This is a work of fan fiction and all canon characters, scenes, and concept are the property of LucasArts. Original characters and plot property of Gerald Tarrant.
Please do not repost this fanfiction without permission.
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Five: The Civil War
"Anakin."
The voice came from far away, echoing in the infinite blackness around him, yet it was little more than a whisper, full of longing and sorrow.
"Anakin. Anakin Skywalker."
It was a woman's voice, bouncing oddly off the clouds of black mist into the distance. A woman's voice, somehow familiar, but yet one he could not place in a definite place and time, its tremulous tone breaking as she called his name-his name? Was that his name?-over and over.
There came a silence then. He heard a droning noise in the distance, then came the sound of crying, a baby's crying, the noise with the same unreal quality that the voice had had.
"Anakin." He heard weeping now, the woman's weeping mingling with the cries of the child. "Anakin Skywalker. Anakin-" The voice was cut off, suddenly. The baby's crying grew louder, then a loud wail that was suddenly silenced as well. He felt alone, knew he was alone.
The droning noise came steadily closer, louder. Three shadowy shapes shot out of the mist, insubstantial, one veering to his right, another to his left, the third overhead. He ducked, instinctively, saw that they were TIE Interceptors. They passed him, engines roaring, dagger wings gleaming as if tipped with blood. Slowly, the droning noise faded into the distance.
The blackness closed in, then another voice, whispering the same name, over and over again, unceasing. A male voice, again somehow familiar, a voice from the shadowed past.
"Anakin Skywalker, Anakin Skywalker, Anakin Skywalker, Anakin-"
The mists seemed to part and he saw the hooded figure of an old man, hands gripping the hilt of a crackling energy blade, stepping slowly back. "Anakin Skywalker-"
The hooded figure stood, motionless, lightsaber extended, and then began to move, oh, so slowly, moved his lightsaber upwards, to an upright position before his face, head erect, unflinching, a gesture of deference, mouth curved upwards so slightly in what might have been a secret smile. "Anakin, Anakin Skywalker-"
A red blade flashed out of nowhere, impossibly slow, its arc downwards seeming to take forever, sparks flying as it intersected with the shoulder of the standing figure. The voice ceased. The figure swayed, crumpled to the floor, but there was no solidity to it, nothing but an empty cloak.
A single empty shout rang through the darkness, full of hate and grief. "Nooooo...!" Footsteps, running, fading.
The mists closed again, and then crying, the same child crying. The woman's voice, weeping. "Anakin Skywalker..." He felt himself receding, receding from that place. "Anakin Skywalker..."
With a start, he awoke. There was just a dim glow lighting the meditation chamber. The holoclock read just after midnight. Darth Vader gripped the arms of the meditation chair he rested in, naked, breathed in slow measured breaths, and tried to puzzle out the meaning of the strange dream.
Obi-Wan!
Why had he dreamed of Obi-Wan, of all people? The old man was dead, gone, a nuisance that he did not need to bother with ever again. He saw again in his mind Obi-Wan raising his blade in submission, not bothering to defend himself as Vader stepped forward to cut him down. What a fool his old teacher had been. What a fool he had once been to actually have been under the old man's tutelage, to have listened to his misguided mumblings.
But he had been Anakin Skywalker then, weak, misguided, not knowing the power of the dark side. He thought back to the dream, heard the voices calling his name. But no, that was not his name. He was Darth Vader, Dark Lord of the Sith, not the foolish Jedi Anakin Skywalker. That name he had renounced long ago.
So why had those voices been calling him as such-?
In a flash of recognition he identified the other voice, the woman.
His wife.
Padmé…
Yes, his wife, from long before. He had to think back to recall the memories of her, what she looked like. Too far back. And he did not really care.
Still, that was another puzzle to solve. Why had he been dreaming of her, a phantom of the past, a part of the life he had sworn to forget forever? He took another deep breath of the super oxygenated air, wondered what it would be like to breathe freely without the breath mask, to walk without wearing the heavy armor, without forever trying to hide under his cloak the various devices he needed to stay alive. To walk as a man, as he had before Obi-Wan-
No.
