The gathered admirals looked at the datapad with dark smiles.
"An impressive collection," Admiral Ronso said, very, very pleased. "How much of it is true?"
Admiral Moltos grinned ear-to-ear; he had found the datapad, after all. "Every bit of it."
"How very ironic," said Admiral Stempson, "that the highly-respected Fleet Commander Angela Marshair had such notoriety." His grin made him look like a hungry wolf.
"Indeed." Moltos crossed his fingers, resting his chin against his thumbs. His gaze took in his conspirators. "I need not remind you that time is of the essence. I've recently lost contact with Mook Hellfire; I can only assume that she's already defeated him."
Ronso waved a dismissive hand. "Not that it matters; he was only a distraction, to buy us time. We have ample of it, now."
"You do not see the implications, Ronso," Moltos countered. "Hellfire is a weak-minded fool. Marshair will easily obtain the identity of the one who sent him—me. But Marshair is an impulsive girl, much like her late mentor, Tonno-Skeve. She will come to us—or rather, to the capital world of Denom—and try to discredit us, as we are trying to discredit her. If our plan is to succeed, we must move swiftly."
"We will arrive at Denom within a day," Stempson added encouragingly. "Surely, we must be ahead of the upstart Jedi girl. She will not reach us in time."
"Do not underestimate the power of the Force," Moltos warned. It was difficult to tell if he was being sincere or sarcastically bitter. "And further, do not underestimate the tenacity of Angela Marshair. I recall another admiral, Toniss Adguard, who made that mistake. He's now paying for that error in a jail cell."
"But your plan is foolproof!" Ronso argued. He gesticulated strongly. "We have all the cards. She can't win once we bring this datapad to the courts. They'll have to take her command away. This may even discredit the entire Jedi Order, removing the whole lot of the pests."
"Ronso," Stempson cut in, "just because we have the advantage, does not mean that we have the hand." He looked to Moltos, a knowing gleam in his eyes. "Isn't that right, admiral? There's another factor to consider regarding this." He tapped the datapad.
Moltos nodded stonily. "While the information in that datapad is true and condemning, it will not be enough. Ronso, you overestimate what this datapad can do. The most we can do with this is sow distrust among the Senate and the military, turn their eyes away from our activities. Like I said, all we can do is discredit her. Destroying her must come separately."
Ronso balked. "But…but this." His sputtering was clear indication that he did not understand.
Moltos calmly explained, as if to a child, "What Angela Marshair did happened a long time ago. Furthermore, the issue was addressed and resolved by the Jedi Order. Therefore, it is largely useless as damning evidence. But we can still use it to throw her character into question. According to this datapad, her actions were very dubious. We can use that as leverage, to make a push to have her stripped of her rank, command, and fleet. But that will take time and must be done at the right moment."
The crafty admiral leaned forward intently, sharing a conspiratorial moment with his allies. "But I promise you this. In a day, my friends, we will carry out the first step of Angela Marshair's downfall. Be patient, my comrades. I have yet one more trick up my sleeve."
Angela sat in her command chair, drawing heavily upon the Force and upon her own mental reserves to stave off the agitation growing within her. Her fleet had flown through hyperspace as fast as it could, but she had not taken a moment's rest. Like chimeras and phantoms, thoughts and fears danced in her mind.
What were the admirals plotting? What could they use against her? She was positive that an assassination attempt—especially one as unsubtle and clumsy as Hellfire—was not their true gambit. There was another element at work, one that she could not comprehend. She needed information, which she was in sore lacking of. It irked her, not knowing.
"Commander," the sensor operator sounded an alert, "we're picking up four capital ships around our drop-out coordinates. They read as Federation vessels."
It was obvious who they were. The hyperspace exit vector identified them more clearly than any transponder code. "Hail them," Angela ordered. The holo of Admiral Moltos appeared on her screen. "Hello, admiral," she greeted without warmth. "What brings you to Denom? Didn't you have some pirates to settle with in the Eejack Sectors?"
"Jedi Marshair," the admiral replied frostily, "as lovely as ever, I see. I merely stopped by for supplies."
"You're quite a ways away from the Outer Rim for a supply run, admiral," she countered crisply.
The communications officer spoke up, sounding very puzzled. "Commander," the officer said, "this channel isn't coming from the ship we're hailing."
Angela spun on the officer. "What?"
