All six of his Star Destroyers fired as one as the Republic's ships closed to firing distance with Rogriss' fleet. Turbolasers turned the space between the Republic formation and the Imperial formation into a sea of molten liquid multicolor as red and green turbolasers spat in either direction. The Republic formation drove hard, trying to push into the seams between the Imperial vessels, along their more vulnerable sides and aft, absorbing a tremendous amount of fire for their charge.
The lead Mon Calamari Star Cruiser, Ivardal, took the brunt of the punishment. No single vessel could easily sustain the fire from multiple Star Destroyers, and no fewer than four of Rogriss' formation had clear firing angles on Ivardal. The cruiser fired back defiantly, but its shields—even as reinforced as they were—were not fully sufficient for the task. Armor glowed hot as green fire splashed over and through the cruiser's defenses, tearing into hull and superstructure. The cruiser rolled, protecting its damaged flank.
Between the capital ship formations, staggered squadrons of TIEs and New Republic fighters slammed into one another. Torpedoes and missiles punctured fighters and tore them apart; green laser fire shredding X-wings and splashing against the heavier shields of the B-wings. Despite their losses, the momentum shifted in the Republic's favor swiftly. The Imperials were badly outnumbered and most of them were not clone or even veteran pilots, but novices impressed into service too young and without necessary training. The long-ago decision to mass-produce fighters that did not have shields—a meaningless cost savings measure for an Empire that had not wanted for credits—meant the melee was rapidly turning into a bloody rout.
Ivardal's starboard flank erupted in explosions as it continued to be the primary focus of Imperial fire. The cruiser listed badly, with lights flickering and secondary explosions echoing along its long, armored hull.
But Ivardal was not the only ship suffering. Death's Head was the New Republic's main target, and Freedom had Captain Harbid's command solidly under its guns. Turbolasers and ion cannons skittered over the Star Destroyer's shields, which held but weakened until the five squadrons of B-wings Bel Iblis had brought to the dance opened up.
Imperial officers had not realized just how revolutionary the B-wing would be when it had first been introduced, but they had learned quickly. As fast and shielded as a Y-wing, more heavily armed than an X-wing, the B-wing's only real weakness was its relatively poor maneuverability and it did not even suffer much in that department. They were rapidly replacing the Republic's Y-wings, and Bel Iblis had deployed sixty of them. Led by Guardian Squadron, all sixty converged on Death's Head and launched in unison.
The first torpedo salvo to hit Death's Head crumpled its weakened shields and tore deep into armor. The Star Destroyer's scattering of ion fire knocked down a few torpedoes before they could strike home, but when there were a hundred and twenty of them in each salvo it almost didn't matter. The communications feed with Captain Harbid was severed in an instant as the second salvo struck; the bridge of the Death's Head had suffered no fewer than six direct torpedo strikes.
Agony shot through Rogriss as Death's Head's dying spasms lighted space beyond Chimaera's starboard bridge windows. He'd known Josa Harbid for twenty years…
Pellaeon was giving orders, his calm voice carrying over the sound of combat chatter. "Starboard flank, adjust tilt twenty degrees. Give me flak fire on all ion batteries, that ought to protect us better from the starfighters and torpedoes. Turbolaser batteries, adjust for massed battery fire; all other guns—"
Rogriss recovered from his momentary malaise, rapping out orders. "Inexorable, Nemesis tighten formation! Do not let the Republic slip a ship between you! All ships dedicate ion batteries to torpedo defense. TIE squadrons, your priority is the enemy B-wing squadrons. Keep them from launching torpedoes! Judicator, Stormhawk your new target is Orthavan. Lighter craft, close formation and shield our Star Destroyers from torpedo strikes. All TIE bomber squadrons, target Endurance."
