"We'd done everything we wanted to. We rescued Niner and the Deltas, and a few more defecting clones besides. We'd even saved Altis' friend Plett. We could have bailed right there, but we didn't. We were already in too deep, with Altis and Syne both, so we kept fighting. We would have had to fight to get out, too, except then we'd have had to fight good people who'd trusted us. It was easier, better, cleaner to fight the Imps."

It was amazing how fast one of the Empire's top fighting ships could crumble from the inside. Uthan's modified virus worked fast. As Walon Vau's assault team cut its way up the command tower, the resistance it met was weak and confused. The clone troops who did fight were barely able to shoot straight, and Vau's men, mostly clones themselves, did their best to disable the sick soldiers instead of killing them outright.

A'Sharad Hett was at the fore of the attack, batting back laser blasts with his twin lightsabers and acting as a living shield from Syne's commandos and the mutinous clones. He followed the clones' example and tried to wound his enemy without killing them. His sabers cut through armor easily and he tried to limit himself to stabbing legs or severing hands, but every time he came close enough to see his face reflected in a clone's black visor his memory flashed back to Order 66, when panic and rage had overtaken him and he'd killed without hesitation to keep from dying himself, and a part of him couldn't believe he was showing these men charity they'd never have shown him.

The Imperials tried to enact security protocols to lock the attackers out of corridors approaching the command deck, but a closed door was nothing against a pair of lightsabers. Hett cut through barrier after barrier until he finally carved a massive, smoking hole through the blast doors protecting Valediction's bridge.

The storming of the command deck was a complete anticlimax. Half the crew were slumped against their consoles, too weak to stand. One of them tried to raise his sidearm but quickly dropped it when Vau's strill charged him with bared teeth. None of the others even tried to bring arms against the boarding crew, but Syne's commandos quickly confiscated their weapons anyway.

One of the 501st clones, Soru, hurried over to the communications station. He forcibly shoved aside the crewman and took his seat. A few of the commandos went to help him kill the communications lockout and send a message to Syne.

"Who's in charge here?" Spar bellowed as he stalked around the crew pit. The Mandalorian trained his rifle on bridge officers as he passed them. "C'mon, we don't have all shabla day here."

When none of them volunteered, another 501st, Joc, asked, "Where's the captain? Where's Pellaeon?"

"He's not here!" a lieutenant at the gunnery station said. He was slumped in his chair and looked ready to vomit.

"Where's your XO, Vernedet?" asked Boss.

Nobody answered. Hett stalked over to the gunnery lieutenant. His shadow fell over the sick man and without asking he pressed a hand against the man's face.

Seeing into minds had never been his specialty, not normally, but since his spacewalk over Belsavis he'd found himself hyper-attuned to passing thoughts and feelings. He tried to connect his awareness with the lieutenant's. The man made a short moaning noise and started breathing fasted. Hett could feel the fear and confusion and panic- he even started to feel sick in his stomach- and then he plucked a solid memory: another lieutenant, the executive officer, shockingly hale compared to his crew, rushed off the bridge for some-where else.

Hett removed himself from the lieutenant's mind. The officer keeled forward and started retching; strings of vomit fell into his lap.

Hett ignored him and turned to the waiting cluster of black-armored clones and Mandalorians. "The captain and executive officer are both gone."

"Gone where?" Joc asked.

"I can't tell. I don't think anyone knows."

"Escape, maybe," Spar suggested.

"That's not Pellaeon's style," Joc insisted.

"You never know…"

"Does this thing have an auxiliary command deck? Or a self-destruct?" Vau asked.

The 501st troopers looked at each other. Boss said, "They might try to sabotage the ship. All the power comes from the engines. They could try to cut them off or blow up the core."

"Knew this wouldn't be easy," Vau growled. "Okay, we'll send teams to find 'em. Scorch, call Fixer and see if he can take his team to the engine core.

"Got it, Sarge."

"What about the comm system?" Hett yelled across the deck to Soru.

"Back to normal. We can transmit directly from the bridge and only from the bridge," the clone replied.

"Lovely." Vau punched his palm. "Call Syne. Tell her she's good to go."

"What about Pellaeon and Vernedet?" asked Boss. "They're still threats."

