Chapter 5: Disrepute

"Jagged."

The word was tinged with a caustic flavor, as if the taste of it made his mouth bitter, spoken haltingly like an expression rather than a name. Jag raised his chin slightly and squared his shoulders, much as he had as an officer under the former baron. His pulse increased slightly, and he repressed a grimace. Things hadn't changed much. Soontir could still set him on edge more than any other being in the galaxy.

"Father," he returned, carefully removing any inflection from his voice that would reveal emotion.

The big man shrugged off his parka and hung it on a rack, avoiding the gaze of his wife and son. Then finally he said, "Did you bring my granddaughter?"

"No," Jag answered shortly. "But Chak's here."

He looked up then, eyes locking with his Jag, then Syal. "Where?" he said simply.

"He's with Cem," Syal explained, going to him and placing a kiss on his cheek. "They went into the city."

Soontir nodded, his one eye returning to Jag. The younger man automatically stiffened under the scrutiny. "How is he?"

"He doesn't remember anything before he disappeared. It's all gone. You'll be a complete stranger to him. We all are," Jag explained.

"Let's go in the kitchen," Syal suggested suddenly. Neither man contradicted her, but followed her lead. "Are you hungry, Dear?" she asked Soontir as they took a seat at the table.

"No, thank you," he answered. "So, Jag," he began, and Jag steeled himself for what he had been anticipating all along. "I heard Pellaeon dumped you back on the Rebellion."

A muscle in his cheek twitched, but other than that he remained stoic. "No, I'm still an Imperial. I'm just serving ambassadorial purposes right now on Coruscant."

Soontir shook his head slowly, as if in disbelief. "I'll never understand why you left us."

Under the table, Jag's hands clenched into fists. "I left because I had no choice. They exiled Jaina, remember?"

Soontir waved it off. "That was no reason for you to defect. Do you have any idea how embarrassing that was for us? After that whole arranged marriage fodder we had to put up with? All for nothing."

"You had to put up with?" Jag asked, incredulous. "I was the one who had my life ripped out from under me. And Jaina's my wife, I'd be the biggest fool in the universe if I let a job come in between us."

The import of his own words struck him like a hydrospanner between the eyes. That was exactly what he had done. Sure, it wasn't all his fault, probably not even mostly his fault, but he had contributed. He had disregarded her feelings and let himself be buried in the pressures and responsibilities heaped on him by Bastion. Part of that had been for her, to provide for her and their children, but a lot of it was just his desire to complete everything he did to the very best of his ability. It was part of his nature, the drive to overcome obstacles and drag himself to the top. It was how he had become the pilot he was.

Jaina's desire to turn back time and regain all the things she had lost was certainly a key issue, but he hadn't helped matters.

"Was she so important to you that you needed to throw away everything you had ever accomplished?" Soontir questioned.

"Yes," he answered immediately.

The Syndic continued to stare with his one eye, examining Jag critically. Jag remained staunch in his words and beliefs, unwavering in his faith that what he had done had been the best course under the circumstances. He had been young and in love, and more than a little desperate. He had been left with few options, and none of them good. He could abandon Jaina and his fledgling marriage and continue his career with the CEDF, they could live separate lives—one on Coruscant and one on Csilla—or he could defect to the Empire. They had defected, both of them. And it had been one of the best decisions of his life.

All during the conversation Syal sat silently, holding her cup of steaming caf in a death grip and watching them with wide eyes. Whatever thoughts she might have on the matter were kept to herself, and Jag knew that neither man would ever pull a straight answer from her. She wouldn't take sides.

Finally Soontir sighed and said, "If she meant that much to you, then you did the honorable thing."

Shocked speechless, Jag just stared. He had never suspected any reaction from his father to be even remotely supportive. "What?" he managed at last.

"I was in the same position you were once, and I made the same choice. I can hardly fault you for that, even if I wish things could have been different. You had such potential, Jagged. I was proud of you. I think when you left I was more disappointed than anything," Soontir explained.

Syal smiled broadly and reached out to clasp her husband's hand in both her own, his far outsizing hers. "Thank you, thank both of you. I don't want my son's first memory of us to be filled with strife."

As if ushered by her words, the front door opened and closed, signaling the return of their other two sons. "Come on," Jag told them both, standing. "I want to see what Chak has to say about Csilla."

When they entered the living quarters Jag knew immediately that something had happened. Cem was restless and tense, while Chak was grim and pale. "Is everything okay?" he asked Chak quietly.

"Yeah," he answered quickly. "I just need to talk to you about something. Later."

"Fine," Jag said with a tinge of a frown. "But first I want you to meet someone. This is Assistant Syndic Soontir Fel, our father."

