It was a pattern Marin Fel had never liked but which she'd long gotten used to: when one parent left, the other one made themselves scarce. The vast majority of the time this meant her mother stopped by Bastion while her father was away. Normally she was okay with it, but now that her father had joined Marasiah and a bunch of other Jedi in the Imperial fleet, ready to fight who-knew-what unknown enemy that had killed her grandfather, it was hard not to worry.
Her mother seemed to be making a concentrated effort to get her out of it. Tamar Skirata was a tall woman, almost as high as Arlen and a full head above her fourteen-year-old daughter. Nonetheless, Tamar insisted they practice sparring. No lightsabers this time. Mother and daughter went out on the padded floor in nothing besides soft white tunics and practiced hand-to-hand. It was very different from the lightsaber duels she'd blocked out with Vitor and a few of the other apprentices. Here she had to grapple with a partner who was bigger and stronger than her, one who wasn't afraid to make her hurt even if Marin knew her mother would never deal serious damage. A fight wasn't real without hurt, Tamar had told her, and all this wrestling on padded floors was practice for the day she'd have to fight a bigger, stronger enemy who really wanted her dead.
They did this whenever Tamar stopped by the academy so Marin wasn't totally useless in it, just rusty. She'd figured out a little while ago that her mother found this kind of thing- the struggle, the sweat, the single-minded exertion- easier than most other kinds of interaction. It was easier for Marin too. The difficult times always came during meals together and long quiet mornings. Then they had nothing to do but wonder what each did in the other's absence.
She knew her mother was still in contact with her other family on Mandalore. It was Marin's family too but she'd never asked to see them. She'd trained as a Jedi from birth and Mandalorians weren't typically fond of those, even if the Skiratas (so her mother had said) weren't ordinary Mandos. Marin might not have had Vitor's natural talent with the Force but she still had no doubt what she wanted to become. The knowledge of the other half of her family had always been a nagging distraction, one she did best to put from her mind whenever her mother wasn't around.
After a few hours of sparring Marin was left with aching muscles that would last until she lay down for sleep. After they'd changed back into cleaner clothes her mother noticed her hooking new lightsaber to her belt.
"Did you build that yourself?" asked Tamar.
"Dad helped." Marin looked down at it: a straight silver cylinder with black handgrips, plain but functional.
"Can I see it?"
There was something serious and respectful in her tone, like she was talking to an adult. Marin handed it to her. Tamar thumbed the trigger; yellow light shot up and she waved the blade through the air.
"It's balanced well," she said. "Have you practiced much with it?"
"Some. Nothing too…. You know, dangerous."
Tamar shut it off and handed it back. Marin remembered that Mandalorian children were considered adults at age fourteen. "When did your grandfather give you your lightsaber?"
"Even younger. But I didn't practice with it as much as you."
"Do you still have it?"
"It's in the ship."
With her beskar'gam, no doubt. Marin wondered how much her mother used either. She was stuck in a place where she could be neither Mandalorian nor Jedi, and while she kept her frustration hidden most of the time, it showed through occasionally.
As Marin put it back on her belt her mother said, "It's good what you're doing. I'm proud of you. You've taken another step to something more."
There was a warmth to her voice, but to Marin it sounded hollow. She could never figure out what her mother wanted for it; she could never figure out what Tamar Skirata wanted for herself. Sometimes she even wondered if her mother knew either. That was why these visits were always so awkward. Marin didn't dislike seeing her mother, she just didn't know what to do with her.
She felt something in the Force, a stirring in the familiar link she shared with Vitor. He was alarmed by something; at the same time he seemed to be beckoning her to join him.
Tamar noticed her daughter's face. "What is it?"
"I don't know." Marin pulled her hair into a tail at the back of her neck. "It's Vitor. I think he wants me to come."
Tamar let her daughter lead the way through the insides of the academy. Marin felt herself being pulled toward the place where Vitor was; as she trekked the halls and rode the turbolifts she realized he must have been at the main recreational lounge space.
