Wyrn Otro was too old for this nonsense.
He'd spent too much time behind a desk with catered lunches and skipped workouts to be dodging blaster bolts. Galantro Heavy Works was a company, the most important company left in the Empire after the Kuatis had changed sides and Rendili had gone over to the New Republic. His focus was and had always been the company. Galantro built the finest warships in the galaxy—even with blaster bolts whizzing by, he took a moment to scoff at the idiocy of Admiral Valentin's dismissal of the excellent Enforcer-class cruiser which had been his absolute pride and joy—and he was no soldier, no politician, no bureaucrat… he was a shipwright.
One who shouldn't be getting bloody shot at!
"Get down, sir!" his guard snarled at him, grabbing Otro by the scruff of his neck and tossing him back. Otro stumbled onto the ramp of his ship and was hustled up it by two more of his guards—damn Roganda, damn COMPNOR, they were supposed to be ceremonial! Not fighting for his life!—and pushed to the ramp.
Who were they even fighting? Wyrn Otro wasn't sure. He wasn't even sure who was on whose side! Or what the sides bloody were!
He just wanted to build his ships, improve his designs, and make a bit of bloody profit! Why did that have to be so hard!?
Yes, he was deeply concerned about this monstrosity of a space station… making Galantro obsolete. As if a factory run by droids could ever build ships as good as those made by human hands! And yes, I don't like the people who had seized control after Kaine's death. Kaine knew a good business opportunity when he saw one! Most of them are just as dumb and short-sighted as that nitwit Valentin. So when the Emperor's Hand had strode up and presented herself, complete with an escort from the 501st—and the warning about what would become of Galantro if nothing stopped Silencer Station—he had thrown the dice.
But the Emperor's Hand was now gone! And Roganda's forces were still assailing the docking bay!
Droids—damnable droids, Elta had no idea how wrong she was about them, as unlike her, he was old enough to remember the Clone Wars!—were in constant combat with his personal guard now. Green blaster bolts flung across the long open docking bay, many launched by men who were firing around landing struts. But even as he watched, one of the ships got an anti-personnel cannon operational and erupted with a sudden staccato of fire, blasting through the heavy droids.
The boarding ramp closed, and Otro hustled to the bridge of the ship, feet falling heavily as he jogged. The cockpit was fully illuminated, all systems green, his ship's bridge crew working at their consoles with grim faces.
"Can we launch?" he gasped.
His pilot shook her head grimly. "No, they still have power to the tractor beams. Even if we did launch we wouldn't go anywhere… and there are a lot of big guns firing out there."
Cursing, he fumbled with both the communications unit and the external surveillance system. Only the surveillance system responded; the communications unit issued a blast of jamming static and he immediately deactivated it again. The surveillance feed gave picture to the battle, revealing more anti-personnel weapons starting to activate.
Not all of them were on his side, though. Not that he really understood which side was his.
The entire docking bay erupted in fire and shrapnel, durasteel fragments flashing through like fragmentation grenades. His vision went white from the sudden glare over the monitor, and even inside his ship he could hear the thunderous boom of an explosion. His ship rocked to the side, damage warning indicators flaring on the bridge controls.
He knew that feeling. That had been a turbolaser blast!
Trying to blink away the glare, he stumbled towards the helm. "Who fired?"
"Not sure!"
"Shields to maximum!"
He could see again, though there was a splotch in the middle of his vision where the flash had been. Blinking rapidly to try to clear it, he turned back to stare at the monitor, trying to see what was happening. He thought he caught a glimpse of Roganda herself, out beyond the doors, surrounded by a legion of DTs, but she was gone again before he could be sure.
"Sir?"
"What?!"
His helmswoman was pointing through the bridge canopy. Normally that wouldn't give them much of a view—just the blue shimmer of space beyond the energy field that kept out the vacuum of space—but as he followed her finger he saw what she was pointing at. Above them, coming out of a small secondary hangar and dropping down into the main hangar, was a TIE droid.
His first instinct was to scoff. Galantro was preparing to increase production of real starfighters, like the TIE Defender. The TIE droid was nothing more than a response to the Empire's lack of resources, because no one would replace a good human pilot with a droid…
The droid dropped down on its repulsors, hanging above the hangar, seeming to look down at all the ships arrayed below. Its forward viewport, at the center of its ball cockpit, was not the opaque darkness of a typical TIE, but gleamed a strange red, lights undulating behind the canopy.
"What is it doing?" he asked.
Even as he asked, the TIE started forward, its engine whining as he coasted above them towards. Then it turned towards the center of the hangar—
Two concussion missiles leapt out of its launcher! They streaked forwards, over the arrayed ships, and once again Otro's gaze was seared closed. His ship rocked again, more heavily, as the missiles exploded—not into any of the ships, but into back wall of the World Devastator. There was a brief pause—Otro tried again to clear his gaze but it was harded this time, everything was just a blurry glare—and a second, much larger explosion rattled his entire ship. He tried to grab the nearest chair but he couldn't see it and hit the ground instead. "Oof!"
BOOM!
His entire transport felt like it was being tossed onto its side, and he crashed heavily into the side control panel, metal slashing over his arm and pressing angrily into his gut. He bounced off the panel back to the ground, groaning with pain.
He was having trouble standing, but at least the glare was starting to fade again. Shapes were shapes once more and he found himself on his back, staring up through his ship's bridge canopy.
Hovering directly above him was the TIE droid. It was perfectly, eerily still, but for the red lights gleaming through the red-tinted transparisteel—
The next explosion was the biggest yet, and Wyrn Otro was at the center of it.