Maybe, just maybe he could distract the enemy's A-wings and X-wings and draw them after his bomber squadron for a few minutes, which would let his remaining fighters scatter the B-wings. But the sheer weight of their numerical disadvantage was starting to press heavier down on the Imperial formation. The initial exchange had been hopeful; Ivardal was out of action, and Orthavan and Innasval had both taken serious hits, which left only Rising Tideundamaged. But with the formations starting to interpenetrate his Star Destroyers could no longer concentrate all their fire on one target, and the Republic's five dreadnaughts had all closed to point blank range and were pounding freely at any target of opportunity. One of Rogriss' dreadnaughts was valiantly moving to intervene, but it would be badly outnumbered.
None of it even mattered anymore. The Republic was already under Ukio's shield perimeter. The reports of ground troops landing at the planetary shield facility and engaging his ground forces, with X-wings for close air support, made that plain. They couldn't even protect the planet!
His Imperial Admiral's mask descended over his face and held it stony still, and for the first time in his career it was to shield an emotion no Imperial officer ought ever to feel: despair.
If Luke had the luxury of the time for it he'd be sick. Nausea rippled through his stomach, which roiled from repeated lurches. The hundreds of dead from Rogue Squadron's torpedo strikes, killed instantly or trapped under rubble dying much more slowly, had struck him as an almost physical blow. It had been a long time since Luke had flown with the Rogues, and longer still since he'd been at a battle so close to death at that scale. He'd not yet been a full Jedi even at Endor, not fully in command of his abilities and in union with the Force. The last major fleet engagement he'd been present for was the battle for the Katana fleet, and the death of the Star Destroyer Peremptory at that battle had been at a far distance.
The deaths of Ivardal and Death's Head were just above him, and looking up through his cockpit canopy he could see the flashes of battle in orbit above. Ivardal was battling hard against the force of gravity, the Star Cruiser's remaining crew desperately trying to save their wrecked ship. Luke could feel their agony and desperation, intermingling with the fury and pain and sorrow and panic of the sapients fighting the battle above.
Death's Head was an air-bleeding wreck. Torpedo strike after torpedo strike had ravaged the Star Destroyer, and Freedom had provided the metronomic pounding of turbolasers and ion cannons making sure the Star Destroyer had been vulnerable to every single one. Where Ivardal was winning its battle against gravity, Death's Head was losing, though its surviving repulsorlifts would ensure that its fall to Ukio would not be meteoric.
How, Luke wondered dimly, fighting past the barrage of emotion and re-establishing layered mental shields to guard against further psychic blows, could any Jedi truly attuned to the Force ever be comfortable as a warrior? How could they feel that pain and still be expected to inflict it? Would it eventually make one numb, and could that eventually be a path to the Dark?
But he wasn't just a Jedi, and Luke was following Wedge's lead towards combat with Hobbie hot on his tail. Hesitation on his part could well get his friends killed. He allowed himself a moment—just a moment—to take a calming breath, and then pushed his stick and dove his fighter down after the TIEs menacing Wes and Gavin. With memories of scraping fighters off Biggs over the first Death Star, he bracketed one of the squints, his HUD flickering. "Gavin, pull starboard and climb," he instructed Biggs' cousin calmly.
Gavin did as he'd instructed, but the TIE interceptor who had been pursuing him didn't respond as Luke had expected, instead spinning away from Gavin, attempting to evade. Luke pursued, twisting the stick to roll his fighter. The pilot was good—Luke felt the telltale sensations, the odd, familiar echo of a cloned mind—but TIEs were not meant for atmosphere, and atmospheric friction was death on their maneuverability. In this case, that meant death for the TIE's pilot as well, as Luke cut his thrust to make a quick snap turn and pulled the trigger, sending a quad burst of lasers that shredded one of the TIE's solar panels and sent the fighter spiraling down to explode on contact with the surface.
"Cover me, Three," said Hobbie's voice, and it took Luke a second to remember that Hobbie was talking to him.
"I'm with you, Hobbie," Luke confirmed, sending a flash of laser fire towards another TIE. He missed, but it did discourage the TIE from its pursuit. Luke fell into traditional wingman formation, covering his friend. "You're all clear."
