The Jedi academy was located on the outskirts of Ravelin, so when Vitor was roused from his bed in the morning by the sound of distant explosions and the faded drone of security airspeeders he knew that something in the city had gone very wrong.
He got dressed as quickly as he cold and went down to the mess hall, where he knew there'd be holo-projectors patched into the news-nets. The big dining chamber felt empty with most of the adult knights gone; it was mostly apprentices Vitor's age or younger clustered around the holo. He found his younger brother there, sitting on a bench beside their grandmother and their cousin Mohrgan. He didn't see Marin or her mother yet so her perched himself atop a table next to another apprentice a little younger than him, Treis Sinde.
He didn't bother to ask Treis what was happening. The INN presenter- a woman, different from yesterday- was saying, "Security services have confirmed at least a dozen casualties so far, though they won't release identities at this time. We've also learned that an uncertain number of people have been airlifted to Ravelin Southeast medical center, some in critical condition."
Vitor hunched forward and intently watched the text scrolling beneath her talking head: Rioting in progress in Ravelin – Police and emergency response teams in action – Transit through city center shut down – Statement from HoS Avaris forthcoming.
He had a sick feeling he knew just what the rioting was about. The rising on Kalee yesterday- which had snowballed into a battle that had claimed tens of thousands of Imperial lives- must have brought the brewing anti-alien feeling on the capital to a peak. Sure enough, the INN broadcast flashed a map showing points in Ravelin where rioting was taking place. Most were in neighborhoods with primarily non-human populations.
As the newscaster went on Vitor heard the clap of boots behind him and saw Marin coming up. She pushed herself onto the tabletop next to him and said, "Looks bad, doesn't it?"
Vitor nodded. "Where's your mom?"
"She ran back to her ship to prep for emergency evacuation."
"Really?"
"No, but she said she needed to patch in a call." Marin frowned. "At least they're not coming after us yet."
"Do you think they will?" Treis asked from his other shoulder, clearly worried.
"It won't come to that." Vitor tried to sound more assured than he felt. "The Jedi are helping the Empire, not fighting it."
"Neither are most of the aliens," said Marin.
"The Kaleesh rebelled, though."
"That doesn't excuse this."
Vitor felt like he wanted to argue and didn't know why. Marin was right. He knew the Empire was far from perfect; that the changes their grandfather had wrought had created deep divides in Imperial society that there was no easy way of closing. He glanced at their grandmother; Jaina was still watching the broadcast in stony silence, one hand tightly gripping Roan's. The younger boy looked uncomfortable with the pressure but didn't try to squirm away. He knew what the old woman needed right now.
After reporting an update from Ravelin Southeast Medical- seventeen non-humans and nine humans currently in critical care- the INN broadcaster announced that they'd be cutting to a live address from Head of State Avaris.
Just like that the reporter winked out and was replaced by a holo of an older woman with grey-streaked hair pulled from her pocked face. Though a civilian, she wore the martial olive-green of the moff she'd been before taking office. Even Vitor knew that was meant to assure a frightened populace with echoes of security only a military government could provide.
She was standing in front of a podium with the Empire's circular insignia behind her back, staring dead ahead for twenty-odd seconds as she waited for confirmation that all the major news-nets were patched in.
Then she said, "It is with grave regret that I address the citizens of the Empire this morning. Overnight, a series of deadly riots broke out in several districts of the capital. I have just ordered the City of Ravelin Police Department to take all steps to secure the city, with the intent on returning to normal business as soon as tomorrow. Those responsible for dealing injury or damage during these riots will be prosecuted. Compensation will be paid to the injured and their families. A Special Commission on Unrest will be appointed to deal distributive justice for these events.
"I assure you that I understand as well as anyone the stress that every Imperial citizen is going through right now. Many have lost loved ones. Many more fear for their own safety. We are facing an enemy about whom much is still unknown, and this is driving some to paranoia and violence. Paranoia is understandable but acts of violence against Imperial citizens can never be condoned, no matter who they are done by and no matter what the motivation. The Special Commission on Unrest will act according to this impartiality.