"Then we terminate them. Can you get a team there?"

"I'd need to review the ship specs one more time, but I think so."

"Then do it, fast. There's no time to waste."

"Signal to Syne went through," Soru called. "She's on her way."

Vau turned his black helmet on Hett. "You gonna wait here for het or are you gonna track down the captain?"

"You have the bridge under control. I'll go after the captain."

"Good. Boss, Scorch, take this jetii with you. Might come in handy."

"I'm coming too," insisted Joc.

"Sure, the more the merrier," Vau waved a hand.

"Fixer's on his way too," Scorch reported. "They've got Niner with them."

"Good for Niner," Vau looked back to Hett. "You keep my boys safe, you understand? And you keep this ship safe. No matter what you have to do."

His hands tightened on his sabers. "I won't hesitate."

"Good." Vau gave him a shove toward the door. "Guess some saber-jocks are useful after all. Now go! Oya!"

-{}-

Gilad Pellaeon didn't have time to think about the enormity of his failure.

He didn't have time to think at all.

He still had one hand clamped around Hallena's wrist as he dragged her down the corridors. Rede went ahead of them; he was alert and had his rifle up at all times. They'd somehow become hostiles on their own ship and nothing made sense; he kept his grip tight on Hallena because she seemed the only real thing left in the universe.

She'd stopped protesting and stopped trying to drag him down. When he looked back at her she trudged dutifully, lovelessly, resigned to her fate. It almost made him hurt inside but he was too confused to feel even guilt.

Yet another door slid open and suddenly they were facing Vernedet and a squadron of white-armored clones. Rede lowered his sidearm; Pellaeon did not until Vernedet held up both hands and told him to stop.

Pellaeon lowered the gun. "I'm sorry, Mynar. I'm so sorry, about all of this-"

"It's all right, sir," Vernedet said, though it clearly wasn't. His eyes fell on Hallena and went dark.

"The cause of all your problems," she said, dry and unapologetic.

"Gil, we don't have time to drag her around."

His grip on his wrist got even tighter. "No. We'll talk about this later. For now, she stays."

"Gil, they've poisoned the ship. Most of the crew has come down sick somehow. I don't know why we haven't."

"Who's taken over? Jedi? Mandalorians?"

"Apparently both, sir. And some mutineers from the five-oh-first."

Pellaeon put a hand on Rede's shoulder. "This man is loyal, don't worry."

That only slightly soothed Vernedet. "Captain, they have the bridge. I knew we couldn't defend it, not with everyone sick, but I think we can stop Valediction before she reaches the blockade."

Grim knowledge broke through the confusion. "The reactor core."

"Even if we don't destroy the ship we can cripple her engines." Vernedet tapped a pair of grenades hooked to his belt. The clone troops all had their share. "Sir, you don't have to come with me. We should get you to an escape pod."

"Mynar, this is my fault. My... judgment was clouded." He couldn't bear to look at Hallena, even as his fingernails dug into her arm. "This is my ship. My failure."

Vernedet wanted to object but didn't. Instead he let his eyes drift back to Hallena. "And what of... your failure, sir?"

He thought a moment, then said, "Rede, please take the prisoner to escape pod V-5 and stand by for further instructions. If we... if the ship begins to self-destruct, eject both her and yourself."

"Very good, sir," Rede said.

He stepped behind Hallena and twisted her one arm behind her back. Pellaeon let go of her wrist and listened to her grunt as Rede twisted the other arm too.

Without looking back at her, he said, "Thank you, Rede. You may go now."

He heard footsteps fall down the corridor. He still didn't look back. Instead he kept his eyes on Vernedet's, on their accusation, their sorrow, their grim determination.

Vernedet didn't deserve to die for Pellaeon's mistakes. As soon as they secured the core he'd tell the clones to haul Vernedet to the escape pod too, then detonate the explosives himself.

"All right, Mynar," Pellaeon said, "Let's fix my mistake."

-{}-

The one good thing about Demetrius Zaarin's arrival on Majesty's bridge was that he didn't bring Darys with him. He had, in fact, not brought anyone aboard except for two guards and a Jedi child captured at Belsavis. The guards had transferred the child to Majesty's holding cells, which left Zaarin to lurk around the bridge.