With effort he turned his thoughts back to the dream. The voice at the end, crying out at Obi-Wan's death, he remembered well enough. It was the boy that had been one of those accompanying the old Jedi aboard the captured freighter, the one who had taken the Princess. The one the Emperor had charged him to look for. Skywalker. The familiar name sent an unpleasant feeling over him. Not fear. Just a...premonition that this boy had more to do with him than he supposed. Could he be a relative? Vader tried to remember the boy's face clearly, saw only Obi-Wan standing there, smiling regretfully. If you strike me down, I will only become more powerful than you could possibly imagine.
Well, he had struck him down. And where was Obi-Wan now? It had been necessary to slay him, the last of the Jedi Knights. That last futile boast, attempting to frighten Vader into sparing his life. How wrong Kenobi had been.
Vader rarely ever dreamed. When he did, his dreams were usually meaningless, full of blood and death-things that were normal and routine to him, nothing worth examining. But this particular dream troubled him more than he cared to admit. Surely it had come to him through the Force, leading him to see things of the past and future. Perhaps if he were more adept at controlling the dark side he could wrestle the meaning from the images, but as it was, he was still discovering the power for himself. The ways of the Force were strange, the ways of the dark side especially so, but eventually all things would be shown to their proper place. He would worry about the dream then.
For he was Dark Lord of the Sith, and even the dark side was at his command.
Vader slowed his breathing and fell into a troubled sleep.
The lines of hyperspace flared around the Protector and the Victory Star Destroyer shot into a realspace of gleaming stars, various shards of floating space debris, a small
blue-green planet, and...in the distance, five unidentified ships.
The ship's sensors picked them up first, but Harkov saw them from the Protector's large front window. He directed a glance to the sensor officer in charge down in the tactical crew pit. The officer tapped the controls on his console, keyed up on the screen what looked to be a detailed scan of the surrounding area.
"Seems like those are the only ships out here that aren't with our fleet, sir," he said, pulling up a preliminary reading on the five ships ahead. Harkov came up, peered over the other's shoulder. At this distance, all the sensors could pick up was-well, not much. The ships were some kind of freighters, but the make and model were unknown-certainly not even close to any kind of freighter Harkov had seen before. The front, or what seemed to the front of these ships, was shaped like a pointed half-circle, while something that looked like a wide iscoceles triangle was tacked onto the back, giving the freighter a kind of clumsy, arrowlike shape. A pair of cone-shaped objects were set on the dorsal side of the hull where the two shapes met. Shield generators? The ships sported two engines, one on each side on the ventral side of the "triangle." From the top, the freighters looked rather like cones with engines. Harkov had never seen stranger looking ships, nor ones that looked more incapable of flying, but his long career with the Navy had taught him never to underestimate.
"Smugglers?" he directed this to the officer, who shrugged.
"Possibly," he conceded. "I can't be too sure until we're close enough to get a better reading on those ships."
Harkov walked to the side of the tactical control station, tapped the "on" switch of the bridge intercom. "Helm, this is the Admiral. I want increased speed ahead. Continue until told otherwise."
"Yes, sir," came the quick response. There was a noticeable jolt and thumping noise as the Protector shifted forward, engine readouts showing a power increase of 30 percent. A universal groan rose from the crewers on the bridge, and inwardly Harkov sighed. He really should see to having his flagship repaired, especially since-
"I want yellow alert," Harkov said. He leaned into the intercom. "This is Harkov. All fighters on standby." As the light began flashing on the bridge, he added, almost as an afterthought, "put in a comm to the captain of the Harpax. Activate gravity well generators immediately."
"Trouble, Admiral?" wondered the tactical officer.
"I don't know," said Harkov grimly. "But it never hurts to be cautious. And if it is, well, then I want the upper hand."
The officer nodded, turned back to the readouts on the screen. "We should be getting a scan of the ships in a few minutes, sir."
Harkov stepped back. "Notify me immediately when you do. I'll be over by communications."