"In the meantime, our military will continue to wage the war against the invaders from the Unknown Regions. The Second and Fourth Fleet are taking the fight to the enemy as we speak, and Kalee is being pacified by elements from the Third Fleet. The First and Third both will remain in Imperial space, protecting all our worlds. The military has always been the backbone of the Empire. Rest assured that it will continue to protect its citizens. Trust our fine men and women to do their duty and I promise you this threat will be ended soon.
"I encourage all citizens to remain calm. These are localized disturbances that in no way effect the Empire we all serve. We are unified. We will not be divided. We will face threats from the outside with a singular resolve. In this time of crisis we can do nothing else.
"Thank you for listening, and for your loyalty to the Empire- a loyalty that we all share."
And with that, the broadcast cut back to the face of the INN broadcaster. The woman, very smoothly, started recapping everything about the Ravelin riots. To Vitor she sounded like she was reciting last night's blitzball scores.
"That was a good speech, wasn't it?" Vitor asked a little tentative. He knew his father had problems with Avaris but to his ears it had sounded strong and assuring.
"She could have gotten more specific," his grandmother said, her first words that day. "She could have called out the people who started these riots."
Apprentices were not normally fast to speak up against the academy's most venerable Master and now was no exception. As the reporter brought the map of Ravelin back up Marin said, "She said most of the right things, though. We are all in this together. And we have to trust the people who are supposed to protect us."
Vitor thought she was right, but the comment invited another period of awkward silence. Eventually his little brother spoke up. "It would've been nice if she'd mentioned us, though."
Vitor hadn't notice the omission until now, but Roan was right. That inoffensive but vague speech had said nothing to support the Jedi Order, or for that matter non-humans specifically. The only thing she'd given support to was the military, of which the Jedi were only a temporary, kind-of component. It was also, he knew, the institution with the most history in the Empire and the most trust behind it.
Still, he wished she'd mentioned the Jedi by name. It would have made him feel a little more assured.
-{}-
The orbital stations over Bilbringi had their day-cycles synced to those of Ravelin, which meant that when Lukas finally got off work- three hours past the normal- the news-nets were winding down reports of riots in the capital. As often happened lately, two desires warred between them: one wanted to get back to the simple comfort of his family, the other wanted to hit a drinking establishment with his ex-sergeant and get some liquid relief. Nowadays going home meant worried looks from Polaw and questions he couldn't answer from Leena, so after a short call to his disappointed wife he headed over to the Groundpounder. As the name implied it was a place frequented by stormtroopers and other infantry. It was frankly more of a dive than the Rimwalker but Malkin seemed to prefer that kind of atmosphere. It showed who the grizzled colonel was at heart.
The actual violence seemed to have come to a halt. Order had been restored by the Ravelin police without the intervention of the military, which Lukas supposed was a good thing, though the military would have locked things down faster. The reporters were saying that the death count had climbed up to forty-eight and might rise since a few beings were still in critical condition. How many of those were human and how many not was a question on everyone's minds, but none of the news-nets seems to have an answer yet.
The first drink took the edge off, but just as Lukas was starting to feel this might all be blowing over Malkin said, in a low and very gruff voice, "This is just the start, you know."
"You think there'll be more?"
"On Bastion or elsewhere," he nodded. "Depends how long this fighting goes on for."
"It sounds like the Second made a good show at Kaleesh."
"Yeah, I knew Grave would have his stuff together. And Prince Fel held out pretty okay." Malkin looked at his glass and ran a stubby forefinger around the edge. "But think of all the planets we've got out there, especially by the border, with mostly alien populations. After them some of them have got to be thinking that they might be better off trying like the Kaleesh did."
"Would it? We stamped down hard on Kalee. And those raiders act like savages. They're not even interested in plunder anymore. It's just a big storm of destruction."
"I know. You're right. But still, some of them have got to be thinking it. I would be." He took a gulp, long enough to let Lukas ponder that, then said, "Me, though, I'm more worried about what might happen here."
"On Bilbringi?"
"Right. It's mostly military here, and we've all sworn the same oath, but still… A man has to wonder."
"We've both served with plenty of aliens. They're as loyal as you or me. They're not going to mutiny."
"Haven't you heard? Word's come down from Fleet Command that all enlisted Kaleesh are placed on 'temporary prohibitive leave.'"
