Commander Seva Kect lounged in a chair next to the veiwport of the Mon Calamari cruiser Independence swaying slowly as though rocked by gentle waves of the sea. But this was space not the ocean. The command chairs of all Mon Calamari ships are mounted on moving arms that are controlled by slight motions of the arms and wrists so as to leave the hands free to work. Typically humans found the chairs difficult to master and left their use to the Mon Calamari crews, but there she sat. With her back to the bridge and facing space, the chair lazily traced around the veiwport in slow cadence to the motion of the ship. The crew did not trouble her for her temper had already been made legend. No matter, the crew was exhausted by the previous day, and all knew their jobs well enough to function without disturbing her. It was bad enough to have a human in charge of a Mon Calamari ship, they reasoned, no sense in provoking behavior already discovered to be crude.
Seva, for her part, did not care weather they liked her or not. So long as they performed their duties as a crew and not a mob, she was content to command them. She knew how much they resented her, and she knew the reasons why she made them uneasy. Mon Calamari had a justified reputation for excellence in space fairing. She was an unwelcome interloper at the top of their distinguished society who had gotten there over the bodies of her predecessors. The last in line was not yet cold. But it could not be helped. No other qualified Captain could be spared.
In fact she had only been aboard for three weeks. At the time, she regarded her assignment aboard the Independence as a body blow to her ambitions, the last effort to keep her form commanding her own ship. Just recently she had been next in line to command the light Mon Calamari cruiser Intrepid, but while the Quarren Captain of the Intrepid moved on to command the Heavy Mon Calamari Cruiser Defiance, she had been reassigned as the second officer of the Independence. Technically this was a move up the chain of command, third in command of the flagship of the Alliance Fleet, but she knew better.
Seva had forged her command style on the broken back of her frustrations and it had made her cynical to the best intended gesture. Years ago, during her brief tenure with Kuat Drive Yards, she had risen to superintendent of flight testing, only to find her credibility negated because she wasn't a native of the Kuat system. More damning was her commoner's heritage, but she might have remedied that by marrying into a noble house of Kuat. Frustrated by the glass ceiling she had so swiftly cracked her head on, and knowing the only way she could move in KDY was either into the illicit affairs of the nobility or down, she moved on.
Later, in the Imperial Fleet, she rose to and lost the rank of Lieutenant Commander twice before the age of thirty; only to be cast back down again because she was a woman. Still not satisfied, she soldiered on in the hopes that the Empire might prove a worthy service. Alderaan dashed those hopes. The New Order, she saw, was rife with corruption while it protested justice. The Empire openly gloated over this genocidal policy of fear. Palpatine's Imperial Fleet was the mindless extension of his expansionist ambitions, and not an arm of public interest. It was a sexist, xenophobic organization bent on conquest and geared for slaughter. Seva, horrified by the full scope of what she had become a part of, left at once.
After she joined the Rebellion, she struggled to prove herself against her alien comrades. Time and again she faced the petty bigotry no one was willing to acknowledge, much less correct. The Rebel Alliance, in its early days, was a hasty and slipshod outfit. Much of its original members were aliens who were driven to desperate measures to survive, along with opportunistic characters with shady motives. She expected some prejudice to be sent her way because she was a former Imperial officer, but instead she was shocked to run headlong into a pit of racism so militant it bordered on paranoia. Time and again she plodded through these difficulties only to make enemies along the way. Frustrated to no end by this basic flaw in the Rebellion, she set about correcting it.
Her first assignment was as a fighter pilot. Under her command were twenty enlisted troops. Composed in roughly equal thirds of aliens, former criminals, and displaced refugees. Her little company did not function at all when she first took command of it. Through reshuffling the duty roster, a few quiet reassignments, and enforcing a harsh work ethic, she molded a self-destructive mob into a team. But when she had earned the respect of her company, she was promoted off the base and onto a cruiser, leaving her small but effective command behind. On the cruiser Liberty she gained control of a flight of fighters, and another disunited bunch of characters. And when she had forged another crew out of another mob, she was moved to squadron on the Defiance. Time and again she managed to build crews out of mobs only to be promoted into another mob.
