A solitary black ship decanted from hyperspace near Kovix-589 and began to fall inward toward the forgotten star. Seated alone in the cockpit, Darth Kroan began running sensor sweeps of the system, if it deserved to be called that. It had nothing in the way of planets, the closest being a few planetoids on wobbling oval orbits, and the only remarkable feature was a broad belt of asteroids rich in minerals useful for nothing except scrambling sensors.
As Kroan followed the coordinates he'd received during his short communication with Corrien Veers, he ran focused scans of the specified section of the belt. Intruder's sensor equipment was some of the best Kroan had ever seen but they retrieved nothing.
As Intruder slipped into the edge Kroan reduced speed and began looking with his eyes. Kovix-589 was distant and dim, but he thought he detected an unnaturally smooth gleam on one asteroid. Using Intruder's directional thrusters he edged himself close enough to see what he'd expected: a handful of turbolaser turrets grafted into the asteroid's surface. The belt was surely full of these, laying dormant to conserve power but able to tear apart an encroaching enemy fleet when called upon. They would be automated rather than live-controlled and the fact that they hadn't fired on Kroan implied that either Veers had deactivated them for his approach or Intruder really was as invisible as advertised. Either way, he counted himself fortunate.
The Sith pushed further ahead toward the designated coordinates, sometimes slipping around drifting spacerock and other times slowing to investigate suspicious asteroids. Sure enough, he found several more bristling with automatic turrets. He could spot them with his eyes if he got close but they were stubbornly invisible to his sensors. Kroan had to give Veers credit; even on the verge of total defeat he'd built himself an impressive redoubt.
Kroan didn't need his computer to tell him he'd arrived at the right coordinates. Those defensive guns were very hard to spot but even in dim starlight Nemesis was impossible to hide. A long time ago, when Veers had been governor of the Prefsbelt Sector and Kroan still chair of Kuat Drive Yards, they'd conspired together to craft this ship as the ultimate in modern warfare. Its long and narrow hull stretched like a sword seventeen kilometers long, with a low recessed bridge and symmetric sloping hull. These elements had been visibly copied by Kuati engineers eager to sell to Davek Fel, and during its last engagement Nemesis had been battered mostly by its own children, new Pellaeon-class star destroyers and Ardent-class frigates. The scars of battle were painfully visible on the ship now. The last two hundred meters of its pointed nose had been snapped off. Great black craters still pocked the hull near the bridge and its once-smooth off-white hull was darkened to rough gray by countless shrapnel-scrapes.
It was a bitter sight but also a sweet one, because for all the ugly damage Nemesis was still something Kroan had designed and brought to fruition. If filled him with more pride than everything he'd done the past eight years combined.
There were just under a dozen smaller star destroyers drifting along with Nemesis in this pocket of clear space within the asteroid belt. Kroan marked four Compellor-class destroyers, two Impellor-class carriers, and five smaller Predator -class ships, plus a smattering of frigates and pickets. All of them bore visible battle damage but even so it was a flotilla that could devastate a world if they caught it off-guard. With a force like this Kroan might even be able to demolish Darth Saydel's fleet and bomb Hapes into rubble; an unrealistic but nonetheless pleasant thought.
When he was close enough, Kroan turned on the comm system and sent word to Veers' personal frequency, the one he'd memorized for their clandestine communications ten years back and never forgotten. The message was simple: I am here.
The response came five minutes later, not as words but as a landing beacon cast to his ship from Nemesis. Kroan followed the assigned course to a small hangar located at the great vessel's aft, above the engines and beneath the bridge. Kroan remembered designing this ship and he remembered that this hangar was meant as a secure, private place to receive very important guests. Just where he was meant to be.
Intruder glided out of space's darkness and into the hangar's light. Kroan extended the landing gear and dropped the ship down on the edge of the flight deck. When he stepped out he was slightly disappointed to find that Veers hadn't come to greet him personally. Instead there was just a dozen stormtroopers: seven in white plasteel armor but five in the bronze-tinted armor molded from the cortosis ore Kroan had secretly provided all those years ago. It was a motely mix and he didn't know what to make of it.
