Damien Corde had done a wide variety of jobs in the Empire's service; the most recent had spanned the spectrum from courier to orchestrator of two bloody battles. Playing bodyguard seemed more like the former, and once again Moff Veers had refrained from explaining exactly what this innocuous, apparently-simple task was meant to accomplish.
He'd been secreted onto the security team of Admiral Hallis, commanding officer of the Imperial First Fleet, just four days before. He'd slept in the barracks aboard the admiral's star destroyer Sentinel, eaten in the mess with the other guards, and swapped stories about previous assignments which were, in his case, entirely fictional. That he had seven years on the next-oldest bodyguard went uncommented upon, but it was, to him, the one potentially jarring aspect of what was otherwise a smooth and simple insertion.
Four days after joining the team he accompanied the admiral onto his shuttle and flew out from Sentinel to meet the new arrival from Kuat. Veers had simply told him to protect Hallis at all costs, and nothing more. Whatever was possibly going to happen to him, Damien had a feeling it would occur soon, when the admiral boarded the new super star destroyer Invincible.
Damien had seen schematics of the ship but never appreciated its size until he saw it in person. At fourteen kilometers long it was more than seven times the length of the twin Predator-class destroyers that hung off its flanks. The ship was long and narrow, more sword than dagger, with superstructure slanting wide of the engine sections like a hilt-guard.
He knew he shouldn't gawk but the other guards were staring out the shuttle's porthole windows too, as entranced by this massive ship as he was. The Empire had made larger warships in its glory days- Darth Vader's Executor and Palpatine's black-hulled Eclipse came to mind- but it had been almost a century since it had commissioned a warship this mighty. During its decades as the galaxy's foremost power, the Alliance had constructed a few giant warships, mostly from the Mon Calamari shipyards, but during the Long Peace they'd quietly retired their great weapons and focused on smaller ships and smaller fleets. Invincible was a statement of Imperial supremacy and Imperial pride, the kind not seen for generations. To be one of the first to see it was an honor that made the rest of this strange mission worthwhile.
Admiral Hallis seemed to the only unimpressed one; that or he hid it well. The most senior of the Empire's four fleet admirals, a thickset and craggy-faced man with a head of white hair under the cap of his formal dress uniform. Damien knew him only by reputation; more administrator than soldier, more concerned with efficiency than inspiring his troops. He frankly didn't seem like the kind of officer Veers would have courted as an ally, but as always, Damien's job was to follow orders, not ask questions.
Invincible had been orbiting Bastion for two hours when Hallis arrived to take his position as flag officer for the Empire's greatest warship. Damien understood the ship was still only operating on a skeleton crew; the bulk of its staff would be imported from other ships, mostly the First Fleet, in the days to come. The goal today was the show the thing off, which was why Damien wasn't surprised to find a squawking flock of journalists in the landing bay when their shuttle sent down. They were barely held back by a stormtrooper-guarded cordon and they put Damien on edge, though he was careful not to show it. He made slow and steady movements, watched everything, and kept a hand near his hip-mounted pistol but not on it.
As they escorted an equally stern-faced Hallis toward the hangar exit, the admiral made the signal to halt and turned to face the journalists. They immediately barraged him with questions and shoved audio receivers at him, though Damien and the other security staff made sure they were all at least two meters from the admiral. He scanned the crowd for anything that could be used as a ranged weapon but saw only equipment brandished with a variety of news-net logos, from INN to the smaller independent Imperial networks and even a few Alliance-based ones. Invincible was a big deal indeed.
"A question, Admiral!" one woman shouted louder than the others. "Will this ship be put into use against the raiders right away?"
"Are the raiders defeated, Admiral?" asked another reporter.
A third threw in, "Admiral, is it true the leader of the raiders was killed by a Jedi?"
Hallis' face creased a little more as he gave them a small, polite smile. "After the engagement at Sevok-358 we can say with confidence we've dealt the raiders a crippling blow. Invincible will be taken out to the border regions to secure our systems there."