Wedge's HUD flickered as he pulled the trigger, sending two pairs of red lasers at the TIE he was pursuing. There were numerous advantages of Thrawn's clone pilots—they tended to be of much greater skill than the average Imperial pilot, and did not need months or years of training before they could be deployed. But Wedge wondered if Thrawn had fully thought through the downsides. Wedge and the Rogues had been flying against Thrawn's cloned pilots for years now, and he'd learned how to recognize one batch from another.
Every pilot had their own eccentricities and preferences. Some leaned too heavily on one evasive maneuver. Others preferred to zero their weapons at a certain distance, or keep their inertial compensators at maximum, or to rely on linked rather than single fire. Through the New Republic fleet they'd distributed information about the clone groups, rules for how to recognize one group versus another, and their foibles.
The batch of clone pilots that Intel had designated Besh-Seven tended to perform an evasive roll when pursued, usually to starboard.
Wedge's lasers leaped out in advance to meet the fighter he was pursuing at the end of that roll. The TIE exploded spectacularly, shrapnel brushing over his X-wing's already overheated shields.
"Good shooting, Rogue Leader," Tycho said.
Wedge thumbed his comm. "Nine, Leader. Does Major Page have control of the shield facility yet?"
"Leader, Nine," Corran's voice came back. "Not yet. The facility is pretty well fortified, and they're in direct combat so there's no word on how much longer it will take. Eleven and Twelve are providing primary fire support." Corran's voice was wry. "Eleven is on her own personal crusade and I think Twelve is an eager apprentice."
Wedge grinned thinly. Yes, it was very nice to have Plourr back, even if just for a while. "Go join her on it," he ordered. "We'll finish up here. The sooner we can secure the planetary shields the better."
"Nine copies."
In the distance, at the horizon, Wedge watched as Death's Head sank towards Ukio's surface. Debris rained down below it as the massive vessel fell, armor plating and hull components gouging the surface in the shadow of the Star Destroyer. Thankfully, Wedge thought with awe, there was no city where the ship was falling, just klick after klick of rolling farms, sloping hills covered with grass, farms, and trees merging into the horizon.
Debris turned into flaming meteorites, hitting the ground with strong impacts. The Star Destroyer itself fell more slowly, its handful of repulsorlifts not strong enough to defeat gravity, but strong enough to resist it. Wedge could almost hear them straining as the wedge-shaped starship did pick up some velocity. It was still a slow, laborious fall; Death's Head seemed to sink into the ground, the ground giving way and then pushing back, the shuddering strike shaking still more debris free. There were a handful of small explosions, flocks of birds swirling in the sky around the columns of smoke rising from the brand new, enormous wreck. The ground rumbled audibly.
Wedge exhaled with relief. At least the Star Destroyer hadn't exploded on impact.
"Wow," said one of his Rogues. Gavin, maybe. Gate whistled his agreement.
"Rogues, this is Eight," Myn Donos' voice interrupted. "Our intel said landing pad four was not in use, but that doesn't appear to be the case. There's a Corellian corvette sitting on it, and it looks like its engines are hot."
Wedge frowned, starting toggling through his HUD, looking for the corvette. The information fed from Myn's astromech to Gate appeared, and Wedge's heart fell. It wasn't just any corvette—it was Strike.
Wedge put on speed. "On my way, Eight."
The situation deteriorated. Surface guns tracked Myn and Nrin, whose fighters dodged and weaved to avoid the fire, but while X-wings were better in the air than TIEs, their maneuverability suffered also. Multiple lasers struck Nrin's fighter, which bobbed and weaved in response, shields absorbing the energy for the moment. Myn's fighter unleashed a proton torpedo which struck one of the gun emplacements, leaving behind a mushroom-shaped cloud and a large crater.
Wedge flicked his com back to the wide band. "Imperial Forces, if you attempt to engage you will be destroyed. To the Imperial crew aboard the corvette Ession Strike, stand down at once or you will be fired upon. Repeat, stand down at once or you will be fired upon."
