, Captain. A long-range beacon has been repeating the same message for the past seven minutes."
"What does it say?"
"It's encrypted, so we can't be sure. However, we were quickly able to pinpoint the source of the transmission."
"Do you think it's Zonama Sekot?"
"There's only one way to find out." Daala checked the console. "The source is less than two hours away at light-speed. I want to be combat-ready the moment we drop out of hyperspace."
"Yes, Admiral." Fy'lyor nodded. "Have you decided on a plan of attack yet?"
Daala understood she was asking about the bio-weapon. The weapon was still a tightly-guarded secret shared only with Fy'lyor and select operatives loyal to Daala. As far as Fy'lyor knew, none of them were on the bridge now.
"The preparations are almost complete," she said curtly.
"I see. Will the, ah, prime attack be launching from Chimaera?"
"We will be doing it based on the plan you have laid out, Captain."
Daala said it gently, like she was reminding Fy'lyor of the great trust she'd shown her. If it was meant to make her feel better it was doing the dead opposite.
"Very well. Follow me to my ready-room once we launch for hyperspace," Daala said. "We will review your… battle plan one more time.
"When will that be?"
As if on cue, the navigation lieutenant reported, "Admiral, Captain, we are ready to jump to the coordinates you've provided."
"Excellent," Daala said. "What of the other ships?"
"Repulse and Resolve have recalled their fighter escorts and are standing by. Lanvarok, Schimitar, and Halberd are also standing by."
"Excellent." Daala glanced at Fy'lyor. "Captain, please give the order."
"Very well." Fy'lyor cleared her throat and raised her voice. "Communications, open a channel to all ships."
"Channel open. You're go, Captain."
She hesitated, just for a moment, but she knew she was in too deep to escape now. Whether her choices had been good or bad, she had no choice but to live with them. Or, quite possibly, die with them instead.
Either way, she was about to find out.
"All ships, launch."
Starlines stretched out and filled the forward viewport with light. Fy'lyor had seen it so many times she'd gotten used to it, but right now it took her breath away.
Daala, unsurprisingly, was not impressed by the sight. She clapped a cold hand on Fy'lyor's shoulder and said, "Follow me, Captain. You have a lot of prep work to do, so I'll try to make this brief."
Reluctantly, Fy'lyor pulled away from the beautiful spiral of infinity and followed Daala to her lair.
-{}-
After returning from their research excursion aboard Honor Regained, Vilath Dal, Qelah Kwaad, and Dician moved quickly. They had brought with them a new plate of Vonduun Armor to replace the one they intended to remove, along with necessary surgical equipment.
After Darth Krayt put himself into a healing trance, they laid out the Dark Lord in the center of the lab and began operation. Everyone else, Sith or Yuuzhan Vong, was locked out of the room save the three scientists. At their disposal, they had the best tools from two galaxies, from Yuuzhan Vong molecular probes to Sith holocrons. At times Dician consulted the latter, just as Vilath Dal sometimes referred to the qahsa he'd brought over from Honor Regained.
Qelah Kwaad didn't refer to any guides. Whatever was rattling around in her mind, it was all the old shaper needed.
Even as they performed the stressful operation, Vilath Dal was impressed by his peers. Dician was ever-alert and orderly. Qelah Kwaad's madness seemed to have abated, replaced by a knife-sharp focus on the task at hand. He half-wondered if simple boredom hadn't been the cause for her mental decay over the years.
Boredom had seemed a danger to him at times, but that was in the past. Like Qelah Kwaad, it seemed he'd just needed a good war to provide an invigorating challenge.
When the procedure was finished they moved Krayt, still in mediation, to his stasis container. Then they began the methodical, routine act of cleaning up their surgical equipment.
For that, Dician was more helpful than Qelah Kwaad. The old shaper seemed distracted once the challenge of Krayt's operation was gone. While Vilath Dal and Dician wiped the operation table clean and gathered the remains of Krayt's corrupted armor for disposal, the old shaper picked up his qahsa and began scanning through its contents.
As the old shaper kept muttering to herself in barely-audible Yuuzhan Vong, Dician leaned close to Vilath Dal and asked, "How long do you expect Lord Krayt to stay in his healing trance for?"
"I am no Sith. I cannot answer that."
"Only Lord Krayt can, then." Dician frowned. "I am glad we acted swiftly, but I'm worried he may still be recovering when we need him."