The closest trooper, one in cortosis, said, "Please come this way, sir."
As a welcome it was disappointing. As a Sith Lord, as the man more responsible than any for this great ship's creation, Kroan knew he deserved better. That was something to bring up with Veers, not this soldier, so he simply nodded and allowed them to escort him through Nemesis' hallways. Intruder would be safe in the hangar; if Veers' people got too curious they'd only lose their lives to the ship's security devices.
He tried to track their movement inside the long, gray, empty corridors. He tried to map it to his memory of this ship's design. He knew they were moving up, probably toward Veers' executive cabin, but apparently his memory was faded, because he was taken by surprise when the troopers stopped him in front of one innocuous door and bid him enter.
Kroan stepped inside. The door locked behind him, leaving him alone in this dimly-lit room. No, not alone: he spotted the back of a man's head shifting over the back of a chair. He was facing the broad viewport that looked out on drifting asteroids and a passing star destroyer.
"There you are," said Veers' remembered voice. "Have a seat. Please."
Kroan walked forward and circled around the chair. Rather than rising, Veers stayed slumped in his seat. He let his head fall back and his eyes swing up and he gave Kroan a dull-eyed looked-over.
"Well," Veers said, "I'm impressed you came back from the dead, but I have to say you've looked better. Please, have a seat. Help yourself."
He held out a hand and Kroan noticed the neighboring chair, just as soft, and the low table between them. A bottle of Sartinaynian brandy sat there with two poured glasses. The one closer to Veers was already half-drunk.
It had been a long time since Kroan's tasted Bastion's finest. On Kuat he'd had access to the best in food and drink in the galaxy; accoutrements on Shedu Maad were far less generous. Wyyrlok had never stopped harping on the values of asceticism. Kroan dropped himself into the soft chair, poured himself the drink, and savored its pleasant, half-forgotten sting.
Veers was watching him with a wry smile. "My. What happened to you, Retor of Kuhvult? Or do you have another name?"
"Why would I have another?" Kroan asked sententiously.
"When you, ah, disappeared there were many rumors. The Jedi claimed you were one of those elusive Sith Lords they blame all their problems on. Your own people said you'd been murdered. I was always…. curious."
"The Jedi tried to kill me. Obviously they didn't."
"No, but I can see it was close."
Kroan nodded; he wasn't going to explain that most of the scars that darkened his face had been punishment from another, more powerful Sith Lord.
Veers took a sip of brandy and asked, very casually, "So are you a Sith or not?"
"My name is Darth Kroan."
Veers narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. Through the Force Kroan could glead little; he suspected the man had started drinking long before his guest arrived and it was fogging his thinking.
Fogged wasn't the same as dulled. Veers asked, "Why have you come here? Are you on the run from your own people?"
He tried to hide surprise. "Why would I be on the run?"
Veers sipped a little more. "Why else would you come to Kovix-589? This place is a burial ground for lost hopes."
"It's the best-armed burial ground I've ever seen."
"You saw the turrets on the way in? Good. Did you spot the mines? No. We stuck those inside the asteroids. Absolutely impossible to spot until…." He snapped two fingers.
"This place seems impregnable."
"Well, we don't have many other places left to defend. If we're going to secure what we have, we might as well do it right. Grave and I agreed on that much."
"You've still been staging attacks. Bastion. Muunilist. You're putting fear into them."
"Of course. Welcome to Kovix-589…. We import lost hopes and export raw terror." He chuckled, though it wasn't that funny. More bitterly he added, "We do what we can."
"You still have a mighty collection of ships here. You could easily take a major planet, and-"
"Then what?" Veers arced a pale brow. His hair had gotten a lot whiter; Kroan hadn't noticed previously for the dim light. "This is all we have. We've no industrial output whatsoever. We just barely kept our contract with our outside suppliers. And the ships you saw, those fine ships, are all damaged and operating at half crew capacity."
"So you've surrendered."
Veers glared. "We've adjusted our fighting strategy in consideration of limited resources and optimized our methods to deal the most efficient damage." It sounded like he was quoting someone.
"I see," Kroan said evenly.