Strike didn't respond. The ship's repulsorlifts hummed to life, sending the ship rising off the ground a few feet, engines glowing as they prepared for launch. Far worse, Strike's battery of laser cannons—which had been so effective in the hands of Atril's gunners—unleashed a wave of red lasers, targeting Myn and Nrin.
Nrin, who had already been evasive, dodged low, his fighter skimming bare feet over the ground, relying on his repulsors to keep him from plowing into the earth below. His X-wing bounced over the terrain and spit lasers fiercely, scorching the earth and leaving another ground turret sagging and mauled in his wake. Strike's lasers fired above him, missing high.
Myn was not so lucky. Wedge gritted his teeth as Myn's fighter suffered repeated laser strikes, having been too high to take refuge against the ground. Myn's shields took the first couple hits, but the third shattered two of his engines, leaving a ferocious trail of smoke behind him as Wedge's fellow Corellian fought to control his X-wing's descent, Strike's lasers still tracking him to finish the job.
Wedge didn't hesitate, flicking his HUD over to proton torpedoes and tracking his crosshairs over Strike. The moment his HUD went red he pulled the trigger.
His proton torpedoes exploded against Strike, mostly absorbed by the corvette's shields but still leaving deep scorch marks over the ship's previously pristine white hull. The New Republic emblem emblazoned across Ession Strike darkened under the blow, and Wedge flicked over to lasers, pumping fire into the now unshielded side of the ship, watching them burn deep into its starboard hangar and over her hull, popping one of the ship's laser clusters.
His fighter shot over Strike, and he pulled into a hard dodge as the ship's remaining guns fired at him. In the distance, he saw Myn's stricken fighter bounce over the flat ground, digging a rough gout out of the soil before spinning to a dizzying stop. His HUD updated, and Myn's astromech communicated that his pilot was still alive, just badly dazed.
Thank the Force.
Behind him there was an almighty eruption as Ession Strike exploded. The ship's forward hammerhead was severed from the rest of the hull, falling forward, spinning slightly as the ship's main power reactor took a direct hit. The ship's rear turned into an enormous explosive, spitting several of the cylindrical engines spinning into the sky as the middle of the ship simply ceased to exist. The shockwave from the explosion jolted his X-wing, and Wedge smacked his ship's computer as it flickered momentarily. "Gate!"
His astromech whistled a confident, battle-hardened sound, seemingly much more confident than Wedge himself felt. Wedge steadied the X-wing, spinning the bird around, his systems recovering from the shock.
There was little left of Ession Strike. The Starbird sigil was gone, along with most of the hull; the shattered remnants of her hangars collapsed into wreckage all along what was left of the landing pad.
"I don't think I'll be painting that one on my fighter," came Hobbie's dour voice, his fighter rocketing over the wreck, Luke's following behind.
No, Wedge thought. No, there was nothing to be proud of in that last kill.
"I wouldn't either," came Tycho's voice. "When we get Captain Tabanne back she'd probably strangle you if you did."
"Hobbie, I still had an unopened bottle of Whyren's in my quarters," complained Wes.
There was a ripple of somber laughter over the squadron com channel.
"Rogue Leader, this is the Katarn Commandos," came a new voice, one Wedge recognized. "Major Page here. We have control of the planetary shields. Repeat, we have control of the planetary shields." There was grim certainty in that voice. "Ukio is ours again. But I'm afraid there is a problem."
"Repeat that, General," Bel Iblis said into his comlink. "The Imperials are jamming us, and we didn't get it all the last go." He waved at Orthavan's communications officer as the Star Cruiser shuddered; Judicator and Stormhawk were pounding them with all the guns they had, but both Star Destroyers had suffered battle damage of their own. Four of Bel Iblis' dreadnaughts were blasting away at Stormhawk, and Judicator had suffered a number of serious torpedo hits.
" . . . that we have captured . . . shield generator. Repeat . . . have captured the shield generator. Major Page has control of the planetary command center." Wedge's voice came in clearer as they managed to penetrate the jamming; on his combat display, Chimaera was now showing a darker orange that indicated more severe battle damage. "But, General, reports indicate that the Imperial ground forces . . . dispersed around . . . orders to . . . insurgency campaign."
