While the World Devastator engaged in its feasting on the bones of Poln Major, its faculties were solely given over to gorging on the rich ores threaded through the planet's white stone. This was much to the relief of Dorset Konnair, because the enormous weapon seemingly forgot about her and her squadron of A-wings. Powered down to minimum, both to conserve fuel and to avoid detection, they lingered just outside of Poln Major's gravity well with recorders going at maximum magnification. She watched as the monstrosity that had destroyed Agonizer and so many other Imperial ships turned all that destructive capacity on a world.
Councilor Organa Solo's orders were somewhat vague. Stay until you think you've seen enough.
Dorset watched as cities vanished, sucked up into the World Devastator's maw. She watched as that monstrosity took all that mass and grew. New protrusions, with additional mouths to consume even more resources. Armor plating, huge, kilometer-sized manufacturing facilities, new hangars with new TIE Droids. The World Devastator became larger, bulkier, less symmetrical. Weapons proliferated, batteries to protect against proton torpedoes and starfighters… and new, larger, starship-sized droids clearly designed to fight against capital ships.
In the meantime, Imperial vessels started to arrive. Star Destroyers and other capital ships, but also small civilian vessels. All the important people left in the Empire wanted to see its victory… its proof of conquest, of resurgence, and of power.
It was only going to get busier in Poln Major until the Devastator finished its meal and it, and its new entourage, returned to New Order-held territory. Dorset triggered her comm. "We've seen enough," she ordered. "Take the last recordings, then power down your recon systems and power up your hyperdrives. We're leaving."
Accompanied by what was left of the Imperial Fleet, the Star Destroyer Stormhawk snapped into realspace in the Poln Major system. They gradually closed on the planet until they reached near-orbit, and from there Ephin Sarreti watched silently through the bridge's forward windows as Silencer Station devoured its first living world.
It was one thing when the machine had been eating the asteroids and planets of the K-3-947 System. That system was uninhabited, with no worlds capable of sustaining life. Poln Major, for all it was a small, unimportant Outer Rim world, was verdant and fertile with enormous, beautiful white mountain ranges that separated wide, green valleys. Whitestone City was at the edge of one of those valleys, surrounded by enormous quarries of white stone. But even as he watched, matter and debris was sucked upwards, enormous chunks of city and stone floating as if drawn through a broad, invisible straw up into Silencer Station's maw.
An Imperial world. One at odds with the New Order only because of the actions of Halmere and his inner circle. One ruled by a man who had a longstanding reputation of competence, loyalty, and wisdom. One defended by a man who himself had a longstanding reputation for the same things. An entire Imperial fleet, full of Imperial men and women, was scattered debris in orbit above.
He forced himself to watch, knowing that just this once there was nothing more interesting in the news updates, the intelligence reports. This was the most important thing for him to see and remember.
Despite that, he looked down when his datapad beeped, alerting him to vital new information. With a sight he fetched it from his pocket, sliding his finger to dismiss extraneous information as he searched for the important parts. The most recent update drew his attention, and he tapped to open it.
YOU ARE CORDIALLY INVITED TO WITNESS THE CORONATION OF EMPEROR IREK ISMAREN PALPATINE, SECOND EMPEROR OF THE NEW ORDER, it said.
"Is something amiss, Loyalty Officer Sarreti?" asked a female voice behind him.
He clamped down on his surprise, starting rather than jumping as he turned to face Grand Admiral Daala. She had been oddly silent since their arrival at Poln Major after the decisive victory over the forces loyal to Grand Moff Ferrouz, spending a great deal of time just sitting in one of the deck's command chairs, her hands steepled together in thought. She'd been so still, and he so lost in reverie as the world died, that he had nearly forgotten about her.
"Have you received one as well?" he asked, handing her his datapad.
She reviewed it quickly and handed it back. "Not yet," she said. "The Coronation will take place aboard the… installation?"
"So it seems," he agreed, reviewing the document again. The propaganda the New Order had been pumping out since the battle had been putting a great deal of emphasis on Irek's personal role in the battle, and the fact that the weapon which had been responsible for the victory was one that he—and only he—could control. A Death Star, but without a Tarkin, Sarreti thought, glancing briefly at Daala.
