Every hyperspace jump felt fraught with risk nowadays, and to Por Dun it was a comfort to revert to realspace over Valc VII and see a cluster of friendly ships waiting. It was by far the most populated world in Perrin Sector and the closest major Imperial planet to the Unknown Regions. Even before these attacks had started it had possessed a trio of Golan IV orbital defense stations and a small local fleet. Now it bristled with much more. Conviction and Ascension, two-kilometer long destroyers of the same class as Resilience, sat over Valc VII at opposite poles. As Resilience drew nearer to the planet its sensors reported a third ship rounding the planet's ecliptic. At three and a half kilometers long, it possessed the classic Kuati wedge shape with the pointed bow chopped short and ending with a dozen broad hangar-mouths.
"Nightwatch is hailing us, captain," the comm lieutenant reported. "They say they're prepared to welcome you aboard at your convenience."
Por Dun hadn't been expecting a face-to-face talk before Nightwatch shipped out to join Admiral Fel's fleet at Ord Thoden, but she probably should have. Its captain was, after all, an old friend.
"Tell them I'll be over shortly. Tell the deck crew to prepare a shuttle. First Officer, you have the bridge."
By the time her shuttle was prepped, Resilience had drawn close to Nightwatch on the outer edge of Valc VII's gravity well. As the craft carried her from the star destroyer to the fleet carrier she peered out the passenger cabin's porthole window at the world beyond. Greens and browns, blues and whites mixed together, and a clusters of urban gray dotted its larger continents. A planet of five billion people, she recalled. Nothing compared to more urbanized worlds like Bastion or Muunlist, to say nothing of Coruscant, but still a major Imperial world, a sector capital, which she'd been charged to protect. A small part of her wished she could have joined Korak and Admiral Fel on the mission into the Unknown Regions, but someone had to keep the homefront safe and she was proud to have been chosen.
It had been several years since she'd met Benyon Korak face-to-face, but when she marched down the shuttle ramp into one of Nightwatch's broad hangars she saw that he hadn't changed much: the same round pale face, the dark eyes and brown hair that was a little longer and messier than expected for a human captain. Por Dun had grown up with a colony of Kel Dor refugees who'd fled the Yuuzhan Vong and settled into a system later assimilated by the Empire. When she'd first attended the naval academy she'd had a hard time telling all those humans apart. As her partner on Voidwalker's tactical team, two ensigns on their first assignment thrust into a desperate fight to survive, Korak had become the first human she'd ever trusted, the first face she'd learned to read.
They shook hands quite formally, and with a pair of silent stormtrooper escorts in tow they navigate Nightwatch's hallways and lifts until they reached Korak's private cabin, where the guards finally let them alone.
Despite having a bigger ship, Korak's living space was the same size as hers and similarly appointed. As Por Dun dropped into a soft chair Korak asked, "Do you mind if I have anything?"
"Go ahead," she said. Like oxygen itself, most substances humans enjoyed were noxious or outright lethal to Kel Dor.
When he sat down on the sofa opposite hers with some amber-colored drink in his hand he said, "I guess congratulations are in order for the job at Nesporis III."
"It was the admiral's plan."
"I know. Honestly, when word came down I was a little jealous. He's had me here babysitting Valc for the past two months."
"Now our situations are reversed."
"I guess so." He took a sip. "You'll be getting a formal greeting from the governor. He'll invite you down to the planet for some kind of formal greet-and-brief session."
"Isn't this a greet-and-brief too?"
"Yes, but a lot less formal." Korak hunched forward. "You've fought those raiders before. I haven't. What can you tell me I haven't already read in reports?"
She shrugged. It was one of those human gestures she'd learned to mimic. "You've probably seen it all. It's difficult to counter their tactics because they don't have tactics. They move like packs of wild akk dogs, going after anything insight. They attack without fear of dying."
"Doesn't sound like any pirates I know."
"No. It doesn't make sense to me either. We thought capturing some of them alive would give us answer but instead it's bred more questions."
In the grim silence Korak took another drink, then said, "I heard the admiral's going to get Jedi onboard for this again."
"I hope he does."
"He's back on Bastion now, right, getting approval from the moffs."
She nodded, another mimicked gesture. "I should think they'd approve after Nesporis III."
"You can never be sure. Opposition to Jedi can be… intransigent. And irrational."
