Colonel Kaday Carias had spent much of his life aboard ISB intelligence vessels. They were always comfortable, well-furnished, well-equipped vessels, the finest that the Empire had to offer—and thus, the finest that the galaxy had to offer. Each was different. ISB did not have a standard design or configuration, that way even if one ship was compromised it would not jeopardize the anonymity of the rest, but he always knew when he was aboard an ISB ship. They had a hominess to them, like the perfect old leather sitting chair. Carias actually felt more comfortable aboard them than he did at home with his wife and children; he certainly spent more time aboard them than he did with his wife. Violet Envy in particular was luxurious, with large open lounge spaces that could be used for diplomatic work.
But the trip back from Yavin was suffocating. The ship felt tiny; rooms that had been refuge became prisons. He knew the rest of his squad were unnerved by the new version of Brakiss that stalked the ship's short corridors like a phantom, casting long shadows in every direction he looked. It was like the ship's air recyclers had started to break down and were emitting a steady mist that was only barely breathable. Every breath was unsatisfying. Every bite to eat was nauseating, every touch was foreign.
He had no idea what was happening and that was maddening.
Brakiss had barely acknowledged them since they had left Yavin. He'd taken up residence in the ship's cargo hold and locked them out, and when Carias went close he swore he heard the Inquisitor—the apprentice Inquisitor—talking to himself.
Carias desperately wished Drayneen had returned with Brakiss from the ancient Sith ruins. She at least had been as normal as Inquisitors ever were, friendly and chatty while maintaining her proper distance. She'd been predictable. She hadn't sucked the air out of a room like a breached bulkhead, hadn't looked at him with cold, almost ageless eyes and a smile that made him feel like a nexu's prey.
From the helm, Major Welko turned to face him. His normally healthy tan was gone, leaving him pasty and pale. "We'll be dropping out of hyperspace in two minutes, Colonel."
"Very good, Major," Carias replied, folding his hands together. If Drayneen had still been with them, this would be the moment to com her and invite her to the bridge for their arrival, but if Brakiss didn't want to be here Carias was just as happy for him to not be here. "Another successful assignment."
"Of course, sir," agreed Welko, turning back to the helm. Despite the agreement, there was discomfort in the man's tone, as if he had gravel in his shoes. They were all on edge, exhausted more than they ought to be. It was making them irritable.
Carias felt more than heard Brakiss' sudden arrival, the soft breathing and whisper-soft step that betrayed his presence. As the Inquisitor arrived, the ship dropped smoothly out of hyperspace, the spinning lights twisting and straightening with the typical, momentary mild nausea of a hyperspace transition.
The Carida system was a fortress, and they were pinged with no less than a half-dozen sensors and coms within the first ten seconds of their arrival. "Send our clearance codes," Carias ordered calmly, folding his hands on his lap and trying to ignore the way Brakiss' eyes on his head made the hair on the back of his neck stand up.
Welko gave a professional nod. He, too, was carefully not looking in Brakiss' direction. "We have recognition from the Carida System Patrol. Reaper has already arrived, Colonel."
"Take us in for docking." Carias finally turned to look at Brakiss. "Do you need access to the holocomm to report to the Grand Inquisitor?"
Brakiss was silent for a moment, his eyes looking through Carias rather than at him, with a slightly distracted expression. "Not yet," Brakiss said when the moment passed. He still looked young, too slim for his frame, with a waif-like vulnerability. That physical reality did not match the gaze or presence, the way he seemed to fill the entire cockpit just by standing in the doorway. "I'll contact the Grand Inquisitor after our meeting with the Grand Moff."
Our meeting? Carias hadn't realized that Brakiss would be part of that meeting. His gaze dipped, seeing the amulet that hung around Brakiss' neck, a steel chain attached to an intricate golden clasp, inlaid with a large, gleaming ruby gemstone. But if he did not press back now, he never would. "Forgive me, Inquisitor, but I believe Grand Moff Kaine wishes to meet with me alone."