He left the tactical crew pit, walked along the command walkway until he reached the comm station and com-scan consoles to the back of the bridge. Stormtroopers stood on guard at both sides of the turbolift and at various other stations around the security foyer that housed the communications consoles. Harkov ignored them. "Get the Akaga for me, Lieutenant," he commanded.
The officer complied, nodding to Harkov in a moment to show the channel was clear. "Akaga, this is Harkov," he said. "Do you copy?"
Static. "This is Disroit of Akaga. We read you, Admiral."
"Listen carefully, Captain. The situation out here might seem strange to you but it'll soon look very familiar. The planet out there is Idare, one of the farthest planet out on the Sepan system. The transports out there are enemy freighters. I don't know what they're carrying, but we must assume they are enemy all the same. It might be Ripoblus, Dimok, or smugglers, but they're bound to be calling their backup forces once they find out that they are surrounded by Imperials. I suggest you go to yellow alert and have all fighters on standby. Whatever this group's loyalties, they will not be alone out here for very long."
"Copy that, Admiral. Yellow alert commencing."
"Standby for further orders, Captain." Harkov paused. "Oh, and I would recommend not trying to jump into hyperspace anytime soon. The Harpax is fully operational as of several minutes ago.
Silence, the Disroit's amused voice. "Yes, sir. Akaga out."
Harkov put in successive calls to the Thunder, the Commander, and the Corvettes, then went over to combat, ordered all shields up forward and aft, and told the weapons officer to charge up the turbolasers full power. The intercom pinged; it was the tactical officer, calling him back over.
"I have a reading on those ships, Admiral," he reported, puzzled, as Harkov came down the walkway, scanned the terminal screen. "Tiwlok group? Eviplo-class 140 transport?"
The officer shrugged, pressed a control. Information scrolled down, sketchy reports on engines, weapons, and shields. "It's a bit incomplete, sir, but I've got those people down below working as fast as they can."
"That's fine." Harkov straightened. The name didn't ring any bells. Ripoblus? Dimok? "I want everything you've got as soon as possible."
There was a call from the comm station. Harkov hurried back over. "Admiral, I've intercepted a transmission from one of the transports."
Harkov lifted an eyebrow, adjusted his uniform. "And?"
"I actually don't know, sir," the lieutenant confessed. "Decrypt is still trying to make sense of it. It's not any code we've ever seen before. Certainly not Imperial."
Harkov nodded. "Put in a call to all ships in the fleet. Cut engine power, raise deflector shields immediately. All ships prepare for red alert, deploy fighter squadrons, but do not attack. Repeat, raise shields, deploy fighters, but do not attack until ordered to do so."
He nodded to the comm officer. The comm went off. Harkov walked to the shipwide intercom, prepared to speak-
-And with perfect timing, a modified Corellian Corvette flashed in out of hyperspace behind the freighters, squadrons of fighters pouring out of its hangar bay almost immediately. "Admiral!" came a strangled shout in the crew pit behind him.
"Go to red alert," Harkov said calmly. He clasped his hands behind his back, walked over to tactical. "Tell me what we've got."
The wailing of the red alert klaxons cut over the tap-tap-tap of the keys on the tactical consoles. "Modified Corvette Desteri," said someone. "It has markings...looks like some sort of flying yellow bird. Must be Ripoblus raiders." Harkov looked around, spotted the speaker; a youngish man with a shock of bright red hair under his standard crew helmet. Tap-tap-tap, went the keys, then the man suddenly straightened, leaned forward, frowned. "Admiral..."
Harkov hurried over. The officer was pointing to the screen, amazement and puzzlement mixed in his expression. "Admiral," he said again. "Those ships-they're Incom/Subpro Z-95 Headhunters. Mark II s."
Someone on the other side whistled. Harkov couldn't help but shake his head in wonder. Technology in this system must surely be incredibly outmoded; Mark II Headhunters were just about the earliest type of Headhunters ever built. They were almost obsolete in the Core systems; actually, to think about it, all Z-95s were almost obsolete in the Core systems. He shook his head again, straightened. Headhunters wouldn't be too hard to take out.
The comm station pinged. "We're receiving a transmission from the Corvette," said the lieutenant, frantically pressing his board controls. "It's not coded."
