Victory's Price (Star Wars)

by Alexander Freed

  Not much different than he’d done on Cerberon, in the end. He’d risked his life for strangers there, too.

  Watch your instincts, Tensent. Watch them closely.

  When he’d steadied, he made his way over to Stornvein, who was speaking into a wall comm. The man held up a hand to ask for silence, said a few last words into the comm Nath couldn’t make out, then turned to face Nath. “Bridge says there’s no starfighter presence out there. Just a load of buzz droids waiting like a minefield.”

  “Ain’t that a relief?” Nath snorted. “How many are we talking about?”

  “Not sure—we lost contact before I could ask.”

  Experience told Nath that even a dozen sabotage droids would suffice to sever internal communications, cut life support, and—given enough time—detonate the main reactor. But most models weren’t very bright: They were saws and blowtorches on legs, and they’d spend a while ripping apart the Star Destroyer compartment by compartment, suffocating much of the crew before hitting vital systems.

  Nath felt his priorities shift like tumblers in a lock.

  “I’d head for the water tanks if I were you,” he told Stornvein. “Lots of space, low-priority target, pretty far from the outer hull. Move fast, because that won’t be the only blast door sealing up.”

  “What about you?” the man asked.

  “I’m off to engineering. Someone ought to keep an eye on the hypermatter annihilator.”

  He took long strides, not quite jogging—he’d need his energy soon, especially if the turbolifts were offline. T5 rolled behind him in silence until they turned a corner; a moment later the droid issued an inquisitive series of beeps.

  Nath smirked, sparing T5 a glance. “Of course not. The engineers have blasters; time they learned to use them. We’re—well, someone has to check on that boy of yours.”

  T5 chimed with a sound of determination.

  Nath had been avoiding his troubles. Now he was going to find Wyl Lark after all.

  CHAPTER 4

  LOVE SONGS OF THE KORTATKA RIVER LANDS

  I

  The sun rose over the carbon-scored horizon of the Yadeez’s hull. The ship floated over a sallow sea of mist that rapidly burned away in the dawn’s light to reveal lush jungle far below—a nameless jungle unmarked on the galaxy’s maps, which Yrica Quell suspected had never before been viewed by human eyes. Kneeling on the hull plating, she yearned to remove her suit’s cumbersome helmet, to see the planet without polarized visor and interposed readouts. She wanted to drop over the side and stay in that strange wilderness forever.

  She did not remove her helmet or leap from the ship. Nor did she rush to return to work. The repairs to the aft scanner could wait. She listened to her breathing, felt the heat of the sun as her suit scrambled to adapt to the changing temperature, and watched shadows slip through the green.

  This was why she was out there, she told herself. To be away from the others. To let her mind reset. To remember who she was.

  Just a bit longer.

  Just a few more minutes. Then you finish. Then you go back.

  The suit’s cooling units snapped to full power and she gasped as her arms turned icy from the elbows down. Her comm unit crackled to life as she shook off the prickling numbness.

  “Do you need assistance?” Colonel Keize asked.

  The suit indicated the call’s point of origin. Quell turned her head and saw a second suit twenty meters behind her, near the hatch leading into the bulk freighter’s air lock. The suit’s owner approached with lumbering strides imposed by magnetic boots.

  “I’m all right,” Quell said. “I’ll be another half hour. Maybe a few minutes more.”

  The suit continued its approach. Sunlight glanced off its visor like a deflected blaster bolt—like the occupant was invincible, divine. “Squadron Three is in-system,” Keize said. “Once they’re aboard we’ll jump to lightspeed. No delays.”

  Quell held her gaze on the suit a moment longer, then returned to the innards of the aft scanner. She’d spent half her shift opening the damaged casing, and had only just begun tracing the short that had brought her outside.

  “I’ll get it done,” she said. “The squadron find anything?” She tried to recall details of Captain Wisp’s mission. Rearguard patrol operation, but Quell had been told little beyond that.