She knew the same opposition held toward non-humans in Imperial service. The Empire had changed much in a hundred years, but not in all ways.
"The admiral will do what needs to be done," she said.
Korak nodded confidently and drank again. They both believed it; their experiences on Voidwalker under Davek Fel, a junior grade lieutenant turned captain, had created a bond between its seven-hundred-odd surviving crew. Of that number their little frigate had yielded one fleet admiral, two vice admirals, and a dozen captains for a variety of ships. After that experience not all of the Voidwalkers had wanted to continue in service to the Empire, but those who had quickly found themselves climbing ranks.
"When does Nightwatch ship out to Ord Thoden?" she asked.
"Four hours, which is why I wanted to tell you as much as a I could while I'm still here." Korak placed his glass on the low table and straightened. "Ready for the second half of the meet-and-brief?"
"Of course I am."
"All right. Let me start with those Golan stations," he said, and the briefing began.
-{}-
It was a product of the Empire's strange halting transition from dictatorship to oligarchy to democracy that Davek found himself presenting his campaign plan to a committee of elected civilian sector governors on Bastion. A century ago the Empire's moffs had been drawn from military ranks, and all these years later they still more military uniforms and wore military badges, even though they'd been selected via popular vote since Vitor Reige's reforms forty years ago. They also still retained the ability to approve or disapprove military operations, even though most of them had never been on the bridge of a star destroyer in their lives.
When Davek finished his briefing the first comment came from Moff Perris, a businessman turned governor of the Albarrio Sector. "I see you've provisioned a lot of ships to guard worlds close to the border. What about the other sectors?"
It was the question Davek had expected. Perris' territory was on the opposite side of Imperial space from the threatened zones. Very politely he said, "My purview is the Fourth Fleet, which is charged with securing the border regions. I think Admiral Darakon might better speak to that directly."
The navy's supreme commander was sitting next to Davek and didn't seem averse to having the question shoved his way. "As I believe we explained, Moff Perris, the Second Fleet is still gathered at Yaga Minor. From its position it should be able to react to threats in the Albarrio, Velcar and Presbelt Sectors promptly."
"You'll be keeping them on full combat alert?"
"Of course. We've been working closely with Admiral Grave during every step of mission planning."
Perris seemed to be satisfied with that. Davek had heard the talking heads on the newsnets claim he was the face of the Imperial Navy's future, but they often said that of Grave too. They were both young for fleet admirals, barely forty, but the similarities didn't go much further, which was probably why those talking heads rarely mentioned them both at once.
"I have a different concern," said Moff Veers. Yaga Minor's governor was said to be close allies with Admiral Grave, not least because they shared a nostalgia for elements of the Empire's past that Davek preferred to forget. "This whole battle plan is predicated on the idea that the intelligence the Chiss shared is complete and accurate. That is too big an assumption for my liking."
It was the kind of question Davek expected from a man with an ISB background. He told Veers, "Nothing the Chiss has given us has contradicted our own intelligence sources. If anything they've reinforced each other."
"I'm less worried about inaccuracies and more about omissions. I realize your perspective on the matter is somewhat different from ours, but the Chiss are an insular people with secrets they value closely."
Davek decided not to respond to the bait about his family ties. "The Empire also values its secrets. Every government does. The simple fact is that the Chiss has given us the most complete picture of the raiders' movements available. We have that information. It would be a shame not to act on it. We can't wait for the enemy to attack us again and again."
Veer held up his hands. "I'm all for an offensive approach, Admiral. I was just giving you a warning."
"The warning is well taken," Darakon said. "We made no choices lightly. In the end, we decided we had no choice but to trust the Chiss intelligence."
Veers looked unconvinced, but settled back in his chair to signify he'd said his piece.
"There's one other thing that concerns me," said Entralla's Moff Thane. "I think you all know what it is."
"The Jedi were invaluable at Nesporis III," Davek said firmly. This, too, he'd expected push-back on. "We need to use every tool we have on this offensive. I've also carefully integrated them into the battle plan to use each knight as efficiently as possible."
"No one doubts your familiarity with the Jedi Order," Veers said, another smooth dig, "But it's the same problem as relying on outsiders' intelligence."
"One of the Jedi died at Nesporis. Are you really doubting their loyalty?"
"I think," Moff Perris said carefully, "That as long as we continue to authorize knights who've been trained on Bastion only, Jedi who are also Imperial citizens, this is acceptable."