On brute ability alone, she diligently made her way up the ranks until she thought she had finally achieved her dream of commanding a starship. Intrepid was not a large ship, but she was, by far, the finest she had ever seen. Smaller, faster, and more maneuverable than her larger sisters, she was the hot-rod of the fleet. With beautiful lines, heavy armament, and a single squadron of fighters, she also possessed a motivated and skilled crew. She commanded Blue Squadron aboard the Intrepid. The cruiser being so small could only carry a single squadron, and that left her in an enviable position. By virtue of the outfit's size, she had to manage the duties of both a Squadron leader and a first officer. The Alliance also made demands of the Intrepid more suited to a Heavy Cruiser. High command seemed blithely unaware of the ship's statistics, but this Seva used to her advantage.
Large scale operations done with her small unit offered her the chance to show some real creative flair for command. Under the restrictive resources and rather expansive objectives delivered from high command, she could create an environment of achievement. She demanded and got the best out of her crews and the best support from their command. Reflecting back on it now proved to her the value of a small, active team of officers and talented, aggressive troops. Intrepid proved for her that it was not the number or quality of officers individually (some of her immediate subordinates were outright inept when left to their own devices) rather it was the mix of the right officers for the right people. Teams produce more than the sum of their parts. However, the Alliance High Command did not see it that way, not at all. They saw the numbers of troops and the number of officers, and they grew alarmed at the ratio. Trying to avoid the pitfalls of the Imperial model, they set about promoting whoever showed the slightest talent for administration. Seva parried this new rash of officers by keeping small teams together regardless of rank; thereby insuring that they still thought together to advance.
Then disaster struck. Pirates began to trouble ships in Intrepid's sector. Using forged Alliance transponder codes and refitted X and Y-wings they would lure cargo ships close enough to cripple them with a fast attack. Afterwards, larger ships would come and "requisition" the cargos of the crippled vessels and kill or injure whoever tried to stop them. In their wake they left counterfeit Alliance vouchers that the rebellion could not repay. The pirates could pan off their credits as legitimate since they were exquisitely copied from a select few originals. Local systems enraged that the Rebellion had tuned to such brutal tactics, cut off supplies and denied access to their ports. In addition, Imperial investigators were afforded the opportunity to examine the counterfeit credits. Even though the vouchers were fake, they were accurate fakes; leading to the search and seizure of a full quarter of Alliance assets. Furthermore, the complex financial network the Alliance used was fully exposed. Banks were closed, creditors audited and arrested, sources were driven underground or arrested, and suppliers were garrisoned.
Had they been stopped in time, the pirates could have been dealt with easily. Had they been caught in time, the Alliance could have assaulted the second Death Star with another squadron of capitol ships complete with fighter squadrons to support them. It was the heaviest blow the Rebellion was to receive before the Battle of Hoth.
To complicate matters, the pirates managed to ingratiate their organization to members of Imperial Counterintelligence. Posing as victims of the same "Rebel" pirates that ICI was investigating in their sector, they managed to land their organization under the protection of a newly arrived Imperial squadron of Star Destroyers.
Alliance High Command, livid with the situation and the Intrepid for being unable to stop it, resolved to act on the matter at once. The Liberty arrived to relieve the Intrepid, but got called off to anther hot spot after only hours in the sector; about long enough to deliver the Intrepid's orders. According to their orders the Intrepid was now detached from High Command until the Liberty returned, allowing Alliance Commander Seva Kect to snatch the initiative.
Seva hounded her captain to strike out and let her loose, and he heartily agreed. Captain Chalchok was a Quarren (a squid face to the rest of the crew) and he did not take kindly to his reputation being soiled. Popular rumor had it that the Quarren administrators of Mon Cal had betrayed the planet to the Imperials to curry favor with Palpatine; consequently Chalchok, despite his adamant loyalty, was already on shaky ground with his superiors. He openly admitted his people's guilt in the betrayal of Mon Cal, but he also reminded whoever would listen, that the Quarren had suffered for their misjudgment. In addition the pirates dealt a very bitter blow to Captain Chalchok. Quarren had been administrators and financial barons in the past while the Mon Calamari were the spacefarers and explorers on their mutual home world. Chalchok came from a prominent banking family, the meticulously copied vouchers had come from the Intrepid herself, and he was in no temper to allow his name sullied in such a manner.