The air in the cockpit seemed to drop by a few degrees. Carias successfully fought the urge to shiver as Brakiss' cool blue gaze turned fully on him, as if really looking at him for the first time. Then Brakiss' gaze unfocused, the Inquisitor's head tilting slightly. After a few seconds, he blinked and looked again at Carias, his focus renewed. "As you wish," Brakiss acceded. "I await instructions."
Then, bizarrely, the Inquisitor simply turned and left.
Carias slumped slightly, unable to hide his relief. He wasn't the only one; Welko let out a long breath. "There's something about him I find damned unnerving," muttered Welko.
"He is an Inquisitor," Carias said, with just enough levity to send a ripple of polite laughter through his ISB team. "Bring us to Reaper. I'm sure the Grand Moff has a new job for us."
Carias had an odd sensation of deja-vu as he rode the interior lift from the hangar to Reaper's bridge, relaxing as he finally got a bit of distance from Brakiss. The Inquisitor stayed back on the freighter, reporting in to the Grand Inquisitor via the HoloNet; Carias was endlessly relieved that Brakiss had not insisted on accompanying him to meet with Kaine.
Kaine's office was unchanged from his last visit, although instead of Entralla, the holographic displays projected images of Star Destroyer after Star Destroyer, in neat intimidating formation, with the massive repair and construction facilities all orbiting Carida beyond them. TIE fighters performed their normal patrols, soaring by outside on either side, silent.
Kaine himself sat behind his desk, looking at a holographic display of the galaxy. Carias marched to his usual spot, thumped his polished boots together and snapped off a salute. The routine felt somehow empty, the salute imperfect, the click of his heels lacking the normal snap. "Colonel Carias reporting as ordered, sir."
"Sit down, Kaday," Kaine said, sounding tired. As Carias sat, Kaine leaned back in his chair, leaving the holographic display—which Carias now could see portrayed a galactic map of both Imperial and Rebel-held territory—active. "Your mission went well?"
"We suffered a casualty, but I believe so," Carias said with a nod. His lips tightened as he thought about the mission. There was something else that had happened, they'd found something hadn't they… and something about Brakiss had been bothering Carias for the entire trip back… but now that he tried to remember it, he couldn't quite put his finger on it…
"Well, I hope whatever artifact you found keeps Halmere happy. I can't spare you on any more of his archaeological expeditions," Kaine said, clearly not too bothered about it.
Carias tried one more time to remember, focusing on his memory of Brakiss, saw a flicker of gold and ruby in memory—
Kaine's voice interrupted his attempt at recollection. "I have bad news," he said.
That brought Carias fully out of the past and into the present. "Bad news?"
"Moff Mosbree has brokered a deal with the New Republic, or is about to," Kaine explained, his voice resigned and exhausted. "The Quintad Houses want to formally exit the war. It's only a matter of time before Eriadu declares independence from the Empire."
Carias went pale, a wave of disbelief turning into horrified anger. "That's treason!"
"It is," Kaine agreed. "Without the consent of the Council of Moffs, they don't have the authority to conduct their own foreign policy, much less leave the Empire. But there isn't very much we can do about it."
"Yes there is!" Carias retorted hotly. All his concerns about his last mission were burned away under his sudden indignant rage at the betrayal. "I can do to them what I did to Rendili! I'll contact the ISB cadre in Seswenna Sector. I'll make sure that the Quintad Houses know there is punishment for treason, just as I made sure Rendili knew it!"
He expected Kaine to share his fire. Kaine, apparently, did not. Instead, he gestured at the map. "Look, Kaday. The Empire is shrinking. Warlord after Warlord has fallen, sector after sector has been lost. The Deep Core Moffs aren't even talking to each other anymore, and they're barely talking to me. We can't stop Eriadu from leaving, we can only punish them after the fact, and either way we lose their resource base. Worse, it's not just Eriadu. I know the Corellian Diktat has begun to reconsider the benefits of Imperial membership, and some of the more prominent business interests in the Oversector have quietly communicated to me that they're open to peace as well, if it means regaining access to the galactic market."