Chak only smiled courteously as he had when meeting the rest of their family, but Soontir looked so tense Jag wondered if he might crack like a broken statue. He noted the small beads of sweat on his forehead, almost as foreign as the grateful expression that verged on teary. "Hello," he said a bit gruffly, his voice deep with emotion.

"Hi," Chak answered. "I'm glad to meet you."

"I have waited for a very long time to see you again," Soontir replied.

"I've asked Chak to stay with us," Cem blurted suddenly. They all turned to look at him. "I told him it would be fine with you, Jag," Cem said carefully, locking eyes with his older brother.

Jag turned to look at Chak. He stared at his feet uncertainly, the conflict evident on his face. "I think," Jag told them slowly, "that if that's what Chak wants, it would be good for him." Then facing his brother, "They are as much family to you as I am. They deserve a chance, and so do you. And being here might be good for your memory, too."

Chak looked up and met his eyes, the painful resolution clearly there. "Okay," he ground out finally. "For a while."

Jag smiled with relief. Cem had made the moment a lot easier on him than he had ever hoped. Now he could leave Chak on Csilla with much less guilt than before. "I think that's a very wise decision, Chak."

Before anyone could say anything else Syal had fallen prey to her desire all along and pulled her son into a tearful embrace, holding him so tight Jag wondered how he would get loose. "Thank you. Thank you. Thank you for coming home to me," she whispered, weeping into his shirt.

Tentatively, he patted her back comfortingly, pitying her. He couldn't remember her, but he was smart enough to understand that he had just restored a mother's joy. He only wished he could be what they wanted him to be.

The plan was complicated, and too open for mistakes; at least, in Varen's opinion. Certain variables had to fall into place at exactly the right time, and any inconsistency could prove fatal. Success was imperative. So to further guarantee the fulfillment of his wishes, Varen briefed his soldier/spies personally.

"You're sole and exclusive purpose is to secure the illusion that the New Republic made no move to attack. We've equipped your fighters with a specifically designed covert laser cannon. The beam is invisible, so on the recordings nothing will show up. It will prove explicitly that the New Republic made no aggressive action until fired upon. Make sure that you fire on another snubfighter. This will make further hostilities easier to manipulate. Once those snubfighters—they'll probably be TIEs—return fire, open all guns and antagonize as much as you can. Do you all understand? Those are your explicit and exact orders, and any deviation from them will be severely punished."

One of the three, the eldest, raised his hand. His name was Rant Las, a burly fellow with an unattractive face and a death sentence in five systems. He would have made a fine employee some day. It was a pity Varen would have to kill him. "What?" Varen snapped.

"How do we know that our target will actually find us? Or that the Republic cruiser will actually stop at that point in space?"

"There are several hyperspace lanes in and out of the Unknown Regions to Csilla. But one will get you to Coruscant in half the time. We know that the Valorous will be traveling that way. The New Republic convoy you will be a part of has an interdictor. I have other agents that will sabotage the hyperdrive. The interdictor will be sabotaged by a different source, and when the convoy pulls out of hyperspace it will be activated, which will draw the Valorous from hyperspace as well," Varen explained. "The Captain is young and inexperienced. Not only will he be eager to prove himself, but will be easily slaughtered."

Las nodded, accepting his answer. Anything less could mean death. Varen dismissed them all then with a nod, sending them on their way with everything, equipment and knowledge, that they would need.

He was so close, so close to ridding himself of the thorn in his side. Once his endeavor was complete, he would never need to worry about his secret being disclosed to the wrong ears again. The real beauty of it was that it was all about the set up. The end result was not death, but something much more cruel and effective. Something much more suited to his style.
The goodbye was gloomy and depressing, making Jag question for the hundredth time whether or not he was doing the right thing. Perhaps Chak wasn't ready to be sent out on his own. Well, he wasn't on his own, but he wasn't at home either. It was still up for debate in his mind, and the only thing that kept him tethered to the plan was his need to make things right with Jaina. That would be a lot easier to do without Chak, as callous as it sounded.

"Remember: I'll always be there for you. If you need anything, anything, don't hesitate to call us. And when you want to come home, just let us know," Jag told him, just loud enough for him to hear and not the rest of the family.

Chak looked nervous and melancholy, reminding Jag of how Hanna had looked the first time he and Jaina had left her for a week to attend a weapons design conference on Bastion. They had ended up coming home early, neither of them able to hold up under the guilt. "I'll be fine," he replied, contradicting his outward appearance. To back it up he gave a weak smile. "They're family, too, after all."

"That's right," Jag smiled. "They love you, Chak. And you will them, eventually. Just give it some time."

"I will," he promised. "Tell Jaina and Hanna I said hi. And I miss them."