The destruction of Maressa had gone smoothly, and after taking the fastest sublight shuttle through the interdiction field, Zaarin arrived exactly thirty minutes later, just in time to see one of the more minor islands on the southern hemisphere light up.

"I have to admire your ruthlessness, Octavian," the commodore said followed Grant around the bridge like a shadow. "Though as far as I can tell, you've yielded little tangible results yet."

"Syne will be here," Grant said stiffly. "Then you'll see what tangible results look like. I know you haven't spotted many yourself lately."

Zaarin chuckled easily for a man whose mission had been a wash at best. "Eye of Palpatine was a mess, but it will fall on Keldor's head and no one else's. I guarantee it."

"Meaning what?" Grant was curious.

"The Eye was a top-secret project. Not even Tarkin or you knew about it. If the Emperor tries to punish us for what happened at Belsavis, he risks exposing the entire mess."

"How comforting," Grant said, half-honestly. He'd figured success against Jereveth Syne would insulate him any failures at Belsavis, but a backup plan never hurt any man.

"Admiral!" Griff called from the tactical station, "A dreadnaught has just dropped out of hyperspace."

His pulse quickened. "Do you have an identification?"

"Her transponder marks her as Iconoclast."

"Excellent." Grant tried to hide his excitement as he walked over to the communications station. "Hail the ship. See if she responds."

Zaarin kept step and followed him. "One ship isn't a whole fleet. Slayke is still out there."

"I am aware of that, Commodore," Grant said. When he got to the comm station he made a point of not looking at Zaarin and asked the section lieutenant, "Do we have a response?"

The woman nodded. "I have Iconoclast on the line."

Grant pulled out his comlink. "Very good. Put her on."

There was a click, and then a woman's cool voice said, "This is Jereveth Syne. I am here to offer my surrender if you halt your attacks on Bavinyar."

"Straight to the point, lovely," Grant said. "I note that you have only brought one ship. We both know you have more."

"You asked for my surrender, Admiral Grant. Only mine."

"Where is Slayke?"

"He took his fleet and left."

"How convenient of him."

"He had no wish to be entangled in this fight. I asked for his assistance but he did not give in."

"Well, we both know there's little he could have done at any rate." He glanced at the large tactical display Griff was standing next to. "I see you are approaching Bavinyar at maximum speed. Are you willing to be boarded?"

"As a show of trust, yes. It will take us time to meet with your ships. Promise me you will not fire on Bavinyar in the meantime."

"Agreed. Two destroyers will be sent to intercept you. If they detect your weapons are hot, they will open fire."

"Understood. Also understand that I will keep my shields up as they approach."

"I'd expect nothing less. Is there anything else?"

"Not at the moment, Admiral."

"Excellent. Grant, out."

As he pocketed his comlink Zaarin said, "That's too easy. She's planning something."

"Oh, I don't doubt that. The question is what it is and how futile it will be."

Grant walked over to the tactical holo. Bavinyar was it its center, with targeted islands marked by red dots. Ships in the system were also marked; most formed a green ring around the planet, but Iconoclast and Valediction were both inbound, approaching from opposite sides of the interdiction field.

Pointedly addressing Captain Griff, he said, "Command Valor and Resilient to intercept Syne's ship. Tell them to approach with weapons hots and shields up. Move Grappler in their wake, fifty kilometers behind."

As Griff relayed the orders, Zaarin said, "You're trying to extend the interdiction field, in case she tries to run for it."

"It's possible. She may be trying to hit-and-run, or a distraction for another insertion."

"You might end up putting Grappler in her line of fire. If we lose that drag ship-"

"We'll still have one more interdictor. And Syne would have to break past two destroyers to even reach Grappler, which is highly unlikely. Besides, I don't think she's planning on that kind of suicide."

Zaarin's face creased in a frown. "What kind is she planning then? What's she after?"

"In all modesty, me."

"You think she wants revenge for her father."

"Syne comes from a noble line, in her fashion. Family is important to her." It was something a low-born and shameless climber like Zaarin would never understand.

The commodore crossed thick arms over his chest. "Are you sure that's not your ego speaking, Octavian?"

He allowed a smile. "We'll see, won't we?"