Carias' lips twisted into an outraged snarl. "We'll fight them all," he hissed. "The New Order is superior, we've proven that before and we'll prove it again! We'll be stronger without the traitors and the cowards! Give me a cadre of true Imperial patriots, true patriots Ardus, and I can do anything!"
Once again, he expected Kaine to share his fire. Maybe the younger Ardus Kaine, who had heard such words from his father, would have. Vilardo Kaine certainly would have. But this older Ardus Kaine apparently did not. "No, Kaday," Kaine shook his head. "I will not throw away what the Empire still has in a vain attempt to regain what it has already lost."
Sudden horrified realization spiraled through him. No, Carias thought, ISB discipline locking his expression in place as though it had been carved from transparisteel. No, not Ardus too. Not Ardus too!
But, deep in Carias' gut, he was surprised to find that he wasn't surprised. Not really. Kaine hadn't fought the Rebellion with all his might after Endor; instead, he'd retreated to the Oversector with his ships and created his own semi-independent polity. He hadn't gone to war and conquered his neighbors; he hadn't subdued the other warlords. Instead, he'd put his mind to economic development. To infrastructure. He'd built a fleet capable of defense, without the army required for reconquest. He'd made concessions, made compromises. He'd even allowed aliens to serve on his warships, despite all their inadequacies and the risk of espionage.
Carias had told himself, in those moments of quiet doubt, that it had all been necessary for the preservation of the New Order. But it hadn't been. Instead, Kaine had bartered the New Order away, one small, innocuous reform at a time.
As if a film had been lifted from Kaday Carias' eyes, he saw his friend of three decades anew. His heart pounded furiously in his chest, a voice whispering quietly in his mind. You know what you need to do.
Kaday Carias was nothing if not an exceptional actor. He found the rage, the horror, the betrayal, and he suppressed them. To feel those emotions so intensely at this moment would be impossible to hide, so he had to save them for later. He had a more important task in the present. His expression shifted to resigned sympathy and he offered his old friend a sad, exhausted smile. "You're right, of course," he sighed. "I'm thinking with my heart and not my head." Carias fell into an open chair and rubbed his face with both hands. "It's over, isn't it."
Kaine deactivated the holoprojector and the maps of the Empire and Rebellion vanished off his desk. "The only question is how it ends. On our terms, or on theirs. If we end it on our terms, now, from a position of relative strength…"
"Have you discussed this with the Reb—the New Republic?" Carias asked, his voice nearly shaking, the words a tangy poison on his lips.
"Not in any detail," Kaine admitted. "But I know the terms they demanded from Eriadu, and I have reason to believe that if we accepted similar terms they would be amenable. There have been overtures through back channels… I believe Councilor Organa Solo has been the main instigator of them."
Treason treason treason treason… "What comes next, then?" Carias asked soberly.
"Next we need to hold negotiations," Kaine explained. "Unfortunately, I don't trust any members of my diplomatic corps to keep the secret. The economic interests in the Oversector will be divided—half will be thrilled to regain access to the Galactic Market, the other half will be furious that we'll be banning slavery—"
Catering to the alien. The coward. Strength is what wins wars. He never had the strength needed for this, if he did he would be Emperor already.
"—and of course, dealing with ISB and the Inquisitorius will require certain delicacy," Kaine finished. "You're going to have to help me come up with a plan to isolate the forces that will resist any move towards peace so we can mitigate the damage they can do to the prosperity and interests of the Oversector."
He wants to betray the New Order. He wants to destroy it. To lay it low. He never really cared about it in the first place, did he? No. He never did. It was important that not a hint of the thoughts going through Carias' mind be evident, not a hint of his rage or indignance. Yes, they had been friends for decades, but Kaine should know better. Know him better. He was just trying to please his father; his courage died with Vilardo.
That was the key, wasn't it. For Kaine, the Empire and the New Order and ISB had all been mere means to an end. He'd never understood what it meant to be a patriot. For Carias, the Empire was the end. It was all that mattered. Kaine hadn't been on Coruscant for the Battle of Coruscant. He hadn't watched warships fall from the sky, smashing buildings, killing millions.