"But you know, Darth, I am glad you've come. Hopeless as our fight is." He smiled wryly. "I've never figured out exactly what a Sith Lord does, but I'm sure you've got talents above and beyond what mere mortals can offer."
"You'd be correct."
"Excellent. Now tell me-"
The buzzer from his door interrupted him. It rang three times before Veers scowled and called loudly past his shoulder, "Enter!"
A man in an admiral's uniform stepped into the darkened room. Kroan had never met him in person but he recognized Leonal Grave when he saw him. The admiral stalked over to Veers' seat, hands balled into fists at his side, then stopped when he realized the man had company. His eyes, tightened in apparent anger, grew wider as he took in the scarring on Kroan's face.
The admiral forced his attention back on Veers. "We were going to meet to discuss the Jaemus operation. You're forty minutes late. I tried hailing you but your comm was off."
"It wasn't off, I was ignoring you," Veers said casually and sipped a little more brandy. "I had a guest coming, you see. I had to be a good host."
Grave's eyes reluctantly slid back to Kroan. "A guest from where?"
"Outside." Veers waved a hand. "I invited him. You should show some respect. This man was a great benefactor to the Restorationist movement. This mighty warship wouldn't exist if it weren't for him."
"Is that so?" Graves didn't bother to hide his skepticism.
"Oh, stop being rude." Veers rolled his eyes and told Kroan, "Don't be offended. He's always impatient like this. Admiral Grave, please meet Retor of Kuhvult."
The admiral stared. "Retor… of Kuhvult?"
"Is there another?" asked Veers.
"It is a pleasure," Kroan said dryly.
Grave stared at the Sith Lord's scarred face until he found something he recognized. Then, to his credit, he snapped to attention and dropped the attitude with impressive speed. "It is an honor to meet you. Forgive my skepticism. I understood you've been dead for years."
"You're not far from wrong," said Kroan. "But that's in the past."
Despite the shabby state these Restorationists were in, he was still aboard the galaxy's mightiest warship, the one he'd designed himself in his prime. He felt more alive than he had in years because Veers was right: as a Sith Lord he could do much to help these people. He was without the resources of the One Sith but without the shackles placed by Darth Krayt's distant dreams. He'd never imagined defeat would be so liberating.
"It sounds as though you're planning another terrorist attack on Jaemus," Kroan said as he got to his feet.
"We're planning an offensive that makes optimal use of our limited resources," Grave said, prickly. Trust an old-style Imperial to couch barbarism in formalities, unless he was in his cups.
"I'd love to hear what you have in mind, Admiral." Kroan finished the rest of his brandy in two big swallows. As warm filled his stomach he set the glass on the table and fixed Grave's stunned face with a smile. "Shall we get going?"
-{}-
When Vitor crawled inside Soergg's sensor-shielded cargo crate and allowed the Hutt's minions to place him aboard the Restorationist shuttle, he'd been consigning himself to a fate unknown. Even if he went undiscovered when the ship reached its destination there was no guarantee he'd be where he needed to be. Despite that, a steady confidence had fallen on him since the fight atop Soergg's palace. The anxiety that had kept his sleepless and trembling every night seemed to have dissolved like the memory of a bad dream. It wasn't that he'd forgotten his last vision of the future. Here at least, far from Marin and hopefully far from the Sith, he felt far from death too. That he had a chance to finally end this grueling war made it the best kind of reprieve.
Quiet confidence sustained him all through the trip. He knew the flight from Hutt Space to the Empire could take an average ship four to six days and packed rations accordingly, though stuck in the crate there was nothing he could do to get the blood stirring in his legs. He dropped himself into a state of mild Force hibernation, slowing his pulse and breathing, cooling his metabolism so he required less food. The voyage passed like a lucid dream, and thankfully the Force sent no prophetic ones during that time.
He knew when the shuttle arrived by the scrape of landing gear touching down and the fading-out of the engines' drone. This was where things got difficult and he ran into dangerous unknowns. He had a blaster, two lightsabers, and most importantly the Force. He could feel the ship's sole and weary pilot disembarking and beyond him there was the fainter presence of a few more people, probably service crew. Until he got out of the crate it was impossible to tell if they'd landed on a planet or a ship. It was also impossible to know if anyone else was going to come aboard.