With so many Jedi away with Davek's fleet, the academy's halls and chambers felt weirdly empty. When she found Vitor he was with his grandmother; his little brother was nowhere to be seen. Both Vitor and Jaina were sitting on a red sofa facing the holo-projector that beamed out the face of an INN newscaster. Even before listening to what he said Marin tracked the words scrolling beneath him: Fighting underway at Kalee; Fourth Fleet responds.
"The spark of the fighting is uncertain at this time," said the broadcaster. "All we know for certain is that the interdiction cruiser Harbinger has been destroyed, apparently with all hands. How the aliens managed this is uncertain, but elements from the Fourth have been quick to respond and we understand more ships are on their way."
Though he was surely secure at Bastion or another world, the image over his shoulder must have been from an Imperial warship orbiting the Kaleesh homeworld. It showed flashes of explosions over the blue and green curve of the planet's surface. As Marin watched a trio of big star destroyers reverted to realspace and immediately began firing. She wasn't an expert on military hardware but she marked one ship, with blunted mandibles for a bow instead of a typical wedge-point, to be a fleet carrier. The bigger ship at the center of the formation could only be her uncle's flagship, the Afsheen Makati.
Sure enough, the broadcaster said, "As our audience can see from the live feed, more elements from the Fourth have just arrived. That appears to be Admiral Fel's ship, the Makati. They're deploying fighters now..."
"The Kaleesh home fleet can't have that many ships," Vitor said as he watched intently. "He should be able to handle them easily."
"Knocking them out of orbit is the easy part." Tamar crossed her arms over her chest. "Pacifying a planet like that isn't going to be easy. The Kaleesh are warriors."
"This shouldn't be happening at all," Jaina said. The lines looked heavier than ever on her face.
The camera-view on the broadcast shifted but the INN presenter went on, saying, "As you can see, our fleet is deploying to encircle the Kaleesh flagship. It's the head of their local defense fleet, quite small compared to a typical star destroyer. We're being told it's called the Grievous, after a Kaleesh general from the Clone Wars they've turned into a legendary hero." He shook his head, as though the ways of aliens were impossible to fathom.
Jaina reached out. Her small bony hands grabbed her grandchildren's hard and Marin winced. "What is it, Grandma?"
Jaina stared at the holo, at the blurry battle-image and the droning broadcaster, and breathed in deeply. "It's coming."
"What's coming?" Vitor tried to squirm his hand out of hers.
The view on the broadcast swung suddenly, tracking upward until it stopped on a new set of ships that had just appeared above the planet. They fell toward Davek's fleet like a swarm of angry insects, ships Marin couldn't recognize but immediately knew. At the heart of the swarm was one bigger than any others, maybe even bigger than the Makati.
Suddenly the feed from the battle burst into nothing. The reporter remained, and when the INN logo replaced the static he said to the audience, very calmly, "You'll have to pardon the interruption. Our live link to the battle has been cut off. However, please stay tuned to the Imperial News Network. We'll bring you updates as they come in."
"Arlen and Marasiah are in that fight too, aren't they?" asked Tamar.
Jaina nodded. Helplessness washed over Marin, the familiar helplessness of a child who wished she could be an adult, be a Jedi so she could fight with her family to protect the people she loved.
Then she felt something else, another kind of helplessness. She felt it from Jaina and Tamar both, the helplessness of adult who knew they could have done something, but right now it wasn't possible.
Strange as it was, that made her feel a tiny bit better. They sat there on Bastion, light-years away from another fight that could sunder their family forever, but at least they could watch it together.
-{}-
As he saw the mess of ships tumble frantically toward his position- Vagaari, Pal'shoran, Tylonian, Stromma, and more- Davek knew he should have seen this coming. When word had come down of a rising on Kalee he'd initially, foolishly, dismissed it at something the local interdiction force could take care of. By the time he'd learned things were worse, and sent Vice Admiral Renwar's task force to help, the situation was already spiraling out of control, with Kaleesh warriors on the surface killing any humans they could find while the local defense fleet had somehow regained control of their ships from the Imperial staff placed in temporary command. It was exactly what the Empire didn't need right now: a war within as well as a war without.