"Put them on." Harkov strode over to the man's side.
"Imperial craft," came a cold, whispery voice over the comm. The Basic was heavily accented, but understandable. "Imperial craft, this is Ripoblus Corvette Desteri. You are entering Ripoblus territory. These are Ripoblus freighters. Turn back immediately or you will be engaged."
"Corvette Desteri," responded Harkov, leaning over the comm, "we mean no aggression. We merely want to know what these five freighters are carrying and why they are out here."
"Turn off your gravity and perhaps they will go," suggested the voice, suddenly gaining a suspicious edge. "We would ask the same question of you, Imperial craft."
"Cocky, aren't they?" murmured the communications lieutenant. Harkov shot him a severe look, turned back to the comm.
"I assure you," he began. A movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. Three more squadrons of Z-95 Headhunters flashed out of lightspeed on the starboard side of the Protector. Three squadrons in attack formation, followed by another modified Corvette and a...Mon Calamari cruiser?
A sharp hissing intake of breath from the comm told Harkov that the arrival of the others had been noticed by the Ripoblus as well. "You lie!" shouted the Ripoblus voice, suddenly furious. The whispery quality became harsh. "You have led us into a trap! You have intended to destroy us all!"
"Ripoblus craft-" Harkov took another look at the new Headhunters and capital ships. That were still taking up attack vectors, not towards the Imperial fighters...but were closing in on the Ripoblus craft. And then he understood.
He turned towards the comm once more. "Imperial frequency," he ordered. The lieutenant twisted controls, nodded. "All Imperial TIE fighters are hereby ordered to attack. Repeat, attack! Engage Ripoblus and Dimok craft, but I want those freighters intact!" Harkov spun around, hand searching for the intercom. Bright green and red flashes from the vacuum of outside told him two things: that the battle was already underway, and that things were not going very well for the Ripoblus. "General Daran to the bridge immediately. Daran to bridge. This is Harkov." He slapped off the comm with one hand, began heading up to the combat crew pit on the other side of the command walkway.
"Lieutenant," he added over his shoulder. "Get the Akaga and Thunder to withdraw a bit; I don't want them in the firefight. Send the Fire, the Silver Lady, and the Commander to move in and take out the Dimok cruisers. Keep the Galaxy for backup."
He exited the crew pit, positioned himself by the center window for a better view. Apparently the Ripoblus and Dimok hostilities had progressed farther than he thought. It probably wasn't even the Dimok's intent to start a battle; they had probably gotten caught in the Harpax's gravity well out of sheer happenstance.
War was like that, he supposed. By being in the wrong place at the wrong time, people got caught up in things like this. He remembered Vader standing there on the holo transmission, an ominous, black, statue-like figure, telling Harkov just how important it was that he capture the Sepan system for the Empire. Remembered how glad he was to get his ships back from repair, escape from Endor, to see action. Any action.
Well, he was seeing it, all right, and likely to see much more before this conflict was settled. He should be thrilled, should be feeling that familiar tingle of battle adrenaline, should feel proud to be in command, to be serving the Empire on this mission. He knew he should at least be acting that way.
But he couldn't pretend forever.
"This is Gamma Leader," snapped a voice over the comm. "All wings report in."
"Gamma Two, standing by."
"Gamma Three, standing by."
"Gamma Four, standing by."
Tor increased his throttle, curving around behind Gamma Two, looking out his viewport at the glimmering of stars and laser blasts in the distance. "Gamma Five, standing by."
It looked like the firefight was getting worse. The five freighters were trying to edge quietly away, but the Dimok raiders weren't giving them much of a chance.
"Uh, oh," murmured Gamma Six, sharing his thoughts. "Those freighters out there...Admiral Harkov wants them intact..."
His transmission was cut off suddenly. There was a burst of static, resolving into a frantic jabbering voice. "...peat, Ripoblus convoy requesting assistance. We are under attack!"
A far cry, Tor thought, from the smug, self assured Ripoblus commander who had been arguing with the Admiral just a few moments before.