Vitor decided not to risk it. He felt the pilot step out of the ship and used that opportunity to trigger the release built into the crate's interior. He spilled out into a half-empty cargo hold that looked exactly as he'd found it. Vitor kept alert for new arrivals as he stretched blood back into sluggish limbs, checked his equipment, and made sure both lightsabers- his own and Mohrgan's- were firmly affixed to his belt.
The tricky part was getting out. He sensed no one aboard the ship but the landing ramp had been retracted, which could make getting out unnoticed tricky. He made his way to the cockpit and looked through the viewport. This was the inside of a spaceship alright; he could see black space through the hangar mouth. The hangar itself had high gray walls and looked decidedly Imperial, though he had no way of knowing what kind of ship or space station he was aboard. Very carefully, he crept up to the forward edge of the cockpit and spotted a pair of white-armored stormtroopers standing in the middle of the hangar. They were facing away from the ship and their stances looked lazy, but they were still guards.
If Vitor had come all this way to get captured sneaking out of the shuttle, he'd never forgive himself. He decided to wait and check the ship's computer. He was able to access navigation logs without running into security walls and found a record of the path the ship had taken. Kor Vosadii was clearly marked, as were the transition points between hyperspace jumps. Their final location, according to this, was near a star called Kovix-589. He vaguely recalled the existence of a Kovix star cluster at the very edge of Imperial space and the rim of the galaxy itself. He was pretty sure it didn't have a single habitable planet and was neglected by pretty much anyone. If it also had around six hundred possible stars to hide around, it was no wonder the Restorationists had made a nest here.
It also seemed like an ideal place for the big nest, the one his father had been hunting for almost four years. Vitor allowed himself to hope.
Hope was a distraction. He was nearly caught off-guard when someone lowered the ship's ramp from the outside. A tremor of intent felt in the Force jarred him from considered possibilities and gave just enough warning for him to find a hiding place inside the refresher unit. He waited facing the door, back against the sink, one hand on his lightsaber. He waited as he heard footsteps approach and then pass by, and he heard a voice saying. "This won't take long. With you two helping we can get this up to the admiral in no time."
Vitor knew his wasn't the only crate Soergg had placed aboard the shuttle. There had been two others, apparently some sort of gift for his Restorationist clients. If they were taking this good to an admiral it meant was on an important ship, maybe the important ship. But first he needed to get out of the refresher.
He waited until they were gone and carefully unlocked the door. He crept down the hall in the opposite direction they'd gone down and made his way to the exit. He reached out with the Force, felt nobody down there, and very carefully stalked down the landing ramp. He scanned the high-roofed hangar until he spotted a holocamera, then sent a flash of static through its matrix with the Force. It was a trick that would last less than thirty seconds, but that was enough for him to scamper across the empty flight deck and into the adjoining hallway.
It was hard to sneak around a ship when you didn't even know which ship you were on or how to get around. Vitor had spent a lot of time on Imperial warships and he could make some educated guesses. The shuttle had set down in a small hangar but not one surrounded by high-level security, which meant it was probably a supplemental facility located near the main hangar. If he was near the main hangar, it meant he was also near the supply and storage sections of the ship.
What he really needed was a set of unused stormie armor to slip into. He made his way through the hall slowly, flashing out a few security cameras and using the Force to help evade the crew. There were fewer of them than expected. The entire ship seemed emptied, almost eerily so, especially for an important one with an admiral aboard.
When he found an equipment locker, he used his lightsaber for the first time since the fight at Soergg's palace. The lock wouldn't give but a quick, precise swipe with the tip of his blade did the job. The door opened wide and he found himself staring at a carefully folded set of cortosis armor. Vitor had never been one for displays of cosmic irony but he was glad for this one. He dressed quickly and left his old clothes in the locker when he stepped back into the halls. The outfit's utility pouch just barely had room to squeeze both lightsabers inside, but so long as no one looked too closely it would do.