Wasting no time, Captain Chalchok and Commander Kect unleashed the Intrepid and Blue Squadron against the Imperial presence in the sector. With measured, calculated strikes against Imperial ships, garrisons, and convoys in unrelenting succession, they managed to panic the Imperial Admiral. Rebels seemed to be everywhere. A convoy would be attacked by a pair of fighters one moment, while a Star Destroyer would be damaged by a squadron of fighters a few moments later. Meanwhile a garrison would be leveled by a capitol ship as soon as it left to assist the convoy. No sooner than a Star Destroyer had been dispatched to investigate, then a fighter squadron would vanish on rout to protect another garrison. Then the garrison would disappear.
For three days it went like this until an additional two Star Destroyers were sent in to reinforce the "overwhelmed" Imperial force. Drawn away from another serous crisis in the outer rim, the newcomers were anxious to act upon the local problem and return to their post. But fate (or more accurately the Intrepid) would play a joke on the newcomers. They would see no action at all.
Unbeknownst to the reinforcements, they had drawn the Defiance battle group with them. Captain Chalchok quickly conveyed the situation to Captain Miftir of the Defiance and requested his assistance. Intrepid and her fighters had eliminated all but four garrisons out of twenty in the sector. Imperial fighter strength was down by two thirds. Convoys were barred from entering the sector since they were too scattered to protect. And all four of the local squadron's Star Destroyers were heavily damaged. Most importantly the pirates were defending the capitol ships with their fighters and small cruisers. Here was a golden opportunity to strike a deadly blow.
Miftir was convinced. Without orders he struck with everything he had. In five rapid strikes, the Defiance\ Intrepid battle group destroyed the pirate base and fighter strength, the remaining garrisons, and three Star Destroyers before Miftir led the Rebels away. The Imperial reinforcements were forced to escort the remaining Star Destroyer to the corporate sector for repairs. By the time they were able to return to their post in the Sullust sector, they were ordered to attend more pressing troubles near Tholatin.
To the locals it seemed a vast quiet had landed over them after one almighty loud war. When an Alliance representative appeared in the sector a few weeks later, pirate activity had completely stopped, and Imperial forces had vanished.
Captain Chalchok and Commander Kect continued to work in this fashion until just weeks before Endor. Miftir had been promoted to Admiral and Chalchok had been promoted to the much larger command aboard the Defiance. Between the two of them they managed to take all the credit from Seva. Had she been given the Intrepid she might have been content, but she found herself reassigned again.
Ignoring her effort in keeping up the pressure on the Imperials in the recent campaign, and forsaking the heartfelt wishes of the crew; High Command took her off the Intrepid. She was devastated.
At long last she had a crew that worked so well, that it had managed to convince the enemy they were facing a force ten times its actual size. Her people had worked hard and had been happy to do so. Her pilots flew a merciless flight schedule, often sleeping in the cockpit, and managed to triple their already potent effective readiness. Pit crews worked in relays with complete cooperation. To everyone's surprise they emerged from the experience charged with energy, and ready to take the fight to the next level if need be. Though friction existed during periods of inactivity, action galvanized them into an energetic, almost joyful team. In addition, their spirit was contagious. The crew of the Intrepid herself drew energy and drive from the example of the squadron; the crew of the Defiance took courage from the Intrepid and so on.
Having built so fine a crew from scratch and now ordered to leave it was very bitter blow to Seva. She indulged in a little self-pity and not a little resentment over the next few weeks as she settled into her duties aboard the Independence.
Independence functioned more like an embassy than a warship. The crew was disjointed and compartmentalized. Those separate departments worked well enough separately, but many did not work together at all. The ship was top heavy with officers. In an attempt to make all these separate cogs work in the larger machine, many officers spent their entire day in "liaison" functions. Coordinating, informing, briefing, and maintaining information floe to wherever it was needed, she immediately hated every bit of it. It took a conference to assign her quarters, and four more to define her duties aboard.
Worst of all: no flying. The whole purpose of her leaving home originally was to fly; command was just something she happened to be good at. Seva could, but didn't, boast of being the best pilot who had ever lived. She was not humble, merely pragmatic; bragging was poor form to show subordinates or colleagues. Her skill came from natural abilities six generations in the making and hard experience. She distained those who trusted upon luck or bravery to fly and survive and instead insisted on hard, challenging experience and technique. Others insisted that she was far too clinical and premeditated in her approach, insisting that the essential quality of instinct did not flourish in trained minds. Her success as a pilot and as a commander silenced all critics.