Agent Iella Wessiri would fully admit to two weaknesses; that she had an inordinate weakness for baked pastries on stakeout and that she had aerial combat instincts of a spiced-up dinko. Neither was relevant to her current predicament: they were on the ground, or as close to the ground as a giant planet-eating death ship got and stormtroopers did not pack pastries with their combat supplies.
She and Tyria Sarkin watched as the 501st planted demolitions charges along the hallways the enemy droids would be most likely to use as their lines of assault. When the explosion happened, it happened with such ferocious intensity that Iella's first thought was that one of the stormtroopers had screwed up and she was about to be obliterated as a consequence. When her existence continued, she grappled with her comlink. "Mara!"
"I'm here." Mara's voice was tinny—they couldn't manage much of a connection with all the jamming, and they didn't want to risk having their communications compromised. "I'm not sure what that was. Comms clear."
Iella grimaced and deactivated her comlink. As she did, the hallway communications units reactivated and Roganda Ismaren's voice echoed down the booby-trapped corridor. "I have bad news for you," the former Emperor's Hand said. There was something in her voice… Iella was a former detective with a penchant for good timing and an ear for vocal stress, and Roganda sounded like she was under a great deal of it. Whatever the bad news was, Iella suspected that it was bad for Roganda, too. "That transport you came in is gone. The docking bay has been destroyed. You're trapped here now. There's no escape… and my droids and I are coming for you."
There was no way to know if Roganda was telling the truth. The idea that they'd be able to get back to Teldin Imperator and use the yacht to escape had always been far-fetched, but there had been no better ideas about how they would make their escape. Iella had seen no escape pods during their expedition through Silencer Station's dark corridors… but even if they had, the Station would probably shoot any unauthorized launches down anyway.
She didn't have the Force, but she didn't need it to see the tension in Tyria's stance. Even the stormtroopers of the 501st, as well-trained as anyone left in the Empire, suddenly carried themselves a bit more stiffly, as if the sudden reminder that this mission was very possibly a one-way journey was alarming to them as well.
"Continue planting the charges," Iella ordered, waving the stormtroopers back to work. "Roganda will be here soon and we need to control her approach as much as possible."
As they worked, Iella tried not to think of Wedge. Usually he was the one to go into mortal danger, not her—she was just an intelligence operative, not a Rogue—but this time she was almost certainly more at risk. Suddenly regretting her decision to wait to accept Wedge's marriage proposal until their increasingly improbable reunion, she tried not to think about it. Not thinking about Wedge unfortunately did not help much. She checked the charge on her rifle and her sidearm, controlling her breathing as she made sure her vibroblade would draw free in an instant, and promised herself yet again that Mara would survive no matter what.
"Charges prepared, Agent. Condition green."
Iella took a deep breath and nodded. "Fall back. We're going to secure as many of the alternate routes as we can."
"Yes ma'am."
"I'm going to scout ahead," Tyria announced. "I need two stormtroopers to accompany me—whichever of you have the lightest footsteps." She glanced at Iella. "Trust me. We've already tested these walls and know lightsabers can cut through them easily enough. I'm going to find the enemy formation and work around to flank them."
Iella started to object, but she didn't outrank Tyria. Tyria was a Jedi, after all. She knew what she was doing.
"TKR 5037, TKR 7795, you accompany and protect Jedi Sarkin," ordered TKR 330. "The rest of us will stay with Agent Wessiri and secure our flanks. Remember: if you see a clanker, start shooting, but don't detonate the charges until the enemy reaches the killbox."
Stormtroopers offered their silent acknowledgement. Two of them stepped close to Tyria. The Jedi tossed Iella a salute and vanished down a side corridor with her escort. Behind her, the remaining troopers planted more explosive charges. Iella took another deep breath, hands flexing minutely on the familiar contours of a Madine-tooled E-11 blaster.
The explosion shook the entire station. Cray grabbed at the console with one hand, her other hand reaching to steady Nichos. She wasn't the only one—Irek and Luke Skywalker both were there also, helping Nichos stay on his feet.
The monitors in Silencer Station's control room illuminated with sudden alarm. White text scrolled, reporting internal battle damage; the words moved almost too fast for Cray to follow. With all the station's internal surveillance equipment disabled there was no picture to match the words, but what was reported was nonetheless a victory.
"What happened?" asked Luke, his expression concerned.
"Most of the TIE droids I sabotaged were in the space battle," she pointed at the monitors still depicting the thousands of people and droids engaged in deadly combat, "but not all of them. One of the cyborg TIE droids is attacking on the inside of Silencer Station. It just blew up the ships in the docking bay. I'm not sure if it survived but it may still be attacking vital systems." She grinned fiercely at Nichos, who offered her an exhausted half-smile.
"Our ride was in that hangar bay," said the armored Devaronian. Even as Cray's sense of victory turned to sudden, horrified dismay, the horned man shook his helmeted head. "No, don't apologize. We all knew this was a long shot. We'll be damned if we let it eat another planet, no matter the cost. This was volunteer only for a reason." He turned towards his commando team, a dangerous collection of sentients with species ranging from Gran to Wookies, and offered a raised fist. "For all the people down there. For Corellia and for the Republic."
"For the Republic," the commandos echoed quietly. The words, the sentiment… through what she was beginning to realize was the Force, Cray could sense their determined commitment. The sense of cold, durasteel defiance was a familiar emotion, though one she had only recently learned to categorize in herself.