"Okay," he returned. Then turning to the rest of his family, "Take care of yourselves, everyone."

"Give Jaina and Hanna our love," Syal told him, looking bleary-eyed. "And come back soon."

"I'll do the best I can," he assured her. Turning to his father he said, "Father, I'm glad we managed to resolve our differences. I don't want to be estranged from any of you."

"Just remember where you came from," Soontir said.

"How could I forget?" he smirked. "Wyn, take care of yourself, and I wish you clear skies."

"Thanks, Jag," she smiled.

"Cem," he sighed, smiling gently. "Take care of our brother for me."

"Don't worry," he grinned. "We'll be fine."

Unsure of whether or not he could take any more of the disconsolate atmosphere without reneging on his decision, he turned boarded the shuttle that would take him to the Valorous, and then home to his family.

Ordin Cande felt the Valorous jolt and buck under his feet, the last thing a person wants to feel while you should be in hyperspace. A young aide tripped and stumbled beside him, and reached out to steady her. She thanked him in passing and continued on her way. About that time a clipped voice announced over the address system, "All pilots report to their fighters. Repeat, all squadrons, report to your fighters."

Great, he thought breaking into a jog. He had just got off his shift and was preparing for his standard field nap, and now he had to go straight back from where he had come. And to top it off, there probably wasn't anything wrong.

Still, everyone seemed excited over something as he entered the hangar. People were and pulling on helmets and zipping up flight suits even as they scrambled into their TIEs. Cande climbed the access ladder nimbly, wondering if perhaps he had been wrong and there was cause for concern. As he settled into the spherical cockpit and started the preflight, he hit the comm and said, "Blue Five, any idea what all the fuss is about?"

"An interdictor pulled us out of hyperspace," his wingmate answered, a surly middle-aged woman who used to be a CorSec officer. "But I'm pretty sure its still precautionary on the General's part; from what I've heard I think it's just a Republic cruiser with a hyperdrive malfunction."

Cande nodded, accepting the information as fact. It made sense, and it was the option that would get him back to his field nap the quickest.

He finished his preflight and waited for Blue Squadron's clearance, then toggled the repulsorlifts and glided out of the hangar. Outside the Valorous was a cruiser all right, medium sized and bulging on one side with an interdictor tethered to its flank. Already launching from its bay was a flight of Y-wings, and behind them a squad of X-wings.

Cande wasn't worried. General Fel would be straightening everything out with the captain of the cruiser, and soon they would be back inside the hangar and he would be on his way to the barracks.

"What's happened?" Jag demanded of his second-in-command. Instead of the beautiful blue vortex of hyperspace, the view out of the bridge was the distorted lines that even as he watched straightened and condensed into stars. And further out was the last thing he had expected to see leaving Chiss space: a GFFA battleship.

Dismissing his own question, he told the communications officers down in the crew pit, "Open up the comm channels and get me whoever is supposed to be in charge of that ship."

"Yes, Sir," one answered, hunching over his controls.

"General, shall I launch our fighters?" his second-in-command asked.

Jag mulled it over for a few seconds, then said, "No, I don't think it's necessary. There shouldn't be any hostilities, we're on the same side now after all."

"Sir, with all due respect, the New Republic isn't authorized to have any personnel in this area. It's strictly Imperial Space."

"We're all the Galactic Alliance now, remember?" Jag said with a tinge of humor. "I don't think there's any call for concern."

"It's still under our jurisdiction. Just as a precautionary measure, General?" the commander pressed.

Jag shrugged, then nodded in acquiescence. "Fine. Give the order."

"General," the comm officer interrupted. "We have Captain Petreum on the line."

"Patch him through," Jag ordered, swiveling in his command chair to face the holoprojector. A blue-tinged image of a man that looked more like a kid playing army than an officer appeared in front of him. "Captain Petreum, I presume," Jag began without preamble.

"That's correct. And who, may I ask, are you, and what is your business here?"

"I'm General Jagged Fel of the Imperial Navy and ambassador to the GFFA, and this is my flagship, the Valorous. You are trespassing in Imperial territory, Captain, and you've interfered in my route to Coruscant. Please deactivate your interdictor and return to authorized areas, or I'll be forced to extract you." They were words and that was all, no real threat behind them. All he wanted was a clear path back to Coruscant. But it was his duty to the Empire to enforce trafficking laws, and he doubted the kid could be reasoned into making a speedy exit, so the best tactic would be to scare him off.

Petreum stiffened, his scrawny frame looking even smaller under the oversized uniform. "I assure you, General, we will depart as soon as—"

"General!" a crewer said suddenly, clutching his earpiece. "Sir, Blue Squadron reports an assualt! We're being fired upon, Sir! They're requesting permission to defend themselves."