"Agreed," said the flickering holo-image of Moff Moran, who was still on Valc VII. With his homeworld close to the firing line he appreciated any help.
"A mission based on Chiss intelligence and relying on Jedi magic," Moff Thane said with a sigh. "This is a sad day for the Empire. I cannot approve."
"To start this battle plan we need only a majority vote," Admiral Darakon said. "Unless there's any more questions, I suggest we put it to the test. If put down, Admiral Fel and I will rework our plan and present it to the Council again in short order."
That was standard procedure, but they all knew the longer they dragged out mission planning the more time the enemy had to launch another strike. Every day, every hour could be important. They'd already spent too long jumping through procedural hurdles when they should have been hurting the enemy.
After looking around the table Bastion's Moff Orren said, "I believe there's no objections, so we might as well get started."
The vote was as simple as Darakon calling out for ayes and nays. Davek stayed in his seat, hands clasped tight beneath the tabletop to hide his tension. Moff Moran raised his hands in approval, as did Moff Perris. When Moff Veers also signaled his support Davek was shocked; then he realized they'd won.
When the count was called Moff Thane wilted in his seat. "I hope you gentlemen don't regret what happens here today."
"We voted to safeguard Imperial citizens," Moran said firmly. "I don't see any cause for regret at all."
"You wouldn't," Thane said under his breath, then rose. "Gentlemen, I have to get back to Entralla. I'm sure we'll discuss the results of this vote later."
He was the first one out, and others followed, nays first. Moff Moran's holo-image winked out. Davek and Darakon remained seated until the last moff lingered at the chamber's exit.
Before stepping out Veers turned and looked down at the admirals. "You're probably wondering why I voted the way I did."
Davek was, but he hadn't expected Veers to confront the issue like this. "Are you going to tell us?"
"Moff Moran says he wanted to safeguard Imperial citizens, but we all know he voted the way he did because Valc VII is too close to the edge for comfort."
"No one expects moffs to make decisions out of altruism," Davek said.
Veers acknowledged the dig with a faint smile. "Frankly, I would have voted for just about any proposal as long as the Prefsbelt Sector stayed secure. And as long as Admiral Graves commands the Second and keeps his ships at Yaga Minor I think I could withstand just about anything." To Darakon he added, "You have fine young commanders in your navy. It does you credit." The supreme commander responded with a curt nod. Veers looked back to Davek. "That said, the warning I voiced still stands. For your sakes, gentlemen, I hope you know what you're doing."
Davek hoped it too. He gave Veers another little nod, which ended things. Veers left the room without another word.
Davek released breath but resisted the urge to slump in his chair. Admiral Darakon was relatively open-minded about getting help from Jedi and non-humans but he drew the line at breaching professional decorum.
"We've done everything we can do here, Admiral," the supreme commander said. "I suggest you prepare the quickest flight back to Ord Thoden."
"I will." Davek pushed himself out of the chair and to his feet. "Thank you for supporting my plan, Admiral."
"It's our plan now," the older man said. "Regardless of how Veers meant me to take it he was right. I do have talented young admirals."
"Thank you, sir."
"Get going, Admiral Fel. You have a lot of work to do."
As he walked out of the naval headquarters building Davek's mind was already busy with all the things he'd need to do at Ord Thoden before the attack force launched, all the things he should do first while his shuttle was en route.
But first, he knew he had to say goodbye to his family. Before going into any potential combat mission he sought out his parents and his brother, his sons and wife, and said goodbye to them in the flesh. You could never be sure when a mission would spin radically out of control; you never knew if you'd come back. It was a something he'd learned seventeen years ago and every day he counted himself lucky to be living its lesson.
-{}-
Jagged knew what it was like when your battle plan was approved and you had to spring into action and do three dozen things at once, so he was grateful that his son spared a little time to talk before being whisked off Ord Thoden. He'd stayed the past few nights in the Fel family's condominium and slept in his old bedroom. He'd kept all his luggage too, which amounted to a single case, never unpacked, like officers did when their jobs had them on the move. Jagged knew that well also, but then, Davek was the son who'd always reminded him of himself.
He didn't think he'd told Davek that, not in those exact words, but it was a plain thing to see. He was sure he'd never commented on the similarities Davek's wife bore to Jaina- small, dark-haired, intent and willful, snubfighter pilot and Jedi. His thoughts dwelled on them as he watched Davek and Marasiah both circle around the living room, making sure they'd grabbed everything.