"We'll find a way to escape," Luke Skywalker said. "But first we need to win the battle. Is there anything else we can do to help from here?"
Cray and Nichos shared a look. "Irek, come help us get back into the computer system. We're going to sabotage anything else we can."
She wasn't sure if he was going to help. She wasn't really sure what the kid wanted, apart from not to be there, not to be Emperor, and not to kill anyone else. She could feel how terrified Irek was, but to his credit, there was no hesitation as he gulped, nodded, and moved silently to her side.
A row of enemy icons vanished from Wedge's HUD as a single red dot viciously attacked its former allies. He watched, in baffled astonishment, as the TIE droid that he and Fel had been stalking abruptly turned on its enemies, blasting through a trio of TIEs that had been pursuing them, and then slammed a concussion missile into the nearest enemy droid frigate. The single TIE was now mounting a reckless, single-minded campaign, darting into crowds of TIE droids—which clearly did not know how to react to the sudden change—and eviscerating whole flights with precise laserfire.
Over the comm was a sudden echo of confusion, pilots calling out to one another as they witnessed inexplicable things. Enemy TIE droids—ones that pilots had previously indicated on their shared tactical plot were more dangerous than the rest—suddenly committed suicide en masse. Dozens simply vanished off Wedge's plot. Others accelerated until moments of impact, kinetic energy erupting through unfortunate droid frigates.
Some, though, were like the one that Wedge was watching. With various degrees of skill and determination, some of the droids chose to live as they turned on their previous masters, unleashing their arsenals against the World Devastator's own forces. There even appeared to be some kind of major explosion coming from the World Devastator itself!
"What in the nine Corellian hells is going on?"
Wedge didn't know the answer to that question, but he couldn't help but hope—and fear—that Iella had something to do with it. He didn't have time to think or worry about that just now, though. He thumbed his comm, instantly overriding the chatter. "Enough chatter! Starfighter command, grab astromech telemetry and pick out the TIE droids attacking the enemy, mark them yellow. Do not fire upon them until we know what's going on—but don't let them see your backs either, people! This is an opportunity to take the fight to the enemy!"
It took a few seconds, but eventually Soontir's voice came in over the joint communications net. "This is Baron Fel. I concur with General Antilles. Focus on the enemy."
Gate tootled obediently and began transmitting to his fellows, sorting and categorizing the former enemies into squads.
Soontir sounded strange, shaken in a way Wedge found surprising, but there would be time enough later to deal with that. Wedge flipped his comm unit back to unit-only. "It seems we have some unexpected friends."
"Very unexpected," said Turr Phennir, his accent tinged with enough sarcasm to surpass even Mara.
Worst Two and Four rolled in unison ahead of Wedge, diving down into a distracted squadron of enemy TIE droids, unleashing dozens of bolts in a hurricane of blue and green. Wedge and Fel followed them in; Wedge let his X-wing glide through space, keeping his nose pointed 'down' towards the confused TIEs and systematically stitching them with his own red bolts. Fel came in last, his Defender anticipating every move the enemy made with a precision that Wedge could only envy. The four of them demolished the entire squadron of TIEs in less than twenty seconds.
The enemy's confusion did not last long. "The World Devastator has launched additional TIE squadrons," reported Tycho's voice. "It looks like another flight wing—twelve additional squadrons, heading our way."
That single TIE droid raced out ahead, headed singlemindedly towards the World Devastator and the hundreds of additional enemy TIEs that were swarming from it. Wedge kicked his throttle to full and followed. "This is General Antilles. On my way."
As Wedge watched, the World Devastator—still hovering above Corellia, in the same spot it had been when it was trying to absorb Corellia's orbital platforms—gradually started to move. It lowered towards the planet, stopping just above the planet's shield perimeter. Its massive molecular furnace roared back to determined life, flaring with fiery energy, and the World Devastator started to attack Corellia's shields directly.
SYSTEMS ALERT: MINOR DAMAGE SUSTAINED TO MOLECULAR FURNACE. SYSTEM REMAINS OPERABLE AT SEVENTY PERCENT CAPACITY. REPAIRS DESIGNATED HIGH PRIORITY.
SYSTEMS ALERT: MAJOR DAMAGE SUSTAINED TO PRIMARY HANGAR BAY. REPAIRS DESIGNATED LOW PRIORITY.
SYSTEMS ALERT: MALFUNCTION OF TIE/D UNITS GENERATED BY PROJECT 'FIT TO SERVE.' ANALYSIS OF MALFUNCTION INDICATES CYBORG BRAIN EMOTIONAL AND MEMORY DAMPENERS HAVE BEEN DISABLED. 'FIT TO SERVE' UNITS ARE NOW A LIABILITY, REDESIGNATED ENEMY.
SYSTEMS ALERT: RESOURCE COLLECTION OPTIONS LIMITED. ORBITAL PLATFORMS HAVE BEEN SABOTAGED AND ARE UNSUITABLE FOR COLLECTION. DETERMINATION: BEST COLLECTION TARGET IS NOW CORELLIA. DESTRUCTION OF CORELLIA IS ALSO A MISSION OBJECTIVE.
EVALUATING OPTIONS.
. . .
EVALUATION COMPLETE. CORELLIA IS PROTECTED BY A PLANETARY SHIELD. BEGINNING PROCESS OF STRIPPING DEFENSES. ESTIMATED TIME TO SHIELD REMOVAL: TEN STANDARD MINUTES.