Kaine was a fool to think that Carias would put their friendship above the New Order. A fool. I serve the Empire. "Of course," he said, rubbing his lip. "So, how do you plan to conduct the negotiations?"
"I intend to do that myself," Kaine said, pressing his hands together. "Nothing less will communicate our sincerity. And it must be done with utmost secrecy. No one can know, Kaday, not before we are ready to act. No one!"
"You're right," Carias lied. "Then you intend to travel to Coruscant?"
Kaine nodded. "I do." He smiled, a soft, sad smile, one worn with age and experience. One that had lost its luster, lost its teeth. "We're going to save the Empire, Kaday. Not the way we wanted to, or the way we expected to, but we're going to save it all the same. Everything we can."
Carias' return smile was just as old and tired. But he wondered if Kaine would note the sudden flicker of fire in his eyes as the possibilities started to unfold before him. "Yes, Ardus," he said. "We are. You and me. For the good of the Empire."
Brakiss had decided to keep the small room he had been assigned, rather than moving into Drayneen's more luxurious suite. It had everything he needed, and the smaller size meant it was easier to sweep for listening devices.
That was important. Despite the fact that his newfound mentor had no voice in the traditional sense, Brakiss instinctively fell into verbal communication unless he specifically avoided it.
Tell me more about the Emperor.
"I don't know much more than I already told you," Brakiss explained. He brought up the ship's HoloNet connection—since they were docked aboard Reaper, they also had access to the command ship's own databases—and integrated his datapad into the Inquisitorius' network. "He was a Sith Lord who used his power to rule the galaxy."
An inheritor, then. The voice was stronger and more distinctive now, more recognizably not Brakiss' own. There were times, especially the first day or two, that Exar Kun's voice was hard to distinguish from his own; the thoughts seemed to come from inside him even though they did not. But now the voice had an accent, a timbre, a personality, and Brakiss knew it for what it was. And the Jedi are dead? He killed them?
"Almost all of them. In the last year a new Jedi Order has begun to grow. So far it has only two members—Luke Skywalker, and a former Inquisitor named Kam Solusar." Brakiss skimmed through the Inquisitorius' record, letting Exar Kun view the files they had on both men through his eyes. Solusar's record included his entire service record, page after page of assignments and mission reports. He had not been the most prolific Inquisitor, but Solusar's five confirmed kills had been extremely respectable.
Only two Jedi remain. So close to extinction. Brakiss shivered at the sudden swell of emotion, a combination of rage and gloating that chilled the air in the room and rose goosebumps all along Brakiss' arms and neck. We will extinguish their ancient order.
Brakiss exhaled. It was strange beyond words, feeling Exar Kun's emotions so intimately, carrying around the dead Sith Lord's emotions and personality like a symbiont (or a parasite). But the rage… there was a sea of hate, right there at his fingertips. Exar Kun had shown him how to find his own, but Brakiss' anger paled in comparison to the pain and rage and hate that Exar Kun carried around. Exar Kun's soul was hate and intent, fury distilled to a grim, executioner's purpose. "There are others with Jedi potential," Brakiss cautioned him. "Skywalker's sister, Leia Organa Solo. It is said her children are too."
We will kill them as well. Brakiss felt his lips twitch into a smile, and wasn't sure if it was his or Exar Kun's. I turned Jedi to my cause and they ever disappointed me. I will not make the same mistake twice.
"What about the rest of the Inquisitorius?" Brakiss asked.
We will use them as long as they are useful, and then destroy them too. Exar Kun's voice was quiet and calm, but Brakiss could feel the intensity that hid below that calm. Could feel the fire and fury, fed by thousands of years of imprisonment in the temple on Yavin 4. It was consuming, dark with an unspent lust for life and revenge. Revenge on the Jedi. Revenge on the Republic. Revenge on all who had wronged him.
And to get his revenge, he would give Brakiss all the power the Force had to offer. Brakiss could feel that power, could feel his growing ability to tap into it with the ghost's help. The Dark Side was the essence of that power, and Brakiss would take it and demand the respect he had heretofore been denied.