This was not surprising, but it was disappointing. Bel Iblis sighed. Yes, they could take the planet, but the Imperials would make them pay for every inch they took, and make them pay more to hold those inches. "Understood." He turned towards Midanyl. "Thoughts?"
His aide shrugged. "It was expected. Their entire campaign is meant to bleed us for as long and as badly as possible."
"Hmmmm," he hummed in agreement. He turned to look again at the battle display. Ivardal was scrap, and Innasval was little better, but the Imperials had suffered far worse. Death's Head was gone, and of the remaining Star Destroyers only Nemesis had come away with relatively minor damage so far. "Captain Irraerl, I want to speak to Admiral Rogriss, if possible," he ordered. "Give me a wideband communications broadcast."
His Mon Calamari flag captain nodded, waving at her Mon Calamari comms officer. "Ready, sir," the latter said. "You're on."
"Admiral Rogriss, this is General Bel Iblis. I'd like to discuss the terms of your surrender. I am prepared to be generous." He flicked his hand to indicate that he was finished, then turned to Midanyl. "You think he'll make a deal?"
She shrugged. "It depends. He has a reputation for honesty and, like many Imperial officers who date back to the Old Republic, a deep concern for his personal honor. But that could cut against us if he's been ordered to fight to the last."
Orthavan shook under the continuing fire from Stormhawk and Judicator, but both Star Destroyers were suffering their own wounds. Freedom was scattering fire over both of them, with the smaller Endurance adding some additional turbolaser and ion cannon blasts, but the real damage was being done by the B-wings. There were no more massed torpedo salvos as the fighter melee had turned into a protracted dogfight, but lone or pairs of B-wings continued to peg the Star Destroyers with proton torpedoes, one or two at a time. Deep, blackened scorch marks and worse were now common across all of Rogriss' fleet.
The combat display showed darkening red circles around the Katana Dreadnaught Sparth, which was bleeding atmosphere as it careened out of formation, lights flickering. A trio of B-wings pumped it with lasers and a handful of additional torpedoes, A-wings from Polearm Squadron keeping the few remaining TIEs off their tails.
Bel Iblis considered the plot, then nodded confidently. "All ships, if you can without compromising yourselves, switch to ion cannons. We'd prefer to have prisoners and salvage, if we can," he ordered. He glanced at Midanyl. "How long do you think before he gets back—"
"General, I have a private line from Admiral Rogriss," called the Mon Calamari at the comms station. "He says he's willing to discuss terms."
Bel Iblis nodded at Midanyl, putting on a headset and activating the private com. "This is Bel Iblis."
"General Bel Iblis. . . Admiral Rogriss." Rogriss' voice was steady, though the communications link was not. "If . . . willing to discuss terms."
"Clean up this transmission!" Bel Iblis ordered angrily. "Admiral Rogriss, this channel is weak. Here are my terms. If you agree to evacuate all your forces from Ukio, including all your ground forces, and turn over your prisoners, I'll allow your fleet to depart Ukio, instead of destroying it right here. Did that come through in the clear? A full evacuation, including all ground forces, that's what we want. If you give it to us we'll let you go."
The link was silent, and Bel Iblis turned towards Irraerl. "Do we still have the link open?"
Her large, fishlike head bobbed an affirmative. "Yes, General."
He lifted an eyebrow at Midanyl, then nodded at the combat plot, where Judicator and Stormhawk were now both ringed in red. "He better make up his mind quickly, or he won't have many ships to depart with. Bel Iblis to fleet, I want all ships to concentrate their fire on—"
". . . Iblis, this is Admiral Rogriss," the Admiral's voice returned, and Bel Iblis closed his mouth to listen. "I am willing to discuss terms along those lines. If you agree to stop firing, I will order my ships to do the same."
"Agreed," Bel Iblis growled. "Bel Iblis to the fleet. Cease fire, repeat, cease fire. Admiral Rogriss and I are negotiating the surrender of the Ukio system." He smiled thinly. "Release torpedo locks, but don't power down your weapons." He waited a moment. "I've ordered my ships to stand down, Admiral."