"At the site of the Emperor's glorious victory, no doubt, to remind the others of what they chance if they break ranks." Daala said. There was an oddness to her tone, he thought. He was used to hearing her speak with an edge, a hint (or more than a hint) of contempt, of restrained fury. Now Daala sounded at a distant remove, almost placid, and that was far more frightening than the blazing fire he'd seen fill her eyes when she'd shot Captain Nalgol dead in that first briefing.
"I would imagine so," he agreed. "The invitation list is quite extensive. The entire Council of Moffs, as well as ISB's entire upper echelon."
Daala motioned to a list of names below them, and he realized that he probably should not have handed her his unlocked datapad, but he'd been so dulled by the world being devoured, he hadn't thought to simply show her.
"A who's who of the Imperial hierarchy, no one you'd ever know, but all vital to keeping the machine of Empire running." His eyes swept across many, many names of prominent business moguls, governors, and aristocrats. All in all, there were more than a thousand names—and that did not include their inevitable entourages.
All coming here.
The kernel of a plan took root in Ephin Sarreti's mind and began to grow. The Battle of Poln Major had proven, rather decisively, that a conventional attack against Silencer Station was doomed to failure. That left only an unconventional attack.
There will never be another chance, he thought direly. Even as he watched, Silencer Station was growing. He could see it growing, see it accumulating mass, growing thicker armor, adding new weapons. Its vaguely-box shape was becoming less regular as it grew, becoming less geometrically Imperial and more aggressive, spiky, and alien.
"I take it you'll be attending then," Daala asked, making him jump yet again. That was twice he had gotten so lost in his own thoughts that he had forgotten she was there.
"I do not believe this invitation is voluntary, Grand Admiral," he said.
"No. I suppose you had better not miss it." She handed him back his datapad smoothly, unwilling to play any games as an entire, vibrant world was stripped, crushed, and rebuilt into war machinery behind them.
He took it, nodded in acknowledgment, and left the bridge, unable to look any longer at the section in the history holos he'd had a hand in writing.
The plan came together over the course of the next few days. As more information and detail about the Coronation was made public, Sarreti was able to learn everything he needed to know about the invitations list, the security processes that would be in place, and the authorizations—formal and informal—he had to make small alterations. Everything he did now was a risk, a risk so great that it became paralyzing when he thought about it too much, so he did his best not to.
To cover his tracks, he did nothing that his fellow ISB operatives were not also doing: he procured invitations for his friends and family. He had rather a lot of 'friends and family.'
When he was ready, he scheduled private time with Stormhawk's holocomm. He had already been using his ISB credentials to send secure messages to Grand Moff Ferrouz's people—that in and of itself wasn't hard, as no ISB operative liked being spied upon and every ISB operative had the ability to use the HoloNet without leaving a permanent record—but this was different. While he could acquire entry credentials that would allow Ferrouz's people to infiltrate the coronation, it would be impossible for him to hide his involvement after those credentials were used. Eventually, the trail would lead straight back to him and he knew it.
He hesitated at the door to the private room, but he refused to be paralyzed. So be it, he thought. It would be worse to do nothing. He entered his access key and entered the holocomm booth.
His heart beating rather too loud, he went through the same procedure he had the last few times he had sent Ferrouz information, implementing every bit of ISB trickery he knew to cover his tracks. The previous messages had been only a handful of words, but this one would need to be far more complicated—both because there was more information to convey, and also because the truth and sincerity of the information needed to be completely unquestionable. So, instead of merely submitting a written message, Sarreti activated the holocom's visual recording and projector unit.
A quick flash of blue washed over him, the unit recording his image for later transmission. Then he began his recording. "Grand Moff Ferrouz, my name is Ephin Sarreti. I am an ISB operative currently serving on Grand Admiral Daala's staff. I was responsible for the warning you received prior to the attack on Poln Major, and I am communicating with you again now because I believe the only chance we have to destroy Silencer Station is fast appro—"
A woman cleared her throat behind him. Sarreti's voice caught, his heart suddenly swelling in his throat.
"Turn around."
He did as instructed, lifting his hands up and to his sides where they trembled despite his best efforts to hold them steady. He found himself staring into Grand Admiral Daala's cool green eyes, the same standard-issue blaster she had used to execute Captain Nalgol pointed straight at him.