"It's coming up two parsecs away—behind us. The ship we're hailing is relaying us somewhere else."
Suddenly, klaxons blared all around. Red alert lights bathed the bridge in a blood-red glow. "Commander! Two more capital ships are coming up right behind us," shouted the sensor operator. "They've just dropped out of hyperspace and are opening fire!" The Impermeable shuddered as turbolaser fire tore into the shields.
The brown-haired Jedi cursed. "Turn us around," she ordered. "Power up weapons, divert half power from engines to shields. Angle shields double-rear. Keep the Federation ships in front of us and return fire on the enemy." Her commands were carried out with alacrity. There was not a word of confusion or panic in her crew and she felt pride in their skill and teamwork. In seconds, the Impermeable was retaliating with its own red barrage.
"Tooth of Nail and Sentinel have destroyed one of the warships, Commander."
She nodded briskly. "Continue firing on the remaining ship. Shoot to disable. I want it alive."
Turbolaser fire painted the black abyss red. "Ship disabled, Commander—wait, what the—" The remaining enemy capital ship buckled in on itself, splitting apart and dying in a gout of flame and artificial atmosphere.
"I said shoot to disable!" Angela cried. But her crew insisted that the ship had been disabled. She checked the energy readings. Just like her troops claimed, they had shot to disable—battery fire was at forty-percent power, enough to tear off shields and hull plating, but not enough to cause structural damage.
What's going on? she wondered. She had the sick feeling that Moltos was somehow behind all of this.
Thinking about Moltos brought her attention back to the holo—the holo that was no longer there. "What happened to our connection?"
Before anyone could answer her, another holo appeared. The human was red with outrage, despite the blue diffuse glow of the holotransmission. "Commander Marshair," the human shouted, his uniform that of a high-ranking Federation naval officer, "this is an outrage! You just destroyed two of our cruisers! You just killed Admiral Moltos!"
The proclamation stunned the young Jedi into a sputtering fit. Her mind was whirling, coherent thought gone like a ghostly wind. Finally, she managed to spout out, "What?" It sounded feeble to her ears.
The human only glared at her. "Commander Marshair, you will power down your shields, engines, and weapons systems. Your ships will be impounded, your crews placed into isolation. You will be boarded and you will be taken into custody." His next words chilled her heart. "Finally, you will be arrested for treason and murder."
"It seems clear to me," said the Bothan prosecutor, "that Jedi Angela Marshair is an untrustworthy woman who seeks military adventure for her own personal gain." He strode up and down the court, waving a datapad in his furry hand. "This, ladies and gentlemen, is information given to me by Admiral Moltos just moments before he was brutally murdered by this woman." He laid an accusing finger at Angela, who sat morosely in the defendant's chair.
She was in a state of half-shock, her mind still processing the utter craziness that had become the last few hours of her life. Somehow, she had managed to kill Admiral Moltos and destroyed two Federation capital ships. Somehow, she had been stripped of her military rank. Somehow, she was branded a traitor to the Federation, the peace, and everything the Jedi Order stood for. How had it come to this? she wailed silently.
The Bothan continued his allegations. "The fallen admiral sent this to me via a coded transmission. You all have copies of it. As you can see, this details the illegal actions of Jedi Angela Marshair during the Rakaris debacle two years ago. Slicing personal data files on Admirals LeFrein and Adguard, acquiring illegal identification documents, altering her ship's signature codes, stealing an item from a nobleman's private collection—all minor offenses, all done in the name of so-called justice."
The Bothan prosecutor whirled on his audience with flair and skill, capturing their attention. He held even Angela in thrall, and she could only watch helplessly as he twisted her name in knots, dragged it through the mud, and turned her good deeds into the foulest of sins. "These were minor offenses, ladies and gentlemen," the Bothan said sweetly, working his audience. "But they show us the truth of her character. She is duplicitous, suspect, and capable of breaking the law to achieve her own ends. We have a name for this—vigilante.
"When has it ever been the authority of a Jedi—of anyone—to take the law into their own hands? We have police, we have the military, and we have the Jedi. What need have we of vigilantes? Furthermore, where is the line? Where is the line that divides crime in the name of the greater good from crime for the sake of personal gain?" He pointed at her again, his finger a lance into her heart. "This woman has crossed that invisible line, ladies and gentlemen. Crossed it and destroyed it."