But then the raiders had fallen out of hyperspace, right as the Jedi strike teams were moving to capture the Grievous. When Davek saw that great black Erath warship, he understood that he'd been wrong all this time. The hawks like Veers, Thane, and Grave had been right: the Kaleesh were no longer part of the Empire. Their whole planet was enemy territory.
He could see the initial explosive bursts through the Makati's viewport, but he tore his attention away and focused on the tactical holo, which showed the larger picture. The situation on the ground was still a mess, but the fight in orbit had come close to being settled when the raiders arrived. All the Kaleesh picket ships had been crippled or destroyed except for their flagship, the Grievous. He'd just dispatched Arlen and a team of stormtroopers to board the ship and capture it. From what they could tell based on traced transmissions, it seemed like the leaders of the Kaleesh uprising were operating from the Grievous. If they could capture those leaders they might agree to call off the revolts on the planet. If they didn't they'd still be live captives instead of dead martyrs.
Now that ship was suddenly less important. Davek told the comm lieutenant, "Hail the strike team. Tell them to pull back."
"Right away, sir. We-" the lieutenant stopped and scowled. "Sir, they just threw up a jamming field."
"Like before?"
"It looks that way, sir."
Davek cursed aloud, but he'd been expecting it. They could still pass messages to ships via tight-beam text-only messages, but it was slower and more awkward than normal communications. In a frenzied fight like this it would cost lives. It was all they had.
"Get ready to beam out a new set of orders," Davek said and glanced at the tactical holo. Arlen's boarding craft seemed to have hooked onto the Kaleesh ship. The Erath vessel was hovering high above the rest of the battlefield, almost like it as waiting for all the other ships to soften Davek's fleet. Renwar's task force was taking a heavy pounding even as a full fighter wing from Nightwatch rushed to assist. A pair of heavy Tylonian cruisers were bearing down on the Makati but it was nothing they couldn't handle for now. The real mess was in between the big ships: drones and fighters of every kind wove ribbons of smoke and flame and chewed each other to gnarled debris. His wife was out there somewhere, fighting with her squadron of Jedi pilots. Compared to her, Arlen was perfectly safe. If he could capture that Kaleesh ship he was exactly where he needed to be. Marasiah, though in much greater danger, was where she needed to be also.
He trotted toward the tactical station. "Lieutenant, can we identify the source of the jamming? Look for Pal'shoran ships matching the ones used before, probably at the back of their line."
"Two ships fit that profile. Marking them now, sir."
On the tactical holo, red circles appeared around two enemy ships. One was at the rear of the enemy wave, not far from the Erath ship. The other was closer by, near the cluster of Pal'shoran and Stromma ships that were attacking Renwar's Tempest.
"Lieutenant, can locate Knight One and tight-beam a message?"
The lieutenant's young face creased in a frown. "I think so, sir."
"Do it. Then prepare another one for Nightwatch. They've both got their work cut out for them."
-{}-
When the order came down, it was exactly as Marasiah had expected. As long as that jamming field was up it was slowing their response and costing lives, especially those of Imperial fighter pilots who could no longer communicate with their headsets. Knight Squadron had the Force, and even as she twisted her TIE Saber around a Vagaari gunship she reached out to touch the minds of her pilots. Her knights were of varying skills and these Force-melds could only say so much, but her order was simple: Follow me.
With that she swung her nose forward and gunned it toward the Pal'shoran jamming ship at the rear of their main line.
Her pilots jumped, bobbed, weaved, and kept charging ahead. After they cut between a pair of barrel-shaped Stromma frigates she noticed a group of fighters, two dozen at least, emptying from their hangars to give chase.
Watch out, she told them, though she knew they'd be watching their aft scanners too. The Stromma ships were small and fast, and they maneuvered in tight formations so that one group was still behind Knight Squadron while the others moved in on its flanks. It was impressive coordination, the kind Marasiah wasn't sure even her pilots could do. To coordinate like that the pilots must have been connected via some comm system unaffected by the jamming, though she didn't see how that could be. From the Kaleesh they'd interrogated it sounded like the ships at Valc VII had received no orders whatsoever, even from their apparent flagship. That didn't make sense either; nothing here made sense.