"I hadn't heard that. I didn't even know there were Kaleesh in the military."
"From what I heard, less than a hundred overall. But imagine if something happens on, say, one of the Yagai colonies near the border. We've got thousands and thousands of them in the service. Probably thousands here on Bilbringi. Can you really tell me you'd trust every single one of those Yagai techs not to commit a single act of sabotage, even the passive kind?"
Lukas immediately thought to the engineering chief on Voidwalker whose life he'd saved. He wanted to say that all Yagai were as irrefutably loyal as Daharr, but logically, no, he couldn't make that claim. He decided not to say anything at all.
"I'm not saying it will happen," Malkin whispered. "I'm just saying we'd damn well better be prepared."
"Prepared how?"
The colonel lowered his voice further. "I've been talking with my old chiefs at the Yaga Minor base. They've agreed to send two more battalions over here."
"I hadn't heard that."
"Vice Admiral Jaeger just signed the order this afternoon. But the thing is, they're just transferring personnel. Security purposes, the order says. But most of the actual hardware for those battalions is staying at Yaga Minor."
"That's…. unusual, but not unheard of."
"Listen, Briggs, I've got a request. A small one. Something you can do as quartermaster."
He'd had a feeling things were going that way. "What kind of request?"
"It's simple. When those soldiers come over from Yaga Minor the transport's gonna be loaded down with supplies, for them and for other units. Now, I've got friends on Yaga Minor who can load extra equipment on those transports. They won't be on the manifests but they'll be there. When they get to Bilbringi all you just have to make sure they get shipped to those new regiments."
"Colonel, everything's checked in by droids. You can't just slip supplies in and out unnoticed."
"You're deputy chief quartermaster, aren't you? You must be able to pull some strings."
He sighed and looked at his glass. He'd seen this coming but still couldn't believe this conversation was happening. "It's… possible."
Malkin asked, "You remember Private Marsh, don't you?"
"Of course I remember." Marked by a tough attitude and sense of humor that was alternatively attractive and annoying, Leila Marsh had been one of his best squad-mates back on Voidwalker. He just didn't know why Malkin was bringing her up; they hadn't talked in at least ten years.
"Well it's Major Marsh Neals nowadays. Married but still in the service. Settled into a job very close to yours, in fact."
"On Yaga Minor?"
"On Yaga Minor."
He sighed. "And Yaga Minor won't need those supplies?"
"We've got enough as is. Vice Admiral Jaeger, bless his Voidwalker self, seems to think all we need is some extra boots on deck to keep this place safe."
"I trust Jaeger."
"So do I. Normally. But the Empire's in a crisis now, way worse than what happened at Senex-Juvex. We can't do everything on trust and we can't just follow the rules. You think those damn alien raiders follow any rules?"
"I doubt it."
"Then why the hell should we? It's just limiting ourselves. All I'm asking for you to do is look the other way, just this once. They're to keep everyone safe."
"Safe from who? These raiders or some hypothetical Yagai saboteur?"
"Either. Both. Neither. This isn't the time to be careful about stuff, Briggs. You're the family man. You know what you've got to protect."
He glared at Malkin. "Low blow, Sarge."
The older man didn't flinch. "Just think about it. Let me know tomorrow so I can tell Major Marsh what to do."
There was nowhere the conversation could go after that, so Lukas finished his drink and went back to the habitat section. The kids were asleep but Marian was not. She seemed actually relieved to have him back sober and relatively early, which just made him feel guilty. When they woke up the next morning they roused the kids too, and Lukas was treated to that grim morning ritual of watching the latest bad news with his children.
As he watched their faces- Polaw's wide-eyed but confused, Leena's creased with concern- he realized that Malkin was right. It had been a low blow but it had landed nonetheless. He'd decided a while back that protecting his family was more important than following the rules. Now, finally, it was time to act on his choice.