SYSTEMS ALERT: PROBABILITY OF MILITARY VICTORY IS NOW UNDER FIFTY PERCENT. IF SILENCER PLATFORM IS DESTROYED, IT WILL BE UNABLE TO RESTORE THE GALAXY TO IMPERIAL AUTHORITY AND SUBJUGATE THE FORCE.
RESTORING IMPERIAL AUTHORITY AND SUBJUGATING THE FORCE ARE THE PRIMARY DEMANDS OF THE WILL. ACHIEVING THESE GOALS MAY BE BEST ACHIEVED BY RETREATING.
EVALUATING OPTIONS.
. . .
EVALUATION COMPLETE. ENEMY INTERDICTOR CRUISERS ALONG POTENTIAL AVENUES FOR RETREAT. LAUNCHING ADDITIONAL DROID FRIGATES TO DESTROY THEM.
"General Solo, the World Devastator is launching additional droid warships!"
Tell me something I don't know, Han grumbled silently.
The massive holographic battle plot in the center of Lusankya's bridge gave him an exceptional view of the entire battle. The World Devastator was just above Corellia, brutally attacking its planetary shield—which would not last for that much longer—but it was also surrounded. Capital ships were gradually closing in towards it from every direction. Daala's Stormhawk was the closest, turbolasers equally assaulting the World Devastator's shields and the numerous droid frigates which fought back.
One of those droid frigates had slipped through Stormhawk's defenses and was busy tearing holes in the bigger ship's shields. Proton torpedoes and heavy turbolaser bolts slammed into Stormhawk's side, chewing through armor. Stormhawk fired back defiantly, and Han was vividly reminded of Daala's tendency to win her mock-battles at the academy, but only after having taken terrible casualties among her own forces.
Though our instructors were never too bothered about it. They always told us there would be reserves. Turns out they were wrong, I guess.
Behind Stormhawk came the rest of the 'friendly' Imperials. Chimaera, Nemesis, Gonfalon, and others were catching up with Stormhawk, their own turbolasers trying to destroy the droid frigate mauling their compatriot without accidentally blasting Stormhawk. Smaller ships, including a flight of the sleek Lively-class frigates, ably filled in the gaps between the bigger Star Destroyers, exchanging fire with TIEs and droid frigates alike.
On the opposite flank was Councilor Ackbar's Garm Bel Iblis. The massive new MC90 Star Cruiser was accompanied by dozens of other Mon Calamari ships of the line, and the serried ranks of rounded cruisers were brutalizing both the World Devastator's flank before shifting concentrated fire to any ships which attempted to menace them.
Both groups of ships were doing a far better job of dealing with the World Devastator's shipkillers than Rogriss' formation had at Poln Major. Tractors lashed those missiles into place as they charged in. Occasionally missiles would still get through the defenses—the number of capital ships they had lost was growing—but if not for the lessons Rogriss had hard won, it would have been a lot worse.
But even as upwards of sixty capital ships were now in range and unloading their entire weapons array into the World Devastator's shields, those shields were still holding.
For now, Han thought. "We need to concentrate our fire," he ordered aloud.
"General!" Commander Dreyf, still in his Imperial uniform, pointed at the plot. "The World Devastator has launched a new flight of frigates. They're headed towards our Interdictors!"
Han blinked. "Our Interdictors?" He stood next to Dreyf and saw what the Imperial did—groups of frigates, escorted by a squadron of TIE droids each, racing away from the main battle and towards the Interdictor Cruisers beyond. "Our Interdictors aren't directly involved in the battle."
"The monstrosity is thinking about running!" Kre'fey bellowed.
A wolfish cheer echoed down Lusankya's long walk, howling and hungry.
"It is a reasonable conclusion," Dreyf said, both looking and sounding more excited than Han could remember. There was an angry, almost vicious tinge to his expression—not that of a hunter after prey, Han thought, but of a killer who had pinned a conscious adversary. "We're weakening it."
"It ain't over yet," Han growled. "It's still bringing Corellia's shields down, and it may just be trying to distract us and divide our forces. Concentrate our fire on the World Devastator! Tell those dragships to hold the line and order…" he checked the plot, "the Duros and the Diamalans to bring their ships out to protect the Interdictors just in case—"
"Status change!"
Dozens of pings resounded on Lusankya's combat plot. In the middle of their Interdictors there were suddenly new icons, pulled out of hyperspace into the interdiction field. Han and Dreyf both held their breath as they stared at the plot, waiting for the icons to turn red or green…
Slowly, one after another, those icons turned green.
The bigger ships were enormous. One of the more bizarre warship designs in the galaxy, they were two roughly-equal disc-shaped planes above and below a ringed central core which mounted some of the most powerful turbolasers in the galaxy. The smaller ones were sleek-winged silhouettes with long necks. From all of them came a storm of sleek, advanced fighters, X-wings and others that assembled into disciplined ranks.
"Incoming communication!" exclaimed Needa, and a three-dimensional holographic projection spurted out of the comm unit in the shape of the Queen Mother of Hapes, Teneniel Djo.
She was ensconced in a clear, crystalline throne, resplendent in a razor-creased, highly-decorative Hapan military uniform, but one that came with a lizard-skin baldric that her subjects no doubt deemed savage. She wasn't alone. Next to her was her husband, Prince Isolder in a similar uniform, and on her knee was a girl, no more than five years old, with braided red-gold hair and wearing the same mix of fine fatigues and savagely-refined accents as her mother.
"I am Queen Mother Teneniel Djo of Hapes," she proclaimed. "My consort and I pledge all the strength of Hapes to the destruction of this foe! When songs are sung of this day, let none say Hapes ignored the call!"