  “We have pursuit. General Syndulla is on our trail again,” Keize said.

  Quell halted, then shifted to look behind her. Keize stood no more than a meter away. “General Syndulla? You’re sure?”

  The arctic cooling of the suit seemed insufficient. She wanted to shake off the heat and sweat, but she held still.

  “New command ship, of course—we destroyed the last at Cerberon—but I am sure.” Magnetized steps brought him to Quell’s side. “We dropped the sabotage droids. They’ve made contact, and should buy us the time we need.”

  Questions flashed through her mind, and she dismissed them one by one: How can you know it’s her? How much damage have the droids done? She finally reached a question that seemed safe: “You don’t intend to engage?”

  “No. More than a few of us bear a grudge against Syndulla and her pilots. Many of our dead are dead because of her. But we have another mission, and now is not the time.”

  “There will be a time, though.”

  “Now that we’ve confirmed her pursuit? Yes.”

  She wanted to ask: Why does none of this surprise you? She tasted the words, felt how they might play on her lips. Had she shown too much interest already? Not enough? Should she be looking for vengeance for pilots whom she might’ve killed herself?

  She’d told Keize she had heard mention of Syndulla during her interrogations at Traitor’s Remorse—that she understood the general had taken the lead in Shadow Wing’s pursuit, but that they’d never met. It had seemed like a safe lie.

  “You didn’t need to come out here to tell me that,” she said. It was easier than saying anything else.

  “I thought I’d assist, as I mentioned. I was available, and—” Keize gestured toward the artificial horizon as he knelt beside the scanner casing. “—it’s a remarkable view.”

  “Yes,” she said, and they began to work.

  She summarized her findings and diagnosis so far: The old insulation was crumbling, and Shadow Wing had run the scanner far longer than its specifications permitted. Keize asked questions but followed her lead as she began peeling melted plastoid and tearing out wiring. He passed her tools, anticipated her needs, and acted as a second set of hands without ego.

  He was an able mechanic. He was easy to work with. Talking with him—letting her guard down—was only natural.

  “Have you met the newcomers from Fedovoi End?” Keize asked as he deftly compressed flexible tubing inside a rusted cylinder. “Major Njock is unusual. Claims to have never been through officer school; came up from sergeant through field commissions and is terribly proud of it, though there are holes in his story. He says he vigorously protested the Yomo Council’s split with the Empire.”

  “He would, though, wouldn’t he?” Quell said. “No, I haven’t met them.”

  “If you care to socialize, do it soon. Most of them will go to the fleet rendezvous.”

  “I’ll keep it in mind.” Light flashed and her visor repolarized as a conduit discharged. “We’re not recruiting them?”

  “We’ll keep some of the matériel. They’re not who we need, though—we knew that going in.” He laughed softly. “I’m not sure the whole planet had what we need.”

  “Maybe the next planet, then,” Quell said. Keize laughed more boldly. She’d been joking, but she hadn’t expected the reaction.

  He’d laughed so rarely before Nacronis. The year since Endor had changed him.

  The conversation paused as
they attached replacement wiring and sprayed insulating foam. It occurred to Quell that her relationship with Keize had changed as well, and that maybe the man was the same as always; it was the two of them together that was different.

  “Every planet we visit could surrender in its entirety,” Keize resumed as if they hadn’t paused. “Even then, I expect it would be too late to make a difference.”

  “Sir?” She couldn’t see his expression with his helmet turned.

  “Consider the early days after Endor,” he said. “Imagine if we had responded differently—if the chain of command had remained intact despite the Emperor’s demise. The Death Star was lost along with a portion of the fleet, but orders continued to flow to the planetary garrisons. What would’ve happened?”

  “I don’t know. I’m not a strategist.” She gestured for him to secure a loose cluster of wires, and he did so.

  “It’s a hypothetical, Lieutenant. There are no consequences for guessing wrong.”