"Attention, all Ripoblus and Dimok craft, this is Imperial Space." Harkov's voice, coming in strong and calm and commanding. Trust the Admiral to keep things under control. Imperial space? Yes, now it was Imperial space. "You are hereby ordered to stand down or face the consequences!"
There was a buzz, then another heavily accented voice came over the comm, like pieces of sheet metal grinding together. It buzzed over the staticky comm in Tor's ear, making him wince at its harsh quality. "Imperials, our Dimok forces are seizing illegal war supplies! We cannot permit the Ripoblus craft to escape!"
Sure. Tor smiled tightly. Liar. You just want their supplies so they won't have any. The voice continued, more hurriedly, rising in volume. "Don't interfere, Imperials, or you will be fired upon!"
"All Imperial fighters, this is the Admiral." An Imperial channel, Harkov again. "All fighters, fire at will. I do not want to decimate either the Ripoblus or Dimok. There must be survivors to report back to their governments that the Empire is here. Repeat, attack, but merely drive them off."
The comm clicked, and Tor heard Gamma Leader's voice in his ears. "All right, you heard him, boys. Let's not waste time."
He peeled off towards the directions of the battle. Tor followed, adjusting throttle and charging up lasers. It looked like it was going to be hot.
Harkov paced the Protector's bridge, hands clasped tightly behind his back. Several Headhunters had broken away from the main group and were heading towards the fleet. He looked again, saw TIE Fighters in pursuit.
"Shields full strength forward," he ordered. "Order the Mercury to the front, see if it can take out some of those Z-95s."
"And jam all enemy transmissions, if at all possible," General Daran added from the combat station behind him where he had been directing TIE manuevers.
"They're on a tight bandwidth, sir," came the reply from communications. "I'll see what I can do."
Out of the corner of his eye he saw the modified Corvette edge forward. The Z-95s drew nearer, started firing. And then-
"Admiral!" snapped the sensor officer.
"I see them, I see them!" responded Harkov. He dove towards the comm station. "Akaga and Mercury, take up position behind us again. Apparently the Dimok had more reinforcements than I expected."
There was a short silence on the bridge as the corvette Mercury retreated and the frigate Akaga moved to flank the Protector from the rear. Harkov looked at the four corvettes that had come out of hyperspace behind them, looked again...
Daran swore. "Those aren't Ripoblus or Dimok, Admiral. They're smugglers."
A startled glance from everyone on the bridge. "Sir?" the engineering officer asked cautiously.
"They're smugglers," Daran repeated. "Look- you can see they have no markings. My guess is that they were on a regular run-"
"-and ran into the Harpax's gravitational field," Harkov finished. He sighed, ran a hand through his hair." Always happens." He cast a glance back at the smuggler Corvettes. They were launching Y-wings.
"Sir-" began General Daran.
"Yes," said Harkov. "Launch whatever we have left. Left Corflis maneuver. That should get those Y-wings temporarily off our back."
"All TIE Interceptors, launch," the general said into the comm. "Repeat, all TIE Interceptors launch. Initiate Left Corflis maneuver. Let's see what we can do with those Y-wings out there."
Tor jerked his stick hard to the right, then the left, then up. The Z-95 that was pursuing him tried to follow, shot over him. Two clean shots at its underbelly turned it into a spectacular fireball.
"Nice shootin', Five," commented Gamma Two.
"Watch out, Eight!" Tor snapped. "You've got a tail!"
"I see it." Gamma Eight's cool voice came over the transmitter as she spiraled to the left. The Headhunter followed with ease.
"Hold on, I'm on him!" Tor twisted portside, angling under the belly of the Z-95. His first shot sparked against one wing, the second took it off completely. The Headhunter spun out of control, exploded.
"Thank you, Gamma Five." Her distant tone didn't change, even when giving a compliment. Tor shook his head in wonder and resignation.
"No problem."
"Watch out, Gamma Squadron," said a controller's voice from the Protector. "A group of nine Z-95's are headed your way on five-two-six."
"Acknowledged, Control," said Gamma Leader. "Gamma Squadron, form up tighter and keep an eye out for those new ships."
Tor looked down at his CMD, cycled through the target list. Nothing but Headhunters, more Headhunters...