Zaarin snorted. "You know, I hope she does try it. It'll make for a fun end to your little drama."

Grant hoped she did too. It had been satisfying to send Marath Vooroo to Coruscant in chains, but Syne was different. She could be beaten but never humiliated; it was both admirable and frustrating.

As he watched her ship creep toward Bavinyar, his gut told him he was going to get his wish.

-{}-

The ignition core to Valediction's engines were buried in the heart of the ship. The massive spherical reaction chamber was walled in by other parts of the destroyer's superstructure on most sides, but the engineer's access area was a large chamber with three tiers of catwalks around a segment of the curving sphere.

Pellaeon and Vernedet arrived from the third tier. As captain, Pellaeon could disable the security protocols easily, though he doubted they would give much pause to the multifarious boarding party either.

It was the beating heart of a beautiful ship, and now Pellaeon was ordering the clones to lay explosive charges on all three tiers. They quickly clambered down the stairs to access the other catwalks, but Pellaeon and Vernedet stood against the top railing, looking down at the reactor core.

"Mynar, I know my apology can't be enough," he said. He couldn't look at his friend's face.

"No, it's not." Vernedet said, level but angry. "Gil, I warned. You know that-"

An explosion rocked the catwalk and for a moment Pellaeon thought the grenades had gone off; then he saw smoke pour onto the tier beneath them and heard the distinctive hum of lightsabers.

The clones on the level beneath spun and started firing. They only got off a few shots before an invisible hand grabbed them and threw them hard against the side of the core. Then a man swept into view: tall, broad-shouldered, tan face marked by jagged tattoos, an emerald lightsaber in either hand.

Then a trio of black-armored 501st commandos swept in behind him. The clones on the third tier started firing down over the railing and Pellaeon and Vernedet grabbed their weapons and shot down as well. The mutineers on the second tier scrambled for cover but the Jedi remained where he was in the center of the platform, artfully batting back laser blasts with both sabers.

There was another explosion. More smoke furled up from the lowest tier, and the chamber filled with the sound of more blasterfire.

"Oh dammit," Pellaeon spat. "We're too late."

"Those charges are still down there." Vernedet reached for his belt.

"Mynar, what are you-"

"You!" he pointed to the nearest clone. "Get the captain to the escape pod! Now!"

"Mynar!"

Vernedet grabbed a grenade off his belt and ran toward the core. Pellaeon shouted at him but two clone troopers hooked their arms around his shoulders and ragged him back into the corridor. As the doors closed he saw the flash of two emerald blades as the Jedi leaped up onto the topmost catwalk, right in front of Vernedet-

-the door closed and the clones kept pulling him away. A second later the doors burst open and the hallway rocked with an explosion that sent all three of them to their feet. Pellaeon fell with his face to the hard deck and waited, waited, for the explosion that would kill them all, but it didn't come. He couldn't see anything for the smoke or hear for the ringing in his ears.

Somehow, the clones got to their feet, grabbed him, and pulled him down the corridor. He still lived, and it could only mean his friend was dead.

-{}-

The fight ended as fast as it began. Scorch, Boss, and Joc followed the big, dual-wielding Jedi onto the second tier and watched him dispatch two clones with ease. Fi and Fixer's party broke through on the second tier at the same time and quickly secured the area. Some Imp officer on the top level leaped for the core with a grenade in hand, and Hett had jumped up to intercept him. There was no time for finesse; the Jedi cut him in two with one swipe of the lightsaber, then Force-hurled his grenade down the adjacent corridor and pulled the blast doors shut.

There was one explosion, and then it was done.

Even with the fight over, nobody relaxed.

Corr directed Levet, Fixer, and Sull in disarming the explosive charges around the reactor core. Scorch immediately spotted Niner, stripped of his armor and helmet, standing between Fi and Parja with a rifle to one side, looking a little lost.

Scorch had been stuck in limbo just like the rest of them, not knowing whether Rede had slotted Niner or Dar. He'd mentally banished them both to the land of the dead, and just seeing one of them alive was enough to make him weak with relief.

"Good to see you around, Ner'ika," Scorch slapped him on the back. "Thanks for the loaner."

"Loaner?" Niner blinked. He really was out of it.