The stormtrooper armor was only partial camouflage. The soldiers who got cortosis gear were supposedly the best of the best, and if people saw him wandering the ship like he was lost it would raise suspicion.
Masquerading as an elite got him advantages, as he discovered when he found a public-use information terminal not far from the lockers. He'd found an identicard left in the armor's utility pouch and swiped it to access the terminal. Apparently he's taken the gear of a careless corporal with pretty good security clearance.
The public terminal alone told Vitor enough to make him weak at the knees. The first thing he learned was that he was aboard the Restorationist flagship Nemesis. The second thing he learned was that almost a dozen other star destroyers were gathered at desolate Kovix-598. He could also call up a detailed map of the super star destroyer's entrails and plot a course from his spot near the hangar all the way to the bridge.
But the bridge could wait. The simple fact was that he'd finally found it: the big nest. His father had to be informed, and to do that he'd have to compose and message and send it to Bastion from a long-range transmitter aboard this ship.
Vitor used the public terminal to locate the nearest communications station. There was a comm node located just forward from the main hangar and he hurried there as quickly as he could without drawing attention. As he walked down the hall, drawing only the briefest glances from passing Restorationists, he tried to run up a mental list of everything his father would need to know. Not just the location and the ships involved but the armaments, the personnel, the system's defenses. He didn't know how much of that he could get with a corporal's ID, even a corporal from an elite unit. He also didn't know how many crew members he'd have to deal with at the comm center. Someone would notice when he sent a message to Bastion but he was still hoping he could get in and out without starting a fight. The longer he could last undercover the better.
When he stepped through the door he found a circular chamber with five seats and five consoles but only three crew members present. The nearest one swiveled in heir chair and looked surprised to see a stormtrooper.
"Can we help you?" the woman asked.
"I'll need to access your long-range transmitter." He flashed his corporal's ID and added persuasion through the Force. "My platoon has an away team on Ord Thoden. I need to pass them a message."
"Is your team's transmitter not working?" asked a second, younger crewman.
It figured the best units would have their own gear. "No. It broke down yesterday."
"Everything's falling apart nowadays," grumbled the female officer. "Do you want us to take a look at it?"
"We already put in a repair request. I just need to use your comm so I can get back to what I'm supposed to be doing." Vitor added finality in his tone and the Force. The longer they insisted on chatting the more likely he was to slip up.
The woman shrugged and gestured him to one of the open stations. It was a standard Imperial console that Vitor had worked before. His corporal's ID seemed to get him access to the long-range transmitter but before he patched a message for his father, he pulled up readings from the outside sensors.
He got a better view of their surroundings and he didn't like them. The star destroyers would make for a rough fight; worse was the broad asteroid belt in which these ships were hidden. It would be hard for his father to get a fleet in here just for the navigation hazard, and from what Vitor was reading, an elaborate set of turbolaser emplacements and proton mines had been installed in the asteroids themselves. They sounded like they could make a difficult attack downright impossible.
The turbolasers in the rocks would be controlled by a remote signal rather than manned. In all likelihood that signal came from Nemesis¸ but if Vitor was going to do anything about it, it wouldn't be from a backup communications relay. For now he did what he could. He summarized all the information he'd gathered in a long typed-up message, manually encrypted it using a code known only by his father and the Imperial Knights, then sent it to Bastion.
The encryption must have camouflaged the transmission's destination, because none of the three comm officers pulled a blaster on him. Somebody higher up would notice where that message went, and then they'd look for the corporal whose ID he'd stolen, and then they'd look for the man who was inside his stolen armor.
Vitor didn't know how much time he had before they started scouring the ship for an intruder, but they hadn't begun yet. That was something. He closed his session, rose from the terminal, gave the comm crew the gruff thanks they'd expect from a stormie, and hurried out of the room. His time left was limited, and he had to make the most of it.
-{}-
There was nothing personal about the message, not even a short sign-off, but Davek knew it had come from his son. Thanks to a message from Roan, sent from Arlen's ship of all places, he'd learned the outcome of the mission to Hutt Space and the incredible risk Vitor was taking. If he'd been there he'd have stepped in to stop it but letting his sons be Imperial Knights meant letting range across the galaxy, which meant giving them authorization to take drastic risks. Necessity piled on necessity and he hated it. It left him feeling, above all else, tired. This war for control of the Empire's soul had dragged on and on, even after the Restorationists had lost all hope of winning, and every battle might cost him more people he loved.