He waved the datapad again. "This is how it happened: Jedi Angela Marshair learned of good Admiral Moltos' attempt to warn me of her duplicitous nature and sought to eliminate the threat. Thus, she opened fire on him, intent on keeping the truth in the shadows.
"She and her crew claimed that Moltos' ship attacked first, but there is no evidence in the ruins of the admiral's vessel that such an event ever occurred. Indeed, technicians have gone over the fallen ship's records five times, with nothing indicating that they fire first. You may say that the Impermeable's records have data, even complete footage, of Moltos opening fire, but this datapad confirms Marshair's electronic ingenuity. Dare we trust anything from her or her own out of fear that it may be fabricated? I think not.
"Our course is clear: Jedi Angela Marshair is a menace and must be expelled from this military and, if I may be so bold to suggest, from the Jedi Order itself." The Bothan left the floor and took his seat to resounding applause.
Angela felt her heart sink into her belly.
An hour later, she was sitting in a cold jail cell, her black tunic gone, replaced by a grim gray prison uniform. The galaxy seemed bleak, like the gray of her clothes and the plainness of her prison.
Angela was kept in confinement and under heavy guard for a week. She received only one meal a day, and then only under the strictest surveillance and security. Everyone knew she was the most powerful Jedi in the Order. Everyone feared her might and were just waiting for her to unleash her strength. But she never did. The guards held their weapons on full-power, but never once did they see a reason to fire.
She just stayed in her cell in perfect silence. Where had everything gone wrong? What in the bloody hell was going on? Where had everything gone so horribly, unpredictably wrong? She tangled with these questions until she was to dizzy to think straight. Anxiety, disbelief, stunned numbness all took their toll on her, blocked out coherent thought, incapacitated her. Never had she felt so deplorable and alone.
She cried at the end of the week, her first bout of tears since her Master died. Thinking about him, thinking about how alone she was, only made the tears flow hotter. "Ran," she mumbled with a sniffle, curling into a pathetic ball, "I need you now."
That moment of weakness was when she heard the door to her cell hiss open. Expecting guards, she blinked in surprise when she saw Captain Taisho standing in the doorway. "What are you doing here?" she asked dumbly. The elderly captain smiled warmly and tossed her a metallic item. She caught it and looked at it in astonishment.
Her lightsaber.
"We're breaking you out of here, Commander," the captain said simply. "We've put most of the guards to sleep and sliced the surveillance cameras. We don't have a lot of time. Come on, let's get the hell out of here."
"You can't do this," Angela protested. "I won't have my crew be blamed for this, and I'm certainly not going to let you be party to aiding a felon."
"You aren't to blame and you aren't a felon," Taisho countered. "We were there, Commander. Moltos shot first. And," he added as an aside, "I don't think Moltos was actually on that ship."
"What?" Angela breathed.
The captain turned on her sharply, his gaze intent and determined. "Not here. Not enough time. I'll explain later. Come on." He bolted into the hallway and she followed, close on his heels.
He led her to an unmarked transport ship, a civilian Corellian-made ship. It looked like a thousand similar transports. It was the perfect escape ride. They boarded without preamble and the ship lurched into the depths of space, leaving Denom behind.
"Don't worry about the rest of the fleet," Taisho said. "They know what we're doing. They're going to stay groundside until this blows over. Only me and a few others from the Impermeable's crew are involved in this jailbreak gambit."
Once the transport was safely in the blue-white glow of hyperspace, Angela demanded explanations. "You said you didn't think Moltos was on board. What did you mean by that?"
"Exactly what I said," Taisho replied. "Remember how his holo was actually coming from another source? Well, I traced it when your court martial was going on. It originated out in the Outer Rim world of Antioch—which, I believe, is where Moltos was last stationed, just prior to your arrival as a Fleet Commander. His holotransmission was relayed via a network of communication buoys along hyperspace trade routes. Very simple, very effective."
Angela's mind clicked. The pieces fell together and she practically roared in anger as the clever logic of it all finally wove into a coherent pattern. "Those Federation ships we encountered when we dropped out of hyperspace—those were decoys, meant for us to think that we caught Moltos just before he arrived on Denom. Those two ships that dropped out right behind us and opened fire—those were supposed to be scapegoats, ones with altered records saying that we fired first and, furthermore, that Moltos was on board."
Her next words came out with a mixture of quiet outrage and deep respect, "Moltos tricked us all."
Taisho nodded. "He tried to discredit you. I'd assume that he was going to try with that datapad information."