Scorch knocked his helmet. "Your buy'c. Without it we'd have never hooked up with Vau and pulled this off."

Niner's face went blank for a second, then he nodded. The poor barve wasn't close to okay.

"Fi, call Vau, then have Fixer take your group up to the bridge," Boss said.

"I thought it's mission accomplished," said Parja.

"Maybe. I want to check with our jetii minder."

Scorch followed Boss and Joc up the stairs to the top tier to see Hett standing over the body of the dead officer. It was a grotesque sight; the man had been cut through above the waist and his two halves laid awkwardly atop one another. The only mercy was that his face was firmly planted against the deck.

"I think that's the executive officer," Scorch said.

"Then where's Pellaeon?" asked Joc.

"Joc'ika, I don't think we're going to get him alive," Boss warned.

"We're also missing Hallena Devis, the last prisoner," said Hett.

"I want to save Hallena too," Joc said, "I'll put in a call to the bridge. See if they've spotted any of them on cams. Give me a sec."

Joc stepped aside from a private conversation in his helmet, leaving Boss, Scorch, and Hett to stand over the dead man's body.

"What's the status of the clone soldiers?" Hett's voice was a low growl.

"Looks like four wounded, six dead," said Boss.

The Jedi didn't reply. Scorch said, "You had to stop him. Otherwise we'd all be in little burned-up pieces."

Joc stepped back into the group. "Brant gave the cams a look-over. Says he's spotted a dark-skinned woman and a five-oh-first trooper by the escape pods on V-deck. My guess is the captain's on his way."

"Okay," Hett said. "We'll go out the way we came."

There wasn't time to say goodbye to Fi's party. Hett went down the stairs and out into the corridor fast, and the three clones scampered to keep up with him.

As they walked, Scorch sidled along Boss and said, "One five-oh-first commando, alone?"

"Must be Rede."

"I'll gonna kill him."

"Be careful," Joc warned. "We want Hallena safe. And Pellaeon too, if he's there."

"Rede killed Dar. No way he's getting off this ship."

"I know, but he's not the main priority. Besides, I bet our Jedi friend doesn't like your revenge kick."

Hett stopped and looked over his shoulder. Something in his hard eyes made Scorch shirk.

"I won't stop you," he said, and kept walking.

-{}-

Somehow he found the strength to stumble on under his own power. He should have done something- order the clones to take Hallena and escape without him, find some other way to sabotage himself, at least die bravely as Mynar had- but he couldn't think of anything. He couldn't do anything except shamble onward and try to wrap his mind around the many levels of his failure.

The escape pods on V-deck were placed along a narrow corridor. He saw Hallena and Rede waiting at the far end, and as he walked past the other sealed airlocks he saw that a number of pods bad already jettisoned. It was shameful for a captain to abandon his ship, but with Valediction seized and Vernedet dead, one more dose of shame hardly mattered. He could at least face his inevitable court martial like an officer and stand before the firing squad with a semblance of dignity.

He had no idea what do with Hallena. They stared at each other in the hallway, clone soldiers looking down both their backs. No one moved.

"Gil, I want you to know I'm sorry," she said. "I had no idea this would happen, any of it."

"We're too late for sorries."

He'd dropped his sidearm during the fight near the reactor, but one of the clones had given him a hold-out pistol for defense. It felt very heavy in his hand.

"Your friends have taken this ship." It was a statement, not a question, but she nodded anyway. "I suppose you'd like to be left with them."

"I'm in no position to ask for anything." Her voice was as flat and exhausted as his.

"No. But neither am I." His fingers twitched around his stock of his gun. He turned to Rede and said, "Open the airlock.

"Very good, sir," the clone said. He pulled open the hatch to the escape pod. There was just enough room for the five of them inside.

"Is that what you want, Gil?" she asked. "Do you want to be executed together?"

That was the crux of it. He looked at the woman he'd loved, the woman who'd taken everything from him without even meaning to. He didn't know if she deserved to die. He didn't want her too. He was sure of that, despite it all. Killing Hallena wouldn't bring Mynar back, or his command. He'd failed his oath, his duty, and all the good men who trusted him and nothing could undo any of it.