  She wanted to push back. She wanted to fight the ease of his voice. The part of her that was a soldier or a frightened child was certain Keize was setting a trap.

  “We would’ve had the advantage,” she said. “We would’ve seen civilian uprisings on a few hundred worlds, but early action could’ve stopped most before they grew. Maybe—” Would Operation Cinder still have happened? “Maybe the rebels seize a sliver of the Inner Rim, establish a strong claim. We hold the rest of our territory. Long-term, I don’t know.”

  “Reasonable enough. Not the best-case scenario but not the worst, either. Now—suppose the first six weeks after Endor go unchanged from the world we know, but someone takes unambiguous command of Imperial forces after. There’s no time for schism, no real power grabs. Worlds like Fedovoi End and Gerrenthum pledge allegiance to a restored Imperial High Command. What changes?”

  She realized he wanted something, but she couldn’t determine what—couldn’t drag it into the light of reason. She permitted herself to answer truthfully. “I think very little changes. The logistical network is already broken. The rebels are better at guerrilla tactics than we are, and our fleets are too spread out to take back any of the systems lost in those first six weeks. You can’t heal a wound that deep.”

  “I expect you’re right,” Keize said.

  A memory struck her, more vivid than the wires under her fingertips. “You told me on Nacronis,” she said. “ ‘The Empire’s not going to pull together and there’s not going to be another Emperor. That was clear a day after Endor.’ ”

  “I did say that, or something like it. I wanted to see if your analysis was any different now.” She still couldn’t see his face but she could hear the smile. “I was building to something, Lieutenant. Don’t deny me the pleasure of the leisurely stroll.”

  This time her own laugh surprised her. “Understood, sir. Go on.”

  “No, it’s all right—” The wiring sparked again. Both of them froze, and Keize adjusted the position of a power feed with deliberate care. He looked to her with concern, eyes scanning her suit for damage before he spoke again.

  “I’ve been thinking about what my superiors may be planning,” he said. “What the fleet in the Western Reaches is preparing for while we exact…punishment. They claim there’s yet a chance for victory over the Rebellion.”

  “How?”

  He shrugged. It was a small motion inside his suit, but she saw it. “I’m not privy to particulars, nor am I especially interested. I imagine they’ll attempt to draw the enemy into one final battle under favorable conditions.”

  She turned her eyes away. “And you’re not interested because—”

  “Because the best-case scenario today is very different than it was a year ago. Imagine, Lieutenant, that we deliver a massive blow to the enemy fleet and suffer minimal losses to our own. Imagine the New Republic is forced to consolidate, leaving—what? A sliver of Imperial space in the Western Reaches, as the rebels might have secured if we’d reacted with unity after Endor?” There was no passion or urgency in his voice. He laid it out with the same ease he’d maintained throughout the conversation.

  She thought it over. “Coruscant is still under our control. If the New Republic fleet is weakened, Imperial forces could punch through to the capital. Build out from there, occupy a wedge of space along one of the major hyperlanes.”

  “That is an optimistic outlook. All right—suppose it’s possible. What do you imagine that Empire looks like?”

  “Meaning?”

  “Culturally. An Empire that survived this past year—an Empire that struggled, that carried out two Operation Cinders, that endured endless hardship to secure one wedge of the galaxy—does it rise to the heights we always aspired to? Is it a place of committed order and stability, even at the cost of certain liberties? Do its leaders value merit and honor—at least in words, if not in deeds?”

  She should’ve felt chilled. Instead she laughed again, with barely a trace of bitterness. “Not after what we’ve done,” she said, but Keize gestured for her to continue and she attempted to sober herself. “Even if we secure a territory, there would still be resistance. We’d be putting down rebellions forever, fighting back anarchy.”

  How many more examples would be made? How many Operation Cinders?

  She nearly laughed once more.