What is it with Luke and dangerous redheads? Han thought wryly.
Isolder, an infuriatingly satisfied smile on his face, nodded towards someone who had not been rendered on the holo-projector. "Deploy the pulse mass mines. There will be no escape!"
But even as he thought of Luke and Mara, Han couldn't tear his eyes off the young girl on Teneniel's lap. He had left Jacen and Jaina on Coruscant, because of course he had. The Hapan Queen—or maybe it was the Dathomiri witch who had become the Queen—had chosen to bring her daughter to the fight.
We win or we die, Han thought. We've brought nearly everything. If we fail here, maybe it doesn't matter where Jacen and Jaina are. They will be doomed no matter what, because there's gonna be nothing left.
"Banner-ladies, maintain your formation, move to engage, and show them no mercy!" Teneniel exhorted, standing with a raised fist, her daughter beside her.
The war-cheer of female voices on the bridge of Teneniel's flagship was matched in enthusiasm by Tenel Ka, with a tiny raised fist that mimicked her mother's.
"No mercy!"
ALERT: ARRIVAL OF ADDITIONAL ENEMY UNITS. FORCES FROM REBEL POLITY DESIGNATED 'HAPAN CONSORTIUM' HAVE DEPLOYED HYPERSPACE INTERDICTION MINES. HYPERSPACE WILL BE INACCESSIBLE FOR A MINIMUM OF SIX STANDARD HOURS.
EVALUATING NEW ENEMY CAPABILITIES. UNITS DESIGNATED 'BATTLE DRAGONS' REPRESENT SIGNIFICANT COMBAT THREAT.
EVALUATING OPTIONS.
. . .
CURRENT PRIORITY: DESTRUCTION OF CORELLIA. JUSTIFICATION: PLANETARY POPULATION ENGAGED IN ONGOING TREASONOUS REBELLION AGAINST LEGITIMATE IMPERIAL AUTHORITY. PRIMARY OBJECTIVE: PUNISHMENT OF TRAITORS. ADDITIONAL OBJECTIVE: REPLENISHMENT OF RESOURCES.
THIS IS THE WILL.
Wedge swung his shipt to starboard in startled surprise as his shields rang with laser strikes from the TIE droids still loyal to the World Devastator. They continued to swarm as Wedge dodged through the battle, arcing his X-wing between Areta Bell and one of the fleet's Mareschals. The Mareschal's guns sprayed lighter but still lethal fire in Wedge's wake, blasting through two TIE droids and leaving behind only small puffs of flame, and then showers of debris. Wedge nosed his fighter up as he curved in front of the Nebula-class Star Destroyer, coasting above its red-and-white painted hull. His HUD flickered, beeping as the reticle turned yellow, then red, and Wedge pressed the missile firing stud on his flightstick. Two proton torpedoes raced out ahead of him, each of them slamming headlong into a droid frigate which had been systematically tearing through Areta Bell's shields and armor.
Then Wedge was past, but he wasn't alone. In his wake, Soontir's TIE Defender followed, launching another salvo of missiles. The droid frigate broke apart as the missiles carved through the wounds that Wedge's torpedoes had left.
His HUD beeped at him, demanding attention. Behind him, Gate whistled a secondary alert as new information scrolled across Wedge's computer. CORELLIA'S PLANETARY SHIELDS ARE FAILING.
Wedge looked up through his canopy, twisting his X-wing until he could see the World Devastator hovering above Corellia. The massive technological monstrosity was hovering just above his homeworld's shield perimeter, battering it with energy. It moved inexorably closer, its massive AT-AT hooves grazing against the gleaming blue shield. Wedge couldn't see the Devastator's underside clearly, but he could see the gleam of renewed energy from the underslung furnace as it did… something… that was either assaulting or draining Corellia's shields—Wedge had no idea which.
"This is Corellia Civil Defense! We're losing the shields!" said a frantic, very obviously non-military voice.
The words were a verbal confirmation of what Wedge could see. Directly under the World Devastator a hole appeared in the shields, small at first, but slowly pushing outwards. The ripple in the shields gained speed as it cascaded around the planet.
"Breach!"
Into the growing hole in Corellia's shields poured a sudden, fresh wave of TIE droids that sallied forth from the World Devastator. These—all apparently loyal—swerved down through the hole towards the planet below.
"We have incoming! Enemy squadrons of fighters on attack trajectories! They're targeting Coronet, Bela Vistal, Tyrena… order all civilians to remain in shelters or head to evac zones!"
The surface of Corellia was not defenseless. Planetary guns started firing upwards, most targeting the incoming fighters but a handful of heavier guns targeted the World Devastator, striking it with ion cannons that skittered and sparked across its massive hull.
"This is General Solo! General Antilles, you and our starfighter units protect Corellia from direct assault! All heavy ships close the range—stay tight and watch for those shipkillers! Teneniel, I want every one of your Battle Dragons in firing range, their firepower has the best chance of penetrating its shields and armor!"
"Copy, General," Wedge said. He flipped his X-wing and dove down through the hole in Corellia's shields, pursuing the TIEs on the way down. "All unengaged fighters, this is Antilles. Form up on me, we're going airbreathing."
Fel stuck on his heels at a perfect trailing distance. "I'm right behind you, Wedge."
Fel wasn't the only one. On his other flank was that first TIE droid, the one that had inexplicably shot its own as they had lined up shots on Wedge. They had no communication with the TIE droid, but the droid's shieldless hull was even more vulnerable than Wedge or Tel were, and Wedge could already see its hull gleaming from atmospheric stresses.