The Imperial vessels' fire faded away, almost reluctantly. "And I've done the same." There was a moment's pause. "Do you want to parlay in person?"
"If you would be willing. The negotiations will take place on Orthavan."
There was another moment's pause. Then: "Very well. I'll shuttle over to you, as a sign of good faith."
"Agreed," Bel Iblis said, nodding to a disgruntled-looking Irraerl. "We'll await your arrival." The communications channel went silent.
"General, I must point out that if we allow this fleet to withdraw, we will end up fighting it again at some point," Irraerl said, sounding less than thrilled. "We can destroy it here and now."
"Yes, we can," Bel Iblis agreed. "But the cost will be more of our own ships, and a long, grueling ground war that will likely destroy much of Ukio." He waved at the planet. "Our first obligation is to the worlds of the New Republic," he said. "We can save this one, here and now."
Bel Iblis met Rogriss at the hangar. They had agreed that Rogriss' stormtrooper escort would stay aboard his shuttle; Bel Iblis was accompanied only by Sena Midanyl.
"General Bel Iblis," said Rogriss respectfully. "You have my regard for a campaign well executed."
"Admiral Rogriss," Bel Iblis replied, accepting the proffered handshake. "You have reviewed my terms?"
"Straight to business," Rogriss commented, holding a datapad under his arm. "I have. I can commit to almost everything you ask for." He held the datapad out and Midanyl took it, reviewing it quickly. "I believe if I order our ground contingent to withdraw, they will do so. The Ukio garrison is largely clones, so they are quite reliable. There are no ISB factions within the ground detachment that I am aware of, so we don't need to worry about units disobeying orders they deem traitorous."
That was a relief, Bel Iblis thought. If the clones would withdraw peaceably, Ukio could be secured and even return to export status almost immediately. "I'm glad to hear it."
Rogriss nodded. "Ukio was Thrawn's conquest and he used his people to secure it."
Which meant that the post-Thrawn divisions within the Empire were deep, Bel Iblis thought. Not surprising; the Empire had been badly fragmented before Thrawn, and remained badly fragmented after. Ukio had been the Council of Moff's gathering up many of Thrawn's loyalists, placing them in a desperate situation, and ordering them to fight to the death.
Rogriss' decision to withdraw might be a direct violation of that order. He could easily find himself subject to sanction, perhaps even court martial.
"But I cannot return your prisoners," Rogriss continued. "I'm sorry, I would if I could, but I can't. They're not here. We didn't have any place to keep them on Ukio, and I didn't want to keep them aboard ship where they might be accidentally killed during battle. I had them transferred to Linuri aboard Agonizer."
Midanyl looked up from the datapad Rogriss had given her and nodded, her expression grim.
"That is unfortunate," Bel Iblis growled, but his tone was more resigned than angry. "I don't suppose you could request their release?"
"I can," Rogriss said, "but I doubt my request would be honored. They're under Moff Disra's authority now. I can commit to reaching out to discuss the matter with him, but I can't make any promises on his behalf."
"I understand," Bel Iblis said, frowning. He doubted Disra would free Ession Strike's crew without a price much too high for the New Republic to pay.
"Does this make a negotiated end to this engagement impossible?" asked Rogriss calmly.
The Rogues would want to blow the Imperial ships away. But the engagement would not end bloodlessly, and Orthavan had suffered some significant damage of its own. They would win, Bel Iblis had no doubt of that, but Rogriss would make them pay for the victory. Then, after that bloody victory was had, Thrawn's clones on the planet would fight to the very last. "No," he said. He nodded at Midanyl. "We'll need to work out exactly how the withdrawal will proceed and each phase of the turnover will be handled."
"If you'll permit, I'll send for some more of my officers, and the commander of the Ukio ground garrison," Rogriss said. "From there, we can work out the specifics."