"You'll be stopping by the Jedi academy on the way, won't you?" Jag asked from his chair by the window.
"Of course," said Davek. "We have to say goodbye to Roan and Vitor. And pick up Arlen."
"I'm sure your mother will take good care of them."
"She always has." Davek stopped in the center of the room, hands on his hips, and gave one last look-over. "I think we're good to go."
"Thank you for letting us stay here," Marasiah added. She was still more formal than Jaina had ever been. But then, she was still Imperial at heart.
"My pleasure. We don't get the family together as often as we should."
"Duty always calls," said Davek. "You know that."
"I do," Jag allowed a little sigh. "I've got a question before you go."
"Of course."
Jag gestured to the nearby sofa. Marasiah and Davek sat down, the son closer to his father. Jag said, "Can you tell me how the vote broke down when the moffs decided to approve the mission?"
Davek recounted the conference quickly, noting who'd voted for and against. It tallied with what Jag had expected and he said so.
"I was surprised about Moff Veers," Davek added. "He was vocally critical about parts of the plan."
"Veers is a clever one. He knows a battle plan, either the one you made or one very like it, had to be approved on short order. If things go well, he can rightly say he voted for it. If you fail, he can rightly say he told you so."
"He said it was because no matter what I do, Admiral Grave will protect his sector. Which sounds true as far as it goes."
"I've never understood his reputation," Marasiah muttered. "Grave does well in training exercises, but he's never been in a major conflict like we have."
"When it comes to advancement in peacetime it's as much about politics as demonstrated ability," Jag said. "He's from an old family. He espouses all the old Imperial pieties that make moffs like Veers and Thane happy."
"Did Veers shepherd his career at all?"
Jag shrugged. "Yes and no. Grave came from Bescane, not Veers' territory at all, but once he started getting good scores at the academy he piqued people's interests. And he knew how to gain favors from his superiors. I'd say, regardless of their personal feelings for each other, Veers and Grave have been using each other to advance themselves."
Marasiah sighed. "This is why I'm glad I left the military."
"Even the Jedi aren't free from politics," Davek pointed out.
"In Jedi politics you can trust you're on the same side until the other guy's eyes start turning yellow," Jagged said. "So it's a bit simpler."
"I do wish…." Davek started, then trailed off.
"Say it," Marasiah prodded. Through either the Force or spousal intuition she knew what he was getting at.
Davek looked at his father. "After all this time I'd just hoped the Empire would be… different. That we'd all be on the same side, sharing the same values, working for the same purpose."
Davek was forty years old, a decorated admiral with two growing sons, but sometimes he still seemed so young.
"Let me ask you a question, both of you. What is the Empire for?" When neither responded Jagged said, "That's always been the question. The Empire was what Palpatine made. A Sith Lord made a cruel government in his own image and ruled like a tyrant for twenty-five years. That was almost a century ago but this Imperial Remnant- and be honest, that's what it is, a remnant- still exists. What is the Empire without an emperor? It's clearly something, if it's lasted so long without one. But what is it?"
"That's a hard issue," Davek muttered.
"It's the central one. No one's been able to find an answer and make everyone agree on it which is why it keeps on being asked. My opinion is that the Empire is itself question. It's that exact question and it's been waiting for an answer all this time."
"What kind of answer?" asked Marasiah.
Jagged shrugged. "I hoped I could make the Empire more like the Alliance. More democratic, more open to outside contact, more equal for all sentients."
"You've accomplished that," Marasiah said. "You, Reige, and Pellaeon. Things have changed drastically from the Empire my grandparents grew up in."
Jag shook his head. "The history books always say it was the three of us but there were so many more. Governments aren't made by three people or even one. Palpatine made his Empire because he had countless soldiers willing to follow orders, admirals and moffs ready to knife each other's backs to get his favor, trillions ready to suck up his propaganda."
"You're saying your reforms happened because people wanted them to happen," Jag said.
"In a way. But people also wanted a Palpatine to rule over them because it made them feel safe." His smile was faint, wry. "A person's desires don't always make sense, and they're not always mutually compatible."
"A lot of people want to feel safe now," Marasiah said, "For a lot of different reasons."
"Different leaders provide different solutions for that. Veers and his ilk provide one. You two provide another, I think."
"What about Avaris?" Davek asked.