"Is their leader dead?" the third reporter, from an Alliance network, pressed. "Did a Jedi kill him?"
The flock quieted a little; they all wanted to hear it. Hallis allowed a tiny nod. "He is dead. Our Imperial knights were responsible for the kill."
That brought up another swarm of questions. The loudest one shouted, "Admiral, if the threat is over how do you justify Invincible? Couldn't the money and material for this ship had been better spent?"
That one was from an Imperial network, Damien saw, one of the little independent ones. Hallis' smile flattened and he said, "I am fully in agreement with Head of State Avaris and Supreme Commander Darakon that this warship is essential for the future security of the Empire. The recent attacks prove we need to be strong and vigilant at all times. If you'll excuse me, I have to review operations on my ship. The Head of State and Supreme Commander will arrive in a few hours and will answer all your remaining questions at the press conference. Thank you."
With that he turned and walked fast for the exit. Damien and the other guards had to hurry to keep up. Once he was past all the journalists, into the quiet security of the hallways, the stiff old admiral allowed a small sigh.
"You did well in there, sir," Damien offered.
Hallis glanced sideways, like he was noticing Damien for the first time. Damien thought he was in for a reprimand- the admiral was a reputed martinet- but he said, "I threw them a bone to gnaw on. Avaris will handle all the hard questions."
"Yes, sir," Damien said, and decided not to risk further conversation.
Hallis wasn't in the mood for it. He walked briskly on, and Damien followed, wondering again just what the hell was doing here.
-{}-
Darth Kroan never forgot a face, even a vermin's, so when he watched the news-casts from Bastion in the comfort of his landside estate on Kuat he recognized one of Admiral Hallis' security officers as the agent Moff Veers had sent to pick up Invincible's command keys. What that meant he wasn't sure; most likely Veers was just being cautious. He didn't know exactly how or when Kroan would strike at Head of State Avaris but he'd apparently decided Admiral Hallis needed to be protected.
A smart precaution, but unnecessary. The plan Kroan had put in motion wasn't anything that threatened Hallis or anyone else on Invincible. An extra bodyguard wouldn't provide protection anyway.
Avaris and Darakon were still on Bastion, no doubt running through their own rigorous security checks before getting on the shuttle that would take them up to the super star destroyer, checks that would be just as useless. They wouldn't arrive for a few hours more so Kroan went to work in the meantime.
The One Sith were seeking out Force-sensitives in positions of power because that was what the old Sith had done when undermining the Republic from within. Darth Sidious had been of a noble family, albeit from a backwater planet. Plagueis had been even richer than Kroan. At the same time, Darth Wyyrlok and the others hid in the Hapes cluster, raising a born-Sith army that would rival the Jedi Order's once they brought it out of the shadows. It was a two-pronged attack, combing the methods of Darth Bane's followers and the Sith-led armies like Naga Sadow's and Valkorion's. It was, he thought, a merging of both sides' strengths, and the best way to bring down the Jedi and the Alliance.
Still, it meant that for converts like Kroan, he was forced to spend more time living his false life than acting as a true Sith. Managing the galaxy's greatest shipbuilding conglomerate was enough to devour every hour of every day, even with the help of droids, aides, and competent sub-managers. Tomorrow he was due to meet with the rest of the Board and review a contract proposal with a new distribution company; hardly the kind of intrigue commonly associated with the Sith.
The one potentially useful thing about the proposal was its source: Chance Calrissian, along with the old Hutt he's partnered corporate interests with. Back when Kroan had been KDY's newest board member he'd spent most of his time on Coruscant, winning favors from senators and businessbeings with a combination of charisma and careful bribes. Consorting nonstop with vermin grew tiresome, but Calrissian had been more entertaining than most, and had a close friendship with an important Jedi that Kroan had hoped might prove useful.
But that had been a long time ago. He barely spoke with Calrissian anymore. Still, tomorrow he'd ply the man with drinks and compliments, talk nostalgia, and ask with well-feigned casualness what Calrissian's Jedi friend was doing nowadays. It just might get him something useful.