Jag turned angrily to the holoprojector. "What's the meaning of this?"

Petreum looked unapologetic. "What are you talking about?"

"Sir?" the control officer pressed.

"Recall your fighters!" Jag demanded.

"General, Blue Squadron is now engaged with the New Republic forces and requesting aid," the control officer continued.

"Casualties?" Jag asked.

"One," he replied. "Ours."

Jag felt a surge of anger flare inside him. The little fool had had the audacity to kill one of his men, unprovoked. His insolence had resulted in the loss of an innocent pilot. That was not to be tolerated, under any circumstances. "Captain, if you don't recall your fighters right now—"

"You're attacking us!" Petreum shouted, sounding surprised. "What are you doing? Back off!"

"You back off!" Jag returned. The nerve of that kid! "Now, Captain."

The whelp seemed to swell with obstinate pride, puffing out his chest. As if completely disregarding the insane quality of his actions he said to someone outside the projector's range, "Fight them off. Show the Imperial scum that we don't condone unprovoked harassment."

"Idiot," Jag spat, and cut the connection. "Open the forward batteries. Fire at will."

Cande fell easily into a simply squadron formation, roughly triangular with Blue One flying point. His wingmate slid into formation in front of him, filling in the last gap. "Just patrolling, Blues. No aggressive action, and that's an order," Lead said over the comm. Cande double clicked in acknowledgment.

They were making their second pass across the informal line that had been drawn between the two forces when it happened. At first Cande thought he had run into some sort of debris, but as he was hit a second time the TIE's port solar panel snapped, spinning him in an uncontrolled corkscrew away from his squadron. Slapping the comm he gasped from the inertia, "I'm hit!" Fighting the control yoke for dominance, he managed to at least pull the TIE into a wobbly but manageable flight path.

"Cande, are you all right?" Blue Five asked.

"I'm leaking atmosphere," he grunted, scanning his instruments.

"Go EV," she told him.

"Not yet," he ground out. It was only then he noticed the rest of the chatter over other frequencies. Blue Squadron had crossed the line from defensive to offensive, harrying the new Republic snubfighters back towards the cruiser, but still not firing.

He felt his flightsuit pressurize itself as the cockpit's oxygen levels dropped below a healthy level. But almost immediately it began to beep, telling him something was obstructing his backup air supply. Spots began to dance in front of his eyes. He punched the comm and tried to gargle out a call for help, but his throat constricted and then froze as the unbearable cold of the vacuum seeped into his blood. Limbs frozen stiff and useless, his vision winked out and pulse stopped, leaving the TIE dead in space.

"Daddy!"

Jag smiled broadly, dropping to one knee and opening his arms. Hanna threw herself into them with the force of a concussion grenade, almost knocking his backwards. He laughed and stood with her in his arms, holding her close. After the trip he had had, it was fabulous to be back where things made sense. "Hello, princess. Am I happy to see you."

She pulled back and smiled, pointing at her mouth. "Look Daddy, I lost a tooth!"

Just as she said, a small gap between her teeth could be seen. "Hanna, that's wonderful."

"Hello, Jag."

He lucked up to see his wife, even more pregnant than the last time he had seen her. She was smiling down at them both, hands folded across her stomach. And Jag had never seen anything more beautiful. He stood slowly, never breaking eye contact. Then he pulled her into his arms and held her close, reveling in the fabulous feeling just being around her gave him. He would make things right, if it was the last thing he ever did. After kissing him quickly she said, "I missed you."

"I missed you, too. All three of you," he whispered. "Jaina, I've been thinking."

"Me too," she agreed.

"And we really need to talk," he continued.

"I know. Let's go back to—"

"General Fel?"

They both turned to see five New Republic security officers approaching them. After arriving back at Coruscant Jag had been shuttled to the GFFA Star Destroyer Rebel Dream to give what intel he could about Csillian relations towards the New Republic. Jaina had met him as he debarked, before the debriefing.

"Yes?" Jag asked.

They said nothing, simply grabbed his wrists and pulled them behind his back, clamping him in binders before any of them knew what had happened. "You are hereby under arrest for treason against the New Republic and Galactic Federation of Free Alliances."

"What's going on?" Jaina demanded, alarmed. Hanna, eyes wide, moved to stand by her leg. "This has to be a mistake."

"Are you sure you have the right man?" Jag asked, confused and trying to remain calm.

"If you're General Jagged fel I do."

Jaina looked at him pleadingly, on the verge of panic. "Jag, what are they talking about?"

"I don't know," he told her. Then soothingly, "Don't worry about it, this has to be a misunderstanding. I'll be home by dinner."