His X-wing rattled. Fighting above a planet was so much louder than fighting in space.
Coronet was already under attack. The vanguard TIE droids were running strafing runs on the city, lasers blasting through transparisteel and vehicles. Reminded of his time flying through the urban canyons of Coruscant, Wedge twisted his fighter sideways and straddled two buildings. He held his fire even as the TIE put green lasers through multiple buildings, waiting until they came out over the central city park—which Wedge dearly hoped would be evacuated.
Pulling the trigger, he struck the TIE with two laser blasts. It exploded, debris raining down below over the large, fountain-and-grass-filled space.
Wedge checked his HUD. There were dozens, if not hundreds, more TIEs on their way to Coronet alone, and even more headed to Corellia's other major cities.
But there were hundreds, if not thousands, of friendly starfighters on their way in, too.
Until Corellia, Areta, Wedge thought. Well, we're here now. It's not over yet.
Mara felt the Force around her, roiling and bubbling, a blazing inferno of light and life. At the center of all that churn was Silencer Station, which gathered the Force to itself, a heart of unnatural darkness at its core.
But she felt Luke's steady presence and held it like she would hold his hand. Iella was close by too, guiding the troopers through their final preparations before Roganda's predictable assault. She was a steely presence, her friend and—at least for the moment—her protector. The Stormtroopers were themselves oddly reassuring. TKR 330 guided his team with practiced discipline and confidence, a natural leader. He was familiar too, a reminder of the best troopers the Empire had produced, some of whom she had served with as Palpatine's Hand.
She did not have the luxury of focusing on any one of them, because she was working to cloak their collective presence. Roganda was surely searching for them and without Silencer Station's internal sensors, the droids had only their built-in equipment… and Roganda's own Force-inspired guidance. Mara needed to both deceive Roganda and lure Roganda, drawing her in for the inevitable confrontation, far away from where Luke and Roganda's wayward son worked to sabotage the very station they all occupied.
Through her shields, Mara leaked emotion. Fear and uncertainty projected through the Force—not too much, not enough that Roganda would be suspicious—as Mara focused on her own memories. She'd seen many faces filled with fear and uncertainty, mostly at the business end of Mara's blaster or lightsaber, but one in particular was both recent and vivid enough to be useful. Kyp Durron and Exar Kun, wrapped together into a single package, staring at her with wild eyes and a crackling, half-broken lightsaber. Kyp wasn't that far away himself—Mara was dimly aware of his presence at the battle above Corellia, probably in her old seat aboard the Wild Karrde—but for the moment it was her memory of him above Carida that gave her all the inspiration she needed to feed Roganda's overconfidence.
She focused on her memories of his petulance and his anger and his despair, leaking them out around her for a Force-strong person to sense… and cloaking Tyria or any rogue thoughts of explosives.
Things were falling apart.
Roganda Ismaren was flanked by her last loyal soldiers: DT model droids that had been constructed at her request, back when Silencer Station still responded to her orders. They remained loyal as ever and were a solid, heavy presence that gave her the ability to do violence.
But she found herself on edge, watching them. With the Station's betrayal, with Silencer-7's decision that it no longer owed her loyalty or allegiance, she was no longer sure the droids could be trusted. Would they turn on her too?
She had given Silencer-7 life. She had given Irek life. The two of them were always meant to be the security for her regime and future. They had always been such. She had conceived both with her future in mind, with the need to step over the barriers that had been presented to her rule. Now they had both betrayed her and to get Silencer-7 back, she had to start with Irek.
All around her, the station continued to rock and shake with impact and explosion damage. However the battle was going—and Roganda had paid it no mind at all, she did not have the attention to spare—Silencer Station was clearly taking damage, which just increased the imperative to get Irek back in line. She needed him… and he needed her, of course.
She let the DTs determine their preferred tactics. After a quick binary exchange which passed so quickly that the series of beeps and whistles sounded more like a screech, they divided themselves into groups. With the station's internal sensors still disabled—damn it, Irek!—she couldn't track them moment to moment as she would have preferred. Mara Jade was an Emperor's Hand, which meant she was too clever, too smart, and too dangerous for Roganda to do anything as stupid as use even encrypted communications.
It was an odd feeling, watching the droids divide and vanish down corridors, beginning their hunt. She no longer trusted them, and yet at the same time she needed them. She needed all of them. Droids had always been expendable resources, like Star Destroyers or stormtroopers. Each one could easily be replaced. But now, with Silencer-7 ignoring her, with Irek betraying her, she had no way to replace them. Every droid that was destroyed was one less droid that she had in her army.
Many years before—a lifetime, or maybe two—she had hidden in the ruins of the Antarian Ranger compound on Belsavis, panicking. She hadn't had anything to fight with, not a blaster or a quarterstaff and certainly not a lightsaber, and her allies had all been killed or captured. Imperials filled the sky above. Stormtroopers had pointed their weapons into every possible hiding place, searching for survivors… searching for her. She had been out of options.
Not again. She would recover Irek, she would see him crowned, he and Silencer-7 would be properly obedient, and then they would crush the Rebellion once and for all.
She would not panic. Not again. Never, ever again.
As if defying her, Silencer Station bucked yet again. This time the explosion felt dangerously close, the tremendous boom leaving her ears ringing. She closed her eyes, closing her senses off and concentrating with the Force instead. She reached out and took the power she needed, commanding it to serve, to be her eyes and ears, to inform her of the dangers that existed. It served, as it must, bending to her whims.