He looked into those wide eyes and so much passed between them: so much good that couldn't be erased by the disaster of the last few hours, though they had every right to be.

He swallowed. "Soldiers, let her go."

"Sir?" Rede asked. "Are you certain-"

"Yes, I'm-"

The sound of laserfire filled the hallway. Plasma bolts, blue and red, shot toward them from the opposite end. One clone was dropped by a lucky stun shot to the neck, another took a red bolt to his shoulder. Rede interposed himself between Pellaeon and the attackers and was immediately caught in the leg by a stun bolt. The clone staggered forward, still upright, when a half-dozen killing blasts took him in the chest and blew him off his feet.

Rede knocked into Pellaeon and both fell through the airlock. The remaining trooper jumped in after them and pulled the door shut behind them.

"Wait-" Pellaeon shouted. "Wait, Hallena!"

The escape pod shuddered and tumbled out into space. Pellaeon kicked himself free of Rede's body and pulled himself to the pod's tiny porthole, where he watched the gray wedge of his Valediction, his pride and his shame, shrink to nothing against the stars.

-{}-

Scorch and Joc charged down the corridor toward the two prone bodies left on the deck. Scorch kept his weapon trained on the fallen soldier until he got close enough to give the man's white armor a kick. He didn't budge; the stun shot had brought him down.

Joc and was crouching over the woman. The Jedi, Hett, shut down both lightsabers and joined him. Joc was touching her shoulder gently, saying, "Miss Devis? Miss Devis, are you all right?"

Scorch saw her fingers claw at the smooth durasteel of the deck. Her arms tightened but she didn't rise, didn't pick her face off the cold metal. Something in her didn't want to.

"Miss Devis, it's me. Joc. From JanFathal. Torrent Company."

Her eyes opened. She pressed her palms flat against the floor and pushed herself up so she cold look at him.

"I know you can't tell, miss," Joc said. "But it's me. In the airlock, was that Pellaeon?"

She shoved herself fully upright but stayed seated on the floor. Her voice was hollow as she said, "That was him."

Something silent passed between her and Joc, something Scorch wasn't close to understanding, especially when his friend's face was hidden by his helmet's black mask.

"Lucky he escaped," Joc said softly.

"No." She closed her eyes. "Not for him."

Scorch stared, uncomprehending, when Boss nudged his shoulder. His sarge said, "Good shooting, ner vod."

"We don't know if it was him."

"Ask her."

It felt wrong to intrude on whatever the Devis woman's private grief was, but he asked, "Miss, do you know the name of that trooper in black armor?"

After a second, she said, "Rede. He called himself Rede. Did you know him?"

Scorch didn't know what to say.

Boss said, "He was in our unit."

"I'm sorry," she replied.

Scorch wasn't, and neither was Boss, but they could never explain it all to her just like she could never explain it all to them. Despite it all, theirs were two separate worlds.

-{}-

Levet was at the head of the column, followed by Fi and Parja. Niner had never met Fi's cyar'ika; he'd heard of her and wanted to see her, but he'd never imagined it would be like this. He lagged behind them while Fixer and Sull brought up the rear. They were en route to the bridge, walking through empty corridors and chambers where clones and mongrel officers lay numbed and writhing in their fever-haze, when the call came.

Niner didn't get it himself; he didn't have a helmet or a comlink. The call came to Fi, who dropped back from Parja and clapped Niner on the shoulder.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Just got a call from Scorch. Good news."

"What is it?"

"They tracked the captain down to the escape pods. He got away, but they grabbed the prisoner, one of Altis' people. Or Syne's, I can't remember."

"What's the good news?"

It wasn't a joke, but Fi laughed. "Rede was with 'em, covering the escape."

"Rede?" Niner had hardly thought about the clone since taking his stun blast to the face.

"They got him, Niner. Killed the shabuir." Fi squeezed his shoulder. "Means Dar can rest a little easier."

Niner didn't know what to say. He didn't know what to feel. He was still stuck in a void without direction or even grief. He didn't even know if he should feel grief for Rede, an empty husk of a man who never got a chance to be real, executed for a crime he didn't commit.

Fi noticed his blank expression and gave him another squeeze. "It'll be okay, Ner'ika. You're with your vode now. We're never splitting up, never again."