Seva had another resource to draw upon though she never discussed it. She was Force sensitive. Her discretion came from her home and elders including one former Jedi Master. "Do not involve us in the Great Schism, darling Seva," Aing-Tii Senior Mael Dresk warned her. "The bitterest history taught us not to interfere with the Jedi or Sith. My own past confirms how pointless it would be for us to settle things." Allowed to travel about the larger Galaxy beyond her home world of Exocron by her family and the Aing-Tii Elders, she discovered that the Jedi had been exterminated years before her arrival at Kuat. In addition, there appeared to be little to be seen of the Sith. With the exception of one shady aristocrat in Palpatine's court, no one claimed to understand what a Sith was beyond legend and rumor. Myth and heroes were gone replaced by reason and corruption. Seva knew her meager abilities had to be kept private in order to function in this faithless Galaxy.
If only she could…
"Captain Kect?"
Seva awakened from her doze. Though she did not start or jump, she did not straighten either. Her eyes opened and she turned the chair around to face the voice. Her slumped, still posture and unanimated voice made no secret of her fatigue, "Yes, Commander?"
"The last of the shuttles have landed, sir," the Mon Calamari duty officer informed her. "They have some prisoners you need to sign for," he told her in a grumbled afterthought. He then brightened a bit to inform her, "We also have flight tasking you should see."
Seva sat motionless for so long the Commander feared she had dozed off again with her eyes open. Like a doll in the trash she lay boneless in the hollow of her command chair, expression fixed, limbs akimbo. "Sign for the prisoners?" she asked at last.
"Yes, sir, you need to assign security tasking and transfers if need be."
"Give me the list," she mumbled. She took the proffered data pad and settled again into the chair with a great, heaving sigh of resignation. Fortunately only two names were on the list. One even ranked as an immediate parole and could be assigned quarters (the battle had provided them with no shortage of spares in this regard), and that was the duty of another officer. The other rang familiar in her mind when she saw it: Daub Lasck. "Clarify what Lasck is charged with for me," she said, "I can't remember right offhand."
"War criminal, sir," the Commander answered, "He participated in the construction of the Death Star. We lost track of him during the Battle of Hoth."
Seva nodded. The list detailing the technicians and engineers responsible for the space station they just managed to destroy a second example of was refreshingly short. Few escaped the station destroyed at Yavin; consequently; Lasck was a name now infamous. Only Bevel Lemelisk, the chief designer, was more eagerly sought out but he was proving to be illusive. "He showed up out here?" Seva mused as she read the data pad, "What a surprise."
From across the bridge a loud Wookiee roar boomed across the room. It belonged to a graying male named Kriban and he did not sound at all happy. Ordinarily quiet and cheerful Kriban stormed through the room angry enough to scrape his foot claws on the deck. He demanded to know who ordered Lasck imprisoned again at the top of his mighty lungs until Seva waved him wearily over to her command chair. Rubbing her brow she leaned forward and straightened a bit as he approached.
The Mon Calimari Commander was a bit flustered by the entrance of the shaggy beast (he dwarfed the far more familiar Chewbacca), but he was sensitive enough to Seva's condition to step in. "I can handle this, Captain. With your permission I'll…"
Seva cut him off, "It's my prisoner, Commander. I'll deal with it."
Looking up at the massive alien in front of her she made no attempt to conceal her annoyance. "Let me get this straight. Why are you upset about Lasck?"
Kriban roared his outrage and would have said more had Seva's chair not leapt directly up to his eye level. Seva batted the side of Kriban's head deftly with one hand, "I can hear you just fine, big guy," she snapped.
The Wookiee was surprised to be sure, as were the rest of the bridge crew, but his anger settled a notch. He explained that he would not allow Lasck to be a prisoner. A grave injustice would be served in doing so, and furthermore Kriban's honor would be injured if he allowed it to happen.
Seva gazed levelly at Kriban. "I'm not impressed," she said. "He's a war criminal."