-{}-
It was impossible not to feel out-of-place on the bridge of a Mandalorian ship. That Damien Corde was the only one aboard without the distinctive beskar'gam full-body suit and T-visor helmet was bad enough, though he'd at least brought along a decent set of plasteel armor plates and open-faced helmet for this mission. What made things profoundly eerie was that the two dozen Mandos working the bridge of this Teroch-class assault frigate all communicated via their helmets. From Corde's perspective they all worked in eerie silence, as efficient as Geonosian worker drones. Like a bunch of insectoids, the faceless warriors also seemed to ignore anyone who wasn't part of their hive mind, which in this case meant only Corde.
He could only take so much of it, frankly. When, by his count, they were getting close to their destination he stepped up behind Gevern Auch's silver armored back, cleared his throat volubly, and asked, "Will we be meeting up with your other ships before we begin the attack?"
Auchs turned around to face Damien; they were both tall men and met eye-to-visor. As of yet Auchs hadn't taken off his helmet in Damien's presence, though he'd seen file holos of the Mandalore's face: blunt, clean-shaved and narrow-eyed, short-cropped hair going gray. He was in his fifties now, having ruled the Mandalorian Protectors for some twenty years, but seemed to be as in-shape and lethal as ever.
"They'll be meeting us there," Auchs said in a deep rasp that may or may not have been aided by the speakers of his helmet.
"So we'll all we decant from hyperspace outside the combat zone?"
Auchs shook his head. "They'll meet us there. We already have a scout drone in place so we know the Vagaari ships are at the waystation. If we bring our big ships out of the hyperspace close to the system we might tip off our targets."
"I've shared the reports on their ships. They don't have the technology to spot us if we drop out far enough away."
"Vagaari might not, but the Stromma might."
"There's Stromma there?"
Without another word, Auchs walked over to the tactical station. The officer seated there brought up a holo-feed from the scout drone. Sitting over the planetoid were three Vagaari gunships, one larger frigate, and a pair of Stromma vessels.
"Is this a problem?" asked Auchs.
Damien knew it was a problem and an opportunity at once. The Imperials simply didn't have good technical specs on Stromma ships. Boarding parties would have no idea what lay inside. At the same time, using ships from multiple races would make their false-flag attack seem more authentic.
"What do you plan to do with the Stromma ships when we arrive?" he asked Auchs.
"You hired us to capture Vagaari vessels."
"I'll up your pay if your take at least one of those Stromma ships too."
"Do you have their specifications?"
"I'm sorry, no."
"Fifty percent more."
"Twenty if you take one ship, thirty for both."
"Done," Auchs said. The holo winked out and the Mandalore still didn't speak. Damien figured that he was calling someone through his helmet's comm system but there was no way to be sure. After spending the past three days on this ship he'd decided that these Mandalorians went out of their way to alienate foreigners. It went along with everything he'd heard about them: clannish, arrogant, often secretive, usually savage, but always good fighters.
He set himself to waiting. Now that he knew what they were up against the situation felt slightly less interminable. The plan was to capture every enemy ship they ambushed at the way-station. If a ship couldn't be captured it would be destroyed. They'd leave no trace of their presence. The Mandalorians' rate of pay was based on how many ships they seized, and Damien trusted that, combined with professional pride, would net them most of the vessels at their destination.
He knew the time had come when activity on the bridge picked up. A few more armored warriors arrived and took what looked like gunnery stations. Auchs strode up to the center of the command deck and leaned forward, grasping the waist-high rail that separated the metal platform from the wide forward viewport.
Damien stepped up on his flank and asked, "Showtime?"
"Showtime," rasped Auchs.
Three seconds later, hyperspace dissolved and the viewport was filled with stars. It panned down quickly as their frigate adjusted pitch. The planetoid, drifting in slow orbit at the far edge on its uninhabited system, was a clearly-visible lump of space rock. As it swelled in size Damien saw three more blunt-faced Mandalorian ships wink into existence: another Teroch-class frigate and two smaller Crusader III-class corvettes. He spotted the enemy ships too, all hovering low over the refueling station that protruded from the planetoid. The Vagaari gunships were about half the size of the Crusaders; the frigate and two Stromma ships were sized more like the Mandalore's vessel.
The Crusaders rushed in fast, spewing agile T-shaped Beskad starfighters and bulkier bombers. Damien had to admit the timing of it all was impeccable: the Mandalorian ships converged from different directions in a shared window of about four seconds and were able to take the enemy completely by surprise. He watched as the Crusaders unleashed chains of plasma fire from their forward cannons and destroyed the refueling station- and its comm transceiver- before it had a chance to call for help.