"Avaris is what she is." Jag said simply. "The Empire's had better leaders and worse ones. Of course I wish we had someone who could keep the Veers and Thanes to the sides and manage the moffs better, but we have what we elected and democracy means, in the end, that a people get the government they deserve. I said an Empire without an emperor is a question waiting to be answered. The Empire now is what we choose it to be."
"People don't always make the right choice," Marasiah said.
"I know. But it's their choice regardless. That was the best answer I could come up with." Jag looked at his son. "Of the moffs on the council now, which one do you think is most open to new answers?"
Davek frowned. "You mean who's the most open to the Jedi, the Alliance?" Jag nodded. "I suppose I'd say… Moff Moran, probably."
It matched Jag's own judgment. "For months now I've been trying to get Avaris to invoke the Anaxes Treaty, or at least request help from more Jedi besides the ones from Bastion. She won't do anything unless she thinks the moffs are already on her side."
"You'll never win over ones like Veers or Thane, but Moran… I think he's amenable, and he has allies. It helps that he's got raiders breathing down his neck."
"Is he still on Bastion?"
"No, he commed into the meeting. He's on Valc VII."
The man stayed close to the firing line instead of running; Jag nodded with approval. "All right. I think I'll pay him a visit."
"Now?"
"With that raider-breath down his neck, this is the best time to ask for his support." Jagged saw the worry in Davek's eyes and added, "I'll be fine. You have, what, four star destroyers keeping watch there?"
"Three." He sounded like it was three picket ships.
"Then I'll be fine." He put a bony hand on his son's knee and squeezed it. "Don't worry. I plan to keep meddling in Imperial politics for years to come."
"You're more… durable than I am," Marasiah said.
"I blame the Jedi. It was Luke Skywalker who started me on all this. Speaking of which, weren't you going to stop by the academy?"
"That's right." Davek got to his feet. "We need to get going."
Jagged stood too, more slowly. "I'm sorry for keeping you."
"No, this was a good talk. It gave me a lot to think about."
"Oh, no. You're not going to be thinking about big questions when you've got a battle to fight. Save the abstractions for later and focus on the job in front of you."
"More good advice."
"It's what I'm here for. Do you want the lecture on raising teenage sons?"
Marasiah piped, "It's appreciated, but we don't have the time."
"Fair enough," Jag said, and exchanged hugs with both of them. They gathered their things. He waved them goodbye. They slipped out the door, leaving him alone in a living room that was suddenly empty and quiet.
After taking a moment to gather his strength, he shuffled into his study to start reviewing Moff Moran's personal information. He'd said it like a joke, but it was true: old as he was, he couldn't bring himself to stop trying to shape the Empire into something new and different from the one his father had served. Whenever he thought on his children and grandchildren he knew it was the least he could do.
-{}-
"I don't know how long I'll be gone," Arlen told his daughter, "But until I'm back you do exactly what your grandmother tells you to, you understand?"
Marin rolled her eyes. "Like normal, you mean?"
"Like normal."
"I'm glad you're raising your kids right," Jaina said as she leaned in the doorway.
"Aren't I, though?" Arlen smiled and mussed his daughter's hair, making her wince. He didn't want her to feel how anxious he was about the coming mission.
Marin ducked her head out from under him and took a step back so she could look him in the eye. "Just don't do anything dumb, Dad."
Arlen snorted. "Me? Why would I do anything stupid?"
"Mom tells me stories sometimes."
"Your mother's one to talk." Arlen looked to Jaina for assistance. "Tell her there's a fine line between bravery and stupidity."
"There is," the old woman said, "But it can be really hard to spot."
"Well, that's why we have the Force. It tells us to stop ourselves before we do anything dumb," Arlen said. He wasn't sure if that was true or not, but Marin seemed to take a little comfort from it.
"It's time to get going," Jaina said. "Davek just called. His shuttle's on its way."
That was it, then. Arlen put hands on his daughter's shoulders and with a little eye-roll she let him pull her close, hug her, and kiss her forehead. She disengaged quickly, and after that Arlen began to walk with his mother toward the hangar.
"Was I like that at her age?" he asked once Marin was out of earshot.
"You were pretty bad. Davek was worse, actually."
"Really?" Arlen frowned. He'd been four years older than his brother and Davek hadn't spent much time around the Jedi. Their childhoods had been parallel and separate and so had their adolescence. In some ways he'd only started feeling close to Davek as an adult. That their children were all training to be Jedi was one factor. The closer cooperation between the Jedi Order and the Empire was another.