"I was under the impression that your role aboard Stormhawk was to assure my loyalty," she said quietly.
On most maps of the galaxy, the Unknown Regions were a giant, blurry void. Some maps placed icons on the galactic West, icons that represented unknown dangers. Or they listed all the expeditions which had gone westward with the intent of mapping that part of the galaxy and had never returned. Still others just left that entire part of the map blank, with a gentle tracing around the galactic rim, leaving a void.
The UREF knew better. The Unknown Regions were large and full of dangers, yes—there were, after all, a number of very good reasons that they had been left untouched by the Empire and the Old Republic before it—but the Unknown Regions were also not quite as 'unknown' as most maps liked to pretend. The UREF had explored and re-mapped much of the space that bordered the former Empire, and turned those sectors into its own powerful fiefdom. Previously unsettled planets had become colonies, and each colony had spawned a shipyard. A few decades on, those worlds were still young, in the early stages of economic development, but they were growing quickly, creating new cities and towns in strategic—or just scenic—locations. The result was a half-dozen worlds, each more populated than the backwater Poln Major had been, with flourishing multi-species populations, increasingly intense trade with the local alien states, and steadily growing industrial capacity.
Gilad Pellaeon had never seen any of those worlds himself. Since joining the UREF—if that was really an accurate description of what had happened—he had never left Poln Major. His job had been to stand and defend it, defend Grand Moff Ferrouz's territory and authority, from the forces of the New Order. He had done so, with as much ability as he had to offer… and once again, Gilad Pellaeon had been defeated.
But never before had the defeat been so thorough, or so devastating.
Endor had been bad. The Empire had splintered into factions, leaving him lost and directionless. But the loss at Endor had been a military and political defeat more than a personal one. Pellaeon had saved his ship and most of his crew. He had assumed command of Chimaera and led them to safety. It had been a military and political defeat, yes… but a personal victory.
Bilbringi had been worse. The loss of Thrawn… Thrawn had not been Pellaeon's friend. Pellaeon did not believe that Thrawn had friends. But Thrawn had been a mentor, a leader, a worthy officer. His death, especially the way he had died, had been a deeper, more personal blow.
But never before Poln Major had Pellaeon been ordered to defend a world from extermination. And never before Poln Major had Pellaeon failed in such a task.
His ship was full of refugees. They packed every cargo hold, every docking bay. They cluttered up hallways and empty corridors. Men, women, and children of a dozen different species, some he recognized and some he didn't. Every one of them was distraught and confused. Some were despondent—it was not uncommon for Pellaeon to witness refugees sobbing in the corridors of his ship—while others were simply numb, staring at him… no, through him… with empty, almost unseeing eyes, simply unable to come to terms with what had happened.
Never before had failure come with so intense a cost. Only when Pellaeon had been young, defending Republican worlds from Separatist attacks, had the potential for civilian casualties been so real—but Pellaeon had almost always been on the offensive, trying to liberate worlds. He had never before lost one. Not like this.
"Admiral?"
Pellaeon turned towards the voice. Lieutenant Tschel approached him with near-silent steps—training and experience had tempered the young man into a very capable officer, far from the earnest bumbling conscript who had been brought aboard during the earliest days of Thrawn's command of the fleet. "Yes, Lieutenant?"
"We'll be coming out of hyperspace in three minutes, sir. All messages for the Republic vessels in our company have been prepared for transmission."
"Very good. Proceed as instructed." As Tschel retreated, Pellaeon turned his attention back to the view of hyperspace. A few minutes later, with a sudden, subtle lurch Chimaera came out of hyperspace, the whirl of light straightening and then going still, the only light the distant specs of stars far, far away.
In front of him loomed the nearest UREF colony world, Dowager's Rest. They had approached from the outer system, so the side of the planet that faced them was dark. The glimmer of civilization on the surface was obscured by thick, white clouds. The world beneath had large, dark oceans, and numerous orbital platforms for habitation, industry, and defense. Freighters and tugs of all sizes worked to draw huge asteroids into orbit for reclamation by smelting platforms that reminded Pellaeon all too strongly of how the World Devastator had consumed Agonizer.