Vitor had survived his journey. He was alive, and he'd found the big nest. Given the encrypted frequency the message had been received on, there was no other possible author. As soon as the message came through, Davek had ordered Admiral Jaeger to dispatch a scout ship to the star Kovix-289 and gathered as many senior officers as he could to his flagship, the Jagged Fel.
To combat the Restorationists, the Empire's war machine had been built up for a years-long slog. Modern efficient warships like the Pellaeon-class star destroyer had been introduced but Davek had resisted temptation to build another behemoth like Nemesis. His father had taught him that a competent military is based around many mobile assets wisely used, rather than a giant weapon made to hammer one enemy at a time. Aside from being a waste of resources, Jagged had insisted that a giant super star destroyer sent the worst kind of message, harkening as it did to the dark days of Palpatine's punishing oppression. For all those reasons Davek had prioritized output of smaller ships, but as Emperor he still needed one that could draw respect. Jagged Fel, like Nemesis, was one-of-a-kind, and had initially been constructed as a prototype for the smaller Pellaeon-class ships. Jagged Fel was longer than them by a third but only twenty percent more massive. Its stretched-long and symmetric hull had been constructed of metal so pale it looked almost white, especially in contract to the massive black Imperial roundels painted on either flank.
Davek kept Jagged Fel orbiting Bastion whenever possible, both to show authority and to keep his citizens feeling safe. The destruction of Skyhook One made its presence all the more imperative, and it was to that ship that shuttles converged from Yaga Minor, Bilbringi, and a half-dozen other Imperial military bases. A major operation was in the offing and he didn't want to chance a leaked transmission giving the Restorationists warning.
When his scout ship reported in, Devlin Jaeger joined the other senior officers in Jagged Fel's meeting room. The admiral got to the point quickly. "Our scout ship spent two full hours exploring the area around Kovix-598. It used every type of sensor sweep its equipment allowed. After those two hours it couldn't find a single trace of gas, metal fragment, or heat signature that would indicate a Restorationist fleet hiding in that asteroid belt."
A few officers at the table seemed to wilt in disappointment, but Jaeger went on, "Our scout eventually concluded some mineral property in the asteroids must be jamming sensors. Before departing, our ship brought its telescoping visual suite online and began to scour the belt. This is what it saw."
At Jaeger's signal, a two-dimensional image projected over the wall. Davek and the others watched a series of primitive but high-definition photographs depicted endless drifts of airless space rock. Yet amidst all that shapeless tone some flecks stood out. A few shots depicted distant objects with the pronounced wedge shape of star destroyers. The final one showed a pale object shaped like a sword, flanked on either side by smaller triangles. Nemesis, beyond a doubt.
"So there is it," Admiral Hallis said gravely.
"At last," muttered Intel Director Vennefara. "Your agent is to be commended, Your Majesty."
"Indeed," Davek said. He hadn't told them the agent's identity and didn't plan to. They'd surely all guess it was an Imperial Knight but the only one who knew it was Vitor himself was Marasiah. She was standing silent guard behind his chair while dressed in an Imperial Knight's ceremonial red armor and cape.
"The crew on Nemesis will figure out a message was sent here, if they haven't already," said Jaeger. "That means there's no time to waste."
"What is the status of the Fourth Fleet, admiral?" asked Davek.
"I ordered battle stations before I sent the scout, Your Majesty. They are ready to launch."
"Good. Leave a skeleton force at Bilbringi, then take every you can spare and jump to Kovix-598. Your first goal is to interdict. Make sure no vessels enter or leave that system without your permission."
"Understood."
"I will personally command the First Fleet." Davek looked around the table and no one raised objections. They knew their emperor commanded from the front lines because risk was part of duty; they were lucky not to know how far that maxim went.
"I want the Second and Third fleets to spread wide, just in case their ships outside Kovix get desperate and try to attack more civilians. I've also sent a request to the Chiss and they've assured us they'll be there too."