When they reached the hangar, Arlen saw the most irrefutable proof of that. Thirty Jedi had gathered, dressed in brown tunics over white robes, lightsabers at their belts. All of them had been born and trained in Imperial space and most of them, Arlen knew, felt a personal loyalty to the government they'd grown up under. Arlen felt some of that loyalty himself, but not as much as most of the younger knights, and their patriotism was something he'd become used to if never quite comfortable with.
They'd muster out soon onto different ships according to Davek's battle plan. It was very likely some of them would die; Arlen touched the spot on his side, still lightly sensitive, where the Tylonian blade had stabbed him. The thought of leaving Marin without a father terrified him, but if he wasn't wiling to face danger he couldn't call himself a Jedi.
Jaina hooked her arm around his and added, "Your brother said something else on the comm. It sounds like your father's going to go to Valc VII to woo their local moff."
Arlen wanted to be surprised, but his parents, like his grandparents before them, seemed incapable of settling into retirement. "What does he want from this moff exactly?"
"He's still trying to get the council to invoke the Anaxes Treaty and ask for help from the Alliance and the Jedi Order."
It sounded like a very long shot to Arlen, but those were the kinds his father seemed to take. "I guess it's worth a try. But Lowbacca's planning an expedition into the Unknown Regions anyway, isn't he?"
His mother nodded. For a time it had looked like Jaina herself would succeed Ben Skywalker as Grand Master of the Jedi Order, but the vote had ultimately gone on the Wookiee. Politics had played a role; Allana had just been elected head of the Alliance and her cousin in charge of the Jedi would have had more people talking a Jedi takeover. Arlen had approved of the decision for other reasons. He'd trained under Lowbacca and trusted the Wookiee more than any Jedi besides his mother. More, it gave Jaina a chance to spend time on Bastion with her grandchildren and husband instead of shouldering the weight of the Order on Ossus. Arlen's parents would never lay down and retire, but they could at least be allowed a healthy share of breathers.
A wind howled in from outside and a shuttle swooped into view. As it kicked in its repulsors and sailed through the hangar mouth Jaina tightened her grip on her son's arm.
"Davek?"
She nodded. "Whatever happens out there, take care of your brother."
"You know I will." As they watched the shuttle set down he added, "You're going to tell him the same thing, aren't you?"
"Of course." She squeezed his arm a little more.
It was, Arlen admitted, the way it should be. Whatever happened next, they were in it together.
-{}-
With everything else going on to determine the fate of the Empire, Damien Corde wondered what he was doing sitting on the edge of the Kuat system, thousands of kilometers from any planet, moon, or spacecraft. He knew it wasn't his place to ask why. He'd accepted that a long time ago; a spy had to. Still, he'd have liked to know.
After reaching the system's edge he'd set his modified Corellian freighter into a stationary position. He sent the signal and prepared himself to wait. Six hours and a cup of caf later, just when he was starting to get truly impatient, a ship dropped out of hyperspace right behind his. He couldn't see it from the cockpit but sensors said it was large, probably a corvette. Wolflight trembled slightly as the tractor beam locked on.
As the tractors reeled his ship in, he extended the landing gear and killed the engines. They made no attempt to contact his ship and he made no attempt to hail him. Clearly, they didn't want the slightest possibility of a communications leak.
The corvette didn't have a large hangar but there was just enough space on the empty deck to set Wolflight down. Damien hesitated before lowering his landing ramp and going out, then decided to tuck a single hold-out blaster at the small of his back, beneath the rim of his plain black jacket. He trusted Veers, but you could never be sure.
There were only three people waiting for him in the empty hangar. Two were guards in what Damien took to be a traditional Kuati outfit with faceless lacquered masks hiding their faces. Each cradled a very modern BlastTech rifle in his arms. Standing in front of them was a human, probably in his fifties, with a shaved-bald head and dark eyes. He was dressed in folded blue robes, belted at the waist with a gold-embroidered sash, again traditional Kuati. As Damien stepped closer he examined the face and tried not to be obvious about it. He'd reviewed public information about important Kuati personages on his way here, and he was near-certain that the man standing in front of him now was Retor of Kuhvult, chairman of Kuat Drive Yards, one of the most wealthy and powerful beings in the galaxy.