In company with Chimaera were Pellaeon's other surviving Star Destroyers—Gonfalon and Basilisk—and his surviving Enforcer-class cruisers. Teren's surviving ships were accompanying them, and while many ships had survived, there were none without significant damage. Then there were the flotilla of freighters, each packed just as tightly with refugees—if not more tightly—as Chimaera was, and the fleet of New Republic escort carriers which had arrived with too little force to change the outcome of the battle, but enough to ensure their escape. Communications went out to everyone, ordering ships to take different positions so that each could be tended by available repair craft. The planetary authorities were informed that they were going to need to play host to a very large number of refugees. And the freighters and New Republic ships were all told to wait, until they could be assigned landing locations where those refugees could be dropped on the planet.
Then Pellaeon was left to wait. Those tasks would take hours, if not days. There would be a number of problems to solve in that time, but until one presented itself, he had nothing to do but wait. Wait… and think about all the choices, all the mistakes, that had led him to this catastrophe.
Many hours later he had no conclusions he liked.
"Admiral?"
Pellaeon turned. Tschel was standing there, as usual. "Yes, Lieutenant?"
"The last system ferry has just departed, sir. We'll have the last of the refugees planetside within the hour."
"Very good."
Tschel didn't depart. "Councilor Leia Organa Solo is requesting permission to bring her transport aboard, so that she might confer with the Grand Moff and discuss next steps."
Pellaeon grunted softly. "Inform the Grand Moff of her request. If he gives his assent, give Councilor Organa Solo permission to dock." His lips firmed together stiffly. "And have Skywalker's X-wing transferred from deep storage to the main hangar. Now is as good a time as any to return the damned thing."
Tschel nodded. "As ordered, sir."
When Mara had still been the Emperor's Hand, landing her ship aboard a Star Destroyer had been a common occurrence. Allowing Chimaera to capture Tempered Mettle in its array of docking tractors and guide the freighter into its large underslung hangar brought conflicting feelings and memories flooding back.
But despite the similarities, the present bore little resemblance to the past. In particular, Mara found herself bizarrely unable to concentrate. Even now, even as her ship was landing aboard Chimaera, even after they had just witnessed the destruction of Admiral Rogriss' fleet and fled from Poln Major, unable to prevent that world's destruction, even as they were all fighting to come up with some idea for how to defeat the World Devastator which had proven to be almost untouchable… the only thing that Mara could think about was the fact she was pregnant.
It was an odd sensation. It was still early enough in the process that Mara could barely tell that she was pregnant. The growing life within her was still inchoate, unformed, potential rather than realization. But already Mara found that her perspective was changing. She knew herself well enough to know that when she was confronted with the threat of the World Devastator, that her first instinct should be to go hunting. Find a weakness. Exploit it. Kill the threat. That was what the Emperor's Hand had been trained to do, and while she was no longer the Emperor's Hand, that training would ever and always be a part of her.
But there was another instinct warring with the Emperor's Hand, now. Protect, that instinct screamed. Protect protect protect protect. Protect her unborn child from all the dangers in the galaxy, from the World Devastator, from the Empire, from the Dark Side, from the galaxy's seedy underbelly. Protect.
For the first time in her life, Mara realized that she wanted to run. Run away with Luke, find some small backrocket world—hells, even Tatooine would do—a speck no one would ever bother with because of its sheer unimportance. Where they could raise their child in isolated safety.
It was an instinct she crushed with durasteel gauntlets. Mara knew all-too-well that the Emperor's Hand was right in this case. If the World Devastator was not stopped, nowhere would be safe—not even insignificant worlds like Tatooine. They were all destined to be broken up for scraps to feed the war machine. A vision of an endless army of droids, unstoppable and infinite, was an all-too-plausible nightmare. No, in this case protect and attack were one and the same, and her instinct to run and hide, acquired so late in her life, was wrong.
That she had that instinct at all was proof of just how much her life had changed. If she needed any more proof, she had it in the form of the three people with her, whose instincts all screamed the same as hers.
Luke was beside her, helping her manage the landing process—not that they needed to do much as Chimaera's docking tractors did all the work. He had the same instincts she did—protect and attack. As different as they were in some ways, in other ways they were exactly the same. Maybe that was why she loved him so much.