When they attacked the Stromma fighters- little wedge-shaped ships like old A-wings or Howlrunners- splattered green laserfire all over Marasiah's shields. She sent a message to her pilots- cut speed- and killed her engines. The Stromma were slow to react and three flew right past her. Marasiah let the Force guide her to pick them off- one, two, three fireball-bursts. She felt a spike of anxiety in the Force-meld and checked her scanners. Two pilots, Knights Seven and Nine, had collided with hostile fighters during the slowdown maneuver. Neither ship had been destroyed but both were spinning in opposite directions as their pilots wrestled them into control.
Neither of them would join for the attack run. Marasiah told her other pilots Press on and kicked her ship toward the Pal'shoran vessel again.
She could sense their reluctance to leave their crippled friends, but like good Imperials they knew to follow orders. They followed, the rear ships in formation taking out a few more Stromma fighters on their way. The ships scattered around a slow-moving frigate of some type Marasiah didn't know, then reformed once they'd passed it. The Pal'shoran ship was getting close.
A wave rolled through the battle meld, first agony, then grief. Marasiah didn't have to look at her scanner to know that Knights Seven and Nine were dead, probably picked off by the remaining Stromma fighters.
She tried to tell her other pilots to forget it, to let the pain and anger roll through them and past them so they could keep on fighting. Those were complex thoughts in words or the Force, but she felt most of them shunt aside their emotions and focus on the ship swelling closer in their viewports.
They'd destroyed one of these before. They could do it again, and if they had to they'd keep killing them until they brought this damn jamming field down. Marasiah armed her torpedoes and sent a command through the Force-meld, simple and impossible to mistake: Attack!
-{}-
It was almost the same setup as Nesporis III, but in reverse: four Jedi and a squad of stormtroopers, now trying to get into a ship instead of defend it. Three of the Jedi were the same too: Arlen Fel, Deir Sinde, Rekkon Sholz with a new mechanical arm. A freshly-ordained knight, black-haired Yarin Sept, was the new one in the group and it was hard not to think of the kid as a replacement for the one lost on the previous mission. Arlen was getting sick of watching Jedi he'd helped train die in action; somehow he knew that Marasiah had just lost some of her pilots and he didn't plan on losing any of his own today.
Latching onto the Grievous and blowing through its auxiliary airlock was the easy past. The stuff that came after was hard. The Jedi led the stormtrooper squad down a set of narrow empty corridors, feet pounding on the grated metal floor. They moved cautiously closer to the angry seething presence Arlen could sense in the Force. He was so intent on the Kaleesh ahead of them that he dropped his guard; the grates in the ceiling suddenly pulled back and a half-dozen Kaleesh warriors dropped on top of them.
They were a fearsome fighters, each one over two meters tall with a skull-like white mask covering its face so only the predatory gold eyes shone through. The one that fell behind Arlen pinned a stormtrooper to the ground with three-clawed feet and slashed the long-bladed end of its pike through the soldier's neck. Before it could swing the blade up to the Jedi, Arlen lurched forward and thrust his lightsaber-tip into the Kaleesh's chest. The alien howled in pain, reared up, and pounded one leg into Arlen's sternum.
The impact sent him flying, skidding across the grate until he slammed into a wall. By the time he scrambled to his feet the hallway had become a chaotic slaughterhouse. Sinde sheared a Kaleesh's head from its shoulders with a broad swing of his lightsaber. A metal blade grated across Sholz's new metal arm, peeling off armor and synthetic skin; the Jedi responded by running his surprised attacked through with his saber. Sept and a pair of stormtroopers were on their knees, all three of them popping off shots with their blaster rifles as another stormtrooper was picked up and smashed repeatedly into the wall until his white-armored body went limp. The Kaleesh who'd battered him through him away like he was a doll and turned his blazing eyes to Arlen. The Jedi stood on shaking legs, gripped his saber with both hands, and beckoned his attacker forward.