Rogriss was taking a risk, Bel Iblis knew. He already had a reputation within the Empire for being too soft when it came to dealing with the Republic. This withdrawal would further damage his reputation and standing—and it was not just himself at risk. Rogriss' two children could also suffer for their father's lack of patriotic self-sacrifice.
What was it, Bel Iblis thought, that made men like Rogriss loyal to something like the Empire? How could they go on, year after year, unable to see what it was they were fighting for?
He didn't know. It also didn't matter. More important was freeing Ukio. He could worry about the continuing loyalty of so much of the galaxy to Palpatine's Empire once the battle at hand was truly done. "Agreed."
The Wild Karrde lifted up from the surface of Rishi, Dankin settled comfortably at the helm. It had been a productive jaunt; the local trade association had been intransigent about joining the Smugglers' Alliance, but an in-person meeting had proved persuasive. More importantly, Karrde had checked in with his long-time Rishi associates, making sure that those old relationships would continue as well.
He folded his hands together, the ship's engines humming. "Where are we headed next, Cap't?" asked Chin from behind him.
"Hmmmm," Karrde mused, pretending to think about it. "Well, we've accomplished all our goals in this sector of space. We can leave the rest of the Ukio mission to Aves and the New Republic. So, we really ought to be getting back to Coruscant, in case the New Republic has made demands on Mara's services." He wouldn't put it past Cracken to do just that. "Also, we did manage to pick up that administration droid."
"It's pretty odd, Boss, starting to think of Coruscant as home," said Dankin from the helm, already running the plot through the navicomputer.
"It is, isn't it," Karrde agreed. "But not entirely unwelcome. Coruscant may not have the solitude of a Myrkr, but it does offer much else to make up for that deficiency."
"I still miss Myrkr," said Chin. "It's hard to beat Hyllyard City."
"That's only because you're from Hyllyard City," Dankin laughed. "Otherwise, the place barely qualifies as civilization."
"I do miss home," Chin said whimsically. "Coruscant is much too busy. Too many people doing too many things. At least we kept a couple ysalamiri aboard for me to look after."
"Personally, I'd be just as happy to go back to Corellia," said Faughn from the comm station. "It's got just the right mix of both. If you want Coruscant, there's Coronet City. If you want Myrkr, there are a dozen continents which are much more sparsely populated across the system's inhabited worlds."
"Corellia does have certain advantages," Karrde agreed. "Although it's not as it was during the old days."
"Coming up on our hyperspace jump," announced Dankin. "Sit down and strap in."
Karrde smiled. They'd lost Aves and replaced him with Faughn, and Mara was absent and the ship would need a replacement for her when her position on Coruscant became permanent (whether that was with the Smugglers' Alliance or with Skywalker's unborn Jedi order), but on the whole he was pleased with their performance. It had been a productive mission, and he had no doubt that General Bel Iblis would be able to take the cloaking device they'd procured and parlay it into a victory that would see his old friend Gillespee get his land on Ukio back.
There was absolutely no forewarning, no hint of anticipation. He didn't have Mara or Skywalker on his bridge, and none of the rest of them had the Force. He'd gotten so accustomed to having her uncanny instincts, her ability to know exactly when the unexpected was going to occur, and it was in that moment that he realized exactly just how much he needed her.
An Imperial II-class Star Destroyer loomed in the Wild Karrde's viewers, white paint obscuring stars. It appeared with the instantaneousness of a hyperspace transition, sending all of the Wild Karrde's alarms wailing. Target lock, tractor beams, collision warnings, all of them screamed in a horrible, completely unexpected cacophony. They all jumped out of their seats; they all froze in sudden horror.
It took Karrde a second to master his reaction and sink back into his command chair, releasing his iron grip on the armrests and folding his hands uncomfortably together on his lap.
There was a beep as new information was fed to his command chair, and Karrde glanced at it. The Star Destroyer was broadcasting the IFF of Invidious.
Faughn was the first who spoke as Chin and Dankin dazedly turned off alarms. "Captain," she said, a fearful tremble in her voice. "An Admiral Tavira wants to speak with you."