Leia was there too. Her emotions in the Force were far, far more complicated. Leia carried responsibilities like Banthas carried Tusken settlements and they were piled up to her neck. Leia too had the instincts protect and attack, but they were intermingled with other things like diplomacy and change and the future shifting like an ever moving kaleidoscope, because unlike Luke and Mara—who were principally concerned with dealing with the problem they faced—Leia recognized that all this had created a true opportunity to not just eliminate a galactic threat but to remake that galaxy into something less tainted by Palpatine's machinations. Leia perched on her chair with the vigilant gaze of a raptor, waiting for her chance to pounce.
Behind them, accompanied by Kapp Dendo and a commando team, was Iella. Mara's best friend was dressed in combat gear, clearly prepared to fight the Empire—this Empire too if it became necessary, no matter how friendly they were all trying to be right now.
Iella had come as New Republic Intelligence's eyes on the ground, but she'd stuck by Mara's side like she'd been welded since Mara had confessed her pregnancy on their way to Poln Major. Now, Mara felt from Iella a similar intensity of purpose, blazing away like a fiery furnace, a fierce drive that echoed Mara's own. Protect, Iella Wessiri sang unknowingly into the Force. Protect.
Tempered Mettle lurched as it settled to the deck. Through her forward window, Mara could see a cluster of Stormtroopers and Imperials in dress uniforms waiting to meet them.
Leia stood, cleared her throat, and caught the attention of the room as Luke, Mara, Iella, and the other troopers turned to regard her with their full attention. "Let's try to end this war, not start any new ones," she said. "Kapp, you and your people stay here on Mettle unless things go awry. We don't want to provoke them." As the tall Devaronian sketched her a friendly, casual salute, she nodded once in acknowledgement. "Let's go."
Mara normally would have gone first. But she found that, this time at least, she was content to let Iella and Leia lead the way.
At the bottom of the ramp, Leia, wearing something that could pass for either a military uniform sans insignia or a very strict business casual, stopped in front of the three senior Imperials. All were resplendent in their dress uniforms. Gilad Pellaeon's face was calm, but Mara could feel the roil of tense, conflicted loyalties that churned within him. That would have given Mara pause, but she too felt Pellaeon's sense of duty, and his absolute—perhaps to a fault—loyalty to what he perceived to be the just government of the Empire.
That government was represented by the second man. Grand Moff Bidor Ferrouz did not wear a military uniform, as Grand Moff Tarkin had. His attire was that of a civilian and a politician… and his expression was beyond grim. A sense of hollow loss clung to him, seeming to draw the room closer like a collapsing star. He had lost his world, and the reality of that loss was still new, pointed, and a constant puncture at his heart. He offered Mara and Luke both shallow nods, but turned his full attention to Leia. "Councilor Organa Solo. Thank you for coming, and for the assistance rendered by the New Republic. The Empire is grateful."
Leia bowed her head. "You have my apologies for the tardiness of our arrival. If we could have gotten here sooner to do more, we would have." Her voice became quietly sympathetic. "I know what it is like to lose my home, Grand Moff," she said. "I can assure you that anything the New Republic can do to help, we will."
Pellaeon stiffened. Ferrouz's expression froze for a heartbeat, then he offered a rueful smile. "Yes, of course you do," he agreed. He gestured to the last of the Imperials. "And I believe some of you are familiar with Baron Soontir Fel."
"Councilor Solo, Jedi Skywalker, Jedi Jade," The stocky fighter pilot-turned military leader greeted each of them in turn, and Mara had to stop herself from asking outright about Wedge's sister. It was neither the time nor the place.
Fel stopped, his dark eyes lingering on Iella Wessiri. "And if I am not mistaken, you are Iella Wessiri. Rumor has it you were the one who killed Ysanne Isard. Thank you."
"You are not mistaken," Iella agreed, allowing the sharp Corellian tones to enter her voice like promised violence. "It is a shame General Antilles could not be here. I know he has been looking forward to reconnecting."
"It is a shame indeed," Fel said with a nod, his own accent shifting to match Iella's. "He and I have so much to talk about." He gestured behind him, and the Stormtroopers came to attention, offering a long pathway to the nearest lift that they would walk down. "Your Commodore Tabanne and our senior officers are attending to the needs of the refugees, but if she wishes to join us for a conference, she is welcome as well."