Damien had been on ships' bridges during combat situations before. He was used to the constant back-and-forth of order and response between a capital ship's crew, words always formal and tones always tense. There was none of that now, at least not for him to hear. He watched the battle unfold before him in eerie silence. Auchs took his frigate in close, right for the nearest Stromma ship. The barrel-shaped vessel brought its broadside guns to bear but the Teroch-class frigate, as befitting a Mandalorian ship, had most of its guns pointed forward for the fiercest attack. The first barrage of missiles exploded on the Stromma ship's shields. The Mando frigate pulled up more nimbly than a comparable Imperial ship could have, and Damien had to grasp the railing to keep from being thrown back. As their view panned upward he caught the flash of a few missiles slipping past the shields and exploding on the hull.
He had the urge to remind Auchs that the goal was capture, not destruction, but he knew insulting the Mandalore's acumen would get him nowhere. Keeping one eye on the viewport, he watched Auchs make a short vertical chopping motion with his hand. Damien looked over his shoulder to the tactical station. By the time he made sense of the holo a trio of smaller ships had left their frigate. He looked back out the viewport and spotted two of them racing ahead: oblong and flat, with two rotating thrusters jutting out from either long side. The boarding teams were away.
As he watched them dive out of view he realized something he should have before. The Chiss intelligence he'd shared with Auchs had included specifications for a nerve gas that would act fast and incapacitate a shipful of Vagaari without killing them. He had no such concoction for Stromma biology, which meant taking their ships would be extra-difficult. Mentally, he admitted that maybe the Mandos deserved a thirty-five percent raise.
The other Mandalorian ships had launched their own boarding parties, and five minutes into the battle Damien could see that every enemy vessel had a Mando troop ship attached like a limpet. As their frigate swept past the Vagaari frigate he could see that they'd inserted themselves right where they were supposed to, behind the well-hidden command deck. The plan was to ignore airlocks and obvious docking ports to simply cut their way through the hull. Mando ships were made for such maneuvers and the damage could be repaired quickly before putting them in operation again; when they staged their attack on the Chiss all these ships would either escape or be destroyed so badly a little older damage wouldn't stand out.
As expected, the Vagaari gunships were the first to go dead in space. The bigger ships would take longer to commandeer, and the remaining Mandos began to fly loose circles around the planetoid to keep the Stromma and Vagaari pinned close to its surface. One of the big Stromma ships stopped firing next. The remaining Vagaari frigate stayed where it was but the last Stromma fired its engines and pressed forward in a desperate move to escape.
"Stop it at all costs," Damien snapped on instinct, and knew it was unnecessary as soon as the words left his mouth.
The Mandalorians knew what they were doing. As their frigate swung to give chase, Damien spotted two boarding ships kicked off from the vessel's hull and fall away. The second Mando frigate leaped ahead to cut off the Stromma's escape vector while the Crusaders began fast attack runs with the help of their fighters and bomber wings. The Stromma tried to evade and find a new hyperspace exit vector but their ship was too big, the Mandos too fast. With a little more time they might have punched their way through but their pursuers didn't grant it. The Mandalore's own frigate delivered the killing blow with a double-volley of concussion missiles that, combined with heavy fire from the bombers, succeeded in bursting through the shields and lighting up the engine section with one big explosion. The Mando ships began to circle the crippled ship like scavenger birds. When the flare and debris cleared it was obvious that the Stromma ship would require significant resources to get into fighting shape, including replacement for all its blown-out engines and likely the power core as well.
"Well?" Auchs said aloud. "Instructions?"
Damien knew what he was asking. "You've permission to destroy it."
Auchs nodded. Two seconds later, every Mandalorian vessel opened fire. Lasers and missiles punched through its unshielded hull, one after another, and within a minute the bulky frigate had become a gnawed-up and fire-blackened mess drifting through space.
If the Mandos felt elated by their victory, they gave no sign that Damien could see. Even their postures remained stiff with intent as they swung the frigate back around to face the five enemy ships all drifting near the planetoid.