The freighters! Where were they? He glanced at his sensor display, threw his fighter into a loose loop as green laser bolts temporarily lit up the space around him. The Threat Indicator Array above his target box lit up red. A starfighter was aiming for him, then.
Tor looped his fighter over, going back the way he had come. His shadowing Headhunter tried to follow, confused. Someone behind him blew it out of the sky.
"Five," came Gamma Leader's hard voice in his ear. "Where do you think you're going?"
"I'm going to go check out those freighters over there." He pulled his fighter to one side to avoid blasts from another Headhunter.
"Gamma Five-"
"I'll be all right. They're not that far away. And someone's got to do it. Those things don't look like they have the firepower to knock out a fly. Just keep those Z-95s busy."
"Copy that, Five." Calys' voice sounded resigned, though Tor expected he would get a good shouting-down later. "I'll cover you. The rest of you, Gamma squad, don't let any more of those Z-95's get near our capital ships. Keep an eye out-they can be tricky."
Tor pulled his fighter over onto his original course towards the freighters, which looked like they were trying to edge out of the Harpax's gravity field. And if he was any judge, they were almost there. The Dimok raiders had long quit harassing them, instead going for the Ripoblus Headhunters. And with all other attention focused on the battle behind him, no one would probably notice the freighters until it was too late. Tor adjusted his LES, rerouting all power to engines, urging his fighter on. Now he would see how well that inspection practice had rubbed off on him.
His CMD showed an increase in speed of the freighters. Uh, oh. They'd noticed him. Fortunately, it seemed that the Modified Corvette Galaxy had noticed him, too, as it was coming up behind him. Its ion cannons started firing, trying to disable the freighters before they could jump. Brilliant blue ion beams sizzled past him, towards the freighters, barely missing his solar panels. Tor brought his fighter up above the ion blasts. It would not do for his systems to be knocked out at this moment.
He targeted the nearest freighter. It started firing at him. With a shout of part surprise, part anger, Tor pulled to starboard. It looked like the freighters had at least some firepower. Tor dodged and wove, using every available tactic and strategy that he had been taught and some that he had just made up himself. He should be close enough now. Looking down at the CMD to identify cargo, he rapidly cycled through the targets. The first one held food, the second, food, the third, food...
...the fifth one held weapons.
Illegal? He didn't wait to find out. Tor jerked his stick hard over, heading back out of the freighters' range. "Corvette Galaxy," he said into the comm, switching over from his squadron's frequency to standard Imperial frequency. "This is T/F Gamma Five from the Protector. Freighter number five is carrying weapons."
"Acknowledged, Gamma Five. Freighter Five has already been disabled. We will send a transport out to capture it." Pause. "Thank you. Galaxy out."
Tor grinned to himself, headed towards the battle zone once more. Gamma Leader followed behind. "No problem," he murmured to himself. "Just doing my duty."
Bix Harris brought his fighter up in a loop and double roll, twisting to the right. His two pursuers shot over him to the left. Gamma Six caught one, Bix looped back and got the other.
"Hey, Seven, watch out!"
Bix saw Gamma Seven suddenly angle out to the left. Laser fire spat straight through the space where the fighter had been.
Another Headhunter veered in, wingtips spitting fire. Bix's sensors locked onto it. His hands moved over the controls, altering course after the Z-95. The other ship, noticing it was being followed, double looped around, trying to get back behind Bix. He waited. When the Headhunter was almost overhead, he tilted his fighter upwards, fired into the unprotected belly of the Headhunter, shattering it. So much for that.
He targeted another Z-95, moved right onto an intercept course...and was suddenly thrown backwards by a roar and a strong shock wave from the rear. Seven Y-wings shot out from what had been empty space just moments before, bearing distinct Dimok markings.
"Hey," Gamma Three said. "We got company."
"All right, kids," said Gamma Leader. "This is where it gets suicidal. Watch your backs and good luck."
"Fourteen Y-wings, sir, and another Corvette," reported the sensor officer, "coming in point-oh-six."