"A conference to what end?" Leia did not proceed down the pathway, staying still. "What is the objective of this meeting?" She cocked her head. "A truce? A collaboration?"
The three Imperials, who had nearly begun the walk to the lift, all turned to face her as one. It was Ferrouz who spoke. "I cannot repeat this in public," he said. "But I believe we all know that the war between the New Republic and the Empire is done."
"Is it?" asked Leia. Mara could feel her sudden intensity of focus, the way she probed Ferrouz through the Force, seeking every possible sense of the man. Next to Mara, Luke stirred uncomfortably, but he said nothing and did not object—this was Leia's calling, not his and not Mara's. "Which Empire? It seems as though there are now two, in addition to the Deep Core Warlords. Your polity derives its legitimacy from Grand Moff Kaine, but his attempt to end our conflict ended badly."
"And my attempt to end it may be foiled by ISB just as his was," Ferrouz admitted, with some grim humor. "What they have done to my home is proof enough of that. But I have two things to offer that he did not."
"And what are those?"
Ferrouz glanced at Fel, then at the Stormtroopers, then straightened his back and folded his hands behind it. "I am willing to reinstitute the Imperial Senate. The original Imperial Senate, from the earliest days of the Empire, before Palpatine rendered it fully a figurehead. Even more, I am willing to give that Senate the power to transform my office into an elected position and resign my post without preconditions so that the Senate may fill it without any potential interference from me. If they chose to reappoint me as Head of Government, I would commit to serve no more than one term in that new elected office."
Mara, Luke, and Iella shared a surprised glance, but Leia did not seem so. "And the other promises you made in your missive? The abolishment of slavery? Permission for worlds that wish to be governed by the New Republic to secede from your Empire?"
"Assuming you will meet the demands that Kaine made of the Republic in return, yes," Ferrouz said. "But as I said—unlike Kaine, I will not demand a blanket amnesty for Imperial officers. Any member of ISB, any member of the Council of Moffs who has rejected the legality of my leadership of the Empire, and any commander in the Imperial Starfleet who continues to follow the illegal orders of the so-called Emperor-Regent… I am willing to hand each and every one of them over to you, to see justice in New Republic courts."
Remove his rivals and placate the New Republic in one swoop, Mara thought appreciatively. Clever.
"But I have something else to offer as well," Ferrouz continued. "I know where the World Devastator is going next." His expression hardened. "The people who rule the so-called New Order intent to punish all traitors to their illegal rule. They have already punished my world." He turned and looked at Iella Wessiri, his expression growing even more grim. "It would seem, Agent Wessiri, that their next target is the 'traitors' of Corellia. They issued a formal statement over the HoloNet, announcing their intent to subdue Corellia if possible… and destroy it, if not."
The sudden swell of tension from Iella came accompanied by an anticipatory splash of cold, bloody-minded rage. Iella shrugged slightly, once, as her eyes swept down Baron Fel's face. She evidently saw no more untruth in Fel's expression than Mara felt through the Force. There was a grimness to Fel. He too was Corellian.
"I'll need to see the full report, and then I'll need a secure line to Coruscant," Leia said. From her, all Mara could feel was an equally grim certainty of what this would mean.
"Yes, you will," Ferrouz agreed. "Tell the Republic that the New Order is coming to the Core. Tell them what happened to Poln Major. Tell the galaxy the time comes to fight. I suspect we will need all the strength we can muster to destroy the abomination that is currently consuming my world."
"We?" asked Mara pointedly.
"The UREF will stand with the New Republic with every ship we have left," said Fel, in measured tones that ground like granite boulders. "We are in the middle of reviewing all our records of the Battle at Poln Major, searching for any weakness to exploit. All data will be sent ahead to the New Republic. We will destroy that… thing."
"Because it is the right thing to do or because it will eventually come back for you?" Mara persisted.
"Does it matter?" asked Fel.
"Not today," said Leia, in a tone that settled the matter.
This was not the first time Mara had been aboard the Star Destroyer Chimaera. She and Luke had rescued Talon Karrde from this Star Destroyer once. Then she had come aboard to confront Kyp Durron and the ghost of Exar Kun. It seemed each subsequent time she came aboard was less confrontational than the last.