As the other Mando frigate pulled into view Damien saw three more troops ships disembark. Those disabled vessels still needed pacification, or at least more boarders to help deal with the knocked-out crew. He was about to ask Auchs for a sitrep when the Mandalore said, "They're having problems with the Stromma. They're putting up a fight."
"What about the Vagaari?"
"The knockout gas worked as planned."
"Did you try it on the Stromma too?"
"We tried the variant usually used on humans," Auchs said. "No effect."
"So it will have to be a fight then."
"Yes." With that Auchs turned for the exit.
Damien trotted after him. "Are you going to join the boarding party? Personally?"
"A Mand'adlor leads from the front, Master Blackmor."
The door slid open. Auchs stepped through. What came over Damien wasn't just a stupid compulsion to prove himself to these people; Moff Veers had charged him to watch over this process every step of the way and make it was done right.
"I'll come with you," he said.
Auchs stopped and turned on his heel. Damien could see his own reflection in black mirror-black visor. "It's safer if you stay here."
"I can handle myself in a fight. Just give me a breath filter and I'll be good to go."
Auchs watched him, motionless like a metal statue, until he said, "All right. Follow me."
Damien did just that. By the time they reached the hangar two more landing craft had almost fully boarded. Auchs must have called ahead because there was a Mando waiting for them with a breathing mask as well as a quality Verpine rifle, both for his use.
"Thank you, soldier," Damien said as he took the equipment. He didn't get a 'you're welcome' but he hadn't expected one.
As the drop ship neared its target Auchs did him the favor of explaining their difficulty. Since they had no good schematic for the interior of the Stromma ships they'd been forced to storm the well-defended defended landing bay and break through existing airlocks rather than risk blowing through a critical node in the hull. When their craft set down in the hangar it was clear the place was secured, and that it had been costly. As he stepped out onto the deck, breathing mask securely strapped to his face and black armored helmet on his head, Damien scanned the former battle zone. Mandalorian beskar could deflect just about any small-arms blaster bolt but from the black dents in their armor and the scorched pits on the deck, the Stromma had defended themselves using grenades or small rockets. He got confirmation when he saw a shoulder-mounted launcher near the scattered piles of green-faced aliens. The Mandalorians had gotten the better of the exchange, but the Mandos had still lost over a dozen of their own. The mercenaries took loss in stride, like soldiers who served a real cause. In some way Damien would never understand, their warrior culture instilled in them the same kind of loyalty agents like him felt for the Empire.
Damien stayed behind Auchs as the group charged into the halls of the ship. Old combat training came back on instinct; he crouched low with the rifle cradled in both arms, eyes always up and ahead. They passed through several winding corridors, past a half-dozen crumpled Stromma bodies, before Auchs threw up a hand, signaling the party to stop. A second later a few more Mandos came around the corner to meet them. Though they talked through their helmets and with short chopping hand signals Damien could recognize one of them from his broad torso and unique armor: dark violet with gold highlights.
When the party started moving again Galaset dropped back behind Auchs and grunted, "Glad you could join us."
"I want to make sure you people earn your pay."
The Kerestian made a choking sound inside his helmet. Damien chose to take it as vocal admiration instead of a snort of amusement.
The ship's lift system was apparently down, which meant they had to clamber up a series of vertical ladder shafts to get close to the bridge, which the ship's crew had apparently fortified while another set of barricaded Stromma tried to restart the engines after the damage a team of Mando saboteurs had done to them. The wide, low-ceilinged hallway leading to the command deck had become a battle zone thick with smoke and the strobe and tang of laserfire. The lead Mando boarding party had apparently brought up broad beskar shield-plates which they'd jammed into the deck and used as cover while they tried to break down the barriers the Stromma had themselves erected.
Auchs charged right into the fray. Damien hung back and watched as one Stromma round panged off his chest-place, slowing but not stopping him as he raced to the foremost shield.
"Leads from the front, doesn't he?" Damien grunted as he ducked behind one beskar barrier with Galaset.
"That he does," the alien grunted. Placing the barrel of his rifle in a notch atop the barrier, he began to pump laserfire toward the Stromma emplacements.