Kriban growled back that she was mistaken. The charges against him did not reflect the restitution he paid or his intentions. He had recently escaped from the Imperial prison and had fought in the battle. In addition he was instrumental in freeing eighty, possibly more, Wookiees from the station itself.
Seva was impatient for Kriban to finish his argument. Shaking her head and rolling her eyes, she said, "The courts will decide his guilt no matter what he's done to atone for his crimes." Kriban began to roar again, but she silenced him with an upraised hand. "It is not my place to lay blame, but it is my brig. So he goes there until a court can try him."
Kriban growled that one of the rescued Wookiees was his son.
Seva would not budge, "He still has to stand trial."
Kriban told her the Wookiees aboard would keep him in their personal quarters.
"No need," Seva said, "The brig is no where near full."
The huge, shaggy male told her that was unacceptable, and with a powerful blow struck her chair to the deck with a crash.
"Dammit, Kriban!" a new voice boomed across the room, "Now I got to fix that."
Seva staggered to her feet and glared across the bridge at the entrance stood Daub Lasck himself flanked by five Wookiees. Among them she recognized Chewbacca and one other named Ruffu who was stationed aboard the ship.
It is worth mentioning that Seva Kect was not at all pleasant to look at by human standards. During her tenure in Blue Squadron she was horribly burned. Scarring extended in a mottled mass over her face and over the greater share of her body. Bacta had saved her vision and her life, but it could do nothing for the scars left behind. She was forced to wear her hair to one side in an effort to hide the missing ear and melted skin. Under her uniform, from just above the elbows to just below her knees extended a continuous belt of whitened skin resembling boiling cheese. Her back remained healthy, but she long ago gave up looking at what was still whole on her. Even now it surprised her how much it mattered to her. She had always professed a disregard for her appearance before the accident, but the shock of losing any vestige of it exposed how deeply she had deceived herself. Her first view of her ruined body in the mirror had frightened her for the first time in her life. But that was long ago. By now she was reduced to an occasional fit of weeping in private.
However, the injury produced a benefit. As a beautiful woman, she struggled to be taken seriously. After the accident, her peers could not do enough to console her. Rivals set aside grudges, and colleagues were eager to seek her out. Seva took advantage of every moment she remained in their good graces to further her ambitions while it lasted. By the time life returned to normal, she had silenced her critics with her abilities, and frightened those who dared diminish her with her fierce new appearance. Her icy stare could wilt the bravest of men twice her size, and she used it to great effect.
That same stare blazed across the bridge directly Lasck. Mon Calamari, Duros, and all the humans in the room flinched but not him. It took a second for her to notice his attention was fixed on the ruined chair rather than her. Annoyed, she walked past Kriban directly up to the man flanked by a virtual wall of hair. "Don't ignore me, Mr. Lasck," she snapped in his face.
Lasck wearily shifted his eyes directly into hers. They did not widen in alarm or blink with shock when he did so, only deepened with exhaustion.
"Tell your friends you'll be going to the brig, Mr. Lasck," Seva ordered.
"Is there a bed in it?" he asked.
For a moment the improbable question so unbalanced Seva thought he had propositioned her. She bristled but soon noticed that he was not standing under his own power. Instead the Wookiees held him upright so he appeared to be standing at attention.
"Yes there is," Seva answered.
"Will I be allowed to sleep?" he asked.
Kriban roared that he would not suffer the injustice of a cell when comfortable quarters could be found. The other Wookiees raised their own voices to agree. The heated debate over who might have the honor of hosting Lasck deafaned all on the bridge for a full minute before it bagan to die down. Seva joined in the din by ordering Lasck taken to the brig. The Wookiees relented only after Seva allowed Kriban and his son to guard Lasck.
Somewhat satisfied the protective wall of hair closed around Lasck and carried him from the bridge. As they moved down the corridor she saw Lasck collapse. Kriban heaved the man onto his massive shoulder and carried him dead asleep. Seva caught a glimpse of Lasck's head lolling gently against Kriban's shoulder like an infant in a parent's arms, and she noted that he was being handled with that kind of gentle tenderness by the old Wookiee. It should have been a ridiculous sight, but she found it strangely touching. As if someone long lost had finally found his way home just in time, and those who'd been worried sick before were now in the full throws of relief.
"Captain?" the helmsman said.