"That sounds like more than enough to lay siege to the system and destroy Nemesis," said Vennefara. "Where's the difficulty?"
"According to our agent, that asteroid belt is the best defensive barrier Veers could hope for. Aside from the natural obstacles, an undetermined number of mines have been equipped with automated turbolaser cannons. Others have been fixed with proton mines. All of these will be undetectable to our sensors."
It was a battle that could grind on forever, and Davek watched the grim realization show on face after face. He said, "We need to be prepared to starve them if we have to, but I think they'll fight before then. Admiral Jaeger, you're dismissed. You're hereby ordered to move the Fourth Fleet to Kovix-598 as soon as possible."
"Yes, Your Majesty!" Jaeger snapped a fast salute and hurried from the chamber.
Davek turned a grim look on the others. "You know what needs to be done. I will work with the Imperial Knights to see what they can do to help us with the asteroid belt. Until then, you have your orders. Get to them. The First Fleet will depart as soon as the crew of the Jagged Fel is combat-ready. I estimate no more than five hours."
The officers stood and moved quickly for the door. Vennefara remained near the table, and Davek knew the Elomin would have an array of questions for him.
"Please wait outside for the moment, Director," Davek told him.
Vennefara nodded and stepped away. He was the last one to go, and when the door closed behind him it was just Davek and Marasiah alone in the briefing room.
"We have to move quickly," she said at once. "It's our only hope of recovering Vitor."
"Are your TIE Sabers ready?"
"We have twelve waiting in the hangar."
"And Knights to fly them?"
"Of course. I can get a dozen more but it will take a few hours."
"Take what you have and go now. I'll let Devlin know to expect your help. Just don't be reckless. They'll see your approach."
"I know." One look in her eyes told him she was willing to risk everything to get Vitor out alive.
He put his hands on her armor-plated shoulders. "Please… don't be reckless."
"Have you told Roan?" she asked.
"No. There hasn't been time."
"He'll want to come."
Of course he would. Vitor would be the foremost reason but even without him, Roan would crave to help. This war had started when he was just nine years old and had defined his life. Davek knew his younger son had in many ways grown up in the older one's shadow, and that he yearned to serve the Empire and find heroism in his own way.
It was for all those reasons he couldn't come.
"I'll tell him to stay with Mohrgan and Sinde on Ossus," Davek said. "They'll be safe there."
"He's going to hate it."
"I know. But I can't risk losing them both, not at the end."
He'd risked them both together as recently as Ansion, but they both knew this was different. Kovix-598 was the biggest deadliest rat's nest of all. Many Imperial Knights and ordinary soldiers would die to exterminate it. Vitor was trapped aboard the enemy flagship and might already be a prisoner, perhaps inaccessible even to the Empire's best knights.
It was not just possible but likely that neither Davek nor Marasiah would see their eldest son again. They both knew it; they could see it in each other's eyes. Their relationship had been built on honesty and hard truths since they'd first met on Voidwalker a quarter-century ago, but this one was too much. Neither of them could say it.
She reached up to touch his face and brush his beard. "I'll get Vitor back," she said, like she was willing herself to believe.
"Bring yourself back too."
She reared up on her toes, kissed him once, then stepped out of the room. Vennefara waited a minute before coming through the doors. The intel director was a perceptive being, and he knew Davek would need a few moments to compose himself. Emperor or not, he was only human.
-{}-
Meetings called on short notice never meant anything good. Korosh Vull had figured that one out decades ago, when he'd been a mere bomber pilot instead of whatever you'd call his job aboard Nemesis. General, coordinator, courier, diplomat; any of those or neither at any moment. Well, they always said small organizations needed workers with wide skill sets.
When he stepped into the conference room he saw all the men he'd been expecting: Grave, Sojuz, Fenrec. Even Veers had arrived early, though his sobriety was doubtful. Yet when Vull's eyes swept across the table they were immediately drawn to the one face he didn't know. The skin across that hairless head was crinkled and rough, darkened by scars all over. The body beneath was buried in formless black robes. What stood out most were his eyes. Their irises seemed tinted golden-yellow like nothing Vull had ever seen before.