Niner nodded, and was very relieved when Fi took his hand away.

-{}-

In his long and eventful life, Kal Skirata had never stood at the helm of a star destroyer. The crew, now a weird mix of clones and mongrel commandos, worked in the pits beneath him and the big forward viewport revealed a panorama of deadly pale gray warships hovering over the blue face of Bavinyar. It was an exhilarating, empowering sensation, so different from fighting in the trenches with his boys. For an instant he understood how a self-important it made me like Grant feel.

An instant was as long as it lasted. He turned away from the stunning view and watched his sons march onto the bridge: Fi led the way with Parja at his side, followed by Corr, Levet, and Spar. Niner in his black jumpsuit and Fixer in black armor brought up the rear.

"Mission accomplished, buir," Fi walked out onto the platform that spanned between the two crew pits and clapped Skirata on the forearm.

Fi took a moment to look around the bridge. The other Deltas and Yayax had yet to return, but everyone else had converged on the command deck. Vau still stood by the viewport with Lord Mird sitting on its haunches beside him. Jaing and Mereel were down in the crew pit and Ordo was by the tactical station with Brant and Spar.

Jusik stood on the port side of the bridge with a hastily-made sling supporting his wounded shoulder. He had his helmet off and wore a tired, almost wistful expression that made him look much older than he was. Tay'haai's beskar flute hung from his belt, another shiny cylinder to match his lightsaber. Across the bridge, looking especially out of place, a tall old Ho'din in Jedi robes stood with his hands braced against the back of an empty seat.

"We did it," Fi said, half to himself.

Skirata nodded. There had been too many losses, and he knew the grief would catch up to him soon enough, but for now he allowed himself to savor victory.

His family was together, finally, and they'd never be torn apart again.

"Buir," Ordo called, "Iconoclast is getting close to the destroyers."

Skirata looked to the comm station. "Anything from Syne?"

"No signal yet," Soru reported.

"It'll be any time now," Vau said as he walked down the aisle. "We need to get ready."

Up ahead, hovering over the blue glow of Bavinyar, was Delayer. The interdictor looked like a flat star destroyer with spherical gravity well projectors swelling on either side of the hull.

"Take us close to the drag ship," Vau said. "Just close enough to fire. Don't make 'em suspicious. And get a firing solution ready."

Affirmatives came from Syne's commandos, who were manning most of the systems aside from communications and tactical. When the fight was over, this would be their ship, and Skirata didn't begrudge them the prize his boys had fought to claim. Standing on this bridge felt good, but it wasn't for him. Spending too much time on a ship like this went to a man's head and gave him delusions of grandeur.

"We've got a call from Majesty," Soru reported, voice tense. "They're asking why several of our escape pods have just ejected."

"Shab," Vau snapped. "Tell 'em we've had a series of mechanical failures, but we're getting them under control."

"Will they believe that?" Fi asked.

"For a couple minutes, maybe, which is all that matters." Vau planted his fists on his hips and watched Delayer swing along their starboard side. It was a very tempting target, and all they needed was Syne's last signal.

"They're requesting to speak to Captain Pellaeon," Soru said grimly.

"Tell 'em he'll be a couple minutes," Fi muttered.

"Buir, they're sending out shuttles to recover the pods now," Ordo reported. "They'll probably find Pellaeon in one of them."

"Okay, shab the wait-a-minute plan," Vau said. "Guns, take aim on that drag ship."

"We're supposed to wait for a signal from Syne," Ordo reminded them.

Skirata looked back at the tactical holo. Iconoclast was almost between the two destroyers. She would be making a break for it any second now.

"I say close enough," Vau told him.

"Agreed."

"You want to give the order or should I?"

It was uncharacteristically generous of Vau, and Skirata saw no reason not to take him up on the offer. He turned to the gunnery station.

"Weapons, take aim."

"Standing by."

He pointed at the gray wedge of the drag ship, felt that dangerous sense of power shudder through him, and snapped his fingers.

"Fire."

-{}-

Grant was standing in front of the tactical station, staring at Syne's dreadnaught move between Valor and Resilient, when lights started flashing on the other side of the planet's curve. Suddenly the entire deck seemed to buckle. A tightness gripped Grant's chest, the disappeared just as fast as it had come.