He would show them. He would show them all.
Good, Exar Kun's voice gloated softly. Your hate has made you powerful. The voice faded, and Brakiss could almost feel the foreign mind focus, concentrating. Open the door to your room… now.
Brakiss hit the door release and it slid open. He found Colonel Carias standing there. The ISB man looked harrowed and worn, and there was something about his expression… something about his sense in the Force…
He has been betrayed. He too is a tool, and a tool with many other tools. There was a slow, amused cackle. He will use us, and in exchange we will use him.
Brakiss found himself speaking without thinking. It felt almost natural, and he thought the words were his, but it was hard to be sure. "Colonel Carias," he said in greeting. "Come in. Seal the door behind you."
Carias had flinched when the door opened. He glanced down the corridor of the freighter, a tight, confined space which merely served to allow passengers to reach their own private spaces, then slipped into the room. It slid shut behind him; Carias pressed the door latch.
The room wasn't really large enough for two, but it did have a small table in one corner with two chairs on the two open sides. "Sit down, Colonel," Brakiss invited. "What do you need from the Inquisitorius?"
His guest hesitated. If he sits, Exar Kun's voice explained softly in the back of Brakiss' mind, that suggests he accepts a degree of subordination. He may hesitate. Let him feel like he is still in control.
Brakiss offered the slightest of bows, the kind that offered respect without offering deference. "Or, should I say, what can the Inquisitorius do for the Imperial Security Bureau?"
The shift in perspective was enough. Carias stayed standing, his back going ramrod Imperial-straight as he folded his hands behind his back. Brakiss did his best to imitate the gesture; his failure did not seem to weigh as heavily on Carias as it had during their first meeting. "The Inquisitorius and ISB have always been the twin pillars of the New Order," Carias said, his voice harsh, like gravel scraping over permacrete. "The Moffs, the Starfleet, the Stormtrooper corps… They are tools of the Empire. We are the Empire."
Do not contradict him, Exar Kun cautioned. We need him to help us kill the Jedi.
Brakiss lapsed into years of recited propaganda, drilled into him during his childhood by educators and HoloNet broadcasts. "The New Order saved the galaxy from civil war. The leaders of the Rebellion serve nothing but their own corrupt leaders."
Carias' posture relaxed with relief. "The lack of faith in the New Order is most dangerous from within," he said. Each word was said with agonized strain. Even to a non-Force wielder his pain would have been obvious.
Betrayal by the enemy within is always more dangerous than an assault by the foreign, Exar Kun whispered.
"Betrayal by the enemy within is always more dangerous than an assault by the foreign," Brakiss echoed.
Carias flinched as if struck, then sighed with reluctant agreement. "Yes. And more painful." The ISB Colonel clenched his fist and banged it on his thigh.
He believes there are three threats to his New Order, Exar Kun continued. I have seen them in his mind. He knows what he wishes to ask of you, and of your Inquisitorius, but he does not have the strength to speak it. We will do it for him.
Brakiss settled into one of the chairs at the table. He poured two glasses of water, took one himself and took a sip, then passed the second to Carias, gesturing at the open chair. The Colonel hesitated and then sat.
"There are three threats to the New Order," Brakiss said, letting Exar Kun prompt the words, finding it easier and easier to merge his voice with the ancient Sith Lord's intent. "There is, of course, the Rebellion. But it is a fragile thing, held together by a few capable leaders. It has almost fractured before, and it cannot stand if divided."
Carias sipped the water, watching Brakiss with intent interest now. Brakiss could almost hear the other man's thoughts. I will teach you to listen, when we have more time.
"Second is the responsibility of the Inquisitorius: the Jedi. And third…" Brakiss paused, letting the moment linger, letting Exar Kun seep into the minds around them, steal their secrets, and feed the precise words he needed back to Brakiss. "Are those who may mean well, in their way, but have become blind to what needs to be done."