The Kaleesh's staff was twice as long as Arlen's saber. He attacker ran forward, blade-first, forcing Arlen to sidestep away. At the same time, he lashed out with his weapon, cleaving the staff in half. The Kaleesh kept running and ducked beneath Arlen's horizontal swing. It stopped with astonishing speed, three-clawed feet gripping the grated floor for stead and lashed out with the bottom half of its staff before Arlen could bring his saber to block it. The metal slammed hard into his stomach and pinned him to the wall. He lifted his lightsaber weakly, instinctively, but the Kaleesh swept out with its free hand and knocked the saber bouncing across the grate. Then it grabbed Arlen by the neck and pulled him off his feet.
He grasped pathetically at the claws around his neck. They were so strong they could snap his neck at any moment. The Kaleesh held him close so their eyes could lock: gold around predatory slits. In a second of panic he touched the Force and felt the alien's mind. He realized, in a flash, it was different from the Tylonians he'd encountered before. This Kaleesh was angry, yes, and it didn't want to be fighting. It was frightened, too, and confused as to why the Jedi were attacking, Jedi who were supposed to be brave warriors, not pawns for a faceless Empire.
Arlen didn't understand. Neither did the Kaleesh; its slit-pupils widened in what must have been surprise, and the vice-grip on Arlen's throat loosened just a little.
Then there was a flash, and his lightsaber was suddenly buried hilt-first in the Kaleesh's head, green blade buzzing out the other side.
Arlen fell to the floor. The alien's body toppled too. Arlen landed on his butt and looked back to the frenzy. Deir Sinde caught his eyes, nodded, and went back to the fight. As he lurched forward and grabbed his lightsaber he heard the scrape of a blast door opening somewhere, and the war-cry of more Kaleesh charging into the fray.
It wasn't a battle they should be fighting, but they were in it and it was a battle to the death. Arlen gripped his saber with both hands and, grimly, stepped forward to do what shouldn't be done.
-{}-
When the star destroyer sitting off the Makati's port bow exploded, the light was so bright Davek and everyone else on the bridge had to cover their eyes. Just seconds before Tactical had reported that a Pal'shoran corvette was approaching the destroyer at high speed with no signs of slow-down. Even a normal collision wouldn't have destroyed both ships so thoroughly. It must have been loaded with baradium or a similar explosive before launching on its suicide mission. Davek had thought the ferocity of the enemy couldn't surprise him any more, but they'd done it again.
"Pull our fighter screen closer," he told Tactical. "Make sure they're ready if they try another run."
Without the ability to use normal communications it was hard for the fighters to coordinate. Two full wings of over seventy TIE-Xs each were swarming around the Makati, but they were less than half as effective as they'd normally be.
Davek glanced back at the holo for a bit of good news. The arrival of Captain Korak's Nightwatch had been the rescue Renwar needed; her star destroyer was still in fighting shape, and half of her support ships were still intact. They were all moving closer to the Makati; Davek had ordered all Imperial forces to cluster together so that it would be easier to defend.
His eyes marked the Kaleesh flagship, all but forgotten in the larger fray. "Lieutenant," he asked, "Is the Jedi strike team still aboard the Grievous?"
He glanced at his board. "Yes, sir. Still there."
"Beam them a message. Ask them their status."
"Yes, sir."
Seizing the Kaleesh ship had become a lower priority; if Arlen was having trouble he'd call his brother back and order a squad of bombers to destroy it. Marasiah was still out there too; her Jedi squad had lost a third of its pilots but they'd taken out two Pal'shoran jamming ships. Nightwatch had destroyed a third but the field was still up; for all Davek knew the source might have been that big Erath vessel, still hovering over the battle zone like it was waiting to drop in and end everything in a flash.
Just as the thought sent a chill through his body, something else lit up on the holo. Three white markers, denoting unidentified ships, dropped into the battle zone above the Erath vessel. Davek's breath caught as the computer tried to mark them. Then they turned green and the lieutenant said, "That's a star destroyer, sir, and two attack frigates!"
"Identify," he snapped.
