Chapter Three: The Admiral's Gambit

Admiral Moltos sat in the conference room of his flagship. Sitting across from him was a pirate lord, a massive and shockingly intelligent Gamorrean named Mook Hellfire. Moltos did not like the smelly pirate, though he was indeed very powerful. The Gamorrean boasted a fleet of twelve capital ships, bigger than most of the fleets in the Federation. He was an accomplished tactician, as well, favoring hit-and-run strategies over brute force. Indeed, Moltos saw a great deal of Angela Marshair's cunning in the Gamorrean's beady eyes. The similarity was unsettling.

"You ask me to put my men on the line for people who want to kill them," the pirate lord summarized. "You ask much, admiral."

"And you will earn much if you pull this off," Moltos promised. "We both hate Angela Marshair, Mook Hellfire. You hate her because she relentlessly hunts you and your kind. I hate her because she threatens my position. As the old saying goes, 'the enemy of my enemy is my friend.'" He extended his hand. "Do we have a deal?"

The Gamorrean gave the proffered hand a critical look, which shifted to taking in Moltos' eyes. Without breaking eye contact, Mook Hellfire took Admiral Moltos' hand. "We have a deal. Angela Marshair will be abandoned by the people she protects, as agreed."

Moltos smiled. "Good. My scouts report that she's settled down on the planet of Catara. She has been there for at least three months, training new recruits. Strike her down, Hellfire. Bring her to her knees, and we'll sit back and watch her fall."


Catara's night skies were red with flames.

Twelve capital-class cruisers surged over the golden fields of the agricultural world, missiles and lasers tearing through everything in their path. Seven other warships danced slowly with them, their own batteries splashing against the glow of shielding.

On the bridge of the Impermeable, Angela Marshair stood in front of the deadly game she was playing. Her eyes roved over the tactical displays, studying, analyzing, and plotting. Mook Hellfire's attack was sudden, unprovoked, and fierce.

He took her by surprise and managed to disable the most of the Sentinel's weapon batteries before it could retaliate. With reduced firepower available to her, Angela struggled to keep the battle from Hellfire's hands. The longer she looked at the displays—with the two-to-one odds against her—the more intense her fears became.

Outwardly, she looked calm, in control, the same insurmountable commander that her men had come to know and respect.

In truth, she dreaded the outcome of the fight.

This may be the battle she would lose.

Her eyes went hard. Defeat was not an option. "Epsilon Squadron," she announced strongly, "perform a Bel Iblis A-wing slash at Hellfire's command ship on my mark; Alpha Squadron, you will run the role of A-wings. Gunnery, fire missiles at the command ship. Delta and Gamma Squadrons: attack flanking ships; keep them from assisting Hellfire. Sentinel, pull back and assume a flanking support position; deploy starfighters to protect the Intrepid and Interloper. Intrepid: turn all batteries to vector six-six-nine. Interloper: turn all batteries to vector four-three-nine. Orders for the new ships under my command—Red Avenger and Beautiful Dreamer, flank the pirates. Clockwork Defender, support the Interloper."

Her orders were carried out with lightning-fast precision; the new recruits were performing admirably, aided by the experience of the veteran soldiers. Still, she wished she had more firepower. She could use the Tooth of Nail, the Long Talon, and the Ugly Mate right now, but those three were still undergoing extensive repairs. She would have to work with only the seven ships available to her.

The tactical displays were alight with her fleet's movements. She saw Epsilon Squadron's blips on the screen, followed closely by Alpha Squadron, who were hiding behind their drive tails. Epsilon broke into parade formation, drawing the battery fire of Hellfire's flagship away, leaving an opening for Alpha Squadron to lay down a burst of laser fire and proton torpedoes—a perfect A-wing slash.

"Excellent," Angela congratulated, noting that Hellfire's flagship was lumbering brokenly. "Epsilon, Alpha—press the attack. Gut Hellfire now!"

Suddenly, an explosion rocked the Impermeable. Warning lights signaled around her, filling the bridge with a red glow. Klaxons blared. Angela stood impassive, watching as her crew calmly went about their duties. "Status report," she demanded.

With crisp precision and efficiency, the reports came in. Enemy starfighters came up under their drive tail, hidden from sensors by ion discharge. They took out the hyperdrive and most of the Impermeable's forward thrust. Angela cursed under her breath; they were sitting ducks and all of her other ships were busy fending off Hellfire's cruisers.

As she watched the tactical display, she saw a similar fate before the already-damaged Sentinel. It listed, its starboard engines dead. A swarm of enemy fighters flitted around it, taking potshots and slowly whittling down its shields.

Another explosion caught her attention—the Intrepid had likewise been rendered motionless. One of Hellfire's cruisers was cutting away at the crippled ship's hull with intense laser fire.

"Damn you for being a decent tactician," she grumbled, thinking quickly to salvage the situation. "Delta, break engagement and protect the Sentinel. Epsilon and Alpha, protect the Intrepid; Interloper, disengage and use your tractor beam to bring Intrepid out of danger. All ships, break engagement and form up around the Impermeable." Soon, her seven ships were in a tight triangular arrangement, with the Impermeable and Sentinel protected in the center.