He'd reviewed the advance copy of Calrissian and Volgma's proposal and made notes for the other Board members when he checked the INN broadcast. His timing was good; the pretty young female reporter was saying that the Head of State and Supreme Commander were leaving Ravelin in their shuttle and would reach Invincible in minutes.
Kroan sat on the sofa in front of the holo and leaned forward to watch intently. This was the crux of it; he was confident the plan he'd put in motion would succeed but there was still the chance something could go wrong, especially when most of it was in the hands of vermin.
As the reported kept talking, an insert image over her shoulder showed a long-range shot of a single white Imperial shuttle clearing Bastion's atmosphere, flanked on either side by two red-painted TIE-X fighters that normally flew honor guard for the Head of State. Suddenly the view jerked wildly; the camera zoomed out just as two of the TIE-Xs burst into flame and the other two broke formation and began firing. The reporter, caught as off-guard as her viewers, watching with them in stunned silence as the camera caught a long-bodied Kaleesh frigate falling out of space toward the Head of State's shuttle.
It was exactly as planned. Locating the Grievous had been difficult after it had fled Kalee. Darth Wyyrlok had sent a dozen of the One Sith's best trackers to find the fugitive warship, and once they had it had been no easy task convincing the frightened and angry Kaleesh leaders to take the bait, but in the end the chance to strike back against the leaders of the Empire that had subjugated their world twice over was too strong.
Kroan smiled to himself as the Grievous blasted the remaining TIE-Xs away and grabbed the shuttle with its tractor beam. The Kaleesh were consistently defiant against outsider rule, but their bellicose pride was what made the aliens easy to manipulate. Over a century ago, Darth Sidious had made their best general into his most useful pawn. The fact that Kroan's tool today was named after Sidious' was one delicious irony; that the Jedi had enabled it was another.
The space around the Grievous immediately swarmed with other ships from Bastion's orbital security: gunships, patrolling TIEs, an attack frigate. None of them dared fire when the Kaleesh ship had reeled Avaris and Darakon's shuttle inside its shield envelope and clasped it tight to the hull.
The INN reported was, finally, fumbling to respond to the situation. "As you can see, the Kaleesh ship had just seized the Head of State's shuttle! This is… an incredible development! The ship… hold on.…" She pressed a finger to her earpiece, carefully obscured by a curtain of long hair. "Yes, our sources are confirming this is the same ship that escaped the security operation at Kalee two weeks ago. This ship is, ah, the Grievous and when last spotted in contained the leaders of the anti-Imperial uprising on Kalee, the leaders who'd aligned with the alien invaders.
"One moment, please… We're getting a broadcast on all frequencies from the Grievous. We are… Are we receiving? Can we put it on? Yes, we can put it on…. One moment-"
Then there was a short static-burst and the woman disappeared. She was replaced with the full-screen head-shot of a Kaleesh warrior, face obscured by the white tribal masks his race wore. The angry eyes, vertical slit-eyes like a predator's, glared through the mask at an audience of billions.
"You can see we have captured your leaders," the alien said with a voice as fierce as his eyes. "We have now done to you what you have done to us! We will hold your leaders. They are ours for as long as your troops occupy Kalee!
"We invoke our dead! We invoke the great Grievous who died in a holy war against your Palpatine! We will honor our martyrs and win independence for our race! We will not release your leaders until every Imperial soldier has been removed from our world! Until then we will-"
The transmission burst to static. The reporter reappeared, and over her shoulder the inset-image showed the Grievous explode in burst of light and heat so powerful the nearby TIEs and gunships pulled back to escape the blast. The One Sith's saboteurs had done their job well; the explosion of the frigate's power core had wiped out every last warrior aboard the Grievous and everyone aboard the Head of State's shuttle.
The Kaleesh had been reticent to trust the mysterious strangers who'd offered them help. They'd been right to suspect the Sith and wrong to take the bait that was too good to refuse. It was how the Sith operated time and again and it rarely failed.