"We've done all we can," Vilath Dal said. "Whatever else... Well, I suppose it's in the hands of your Force now, isn't it?"
"My people believe in taking things from the Force, not waiting for it to hand them favors," Dician said stiffly.
"Very good." Vilath Dal gave a needle-tooth smile. "Just the right attitude for a shaper."
"Shaper!" Qelah Kwaad echoed in Basic.
Vilath Dal turned to her. "Yes, what is it?"
"Shaper, yes, shaper..." Qelah Kwaad went back to mumbling in her native tongue. "Shaper, one-who-was-shaped, one who may be... hmmm... un-shaped..."
"Un-shaped?" Vilath Dal stepped across the room. "What do you mean, un-shaped?"
"Him!" Qelah Kwaad stabbed a finger to the door of Krayt's mediation chamber. "He was shaped once. And re-shaped. By you. By me. But, yes... I think... He can be un-shaped."
"You mean we can remove the armor?" He'd gone over Krayt's biology a dozen times and seen no way to remove it without killing him. Again he wondered if his old master had stumbled upon something brilliant, or if she was simply mad.
"Possibly, possibly," Qelah Kwaad tapped the qahsa. "I feel... we have half the knowledge."
"You mean we have half, and they have half?" he gestured to Dician. "Are you saying he needs the Force to get rid of the armor?"
"What's going on?" Dician frowned. "What's she saying?"
"She says there may be a way to remove the armor, using our skills and the Force combined."
"How? Is she saying how?"
"I cannot understand how," Qelah Kwaad said in Basic. "I understand only... little. Less than little of how your Force works. But I have some ideas. Yes, a few ideas... I must think on them. I must do research. Yes, more research, and you must help me."
"I'd be honored," Dician said soberly. Vilath Dal couldn't tell if she was buying into Qelah Kwaad's ramblings or if she was putting on act. Come to think of it, he didn't know if he was doing either.
Before he could say anything, he heard the distinct sound of knuckles rapping on the laboratory's outer door. He had no idea why someone didn't try to use the communications system installed throughout the ship; perhaps they were afraid of rudely interrupting Darth Krayt's surgery.
The knocking continued as Dician walked over to the door and opened it. The circular portal irised open to reveal the weathered red-and-black face of Darth Nether. Though the old Dornean's eyes were a uniform milky white, suggesting blindness, he moved like one with perfect sight. Vilath Dal was skeptical, but he admitted Force magic could have been at work there.
"Greetings, Lord Nether." Dician gave a slight bow. "Our operation on Lord Krayt is a success. He's recovering in a healing trance."
"Excellent," Nether said, but he seemed to have other things on his mind. "We have intercepted a transmission, broadcast on a wide frequency."
"From whom?" asked Dician.
"We do not know. It is encrypted. However, we were able to locate the source."
"Is it Zonama Sekot?" Vilath Dal asked.
"Most likely." Nether nodded. "Lord Wyyrlok has told us to set course in hyperspace. Honor Regained has agreed to jump with us. We will be at Zonama Sekot in under an hour and should be ready for battle."
"What about Lord Krayt?" asked Dician. "I do not know when he will exit his healing trance."
"Lord Wyyrlok insisted we jump immediately. There's not telling when the other fleets will get there." He glanced at the closed portal to Krayt's chamber. "The reckoning our Lord predicted is at hand. He will not fail us now."
Dician nodded with conviction. And, as he stared at that chamber where the dragon lay sleeping, Vilath Dal found that he shared it too.
-{}-
Wynssa Fel had been aboard Vindicator for less than two days, but she was already getting used to it. The atmosphere aboard the Imperial ship was markedly different than that of Starless. The crew (mostly human, but not all) moved with discipline and efficiency. Every corridor and chamber was well-cleaned. Despite the frantic conditions and awkward shuffling of ships and supplies to accommodate the new-comers, Wynssa never heard a crew-member complain or raise objections to Captain Vernedet. It was almost as if people in the Empire knew their place.
Yes, she much preferred this to how the Alliance did things.
She admired that efficiency now as she walked down the center aisle of Vindicator's bridge with Captain Vernedet. The old captain had conducted himself admirably thus far, maintaining polite and formal communication with Wynssa, Jagged and Captain Pavric from Corusca Gem so that all parties could make arrangements for mutual benefit. He allowed no insolence from his crew and got none either. He was the kind of middle-man that had surely kept the Empire alive for almost seventy years despite a long chain of corrupt, abusive, or outright insane leaders.