She watched in grim respect as Hellfire's own cruisers began circling her fleet. "Well damn," she murmured, "He was expecting this. He's better than I thought."

The Cataran officer looked up at her worriedly. "Commander," he said shakily, "what will we do?"

Angela looked around the bridge; everyone returned her gaze expectantly, waiting for her to come up with some incredible master plan to escape. But she had run out of tricks. Hellfire had pushed her onto the defensive, put her back to the wall with no resources, no gimmicks, and no way out.

But Angela Marshair was not a woman who surrendered. She looked at the tactical display, searching desperately for an answer.

And then she saw it.

The tactical display showed twelve pirate cruisers surrounding her seven warships, all planar to each other. But the tactical display was two-dimensional. Space was three-dimensional.

"All ships pull up; all fighters, dive."

Her fleet followed her commands to the letter, unexpectedly disengaging from the fight. Hellfire's fleet was already lumbering forward, heading for the kill. Her maneuver caught him by surprise, forcing his ships to break from their intended trajectory, which required braking, turning, and re-accelerating—all time-consuming maneuvers.

She knew the starfighters would be fine. Their maneuverability would be the only defense they needed from Hellfire's cruisers. But her capital vessels were bulky and slow. She was banking on the hope that their proximity to each other would allow for enough shield overlap to withstand a continuous heavy barrage.

Once her ships were above the pirates, she ordered, "Capital ships, evacuate all lower decks and then dive horizontally. I want every ship sitting on top of a cruiser in thirty seconds."

"Captain?" the Cataran asked dumbfounded.

She smiled at him. "Our ships are damaged, their shields depleted from our escape," she explained. "But if we sit on top of Hellfire's ships, we'll destroy their bridges and main command posts, while posing minimal threat to our own." He nodded in understanding and turned to relay her orders.

She watched in relief as her plan panned out to victory. Her ships crashed upon Hellfire's fleet, mounting them in a parody of an embrace. The Impermeable shuddered violently as shocks and eruptions rocked it to and fro. But it held, as did every ship in her fleet.

"Open fire on all remaining enemy vessels!" she shouted, feeling triumph within her grasp.

When the firefight died down, she demanded, "Status report on the pirates." When they came in, her smile took in her ears.

Five of the pirate cruisers were crushed in the initial attack, their bridges completely demolished beneath the bellies of her ships. Four more were incinerated in the aftermath, caught by surprise and torn apart amidst laser fire. Of the remaining three ships, all were heavily damaged. One of them was Hellfire's flagship. She ordered that the Gamorrean be brought before her.

A half-hour later, Mook Hellfire, bloodied and battered and shamed with defeat, knelt prostrated before her upon the Impermeable's bridge.

"On your feet, pirate," she said coldly. He stood, looking at her with a combination of fear, hate, and—above all—respect. "You gave me quite a challenge," she said simply. "You were the first to actually come close to defeating me."

The Gamorrean growled. "And so you parade your victory? Wallow in your pride?" He pointed a fat finger at her. "You'll eventually meet defeat, Angela Marshair. Just you wait. One day, you'll make a mistake."

She nodded succinctly. "I couldn't agree more. But my defeat isn't today. I am curious though," she gazed into his beady eyes and stabbed his mind with a tendril of the Force, "I wonder who sent you? You couldn't possibly have known I was here on Catara. Answer me now: who are you working for?"

The pirate lord winced and struggled against her will, but she was far too compelling, far too powerful. His shoulders sagged and his mouth unconsciously spoke the words. "Admiral Moltos of the Federation asked me to attack you." Gasps and outraged cries broke out across the bridge. "I was to kill you, thereby taking you, his main rival, out of the picture."

Angela released him from her compulsion. "And in return, he probably paid you handsomely and assured that your position as a pirate lord was secured. After all, I wouldn't be alive to hunt you down." She gestured to a pair of guards. "Take him to the brig with the rest of his crew."

She turned to face the angered crew. She could feel their distrust of the Federation military grow, their loathing of the traitorous Admiral Moltos festering and glowing within the Force. "Have repair crews work double-time on our hyperdrive and engines. Send word to Catara—I want the Tooth of Nail, the Long Talon, and the Ugly Mate ready to fly in a week."

Her hard gaze roved over her crew, lending particular seriousness to her words. "In a week, we will be heading to Denom. We'll hit Moltos where it hurts—in the courts."


Admiral Moltos looked at the datapad in his hands. "This will do nicely," he said with a wicked grin, sliding a credit stick laden with over two million credits to the slicer he had anonymously hired.

When he was alone, he admired the datapad like an expensive and rare work of art. "Beautiful," he commented. "With this, Marshair will see her end."

He went to alert his fellow conspirators to prepare for a long hyperspace journey. It was time to go to Denom. He would dismember the upstart Jedi where it hurt most—in the courts.