"General Vull," Veers said, "There's no need to stare. Surely you've heard of Retor of Kuhvult."
Vull stared even more. They all knew the Kuati chairman had been one of Veers' major backers when this all began. They also knew he was dead, apparently killed by Jedi on Fel's behalf. How he'd survived- barely, by the look of him- was one begging question. The more immediate one was how he'd gotten to their secret stronghold at all. Vull looked around the table and saw the same bafflement on everyone's faces.
"Sit down, General," Grave said. "Something critical has happened."
Vull sat down. Everyone kept looking at Retor, but it was Captain Fenrec who said, "Approximately three hours ago, a signal was transmitted from Nemesis to Bastion. We believe Fel is now aware of our position."
That elicited a round of gasps and mutters from everyone but Grave, Veers, and Retor. The old captain continued, "We believe there is an intruder aboard who stole the armor and identification card from one of our stormtroopers. Using that guise he sent the transmission from a secondary comm station. We're working to track him now."
"We have to assume Fel's minions are on their way," said Grave. "And we have to be ready for them."
Everyone's eyes were drawn, awkwardly and ineluctably, to the newcomer. No one dared suggest anything. No one dared speak at all.
Retor did it for them. "I have been with your leader since my arrival. I promise, there was absolutely no one else aboard my ship."
"Trust him," said Veers. "He would know."
Vull had absolutely no idea what that meant. Then realization hit him. The only other ship to arrive in-system within the past twenty-four hours was his own.
Fenrec started saying something else, but it barely registered. Vull's jaw slipped loose; the world seemed to swim around him. When he'd finally been allowed to leave Kor Vosadii, the slug Soergg had offered him several crates full of spoils as a reward for spotting the thieves who'd been stealing his droid. Soergg had offered almost nothing in the way of explanation, saying only that recent events had been staged by a business competitor, presumably the Hutt he'd rolled out his best slimy carpet to welcome. Best Vull could read him, Soergg had seemed embarrassed and ashamed. Nothing in the fiasco had given any indication that it might fall back on the Restorationists in any way.
Yet something had happened. Vull knew that with icy certainty in his gut. Maybe it was a stowaway; maybe Soergg had betrayed them. He realized, with another sick stab, that none of that mattered. Nothing did except the doom he'd brought upon them all.
Grave was talking. Vull forced himself to listen. The admiral said, "We don't have time to begin moving Nemesis or the other destroyers through the asteroid belt. Therefore, we will treat this as the start of a terminal siege."
"All those guns and mines in the belt should hold them for a while," Veers said, boyishly eager, like he wanted to die here. "When they finally get through, they'll be so battered they won't offer much of a fight."
"We have supplies to withstand a siege of up to six months," Grave said sternly. "It may come to that."
"Naturally," said Fenrec, "We should prepare to defend ourselves actively at the start. We'll start mustering fighter groups to slow the enemy as they try to get through the belt."
"I'll do it." The words jumped out of Vull's throat. All eyes went to him but he only looked at Grave. The admiral saw his shock, his dread, his guilt, and understood them all. Maybe nobody else yet knew whose fault this was, but the admiral did.
"I was a fighter pilot for many years," Vull croaked. "Let me be one again. To defend the Empire."
Grave's eyes were unreadable, but in an amazingly steady voice he said, "Thank you for the offer, General Vull. Your bravery is a model to us all. I'll make sure you have a place on the front lines."
A place to die, no doubt. After what he'd done, what he'd let happen beneath his nose, death in battle was a better fate than he deserved. It was coming for them all anyway, even if it might be a six-month grind for some.
Sober knowledge settled in everyone's eyes; even Veers' seemed to lose their vicious gleam. The only exception was the man in black. Retor of Kuhvult looked barely affected by it all. It might have been a trick of the scarring, but his lips looked twisted in something like a bemused smile.
All them gathered here were facing death, or imprisonment if they were unlucky. All of them except this Retor, who'd appeared as though from nothing and could probably disappear just as easily. Their coming doom didn't scare Retor at all, and that terrified Vull more than anything.