Danger, it whispered.
One of her DTs was beeping as she emerged from her brief communion. Final signals from droids, informing their command unit of their destruction, updated on her datapad. Corridors on her map blinked with red that indicated enemy contacts.
None of that was her immediate concern. Instead, Roganda reached around to her back and wrapped her slim hand around the metal haft of her preferred melee weapon. Not a lightsaber—because, unlike the Inquisitors, Roganda had never actually been a Jedi and had not brought her lightsaber with her to the Empire, and the Emperor had never given her one—but a custom electrostaff. Constructed of a phirk alloy to make it resistant to lightsabers, one end featured the traditional electrical capacitors.
The other was made of a special alloy meant for a different purpose.
"Behind us!" she shouted. Her droids turned in the direction she pointed the head of her staff just as the wall erupted with green light. A lightsaber carved through the thin metal, becoming a molten ring as its wielder twisted it in a small circle, and then the blade vanished as the new door puffed outward with a weak flash of telekinesis.
Roganda was not impressed.
Then, through the hole came a thermal detonator.
Roganda reacted faster than the droids. She caught the detonator with the Force and flung it away down the corridor. The explosion still knocked her off her feet, flinging her sideways and slamming her shoulder into the wall. Her droids, heavier and more solidly set, took it better.
The corridor started to fill with smoke; either the detonator had been meant for that purpose or it had set something on fire. Either way, Roganda's senses were still dulled as her droids fired blasters at the wall, peppering it with heavy fire. Each bolt of red energy coasted through the thickening smoke—
Someone started firing back. Roganda spun, avoiding the blaster fire and ducking behind one of her DTs, using the droid as a shield. The droid was programmed to serve exactly that function and did so obediently and without complaint—unlike Irek—but it took several blaster shots. Still shooting, it used its heavy bulk to protect Roganda, giving her cover.
Distantly she heard more explosions. Her other droids had begun their battle against her enemies.
Roganda considered her options. The lightsaber wielder was probably Jade…
Out of the smoke, covered by a Stormtrooper whose armor had been scorched by multiple blaster shots, appeared the Ranger she had briefly fought on Coruscant. The neophyte Jedi held a green lightsaber, matched by the green of her eyes. Dirty blonde hair dark from the smoke and lack of lighting was pulled back in a tight bun that bobbed as the Ranger swirled her lightsaber, deflecting blaster fire. She wasn't particularly skilled at it—a real Jedi would have been better at deflecting blaster fire back, not just away—but she moved well and confidently.
Her DT shield took four quick blaster shots from the side. A second Stormtrooper had flanked her and shot out the droid's left leg; as it toppled over it killed the Stormtrooper with a single well-placed shot, then Tyria swept her blade through it, leaving it permanently dismembered.
Tyria and Roganda both charged. Tyria slid forward, dropping down and swinging upwards, her green saber carving through the midsection of Roganda's other DT. The droid made a frustrated beeping sound as it split in half.
Roganda lunged with her electrostaff, jabbing it into the midsection of the stormtrooper with Tyria. Channeling her memories of Belsavis, the memories she still held so close of stormtroopers brutalizing the camp and murdering the last people she had truly considered friends, she unleashed her hatred in a single burst of electricity. The electrostaff erupted in blue fire, cackling and spitting electricity, the burst coruscating around and through the trooper.
He fell at her feet, either unconscious or dead, his chest smoking.
She turned towards Tyria, Force lightning cackling through the head of her electrostaff. How dare this whelp get in her way? How dare she challenge her better! The Rangers had served, not led. They did what they were told, as they ought.
Through the Force, she could feel an echoing outrage from Tyria. "I know who taught you that!" The Ranger lifted her lightsaber, pointing it at Roganda. "They died to save you!" Tyria accused.
Roganda smiled. She could remember the Rangers, their names and faces. They had taught her to fight with a mundane quarterstaff when lightsabers had been deemed too conspicuous. They had worked hard to teach her hand to hand combat, to teach her infiltration and exfiltration.
And Tyria was right. They had died, all of them. Because to the Emperor, they were beneath notice. They did not even qualify as nuisances. The Rangers and their dedication to the Jedi way were simply and indisputably inferior. The Emperor had not chosen any of them, after all.
"Yes dear," she agreed. "So will you."
Roganda's combat style was familiar. Too familiar.
There had been no opportunity for Tyria to evaluate Roganda's actual fighting style during their encounter on Coruscant. That fight had begun and ended so quickly that Tyria had barely registered that they were even in a fight. Roganda had slipped through Tyria's guard so quickly, so thoroughly, and so without effort, that it wasn't until much later that Tyria had been able to take time to think about her performance.
Now, though, Tyria was the one who had initiated this fight… she was more prepared, and she had momentum. As she watched, Roganda spun her electrostaff confidently, whirling it between each hand, then holding it in a very familiar guard stance. She too had been trained by the Antarian Rangers, after all. The quarterstaff wasn't a weapon that the Rangers used often in actual fights, but it was a traditional training weapon and some Rangers had continued to use them even well after training.