"ID reads Onslaught, sir."
His first thought was that it wasn't one of his. Then he remembered. "That's from the Second Fleet. Where's the rest of them?"
"I don't know, sir. With the jamming we can't tell-"
"Right, I know." Grave must have been on his way; there was no telling how close he was. Their only hope was to wait as long as they could.
The Erath ship was already reacting to Onslaught. The destroyer was a Predator-class, less than a quarter the size of the enemy flagship, but as the battle between them joined a bigger ship dropped out of hyperspace next to Onslaught: an Impellor-class fleet carrier that immediately began pumping out fighter and bomber wings.
A few tactical ensigns whooped barely-muted cheers as the enemy began to pull away from Davek's fleet to defend their flagship. How they communicated despite the jamming, Davek still didn't understand. He glanced at the holo and saw that the Grievous was moving in a different direction entirely, toward the edge of Kalee's gravity well. It was attempting to flee.
"Is there a response from the Jedi team?" he asked Tactical.
The lieutenant had been so distracted by the arrival of the Second that he had to check his console. "They're still bogged down, sir. Reports of very fierce fighting."
He restrained the urge to ask about Arlen. "Tell them to fall back. Get all wounded to the boarding ship and get out of there. Then tell them to use their guns and blast that ship's engines out if they can."
"Understood, sir. I-"
A gasp rippled across the bridge. Davek followed his crew's gaze out the viewport. The enemy fleet had been in the process of pulling itself apart; some ships staying low to attack Davek's ships while the others were pulling up to defend their flagship. Without warning a half-dozen new star destroyers had appeared, ripped from hyperspace by Kalee's gravity well. Their hard deceleration took them right into the middle of the enemy fleet and they had all guns blazing. Explosions lit up like a corona around the destroyers, and as Davek squinted through the glare he spotted another massive gray wedge that must have been the same size as the Makati. It could only have been Admiral Grave's flagship, the Osvald Teshik.
Everything was changing so fast the tactical crew couldn't keep up. As lights winked in and out on the holo the comm lieutenant called, "Admiral, sir! The jamming field's down!"
Davek sprinted over to the comm station. "Can we hail the Teshik?"
"We've got a link, sir."
"Do it now." Davek bent over the man's shoulders and watched the light on his console go green. A second later a shrunken blue holo-image of Admiral Grave appeared. "Thank you for the save, Admiral. That insertion couldn't have gone better."
"You're quite welcome," Grave said, clipped and controlled. "Apologies for the delay. We had to stay outside the system and scope the battle zone."
"No problem. Do you think you can take that Erath ship?"
"I can try, though it looks like it's vectoring to escape again."
Davek glanced over his shoulder at the tactical holo. Sure enough, it was swinging its nose toward the edge of the gravity well. It would have to tear through Onslaught to get there but Davek had no doubt it could do so.
"Pull your ships back and let it go then," Davek said. "We'll concentrate on the ships we've got trapped here. Tear them to shreds."
"And excellent idea. I'll hail you again soon. Teshik out."
The holo shut down and Davek turned his full attention to the tactical display. The Erath ship was indeed moving to escape. All the other enemies trapped between the Second and Fourth Fleets were turning ferocious again. A Tylonian ship dove like a spear into one of Grave's star destroyers, destroying both. A Vagaari gunship rammed one of Renwar's support frigates and both vanished in a fireball. The fighters, at least, were finally able to organize in a proper defensive screen. Over a hundred of them dropped low over the Makati to protect the flagship as hundreds more enemy starfighters began throwing themselves into the destroyer's strong shields. Many of those ships were Tylonian drones but more were manned ships. By the end of this battle the enemy would have lost far more than the Imperials, just as at Nesporis III and Valc VII. Despite it all, they'd keep coming, again and again.
Then he remembered. He turned back to the comm station and said, "Patch me a line with Knight One. Prepare another link with the Jedi strike team. I need them both."