The reporter's pretty face had gone blank with shock. After ten or fifteen seconds she finally remembered she was on air, looked at the camera, and said, "Ladies and gentlemen… We have just witnessed the murder of Head of State Avaris. And…. Yes, my sources say the Supreme Commander Darakon was on the shuttle with her. I repeat, Avaris and Darakon are dead. That means the Moff Council will have to elect an emergency Head of State until a general election can be held. We've no word yet from the military how-"
Kroan shut off the transmission. Everything had worked perfectly and everything would flow from here. Humming pleasantly to himself he got up from the sofa, poured a cup of aged Sartinaynian brandy given to him by Moff Veers- it seemed appropriate- and went back to Calrissian's proposal.
-{}-
Davek had excused himself from watching Invincible's commissioning ceremony. A lot of officers were eager to see the super star destroyer officially put into action but he'd claimed he had too much to do overseeing repairs to the Fourth, which was true enough, but he was also trying hard not to think about that waste-of-credits vanity project that hadn't been ready when they most needed it.
Vice Admiral Devlin Jaeger, chief of operations at the Bilbringi shipyards and Davek's former helm chief on Voidwalker, was of the same mind, so the two of them ensconced themselves in Jaeger's office and started going over reports before Avaris was due to start her press conference. They were, therefore, caught completely off-guard when Jaeger's aide buzzed his way into the office and asked edgily, "Admirals, do you have any response to what's happened on Bastion? People are expecting a statement."
Davek and Jaeger both fixed the young Zabrak with confused stares. The aide stared back. "Haven't you heard? INN, the other news-nets, the Alliance ones, it's everywhere!"
Jaeger slapped the controls to the holo-projector mounted in the wall of his office. As it winked on the aide started speaking over the female INN reporter, saying, "It happened so fast! We still don't know how that Kaleesh ship got so deep into our security lanes without being caught."
"What ship? Is it-" Davek stopped. His eyes locked on the text scrawling beneath the reporter: Moff Council meeting to elect emergency HoS – Alliance CoS Esch expresses formal condolences – Reports of Third Fleet action at Kalee unconfirmed.
"It was the Grievous," the aide said. "It came out of nowhere. Avaris and Darakon never had a chance."
"They're dead?"
"Yes, sir." The aide waved weakly at the holo. "The Moff Council, like they said, is having an emergency vote right now."
Davek's head swam with too many possibilities, none of them good. He remembered that a new moff had just been voted to replace Moff Moran from Valc VII; a hardliner and old-style Imperial. That might be enough to tip the scales. He tried to run through all the moffs on the Council and their political leanings but there was so much else to consider too: who would lead the military now that Darakon was dead, what would happen to the Kaleesh, what would happen to other non-humans in the Empire. More anti-alien riots were a certainty; the only question was how bad they'd be.
Another thought reared up: if Arlen had fired on the Grievous back at Kalee, like Davek had ordered him too, this disaster never would have happened.
"Admiral," Jaeger said, lightly slapping his shoulder. "Listen."
Davek refocused his attention on the INN reporter. She said, "Our sources have just confirmed that the Moff Council has completed its vote. We, ah, don't have confirmation of the winner yet but we understand there will be an official statement in minutes."
"Not good," Davek breathed.
"What I want to know is, who's going to be Supreme Commander?" asked Jaeger. "It has to be one of the fleet admirals, and you're, ah-"
"Too young. So's Grave."
"Hallis, then?"
"Probably." Davek wished he knew the First's commander better. He had a reputation as being more boring old bureaucrat than soldier, and they said he kept his political leanings to himself.
The aide, standing behind them, coughed to get attention. "Sirs, the whole 'Yards are in an uproar. I really think they need a statement of some kind, probably from the both of you."
"They'll get it in a minute, Lieutenant," Jaeger snapped. "You're excused."
Davek barely noticed the Zabrak salute and scamper off. He and Jaeger watched the holo, grimly captivated, as the reported repeated what she'd probably been saying for the past hour: they had no idea where the Grievous had come from or how it had slipped so deep into the capital world's security net. She mentioned something about the wreckage being so gnarled it might take days or weeks to identify bodies, but flight control on Ravel could confirm that yes, Avaris and Darakon had been aboard the shuttle.