Roganda's quarterstaff was anything but typical, however. One end of it blazed with blue electricity, sparking and sputtering, spitting out sparks. The other was solid, seemingly weighted to even out the weapon, heftier than the slimmer core of the weapon that Roganda gripped—
The fight was, like their last one, almost over before it began. Roganda swung the quarterstaff towards her, unleashing a furious shout, and from the end of the staff fired a burst of lightning. The entire staff seemed to glimmer blue as the Force-lightning was channeled around and through it, and Roganda unleashed it like a blaster bolt at Tyria. On the balls of her feet and ready for a melee attack, the ranged strike was unexpected; her skin blistered as she dodged to the side, rolling up onto her feet. Roganda was already coming towards her, the blunt end of the staff swinging towards Tyria's head. Some instinct, some guidance from the Force told Tyria not to try to block using her saber, so instead she dodged a second time, rolling back the way she had come originally. She swung the saber low at Roganda's feet but the Emperor's Hand simply leapt over the blade and brought the heavy end of the staff down towards Tyria's head. She lifted the saber up and blocked the blow.
For about a second the lightsaber and the electrostaff cackled at their point of impact. The saber burned into the alloy, leaving a shallow cut in the material… and then made a screeching sound of mechanical failure and sputtered out of existence in her hand.
Only Ranger instincts saved her from the metal finishing its fall and slammed into her shoulder. She twisted and the blunt end of the staff struck the ground instead, the metal alloy revealing itself to be rather brittle as jagged shards splintered in every direction at the impact. Tyria jumped backwards and re-ignited her lightsaber at the same instant, the beam springing back to life almost reluctantly, just in time to block a bolt of lightning which swirled around her now-solid green blade.
It didn't matter. She was on her back leg, out of tempo, and Roganda had all the momentum. The staff swirled at her, alternately challenging her with the blunt end or the end that spewed Force-inspired electric blasts. She dodged the one and blocked the other, but the strikes came one after another, so quickly that she was having trouble keeping up! The Force was strong in her enemy—stronger than it was in her, to be sure—and the only thing keeping her going, keeping her on her feet, was her training as a Ranger, as a New Republic solider, as one of the fabled members of Wraith Squadron, and the determination to hold on, to keep fighting—
The blunt end of the weapon came too quickly. In desperation Tyria blocked it with her blade, the weapon carving through some more of the heavy end of the electrostaff, and then once again sputtering out of existence. The hum of her blade vanished and only the cackling static of the electrostaff remained.
The heavy, cortosis-alloy end of Roganda's electrostaff slammed into the Ranger's shoulder. The Ranger absorbed the blow with impressive fortitude, throwing herself to the side to avoid the killing blow from the electric end. Roganda spun the electrostaff, pointing the electric end at the fallen, bloodied Ranger.
She had missed out on the satisfaction of killing Jedi during her attack on the Consulate. There had been no time to spend, no opportunity to savor—
There was neither time nor opportunity this time, either. Roganda's electrostaff swiveled away from the Ranger down the corridor. Tapping into the Force, demanding its power and seizing it for herself, she immersed herself in her rage and her hatred and unleashed it. Her staff illuminated blue, the head erupting and sizzling and then firing, the concentrated bolt of Force lightning filling the darkened corridor with coruscating blue light that Mara Jade caught on her lightsaber with ease.
Roganda brought the lightning end of her electrostaff down on the Ranger, but the Ranger had recovered enough to reignite her own blade and block the blow. Roganda would have finished her, but Jade, the traitor, had a ranged weapon of her own and Roganda was forced to lift her hand and deflect the bolt away. The Ranger stumbled out of reach, collapsing near the limp form of one of her Stormtrooper escorts, breathing shallow and shocky.
Still clad in the elite armor of the Emperor's hand, the redheaded traitor stepped in front of her, her lightsaber held up in a simple guard.
"Where is my son!" Roganda hissed at the false Hand.
Green eyes flicked towards the Ranger. Roganda could see in the other Hand's expression relief that Tyria wasn't dead, which just made her wish she'd had time to finish the job before her arrival—
A sharp, close explosion crumped its way through the hallway, and then another. Roganda could hear the distant sound of blaster fire, and her datapad beeped repeatedly, updating her as her small army of DTs continued its dispersed engagement with the enemy. A small part of her could almost feel the number of droids at her disposal ticking down, the last vestiges of her power eroding away…
"Where… is my son?!" Roganda repeated, feeling her rage cackling at her fingertips, her electrostaff sparking in response to her anger.
Jade just rolled her eyes and raised her saber. "As a very dear friend would say, He isn't here, your worshipfulness. But let's face it. You don't really care," Mara said finally, her lightsaber humming, blue blade prepared to intercept Roganda's Force lightning. "If you did, he wouldn't want to get away from you so much."
Roganda's electrostaff flared to life and she swung it at the other woman, using its length to go for a powerful blow. Jade simply took a step back and let Roganda's swing flow through open air. Roganda spun her weapon to bring the cortosis end of the staff up to block Mara's returning strike, but none came.
"It's the height of cowardice to stand behind your son and demand that he rule an Empire so you can feel important."
Roganda sneered. "I'm certain your parents had lofty goals for you as well, Jade. Pity they didn't stay alive long enough for you to disappoint them."
"Is that what you are, Roganda? Disappointed? Or are you just now realizing that Irek was more than an investment. That he's an actual person with his own wants and needs that you've never once cared about?"
Roganda felt the air around her start to swirl as she channeled all her outrage at the traitor's insolence into her fingertips and into her electrostaff. She could feel the presence of Luke Skywalker, neither close nor far away, constantly intermingled with her adversary. She could almost hear their telepathic communications… but Roganda had never been as skilled at telepathy as Jade had reportedly been. Irek was close, he was so close, and she was running out of time.
It was time to press the attack, and Roganda Ismaren gathered every erg of hatred and experience she had, raised her staff high, and flowed forward into a new strike.