-{}-
By the time the Jedi and surviving stormtroopers fell back to the assault shuttle and got a look outside, the entire battle had changed. The big Erath ship was gone, the raider vessels were throwing themselves around in a suicidal frenzy, and the Second Fleet had arrived in force to deliver fiery death to an enemy that clearly wanted it badly.
All of them, it seemed, except the Kaleesh ship. As the Jedi shuttle detached from the Grievous it was already firing its engines and racing away from the rest of the fight. In minutes it would be able to escape from the planet's gravity well and slip into hyperspace.
Arlen was crammed in the shuttle's cockpit, along with Sinde, the stormtrooper captain, and both pilots when the comm light went on. That it even could go on was another surprise. The co-pilot slammed the speaker and Arlen got one more: His brother's voice, marred slightly by static, saying, "This is the Makati. Strike team, report."
"We've detached from the Grievous," Arlen said, leaning over the co-pilot's shoulder. "Six stormtroopers down, one Jedi and five stormies injured. We'll need medical help when we fall back."
"You'll get it. Can you get a lock on that ship?"
Arlen frowned. "With our weapons?"
"Yes! Can you knock it out before it escapes? If you can't disable it has to be destroyed."
Arlen didn't know what to say. The co-pilot said, "We've still got a full payload, sir. Eight missiles."
"Let them fly. Destroy that ship before it goes."
"Hold, pilot." Arlen squeezed the man's shoulder. "Davek, that ship's no threat. It's running."
"It's an enemy vessel with the leaders of the rising on Kalee aboard. Destroy it. Now."
"Davek-"
"Pilot, that's an order! Open fire!"
"Wait!" Arlen called, and used the Force to pull the co-pilot's hand away from the weapons station.
As he did it something flashed above them. Arlen looked up and saw a trio of TIE Sabers shoot past them. Each Jedi fighter let fly a pair of torpedoes. He watched as two sets exploded on the Grievous' aft shields; the last two slipped through and exploded on the hull, right beyond the engine section. The frigate rocked but didn't slow down. As the TIE Sabers circled around for another pass it flashed, elongated, and disappeared into hyperspace.
The co-pilot, hand suddenly free, tapped the comm line back on and said, "Admiral, the Grievous just escaped."
"I saw that," Davek said stiffly. "Assault team, return to the Makati. Knight Squadron will fly escort. We'll have a medical team standing by."
The comm line died. Awkward silence settled over the cockpit and Arlen slumped against the back wall. As the shuttle swung around the rest of the fighting came into view. Davek's and Admiral Grave's fleets sat as two clusters over Kalee with the remaining enemy ships squeezed between them. Explosions flared all the time like slow-cooling embers. Davek might chew him out when he got back to the Makati but Arlen didn't regret what he'd chosen. The Kaleesh he'd felt on that ship had joined forces with the enemy, but for reasons of their own, not the suicidal fanaticism that had gripped the other raiders. He'd made the right choice, the Jedi choice. Even now, too many people were dying, and they had no idea why.
-{}-
Another battle was over, and Marasiah didn't know what to think. She'd landed aboard the Makati an hour ago and it would take a while to tally all the causalities, but they'd probably come out even higher than Valc VII. The attacks were getting more and more fierce; after the Erath ship had fled the raiders had given up all pretense of normal combat and simply thrown themselves at the closest Imperial ship. Some hadn't even bothered with that; as she'd raced to intercept the Grievous she'd flown between two Tylonian frigates right before they'd smashed into each other. The waste of life was sickening.
When she returned to the ready-room the Jedi used aboard the Makati she found that Arlen's team had already returned; from the look on his face he was sick of it all too.
"How many did you lose?" she asked.
"Sholz lost his arm. Same one this time," Arlen said as he sat on edge of the table.
Sinde, standing beside him, asked, "How many did you lose?"
"Four." Marasiah sighed. "Cohl. Ressot. Nemyan. Lovarn."
Sinde winced; she recalled he'd trained with Lovarn for a while. She offered, "At least the Second showed up. It would have gone very differently if they hadn't."
"Yeah, Grave's the hero of the hour," Sinde sighed.