Seva, chagrined, mused aloud, "I've never been in an outfit that negotiates its prison sentences." She shook her head and retuned her attention to the Commander. "What was your name? I'm afraid I've forgotten it."
"Ivic, sir, Lieutenant Commander Ivic," he replied.
Seva smiled her ghastly grin and returned her attention to the data pad. "Flight plans, Ivic?"
"Yes, Captain, I…"
Seva cut him off. "I am unaware of my being promoted past Commander, Ivic. My being in charge is purely provisional."
Ivic waved a hand airily in a Mon Calamari gesture equivalent to a proud smile. "Then I have congratulations to deliver," he said. "Your promotion was confirmed an hour ago."
Seva wasn't impressed, "Confirmed?" she demanded.
"Yes," he said then added, "Captain."
Still unimpressed she demanded, "My new post?"
Ivic blinked in surprise. He turned to the rest of the crew. By the confused looks this produced Seva guessed they already knew. Then as one they all stood to face her and bowed deeply. "Home One is yours, Captain," Ivic said when he straightened.
Seva gaped. Not only had she commanded this ship in the fight of their lives, but now she had risen over the heads of a number of more senior Captains to the premier command in the fleet. For the first time in her frustrating series of careers, she had been handed a piece of luck along with a hearty congratulation. Thunderstruck she struggled for words. "That's…" she began but trailed off, "…good news."
Ivic lead the crew in a brief round of applause. And hereafter the ice was broken between the Independence and her.
As everyone moved back to their posts, Ivic continued with the received orders. "Alright, we need to make ready for a move to Mon Cal. Admiral Ackbar wants to repair the fleet at the shipyards there."
"Why not Sluis Van or Sullust?" Seva asked. "Either one is closer by far."
"Scouts coming in from Sullust report Imperial ships retreating from Endor going through that system. Sluis Van was never cleared of the Imperial Station there. Mon Cal is the only stronghold we have for sure. Besides that General Calrissian brokered a deal yesterday to get us refitted quicker out there," Ivic said. He went on to detail the particulars of the deal. They now stood at two thirds strength having lost a fifth of their forces during battle plus a few more to redeployment of the fleet. Endor had to be abandoned. Their objectives had been met and they gained nothing by holding it. The Imperials were sure to muster a fleet soon enough to crush them if they stayed, and they risked being outflanked if they remained, just like the Rebels had done to the Death Star.
"What about our damage?" Seva asked. "Can we jump to hyper?"
Ivic tensed, "That's complicated," he said slowly. "The power grid is acting strange." He detailed the damage he knew about, but it was extensive and more was being discovered as they went. Ackbar had transferred his Flag to the Defiance since it was less heavily damaged. There was talk of one of his immediate subordinates taking command of the Independence battle group in some scheme to launch a new offensive. Red and Blue squadrons had transferred to Ackbar's ship in an effort to keep firepower mobile. Meanwhile Green, Gold, and Grey squadrons were retained aboard Independence in an effort to keep the heavy maintenance cluttering up as few hangars as possible. Gold squadron emerged from the surface of the space station badly mauled, and Grey Squadron had been sent in to clear an escape path for the core raiders. The Grays were at full strength, but their B-Wings were hangar queens, and they all needed maintenance. Green squadron, by contrast, had never gone near the station, but they had dropped Executor's shields before a lone A-Wing from Blue squadron rammed the bridge. Much of their damage was from fighter-to-fighter combat, but two had been caught in heavy turbolaser fire and had somehow survived. The Greens, all told, had the highest kill tally next to the Blues, and had virtually wrecked themselves in doing it. Ship collisions, torpedo fragments, ion damage, concussion fractures from the explosions of Star Destroyers, Executor, and the Death Star itself had all but crippled Independence and her remaining fighters. Any way he ran it, a jump to light speed or to sortie ships was problematic at best.
"And you let me sleep while all this was going on?" Seva asked.
Ivic managed to be upbeat. "We had to sort ourselves out before you tore into us."
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"Just how am I mistaken?" Admiral Ackbar demanded.
Admiral Miftir leaned forward and jabbed a finned finger at the star chart. "We know they moved to Sullust," he said.
"A few of them," Ackbar cautioned, "We aren't sure how many either. A few more Star Destroyers might converge there."