Just as Damien peeked over the edge to scope their defenses, the hallway thundered with the sound of a heavy repeating cannon. Damien ducked back down but saw one Mando caught in mid-charge by a heavy bolt that lifted him off his fleet and sent him flying twenty meters down the hall. He impacted on the deck with a sick crunch and didn't move.
"Feisty bastards, aren't they?" Galaset said as he popped off a few more shots.
Damien peeked above the barrier's edge and did the same, not really caring if he didn't hit anything. He'd come here to see how it was done and make sure the Mandos didn't do anything stupid. If he got himself killed here, failing Veers, failing Valera- he'd be the stupid one.
"Get ready," Galaset told him.
"Ready for what?"
Instead of replying the armored Kerestian rose to his feet and shouted with helmet speakers on full, "Oya Mando! Oya! Oya!"
And suddenly all the other Mandos, silent inside their helmets until now, screamed the same battle cry so loud Damien was stunned in place. They ran and charged, shooting and shouting at the top of their lungs, and he realized that if he was frozen by all this, so were the Stromma.
"Kriffing Mandos," he swore, picked up his gun, and charged after them.
The charge was already on. The big gun emplacement blasted one Mando off his feet, then caught another in the face, snapping his scorched helmet back at an angle no neck could bend. The rest kept coming and Damien was with them, shooting madly ahead. He saw a small dark fleck arc through the air and his mind registered grenade right before the explosion shook the hall. He stumbled, fell on one palm and pushed himself right back up. By the time he was running again the Mandos had overrun the melted wreckage of the gun emplacement. He spotted what he thought was Gevern Auchs' brown armor up front right before another, brighter explosion rocked the hall.
By the time Damien got up to the wreckage of the bridge's protective blast doors two dozen Mandos had stormed the command deck. They showed no mercy, gunning down every Stromma in sight, most of them still in their chairs. As he stepped though the smoke Damien searched out Auchs and found him at the front of the deck. Then he spotted Galaset, closer, pumping extra rounds into prone Stromma bodies, just to make sure.
Damien had no qualms about being ruthless with a dangerous enemy, but it had been a long time since he'd been in a battle this nasty. Maybe that was it, or maybe some atmospheric toxins had slipped through his breath mask, but he found himself going faint.
The world darkened for a moment; then something moving. At the right side of his vision a green body moved on the floor. He spun. The Stromma grabbed his fallen blaster and popped off one shot that took Damien in the shoulder, half-spinning him around. As inertia tugged him, he swung his rifle up and opened fire. Three different Mandos nearby fired at the same time, and with a flash his attacker became nothing but a black and blast-riddled body on the floor.
"I think I got the kill shot, actually," Damien breathed.
"I think you did," said Galaset. "Damage?"
"Plasteel's no beskar, but it gets the job done." He flexed his shoulder; sore from the absorbed impact but nothing more.
"Good to know," Gevern Auchs said as he stalked up to the two of them. "Engine section's clear also. Mission accomplished."
"And the Vagaari ships?"
"Secure. We've gathered the crew. They're incapacitated but alive."
He and Auchs had already discussed this. When the Chiss combed through the wreckage of the ships that had attacked them they'd find lots of Vagaari dead from explosions and vacuum exposure. Which meant as many captives as possible had to stay alive for now.
"Keep them breathing," Damien said. "Same with the Stromma. I'll give your people one standard day to refit these ships, then we're off to the next stage. Is that good?"
"Works for me," said Auchs. "And since we're using an extra ship to attack, we deserve a wage increase for Stage Two."
Damien had expected that, but it still felt strange to talk payment on a smoking battle-zone, surrounded by scorched corpses. Kriffing Mandos, he thought, and offered, "Twenty-percent more."
"Thirty."
"Twenty-five."
"Thirty."
"Twenty-five. I can bring in other people to crew these ships if I have to."
It was a bluff, but Auchs didn't seem willing to call him on it. "Twenty-seven."
"Done." Damien extended a hand. Auchs' men watched as he shook.
Once that was done, Damien stepped aside and watched the clean-up begin. Auchs had squeezed a little more out than he'd wanted, and definitely more than Veers would like, but in the end it was about results. As with everything else in life, you got what you paid for, and these were consummate professionals.