"Right," Harkov said grimly. Things were not looking good. The Akaga and the Mercury had managed to take out two of the four smuggler's corvettes, but both of them, the Mercury in particular, were losing shields rapidly as Y-wings swarmed over them. Interceptors could only do so much against the shielded craft. The Protector's shields were down to 47 percent. And the other Corvettes and Thunder were occupied with the Dimok and Ripoblus Corvettes. There must be some way...
"What vector did those Corvettes come in from?" He demanded. General Daran looked at him, puzzled.
The com-scan officer nearest him busied himself at the console a moment. "Ten-five-two, sir."
Daran came over. "Why do you want to know, Admiral?"
Harkov smiled tightly to himself. "I have a plan."
"Craer, look out!"
Bix saw Gamma Two, to his right, do a desperate downwards spiral to elude pursuit. His pursuer fired rapidly, hitting him one on the solar panel. Bix turned and headed for the Z-95, but it was too late. Another shot sent Craer's solar panels sparking blue.
"I'm hit! I'm-!" The TIE exploded in a ball of fiery gases and shrapnel.
Bix swallowed. Craer Hadin had been an old friend. Angrily, he jerked his stick right, down, right. The Z-95 that had been coming at him from the rear appeared in his front sensor, tried to angle left. Bix lined it up with his computer. The HUD flickered green. He fired, scored, fired again. A few more shots...
"Imperial TIE Fighters, this is General Daran."
The voice broke Bix's concentration. He lost the lock; the Z-95 slipped behind him again. Blast!
"Retreat. Repeat, all TIE Fighters retreat."
What?
"What?" said Edar S'rati, banking to starboard to evade a pursuer.
"Did you hear what I heard?" demanded D'lan Ril.
"I hear it," Calys said grimly. "Let's go, boys. It seems like High Command isn't willing to let us stay with the party. There'll be plenty more scraps for you later."
Bix slumped in frustration. They hadn't been losing, had they? Sure, they'd lost Nine, but Headhunters weren't invincible. What was Harkov thinking?
A laser blast sizzled past him. He yelped, pulled to the right. Concentrate, Bix Harris, or you won't even live to tell about this retreat.
"Ah, sir," hazarded the engineering officer. "Shouldn't we be activating the tractor beam?"
"Yes," said Daran behind him. "Our fighters are close; they should reach the Protector any minute now."
"No," said Harkov. "We wait. Just pretend the tractor beam's broken. Shouldn't be too hard." That brought strained laughter around the bridge. "Right, now increase engine power."
"Sir-"
"Just do it, Lieutenant!" Harkov bellowed, startling both himself and the lieutenant.
"Yes, sir!" the lieutenant bent to his console, fingers flying.
"And hurry! We haven't got time for any calculations. Just go!"
"The Mercury's shields are down to 10 percent, sir."
"Order the Mercury to pull out and the Elite to replace it," said Harkov. "Are we moving yet?"
The Protector lurched, started gaining speed. The engineering officer looked up at Harkov. "Sir, our fighters are past the hangar bay. I-"
Harkov looked out the last transparisteel window on the port side of the bridge, saw the attacking smuggler Y-wings break off their concentrated formation around the Akaga, sweep down below the Protector-
And engage the Ripoblus and Dimok Headhunters.
"Admiral?"
Harkov smiled. "It's actually quite simple. The vector that the smugglers came in on, vector ten-five-two, which, if you trace it back, leads directly to a Ripoblus held world, Eslair. I surmised they must be either smuggling to or from the Ripoblus, which means that at least one of out two friendly groups out there aren't going to be pleased when they find out. I just let them find out a bit earlier. It looks like both Ripoblus and Dimok have a reason to be hostile to this particular smuggling group."
"So...why didn't they hit the smugglers earlier?" wondered someone from the starboard side crew pit.
"They probably wanted to finish picking us off before they started on them," said Harkov. "Most non-Imperials dislike the Empire even more than they do smugglers. But now that the quarry's come to them..." He trailed off significantly, nodded at Daran, who spoke into the comm.
"Imperial fighters, this is Daran. Just kidding; we are not retreating after all."
The chuckles around the bridge were less forced this time.