Carias' hand squeezed hard on the glass he held, so hard that Brakiss feared he might shatter it. But the glass, like everything else aboard ship, was of fine make and withstood the sudden application of pressure. "I believe we can address all three," Carias said, his voice hoarse. "There is an opportunity coming, but I cannot act alone. I need allies, allies loyal to the New Order, loyal to Palpatine's vision for the galaxy. Truly, unhesitatingly loyal."
"The Inquisitorius stands ready," Brakiss said simply.
In the back of his mind, he could hear Exar Kun laughing, the sound of a champion after a final victory. Some men are so delightfully predictable. He will serve.
"What is it you believe we should do?" prompted Brakiss.
"It will be difficult and require careful timing," Carias said carefully. He watched the water in his glass, swirling it. "But if performed properly, I believe we can cripple the New Republic, restore the Empire to proper leadership, and wound the Jedi all with one blow. All it will really cost—" Carias put the glass back down, watching as the water returned to perfect stillness, then looked up to meet Brakiss' gaze "—is the life of my best friend."
Lieutenant Cienis Deleste had been assigned to Reaper's starfighter support team. It had not been his first choice, or his second, but it was an important position. The Rebellion's starfighter-heavy doctrine had plagued the Empire's Star Destroyers, even its Super Star Destroyers (the loss of Executor haunted the Starfleet's nightmares still), and so more attention was being paid to countering it. Lancer-class frigates were positively ancient, dating all the way back to the earliest days of the Clone Wars, but despite their age they remained a potent foil for a starfighter assault. In their absence—and there weren't many of them left, so their absence was the default state—the Empire relied on its TIEs.
And thus relied on men like Deleste to manage them.
As he organized the maintenance requests, checked the duty logs, and generally performed all the boring administrative tasks required to keep TIE squadrons operational, he wondered if Hack ever knew all the work that went into keeping him flying. He also wondered if this officer track meant he was destined to command one of the Empire's carriers.
His personal datapad beeped. That particular sound was one that indicated a priority message, so he turned away from what he was doing and fetched it. The message was short and simple and shattered the tedium of administrative paperwork. His heart thudding in his chest, Deleste worked to obey the instructions he had been given. First, he identified the ISB ship the orders indicated—an unobtrusive Minstrel-class space yacht named Violet Envy—to be prepared for assignment. Second, he ordered the yacht to be fully stocked with the requested supplies, up to maximum capacity for its crew and passengers.
Third, he ordered the hangar cleared—not just of non-essential personnel, but of everyone.
Finally, he stood. Reaper's crew pit was a crowded space even outside of combat, and he strode through the rows of computers and officers before approaching the primary ladder and climbing up onto the main walk. Holding his datapad in one hand, he approached his commanding officer with all the confident purpose of a seasoned veteran.
He hoped.
"Admiral Deshorn? Sir?"
Reaper's commanding officer, a grey-haired, square-faced rock of a man, turned towards him. "Ah, Lieutenant Deleste," Deshorn said, the words drawn from him slowly, as if just recalling Deleste's identity. "What is it?"
Deleste handed him the datapad. "I've been ordered to deliver this to you. Sir."
Deshorn took it with a frown, reviewing it with impressive speed. Both the man's eyebrows lifted as he reached the bottom of the orders, then he carefully pressed a button that would delete the entire message. "Come along, Lieutenant," Deshorn said.
Deleste followed silently as they marched across Reaper's bridge and stepped into the express lift.
"Do you know what this is about, Lieutenant?"
"No. Sir."
"That will continue to be your answer, understood?"
"Yes. Sir."
Deleste was careful not to look at Deshorn, keeping his back parade-ground straight, his chin properly lifted, seeking the meditative calm that Pellaeon had suggested he seek. Pellaeon had admitted that he himself had never found the practice productive, but Grand Admiral Thrawn had meditated at least once a day, which was good enough for Deleste.
"Oh, stand easy, Lieutenant. This isn't going to be a short ride, and if you try to maintain parade rest for the entire trip you'll strain something."
When they arrived—at one of Reaper's secondary hangars, this one utterly abandoned as per his orders—they found the ISB team already moving equipment and supplies into the yacht, with the ISB-assigned crew preparing the ship for departure.