In a way it was flattering, but he was mostly intrigued. That Moff Veers would have connections this high up in KDY, a company with ties to the Empire that dated over a century, wasn't surprising. That the corporate chairman would come out here personally to hand off a data-card was unbelievable, but there he was.
When he stepped square in front of Retor the businessman didn't speak first. Damien looked him in the eye and said, "Thanks for coming to see me. I'm here to pick up a package."
Retor leached into the loose folds of his robe and retrieving a single, simple datacard.
"Did Moff Veers tell you who you'd be meeting?"
"Not specifically."
"Did he tell you what's on this card?"
"No. He did not."
Retor watched him for a second, like he was sensing the truth behind Damien's thoughts. Then he asked, "Would you like to know what's on it?"
To lie to this man, Damien decided, would be dangerous. He said instead, "I would, but it's not my place to ask."
"You mean you're leaving it to your employer to decide?"
"I'm just here to do my job."
Retor held out the datacard. Veers took it and placed it in his jacket pocket. Their hands never touched.
"Okay," he breathed, "Is our business done here?"
"It is. You may lift off and depart when ready. Have a pleasant flight back to Imperial space."
Days of travel, hours of waiting, and a minute of talk. He wanted to know what was on that card more than ever, but he said, "It's been good working with you."
Retor nodded. Damien turned on his heel and marched back into his ship without looking back. When he dropped into the cockpit he began warming engines immediately. When Wolflight was able he kicked in repulsors, retracted landing gear, and sailed his ship out of the hangar. From there it was easy to fire up the hyperdrives and fling Wolflight back toward Imperial space, toward Veers and Valera and whatever future he'd just played his small but important part in creating.
-{}-
After leaving the hangar, Darth Kroan marched straight to the command deck, and he watched from the viewport as the Imperial agent's ship angled away from the Kuat system and jumped to hyperspace.
It was a meeting he could have sent a subordinate to do. As chairman of the Board of Governors and Chief Executive Officer of the entire shipbuilding conglomerate, he wasn't lacking in employees who could keep a secret. He also wasn't lacking in disposable ones. In this case, though, it had been important to be there.
Even before he'd been educated by the One Sith he'd known not to trust other beings; not their intentions, not their competency. The alliance he'd struck with Corrien Veers had been based of mutual self-interest entirely. To be sure, he'd given the moff the impression that he, too, yearned for the historic glories of Palpatine's empire, and that feigned personal repore had helped solidify their pact. In the end, though, it was all about convenience.
Veers relished a power struggle for the Imperial Remnant so badly he was determined to bring it on himself. Darth Kroan was happy to help him along. Veers wanted guaranteed control over the best of Kuat Drive Yards' new ships, especially the super star destroyer nearing completion, and the data codes Kroan had just given his messenger would ensure just that.
For his part, Kroan's aim was simple. During the Senex-Juvex Rising, Darth Xoran had led a bloody revolt against the sectors' old aristocrats. That had been successful, but the larger effort to destabilize the Alliance and the Jedi had backfired. Xoran herself had been the problem. She'd been too visible, too involved, and once the Jedi learned what she truly was they'd spared no effort to destroy her. When chaos came to Imperial space they'd scour for Sith Lords again. Involvement this time had to be oblique and careful. It was very helpful, Kroan thought, that the Empire produced so many men in love with their own brutality. In shaping that society Darth Sidious had done the best a Sith could hope for.
"Chairman Retor, we are ready to depart," the corvette's captain behind him finally spoke up. "Should we return to Kuat now?"
"Of course," Kroan said. As chairman of the Board of Directors he had a lot of work to do; it was why he'd called Veers' messenger here in the first place. "Take us in when you are ready."
The captain gave the orders and the stars panned away to face the distant but distinct glow of the systems' primary star. Once Kroan got back to Kuat he'd resume the business of running the shipyards and living the life of a construction magnate, but the business of the Sith took precedence above all. He'd continue to work with Veers and help the moff's schemes any way he could. Even without his help they'd find some reason to start killing each other; he was simply nudging them along.
There was no surprise in that. It was a galaxy filled with vermin after all, and only the Sith had the power to truly rule it. The day would come when they ruled in fact. Kroan looked forward to that day, whether he'd live to see it or not. Everything he did- everything Veers and his Imperials did- was part of Lord Krayt's design.