They were at the tactical station, where the holoprojection showed the positions of the surviving capital ships in Trinity Fleet, including the converted Phoenix. Sunbeam was rendered in an orange mark, and smaller green dots marked the supply ships that were currently hovering around the dead cruiser like scavenger birds as they picked away useful materials from its carcass. Small dots also marked the fighter patrols that flew around the fleet at all times. Right now there were two flights in space: four E-wings from Corusca Gem circling the gas giant's lower orbit, and four of Wynssa's own Clawcraft making a wide arc just outside the planet's gravity well.
"How much longer until your patrol is due in?" Vernedet asked.
"Approximately twenty standard minutes," she told him.
Vernedet nodded. "All right. I'll get a flight of Interceptors prepped to take their place."
"Thank you, Captain. Have your squadrons been moved to Corusca Gem?"
"They have. We were lucky they had docking bays suited for TIE fighters."
"I appreciate your volunteering to move your squadrons. It means a great deal to keep all my pilots in one place."
"I'm sure it makes them easier to coordinate," Vernedet said. "And I'm sure it's hard enough for your pilots to get used to one new barn. Having to spread them out over two ships would just confuse-"
"Captain!" a woman called from the communications station. "We're picking up a signal, coming across on mul-tiple frequencies."
Wynssa tensed. This could very well be the coded beacon from Zonama Sekot that Jag was waiting on.
"What does it say?" Vernedet stalked over to the comm station and Wynssa followed.
"We can't tell, sir. It's encrypted, but it seems to be a wide-range broadcast."
"Zonama Sekot," Wynssa said.
"Very likely." Determination set on Vernedet's craggy face. "Lieutenant, get me a line with Commander Fel. Now."
"Copy. Stand by." The woman flipped a few switches. "Starless, this is Vindicator. Requesting direct link to Commander Fel."
They waited a moment, then Wynssa heard her brother's voice scratch over the speaking.
"This is Fel," he said. "You're getting the signal?"
"We are," Vernedet said. "Can you decrypt it?"
"We already have. It's a message from Master Solo."
"Do we have a location?" Wynssa asked.
If either Jagged or Verndet minded her intrusion, they gave no indicator. Jag said, "Yes. We're sending it to all ships."
"How far away are they?" asked Vernedet.
"A little over an hour. Expect a combat situation immed-iately after we revert to realspace."
"That's not much time to prepare," Vernedet scowled.
"There's nothing we can do. We'll launch as soon as we recall our fighter patrols."
"Copy," Wynssa said, and hurried back to the tactical station to issue a recall to her fighters.
Behind her, she heard Vernedet ask, "Should we put all staff on combat standby?"
"Not just standby," her brother said. "I want everyone on red alert."
Wynssa popped off her recall order, and watched on the tactical screen as her Clawcraft began wheeling their way back to Vindicator. The E-wing flight was also on its way back to the barn.
Vernedet settled on her side. "Commodore, direct orders from Commander Fel. He wants all crew on red alert and all fighters ready to launch."
"I heard." Wynssa said. "Before we jump, I want to borrow your long-range transceiver. I need to relay these coordinates."
"Help?" Vernedet raised a gray eyebrow.
Wynssa nodded. She had no idea if Shawnkyr would be able to muster any additional support. In fact she doubted it; the isolationists on Csilla had probably claimed vindication after Celestial's destruction and would use it as reason to block any more foreign ventures, no matter how hard Shawnkyr or her father protested.
"I can promise nothing," she said, "But I think we may need it."
"That's a distinct possibility. My transceiver is yours, Commodore. If you'll excuse me, I have work to do."
As he stepped away, Wynssa said, "Thank you, Captain. As my people say, fight brave and fly true."
He looked over his shoulder. "A Chiss adage?"
"A Fel one, Captain."
"Hmm. Good thing we've got two of you today."
She watched his back as he walked off. She didn't dare tell him that Soontir and Syal Fel had already lost four children in battle. Given their family's history, it seemed almost inevitable that at least one more child would be lost in the coming inferno.
Then again, there was nothing typical about the battle ahead, or the situation Wynssa found herself in now, which she had never been trained for, never expected, never imagined facing.
If they had come that far, there might be another miracle or two in store.