Admiral Pellaeon did not bring them to the Star Destroyer's traditional Admiral's suite. This was not because he had something to hide, Mara suspected, but because Grand Admiral Thrawn's sanctuary had remained immaculately untouched since his death. Instead, one of the conference lounges in Chimaera's command tower had been made available, with flatscreens and holoprojectors offering clear displays of all the warships and freighters busy depositing refugees on the planet below them. Tempered Mettle had been one of the first to land and unload, to minimize the time lost before Leia's conference with Grand Moff Ferrouz and the rest of the Empire's hierarchy. Now, she watched as the Wild Karrde and other vessels of the Smugglers' Alliance docked with Star Destroyers, loaded up with refugees, and then helped ferry them down to the surface.
It was unusual, to say the least.
Pellaeon seemed even more disgruntled about it than Mara was, but like Mara he said nothing. "The bridge reports the relocation of Poln Major's refugees to the surface is proceeding as well as can be expected," he said to Grand Moff Ferrouz.
"Good," was all Ferrouz said, then returned to his conference with Luke, Leia, and Fel. The four of them were hunched over a holo that was repeating, over and over, recordings from Rogriss' surviving ships of the battle with the World Devastator. Admiral Pellaeon's staff had already reviewed them during the retreat, as had the crews of each of Rogriss' surviving ships. All of that information was being compiled into a list of strategies.
Iella had reviewed the information, but now she just stood quietly at Mara's side. Mara could feel her always there, watching attentively, protectively, never taking her eyes off the Imperials.
"It seems like the deadliest weapon the World Devastator had was those enormous missiles it kept throwing at the Star Destroyers," said Leia. On the display, one of those corvette-sized missiles grazed the hull of the Star Destroyer Warrior, which survived the impact. "A single hit can be catastrophic."
"That's true," Pellaeon grunted as he joined them. "But we do have effective defenses. If you cluster two or three Star Destroyers together they can capture the missile with tractor beams from enough angles to deflect or repel its advance long enough for it to be neutralized by ion cannons and turbolasers. But capital ships will have to maintain very tight formations, tighter than normal. We've put all that in our latest missive to General Antilles."
"Their TIE droids were also significantly more capable than they were at our last engagement," added Fel. "The best defense against them was Pellaeon's Enforcer-class cruisers or our Lively-class frigates. Those are both more recent designs, ones intended to better counter starfighters."
"The real problem," Pellaeon groused, "was our inability to breach the enemy's defenses. The only time Teren breached the World Devastator's shields was after a massive torpedo volley, but that breach only lasted a few minutes and it required massing enough firepower to outright destroy an Impstar Deuce. We only had one shot at it, too; the enemy's clankers ripped the guts out of our TIE bombers in the process."
On the holo-display, they watched grimly as the squadrons of TIE bombers closed under fire, protected by TIE Defenders, interceptors, and fighters that were an odd marriage of Imperial and alien aesthetics that Mara did not recognize. The bombers were brutalized both before and after their launch, but the strike did cause a visible, if localized, collapse of the enemy's shields and some damage to the hull underneath.
"But it looks like Teren hurt it," Pellaeon mused. "And if he could hurt it, we can kill it."
"Ah, sir?"
Mara and the others turned towards the door to the conference lounge. A young Imperial officer stood there, wearing the rankplate of a Lieutenant. Mara vaguely recognized him from her last visit to Chimaera's bridge.
"Yes, Lieutenant Tschel?"
Tschel glanced around the room nervously. "You wanted to know when Intelligence finished confirming the bonafides of the last message from Kresh Source, sir. They believe the message is genuine."
"What does that mean?" asked Leia.
Mara folded her arms across her chest. "It means that the source that alerted the Grand Moff to the upcoming assault on Poln Major has reached out again. Or am I wrong?"
"We'll see," said Ferrouz. "Thank you for the information, Lieutenant. If you'll take me to the holocomm, I'll view the message." He nodded to Leia, the gesture almost a bow. "I'll be back."
He wasn't gone long, and when he returned he had the message for the rest of them to see. The holoprojecter resolved an image in its traditional shimmering blue, of a man in an Imperial uniform marked with ISB insignia.