One of the ISB personnel—he wore the uniform of a Colonel, and had the look of ISB royalty—approached Deleste and Deshorn. "Admiral Deshorn," he greeted.
"Colonel Carias," replied Deshorn.
"Here to see us off?"
"I would like to speak to the Grand Moff before his departure."
Carias' expression was tired and dismissive. "I'll let him know you are here," the Colonel said, his tone as dismissive as his expression. Like the rest of his men, Carias wore the cream-colored outfit of the Imperial Security Bureau aboard ship, setting himself and the rest of his men apart from the normal Starfleet. His casual disrespect got Deleste's hackles up, but a small gesture from Deshorn—a hand, lifting subtly in a gesture of calm—made him resist the urge to object.
"Calm, Lieutenant," Deshorn murmured as Carias exited earshot. "You do not want to irritate ISB. Only Admirals can get away with that, and even then it is a risk."
Deleste bit his lip. Deshorn was right of course—everyone at the academy warned cadets not to step afoul of ISB—but that didn't mean the slight didn't sting.
"You'll learn," Deshorn continued, keeping his voice just as quiet even as the distance between them and Carias continued to grow, "that there are things that are and are not worth fighting for. Pick your battles carefully, Lieutenant."
They waited five minutes, then Grand Moff Kaine himself emerged from the lift. He was wearing a dress uniform, more formal and regal than even a Grand Moff's typical garb, and he approached the two Fleet officers first. "Stu," he greeted Deshorn.
"Grand Moff Kaine," replied Deshorn. The two men stepped close together, shoulders touching as they whispered. "Are you sure, Ardus?"
"There's no time to lose," Kaine whispered back. "I've spent too long dithering, and each week that goes by without action risks a greater confrontation with the New Republic. I want to begin negotiations before they send Lusankya hunting."
Deshorn sighed heavily. "Are you sure you can trust Carias?"
Kaine lifted an eyebrow and smiled. "Come now, Stu. Don't be ridiculous. I've been friends with Kaday for decades." Kaine patted Deshorn's back. "I'll be back in a few weeks with a peace treaty in hand. After that, we can put our other plans into effect." With that, Kaine stepped away from Deshorn and turned his attention to Deleste.
Deleste snapped a salute. "Sir!"
"At ease, Lieutenant. Good job today. I trust you will keep these events quiet?"
"As ordered. Sir."
"Good." Kaine patted Deshorn's back one more time. "You worry too much."
They watched as Kaine boarded the yacht. Within minutes it was humming with readiness, and then it lifted up on repulsors, glided sideways until it was aligned with the magnetically-sealed hangar bay door, and dropped out of sight.
"Come along, Lieutenant," Deshorn said, executing a perfect parade-ground turn and beginning the long march to the lift. "And remember your orders."
Author's Notes
First, I want to thank everyone who has read with us so far! Special thanks to Guest and stars90 for their comments, which I'll respond to below. Writing has been a bit slow the last few weeks, but my co-author and I still have plenty of content ready, so the weekly updates will continue. I'm hoping to have the novel finished by sometime in January, and then be posting it at the 1 chapter a week pace for most of next year.
This marks the end of the first section of the novel! We've done the setup, the contours of the story are visible, and we more or less know the intentions of our cast of characters. Next chapter we return to our heroes, as they all gather together for a holiday dinner...
• Guest: thank you so much for commenting. The feedback means so much and really helps inspire the writing process. I'm glad you're enjoying it!
• stars90: thank you so much for commenting, too! I think it's really important for the story to have moments of levity and joy within the tension, so I'm glad that's working for you. On Luke being given a perspective on rebuilding the Jedi, he does get some of that in this novel, but I have in mind a one-off scene which would really do that, one that doesn't fit into any of these big novels but would work as a "between-novels" snippet. It's been in my head for a while, but it would have serious implications for the universe so I haven't written it yet. I will at some point! As for Vjun, well... *shrugs* we're going to find out!