Heaviness settled in Davek's stomach. He's respected Darakon, one soldier to another. As for Avaris, he'd never liked her, personally or politically, but now that she was dead he felt the sudden conviction that he'd misjudged her all this time, or at least failed to give her credit when it was due. What would follow her was likely to be much worse.
Then the reporter said, "We'll be cutting away in a moment. We'll be giving you an official transmission from the Moff Council, which I'm told is casting out from Yaga Minor."
There it was, then. The reporter was replaced by a big INN logo and the logo was replaced by a shot of an empty podium with a round Imperial crest on the wall behind it. Even before he stepped into view, Davek knew it would be Corrien Veers who took the stage.
Dressed in his martial olive-green moff's uniform, Veers gripped both sides of the podium and looked right at his audience. Gone was the chatty, personable, rumor-spreader who'd been giving all those INN interview lately. Veers looked grim and grieving, shoulder slightly hunched as though he was weighted down by the responsibility that had been thrust upon him.
"It's with great grief that I come before you today," Veers told his billions. "The emergency session of the Moff Council has elected my as Head of State of the Empire. I did not want this position. I did not seek it. But I will honor it with every breath I take.
"Before I go further I want to say a few words for the dead. Supreme Commander Darakon was as honorable a soldier as I've ever known. He devoted his life to serving the citizens of the Empire and he was respected by every man and woman who served under him. Replacing his is impossible, but I know the most valiant efforts will be made by Brayton Hallis, former commander of the First Fleet and our most senior admiral, now Supreme Commander of the Imperial Armed Forces."
Davek immediately wondered who'd replace Hallis as commander of the First. He didn't know any of Hallis' vice admirals well. Then he wondered what Veers had planned for Admiral Grave, his protégé.
"Now let me speak to Head of State Avaris," Veers went on. "Just like Darakon, she gave everything she had for the Empire, including her life. I knew her since our days on the Moff Council together and though we didn't always disagree I never doubted her integrity and her devotion to safeguarding the lives of the Empire's citizens. Her ruthless murder is a tragedy for us all, and I promise all loyal citizens of the Empire that her death will be avenged.
"Some day soon, we will hold a general election so that all Imperial citizens can decide the Head of State. Until that day comes I promise I will use every effort to root out traitors to the Empire. Any being still alive who contributed to the murder of Neela Avaris will be found and punished. Anyone working to undermine the Empire from within- regardless of species, priorities, or professed loyalties- will be found and punished. I swear this on my life, and the lives of all the fine Imperials who died this day.
"Once the enemies of the Empire have been rooted out, once I have determined- along with Admiral Hallis, the Moff Council, and all our other intelligence and military leaders- that we have conquered the threat to our way of life, I will stand down and call elections. But until that day I will shoulder the burden put upon me. I will fight every hour of every day to rid the Empire of its enemies outside and within. And I have faith that you, my fellow Imperial citizens, will fight alongside me until we've made a better, safer Empire for us all.
"Good day, and thank you for listening."
As the broadcast switched back to the INN reported, Jaeger turned it off. He and Davek slumped in their seats for a long moment, stunned.
Jaeger asked, "When do you think he'll announce a general election? Months? Years?"
"Ever?" Davek rasped.
Jaeger scowled, shook his head, and said nothing. Davek thought on his father, all Jagged had done over the course of his life to remake this Empire without an emperor into a just society for all. Davek tried to tell himself that the institutions his father had made were strong, that they could endure whatever Veers and his allies would do to wreck it in the name of security.
He wanted to believe Jagged Fel hadn't lived and died in vain; he wanted it more than anything, even to see his father alive again. But sitting there in Jaeger's office, Veer's stern words and serious eyes echoing in his mind, he knew that he could not.