Marasiah couldn't tell if he was being sarcastic. "He did every he had to. He split the enemy fleet, then inserted himself into the gap with a precise micro-jump. It couldn't have gone better."
"All things considered," Sinde muttered.
There was a rap on the door. Marasiah was surprised to see Davek there; she thought he'd be busy with clean-up for a few hours yet.
"Admiral, sir," Sinde snapped. His arm froze, halfway pulled up, uncertain whether he was supposed to salute.
"At ease, Jedi, and dismissed, if you don't mind."
Sinde nodded and slipped out the door, leaving the three of them alone. Arlen sighed, crossed his arms over his chest, and met his brother's eye. Marasiah felt a spike of tension between them, one she didn't understand.
"I disobeyed your order," Arlen said simply. "I stopped my team from firing on the Kaleesh ship. I'm sorry it came to that, but I'm not sorry I did it."
Davek crossed his arms too and asked, very calmly, "Why is that?"
"Something didn't feel right, Davek. I felt their minds in the Force during the fight. They were battling us hard, but they weren't suicidal and mad like the rest of them. They're different somehow, maybe because they're not from the Unknown Regions. They're not totally in the grip of…. Of that Erath, or whoever's on that big black ship. There was no time to explain that over the comm, but that's how it is. And besides, we wouldn't have had the time or the guns to take 'em out anyway."
Davek looked hard at his brother for a moment, then shifted eyes to his wife. "Do you agree?"
"I don't know. I didn't touch their minds or know their intentions."
"About taking down their ship?"
"Maybe a few missiles could have helped. Though to be frank, I doubt it. That was heavily defended."
"But you fired on it."
"I had your direct order."
"You didn't feel what I did," Arlen interjected. "Listen, what happened, happened. It wouldn't have made a differenceanyway. We should just drop it and try to move ahead."
"The Jedi are serving in my fleet under my orders," Davek said firmly. "I know Jedi don't like to see themselves as soldiers, but that's what you are now. You have to accept that and act like soldiers. If I can't rely on you, I can't use you."
They stared at each other hard. Marasiah knew they didn't always see eye to eye but this wordless tension was new. The death of their father had strained them both and she was afraid they might both snap at the worst time.
"He's right, Arlen," she said very softly. "We are soldiers, all of us."
Arlen kept his eyes on Davek's. He exhaled and said, "You can rely on me. I promise."
Davek kept staring, and Marasiah thought he might press and ask Arlen if he'd obey all orders from here on out. Instead he blinked, lowered his gaze a little, and said, "Good. I'll hold you to that."
"No problem."
"That's all for now."
"Okay. I'll go see to the other pilots."
Arlen lowered his head and slipped quickly and quietly out of the room. Marasiah stepped up to Davek and put a hand on his arm. "He was doing what he thought was right. Don't take it personally."
"I'm not-" He stopped, sighed. "I'm trying to take it professionally. I'm an admiral and I've got a soldier who wouldn't carry out his orders. What am I supposed to do?"
"Jedi are different from normal soldiers."
"I know. But I can't show favoritism either, not for Jedi, not for my family."
She squeezed his arms. "What are you going to do, put him up on charges? Davek, you have more important things to do than fight with your brother."
"I'm not-" He stopped again. "You're right. I just need to know I can trust him."
She reached up to touch his face. "Why would you ever doubt it?"
"I don't doubt his intentions. It's just… we've always been on different wavelengths."
"I've noticed," she said dryly. "But you're brothers, and you're on the same side, and the Empire needs you both."
He looked down at her and some of the hardness melted from his eyes. "It needs you too," he said.
"Flatterer," she smirked, and kissed him on the jaw. "Just let it drop for now. You've got more important fights ahead."
"I'm well aware."
"Is the offensive still on the table?"
"I think so. I hope so. I just got word that Admiral Darakon's outbound from Bastion. He'll meet me and Grave here. We'll figure out what to do next."
"So we hold over Kalee for now?"
"That's right."
It almost sounded like a respite; she knew it wouldn't last long. She wanted to tell him to take his time and make sure they all got things right, but now more than ever it seemed like time was running out fast.