Miftir impatiently pointed out that the entire fleet had been here only yesterday, "And we still outfought them. If we hurl our forces against a remnant and crush it, we can keep our momentum going to further victory," he reasoned.
Ackbar doubted they had the forces to affect the kind of tactical success Miftir advocated, but he listened nonetheless for anything he might have missed. "How many ships do you have in mind?"
"At least a squadron of cruisers plus their support ships and fighter escorts. We can go to Sullust, drive them off and…"
Ackbar interrupted, "Sullust is along the Rimma Trade Rout. Reinforcements could be on the way there from the Outer Rim or the Core Worlds."
Miftir dismissed this line of reasoning, "All the more reason to strike now. The more time we give them to consolidate, the more likely they are to make a stand."
Ackbar found himself agreeing with his subordinate. If they could keep the pressure on and keep the Imperials running, the Alliance would be unstoppable. Tactically the strategy was sound. Militarily the strategy was sound. However, in a discouraging twist, politics would not allow it. Unlike the Admirals of the Empire, Ackbar was brutally aware of how politics affected strategy. With effort and the proper intelligence, Ackbar knew he could drive the Empire out of existence. But he was not a man of conquest; rather, he was a man of freedom. And he would loath the Alliance becoming a repressive band of warmongers. His history as a slave dictated to him the most serious definition of conscience.
Miftir, by contrast, saw no such line to be crossed. His conscience told him to pursue his enemy with unrelenting fury until a satisfactory conclusion could be reached. The Galactic Civil war had raged, in one form or another, for decades now. It was time to end it. It did not broaden his perspective one bit to include personal vengeance into his thinking.
Miftir had every right to hold a grudge against the Empire, and one only had to look at him to guess why. One of his massive grey eyes had been sliced from his head and a number of toes had been burned from his feet by his former Imperial overseer. In addition, all his family, two daughters, a wife, a son, and his parents, had all perished in bondage to Imperial governors from one world or another. Neuronic goads had left scars on almost all his body. From his suffering he gathered intensity, ferocity, and tenacity. But nowhere in him was a shred of mercy for the Empire. If he could have managed it, he would have killed Palpatine with his bare hands and still have enough rage to turn to the Imperial next in line.
Ackbar knew Miftir to be brilliant, thoughtful, and kind to a fault. He knew the younger Mon Calamari would much rather return to his old life before Imperial slavers came. He knew that beneath the rage and personal torment laid the heart of a school teacher and mentor. That the man had a passion for fishing and a flair for Language was overshadowed by his personal loss. Ackbar could sympathize, but could not bring himself to sink into his torment to the extent Miftir had. Miftir would gleefully kill Imperials until all were dead and then turn on collaborators until half the Galaxy bathed in blood. Ackbar did not want that horrible future to come to pass. There had been enough of that.
"Admiral," Ackbar said gently, "We don't have those kinds of forces. We exhausted our supplies and our people yesterday. If we had to stand against a squadron of Star Destroyers right now we would have to flee the field."
Miftir pounded the table between them. "I disagree!" he snapped. "We can drive them beyond the Halo if we strike now! Give me the forces and I'll prove it."
Ackbar sighed. Miftir's passion was proving persuasive, but the numbers did not add up. How this would be perceived worried him deeply. At first it might come as a glorious string of victories, but eventually the body count would prove a hazardous shadow to the optimism the Alliance wanted to bring about. Strategically: hope was the most potent weapon the Rebel Alliance had at its disposal. Not fear, not ships, or fleets but hope was bringing down the Empire from within. To threaten that hope would spell the end of the New Republic Mon Mothma hoped to create.
Miftir had to be doing something though. The kind of action he advocated appealed to Ackbar's military sensibility. The Imperials could not be allowed to regain their equilibrium. They had to keep them reacting to Alliance forces instead of acting on their own. The scale Miftir suggested, however, was out of the question.
"I can give you the Independence battle group," Ackbar offered. "Everything else is going to be occupied."
"Making a move on Coruscant soon, Admiral?" Miftir asked. "That would be a mistake. We do not need that miserable planet to achieve victory."