-{}-
The Grievous incident, alternately described as an assassination or attack, had occurred at noon Imperial Standard Time, which meant that the Fourth Fleet crew and shipyard staff at Bilbringi had the rest of the day to let the ramifications wash over them in waves. First had been shock, then indignation, then anger. Something strange had happened when Corrien Veers gave his first speech as emergency Head of State. Something had settled over everyone; not relief or calm or satisfaction but something, a certain steadiness that comes with at least knowing somebody is in charge and working to set things right. Trust might have been the closest word for it.
Through it all Lukas Briggs felt strangely detached, and it wasn't until evening, when the other shipyards staff started retreating to the habitat section, that he began to understand why. After the battle at Sevok-358 everyone had shared collective relief that the raiders seemed defeated and the hope that the Empire might feel safe and secure again. The attack at Bilbringi had shattered it all and most people, Lukas included, were reeling from the whiplash of it all.
The one exception, the one person he knew who hadn't acted relieved after Sevok-358, was his old sergeant.
Lukas only realized it late in the evening. He hadn't talked to Malkin all day; he'd spent the whole afternoon trying to push through assigned work while listening to his subordinates in the quartermaster's office swap gossip and opinions. He didn't know where the colonel was now and decided not to call him.
Instead, for reasons he still couldn't quite explain, he went down to the storage chambers to have a look. It was a maze of industrial-size cargo crates down there but eventually, with the help of a small floating archivist droid, he found the location of the supplies he'd helped Malkin and Marsh slip aboard the station last month.
As deputy chief quartermaster he had the authority to manually open and inspected just about anything. He was surprised, then, when the computerized latch on the crates refused to open for his identicard.
"Who has authority to open these crates?" Lukas asked the droid hovering over his shoulder.
"Colonel Homs Malkin, Infantry Division, 221st Regiment."
"Anyone else?"
"No, sir."
"What about the Chief Quartermaster?"
"No, sir."
"What about Vice Admiral Jaeger?"
"No, sir."
He sighed. "What about Emperor Palpatine?"
The droid's one eyes winked off and on. "Not applicable. Please restate your query."
Lukas scowled and ran his hand over the locking mechanism. It was a heavy-duty thing but he could break it open if he had the right tools; an industrial laser-saw or a Jedi's lightsaber. There'd be no way to hide that damage and he had no obvious cause to break into the crate. The weird security protocol might have been a glitch; these things had been transferred all the way from Yaga Minor after all, and thanks to Lukas' own efforts they hadn't gone through the proper accession process. It was thoroughly possible that these things contained exactly what Malkin claimed they had.
But the nagging feeling wouldn't go away. He retreated to his office; the quartermasters' section had mostly cleared of staff and he sat down at his computer and brought up personnel records. His rank and division gave him only limited access to information from Infantry Division. He could get a roster of names of the soldiers who'd come to Bilbringi from Yaga Minor along with those crates, but he couldn't get into their service records.
He knew people in Infantry Division who ranked high enough they should have access to those files. It would take a little thought but he could probably come up with a very rational-sounding explanation as to why he'd need a peek at the personnel records for the 221st Regiment. He didn't know what he'd find, but he felt the need to check.
He didn't do anything that night. Most everyone had gone back to their quarters, which was where Lukas needed to be. When he got back to the habitat section Marian was still up; she embraced him and commented, "Late working?"
Usually she said it with a sarcastic edge; she could smell the ale on his breath. There was none of it this time and her voice was all concern. He squeezed her shoulders and said, "Yeah. It's been a hell of a day."
"I've noticed."
"How are the kids?"
"Asleep."
"That's good. I bet they had questions."
"Leena did. Polaw's worried but he's too afraid to ask."
"I'm sorry. I should have been here tonight."
"You had work." She squeezed his arm. "It's been a hell of a day, like you said."
"Yeah. And I need to be out early tomorrow."
"I thought so."
He kissed her forehead. "I'm tired. Let's get some rest."
He washed, changed clothes, joined his wife in the bedroom. There were too many thoughts in his head. When he lay down beside Marian and tried to sleep, he knew it wouldn't happen tonight.