He knew that sensation; he'd felt it at Farstine just days ago. It meant that an artificial gravity well had suddenly died.

"Admiral, we have a problem," Griff said, voice tense.

Grant looked at the holo. Delayer's marker was flashing green and red, and right next to it, easily within firing range, was Captain Pellaeon's Valediction.

"Admiral we're getting reports from Pulsar and Unvanquished. They're saying Valediction just fired on Delayer."

"Comm," Grant snapped, "Get me a line to Pellaeon! Now!"

"Admiral," said the comm officer, "We're getting no response. Pulsar also detected a series of escape pods ejecting from the ship right before the attack. They're trying to recover them now."

"Have Pulsar and Unvanquished pen that ship in, and keep hailing Valediction." Grant turned to Zaarin, still breathing down on his neck. "Was it the Jedi? Could that prisoner have done something? Taken over Pellaeon's mind, maybe?"

"They had him pumped full of too many drugs to count," Zaarin shook his head. "Unless that witch Darys did something."

"Sirs, there's another possibility." Melusar appeared suddenly behind them and made them both jump; he was almost as bad as the Inquisitor. "The ship may have been boarded."

"Boarded?" Zaarin scowled. "How? By whom?"

Before Melusar could answer, Griff said, "Sirs, Iconoclast is making a run for it!"

Grant looked back to the tactical holo. Sure enough, the dreadnaught was slipping between Valor and Resilience. The two Venator-class destroyers were firing full broad-sides at the passing ship but her shields were just barely withstanding the attacks.

Griff said, "Admiral, she's heading for Grappler."

One drag ship down, one left. "Get me a line to that ship! Call her! Now!"

It took an interminable few seconds to call Iconoclast, and Grant watched on the holo as the dreadnaught, battered but still flying, limped past the two destroyers and plowed a direct course for the interdictor.

"Admiral," said communications, "We've got Syne."

"Give her to me. Now." He flicked his comlink on and stalked away from Zaarin and Melusar. "Madam Syne, this is foolish. Lay down your arms now."

"I'm sorry, Vice Admiral, I won't be doing that." Her voice sounded smooth, almost smug.

"Your vessel is heavily damaged. Even if you make it to Grappler you can't outfight it."

"I don't need to outfight it, Admiral."

The dreadnaught inched closer. Realization struck. His jaw dropped. "No."

"We have little to say to each other, Admiral. This signal will be cutting out in a minute, so I'm sorry we can't speak longer."

"You'll be killed. Your whole ship-"

"I'm not on the ship, though I am using it as a relay point for this comm signal. I'm not even in the Bavinyar System; at least, not yet. Those old slave circuits come in handy sometimes. Goodbye, Admiral."

There was a click, and she was gone.

"Admiral," Griff said, "Valediction has started to fire on Unvanquished. Pulsar is moving to help but-"

"Pull Grappler back!" he stabbed a finger toward the interdictor's green marker. "Now!"

"Of course, sir, but it will take a moment-"

"Now!"

Griff hurried. Grant knew he was shouting, knew he was drawing stares, knew he was making a total embar-rassment of himself, but none of that mattered.

His humiliation had just begun. He knew it, and he couldn't do a damn thing about it except watch.

Suddenly he didn't envy ship captains, not at all.

"Grappler is turning around, sir," Griff reported, "But it looks like Iconoclast might try to flank it."

"She's not flanking. We need-" his mind sputtered. He knew what was coming and stared at the tactical holo, ignoring Iconoclast, ignoring Valediction. "I want all ships to fall back to their initial siege formation."

"You mean spread them out?"

"Yes, I want all ships to prepare for-"

The command deck shuddered again, and all of Majesty seemed to groan as her internal gravity struggled to adjust to the collapse of Grappler's interdiction field.

Grant steadied himself and turned his attention to the holo. Iconoclast and Grappler were both gone. Just as he knew it would, the space around Bavinyar suddenly filled with dozens of red markers. Alarm klaxons wailed and crewmen shouted in confusion, but Grant turned his attention to the forward viewport, where ship after ship fell from hyperspace into Bavinyar's natural gravity well and plunged toward the planet too fast for his net to seize them.