"Grand Moff Ferrouz, my name is Ephin Sarreti. I am an ISB operative currently serving on Grand Admiral Daala's staff. I was responsible for the warning you received prior to the Battle of Poln Major, and I am communicating with you again now because I believe the only chance we have to destroy Silencer Station is fast approaching. The Empire has announced that a formal coronation ceremony for the new Emperor will take place in one week's time at Bastion. Formal invitations have been issued to every major and minor dignitary in the Empire. As of now, the plan is for the ceremony to take place aboard Silencer-7 itself.
"Given Silencer-7's resilience, I believe the best opportunity we have to destroy it is to do so from within. To that end, I have secured a number of senior visitor authorizations. With them, your operatives should be able to infiltrate Silencer-7 prior to the coronation. I've also attached all the specifications of Silencer-7 I could, but you should be aware that the station's rate of growth and transformation is extremely high. Those specifications will likely be out of date prior to your arrival."
Ferrouz was clearly nervous, Mara thought, his eyes constantly flicking around the holocomm booth he was in, as if waiting for Stormtroopers to come bursting into the room. He had reason to be nervous. An ISB operative committing treason… if he was caught, his death would most assuredly be quite painful.
"It may have already been announced, but if not you should also know that the Emperor-Regent and Dowager Empress have decided on Silencer-7's next target," Ferrouz continued. "Following the coronation, it will proceed directly to Corellia. The system's recent betrayal is seen by the Regency Council as a direct assault on their authority and they wish to make an example of the world." His lips pressed together, his eyes again flicking nervously around the holocomm booth. "I'll try to be in touch. Failing that, I'll be dead and wishing you good luck."
The message ended.
"We already knew their target was Corellia," Ferrouz said. He looked around the room. "But the rest of it… Sarreti's information was good before. Can we trust him now?"
Attention slowly, almost inexorably, turned to Luke and Mara. Luke's eyes met hers, held her gaze. The two of them, together, reached into the Force.
"I don't like it," said Mara. "It's probably a trap."
"It could be," Luke agreed.
"It probably is," retorted Mara.
"I think we have to take the chance," Luke said seriously. "I can lead an infiltration team…"
Mara snorted. "I can lead the infiltration team. Which of us knows the inner-workings of the Empire better? Which of us will be able to pose as an Imperial noble who belongs at the Coronation of an Emperor? Who knows all the little weaknesses Palpatine hard-coded into Imperial technology?" She looked around the room, daring them to challenge her. She narrowed her eyes at Luke, expecting him to object—even wanting him to object—but neither he, nor Iella, nor Leia did.
Because she was right.
Sithspit, she was right.
"We'll need to bring as many Jedi as we can," Luke agreed quietly. "Kirana Ti, Tyria… even Streen if he thinks he's up for it."
"You'll also need guards," said Fel. "I can provide some of my best stormtroopers to act as your personal retinue. They'll be able to blend in with all the other Imperials."
"I'm coming too," said Iella. Her gaze met Mara's, and in Iella's eyes Mara saw absolutely no room for argument. "If you're all going, I'm going. I'm probably the second-most qualified person for this kind of action."
There was a stunning lack of argument. Mara kept expecting someone to object—Luke, Iella, Leia, even Fel. But no one did. It was as if they all knew that, trap or not, this was the best opportunity they would have. The urge to object to this plan kept bubbling up in Mara herself, some part of her raring to lash out, to shout I'm pregnant, I can't be doing this!
She felt that same turmoil in Luke, in Leia, and in Iella.
But none of them said it, because Mara was right. To have a chance of pulling this off she had to be the one leading the mission.
"And what will you do once you're inside?" Pellaeon asked skeptically.
"Our goal will be to disable the station's defenses. The Force will guide us," Luke said far more confidently than Mara felt… and far more confidently than he felt, too.
"I guarantee we can inflict plenty of mayhem," Iella said, her voice quietly intense.
"There's something else we might be able to do to help." Leia turned to the Imperials. "What you said before, about the New Order issuing a statement—they sent out a HoloNet broadcast?"
"That's right," said Ferrouz. "It's a real piece of work. Beyond even their normal propaganda. They've started broadcasting them once or twice a day, there were several of them waiting for me here when we arrived."
"I want to see them," said Leia. "I'm going to issue my own statement in response."