Angela shook her head. "That by itself wouldn't be enough. My actions were condoned back then. No one would question it unless some grotesque crime had been done—such as the murder of an admiral. Mook Hellfire was also an unwitting pawn in Moltos' plot, I'd wager. He was sent to pique my interest, to set me up. I fell for it. Because of Hellfire, I came running right to Denom and into Moltos' little trap."
She smiled with admiration for Moltos' cleverness. "It was an ingenious trick, but it has one major flaw."
Taisho nodded. "Moltos wouldn't kill himself just to discredit you," he said, voicing her thoughts. "He had to fake his death—which means, of course, that he's still alive somewhere."
Angela finished, "And that somewhere is Antioch."
Antioch was not what a sentient being would call a tourist's spot. Far too warm during the summer, far too cold during the winter, it was a small planet no larger than a moon and was devoid of all but the most basic features: a mountain range and a large body of water—a poor excuse for an ocean. There was only one settlement on the tiny world, but it served its purpose well enough.
It was not supposed to be pretty. It was not supposed to be a permanent base of operations. The military base had only one function: organization point for the various pirate-hunting fleets operating in the Outer Rim. Right now, the landing fields lay barren, save for a few capital ships and transport craft sitting by their lonesome, refueling cables jacked into their underbellies.
"Moltos is somewhere in there," Angela said quietly. "I can feel him in the Force, gloating at his victory. Guess he hasn't heard about my escape, huh?"
"We were very thorough about slicing your prison records," Taisho said. "We figure that we have about six more hours before the press finally finds out. Hopefully, we'll have Moltos by then. That in and of itself should free you from blame."
Angela smiled grimly. "Just float me over there, Taisho," she said, pointing to the western edge of the base. "Bring us around and I'll take care of the rest."
"As you wish, Commander."
Their transport banked to starboard and settled above the spot she indicated. The brown-haired Jedi opened the landing hatch, shielded her eyes from the sudden blast of atmospheric air, and leaped onto the rooftop of the base, her green-bladed lightsaber flaring to life. Within two seconds of touching ground, she sliced a clean hole through the roof and plummeted into the office below.
There was a crunch as a desk was squashed beneath a slab of roof. Disoriented shouts heralded her unconventional entrance. Angela took a quick glance around her and took in every face she saw. Admiral Ronso, Admiral Stempson.
Admiral Moltos.
She leveled her lightsaber at him. The smile that took in her ears held the fierce delight of sweet, poetic justice. "Hello," she said lightly, "you're under arrest. Every. Last. One of you."
"Are you certain you don't want to keep your commission?" Taisho pleaded with her. It was two weeks since Angela turned in the conspiring admirals and cleared her name. She and the captain stood on the plains of Catara. Major Isano, Lieutenant Vale, and all the other troopers and officers of her fleet were among the farmers, cheering her vindication. The wheat was golden and the sun was shining. It was good day.
Angela shook her head. "I'm not well-loved in the navy," she said simply. "Even though I've been declared innocent, there are still others who don't want a Jedi among them. They're afraid of me and of what I can do."
"Not everyone is like that," the elderly captain said.
She smiled at him warmly. "I know that, my friend. But let's face the truth—you're just a minority of trust among a majority of wariness. Besides," she said with more gusto and vigor, "I'm not really a Jedi if I'm wandering around with a fleet. The pirates are all scared of me now, anyway. I read that piracy has dropped over fifteen percent in the last month alone."
"Indeed. You did a good job, Commander Jedi."
"Don't call me that anymore," she said kindly. "Its time for me to return to being a Jedi Knight."
They were silent for a moment. "What will you do now?" Taisho asked, breaking the quiet.
She shrugged. "I'm not really sure. I joined the military so I could make a major difference. It almost ended in disaster. I got cocky, careless, I guess. But it won't happen again. I'll be more careful from now on and I'll act like a Jedi should. Master Skywalker was right about being wary of me—I wasn't ready for the responsibilities of being a Jedi, if this debacle was any indication. But now, I think, I've finally gotten the picture."
She turned to face the captain squarely. She gave him a slow, deliberate salute. He returned it with a smile. "It was a pleasure working with you, Commander Jedi," he said sincerely, emphasizing her rank despite her words.
Her grin was warm, serene—the smiling face of a fellow soldier and something greater. "Good flying, Captain Taisho."
The End