Ackbar flushed angrily. Miftir's instincts were accurate as ever. The next objective was indeed Coruscant, but few were supposed to know about it. It was all part of the Alliance strategy of working the pyramid structure of the Imperial government from the top down. Miftir argued against this trend. Beheading the power structure created a false sense of security. Palpatine had proven that. The change had to come from within the minds and hearts of every individual. The will had to be expressed from the heart of the Imperial subject to desire the rights of a citizen. The quickest way to accomplish this (and the most revealing) was to remove fear from the backdrop. Fear came in the form of threats, and threats came in the form of military hardware under the command of those willing to use it against the populace. Therefore Miftir's objectives worked up the power structure rather than down it. Every Star Destroyer, every TIE fighter, and every Stormtrooper had to be eliminated or disarmed before the Empire would fall. While elegant in theory, it was far from sweeping in effect. A war of attrition fought across the Galaxy in countless small engagements with success measured in slow, ponderous sweeps from system to system. The "Star by Star" strategy as Miftir called it. But the Alliance high command was more interested in broad, sweeping strokes that would force the issue through a general rejection of the New Order. Miftir's ideas had little appeal against the aesthetics of these people.
In a sudden stroke of insight, Ackbar had a solution. Miftir was anxious to press the attack and had the skill to pull successive strikes off without demolishing his command while wreaking havoc amongst the Imperials. Ackbar lacked the forces to take his next major objective any time soon. By combining these into a single strategy Ackbar could satisfy them both. "Prove it then," Ackbar said.
Miftir's single eye blinked in surprise. "Excuse me?" he said dazedly.
"Take the Independence and assault Coruscant," Ackbar said. "Prove to me and the High Command we don't need Coruscant to forge a New Republic."
Miftir stared fixedly at Ackbar for a long time. "It'll take more than an assault, Admiral," he said. "The Imperials must abandon it before we can move in, and that'll require a campaign not a strike."
"I'm not so sure," Ackbar said. "The defenses could be overwhelmed."
"We'll never control the planet unless they are drawn off the planet. Razing the surface will be the only way to deactivate the defenses. The civilian death toll would be in the billions if not utterly wiped out," Miftir said.
Ackbar tried not to gloat. This most aggressive of his subordinates was now in a position arguing moderation, and the irony of it amused him. "You'll figure it out, but a raid on Coruscant would accomplish more than Sullust or Sluis Van."
Miftir slumped in his chair trapped by Ackbar's logic. "True," he sighed. "I'll submit a plan by the end of the day."
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Daub awoke when Kriban lay him down on his cell's cot. He appraised the small, grey box of durasteel with the authority born of experience. Another cell, another prison, another set of strictly enforced rules designed to crush the spirit; this was his third one in two weeks. Damn it!
Kriban growled, "Rest, my friend. Those you saved yesterday will free you."
"Prison again," he said. "It's getting old."
"I remember Kabayoth telling you something similar back on Despayer," Kriban told him.
"I'm not sure I can be saved again, Kriban," Daub said. "My luck has to run out sometime."
"Luck has little to do with it, my friend," Kriban said.
"I'm a monster, Kriban. Even my sons tell me so," Daub said.
Kriban shook his shaggy head, "You keep saving others, my former master. You are far from a monster." When Daub did not reply Kriban added, "You saw your sons?"
Daub nodded, "Tikal is a Spacetrooper now. Reece is in the Intel business." After a thoughtful pause he said, "They don't know each other all that well."
"Tragic," Kriban agreed. "Brothers should know each other."
"Fathers should know their sons," Daub said. He was drifting off again. It had been four days since he last slept, and every moment more was an act of will to stay awake. "It began that way for us…" he trailed off.
Kriban moved outside the cell so the Twe'lek could lock it behind him. The door shut with a clang, and the view inside came through a monitor at the guard station. Kriban made himself comfortable beside the Twe'lek and settled in until his son came to watch over Daub.
"You look sad, Kriban," the Twe'lek said.
"That man saved more of us than any other human alive. And in return he had everything he loved stolen from him," Kriban growled.
"Maybe he should stop saving people," the guard remarked.
Kriban snorted, "He can't. He hasn't forgiven himself yet. He won't stop until he saves everyone including you."
"Are you saying he's innocent?" the guard asked.
"No," Kriban growled with sudden gravity. "He has the blood of billions on his hands."
"How did that happen?" the guard asked.
"He built the road to hell," Kriban said.