  “We would become our worst selves—paranoid and violent, and dedicated to justifying that paranoia and violence,” Keize said, and together they began to reaffix the casing to the scanner array. “An Empire so ideologically feeble is no longer worth preserving.”

  He didn’t ask if she agreed, and she didn’t volunteer her opinion.

  “Yet in the more likely event that we lose this war,” he went on, “what becomes of any of us? You said yourself that the rebels can’t judge their enemies fairly, and any Imperial who fights today surely numbers among the most terrible of those enemies. There will be no forgiveness—not for soldiers who murdered Fedovoi End; nor for those who surrendered to us and reaffirmed their loyalty to the true Empire; nor for those who fought and fled and fought these many months for lack of anywhere else to go.”

  The casing locked in place. Keize rested a gloved hand on the array and turned to Quell, the ease gone and replaced by steel. “That is why I continue to fight. Because to accept defeat is to sacrifice every soldier who remains alive at the altar of rebel justice. You and I have both seen what happens to those who seek another path. We both know the people here have no choice.”

  “Do they know that?” she asked. “That win or lose, we’re all doomed?”

  “No,” Keize said, and smiled darkly as they stood. “Some, perhaps. For others…I think it would make no difference, except to crush what spirit remains.”

  He gestured and they walked side by side, magnetically locked to the hull of the Yadeez with the jungle kilometers below. “I will do everything I can to save them,” he said, as if it were fact and not an oath. “Let the Empire fall, but not its soldiers. I will save them.”

  Why are you telling me this? she wanted to ask.

  Yet she knew the answer.

  Keize descended through the hatch first. She lingered above, looking at the sun and the stars and the jungle. She heard his voice over the comm—“Take a moment before we jump to lightspeed”—and felt his presence vanish.

  He was asking for her help. He wanted her to save Shadow Wing because he believed she understood.

  She did understand. It pained her to admire Soran Keize when she had come such a long way to betray him to the New Republic.

  * * *

  —

  There were times Quell nearly forgot her mission and felt her past and vows subsumed by the machinery of the 204th. Exhaustion was one factor—it was rare she slept a full night or had more than half an hour free to wash and scarf up meals—but fami
liarity was another. She’d spent years serving the Empire; too quickly, her time in the New Republic was beginning to feel like a dream.

  But the memories, no matter how dim, were not gone. In Cerberon she’d come to understand that there was nothing for her in the New Republic: that regardless of whether her squadron forgave her (they likely wouldn’t), she would be tried and punished for her crimes. Her life would end, perhaps deservedly so—but submitting to her guilt served no one when there was work yet to do.

  Caern Adan had advised her to move forward past her guilt and do what good she could for the galaxy. That remained her task.

  Her mornings and evenings were spent assisting the ground crews and the engineers, desperately attempting to keep the Yadeez and its fighters in working order. The bulk freighter was not a Star Destroyer, and its components were prone to malfunctioning regularly and (at times) explosively. The lessons of her teenage years served Quell well: She’d never worked on a non-Imperial ship as large as the Yadeez, but she knew enough to never use ROMStat compressors in a Merkuni propulsion unit—wisdom that eluded her colleagues who’d worked with parts only from Imperial manufacturers. The TIEs were a separate challenge—they were barely Imperial anymore, repaired with salvaged parts and armed with black-market munitions. Quell had spent twenty-seven hours straight working with a crew to retrofit Squadron Three’s ships for hyperspace docking rings they’d found in a Clone Wars–era supply cache; the squadron had lightspeed capability now, and it was almost reliable.

  Afternoons she had other duties. Keize had asked her to assess and train the new pilots from the worlds they burned. Quell interviewed them, assembled profiles, and put them through drills basic enough to give no excuse for failure. She wasn’t sure why Keize had selected her for this duty—he couldn’t possibly have known about her time running Alphabet through simulations. But she wrote recommendations for the squadron commanders and allowed others to make the final decision as to who was worthy of joining Shadow Wing.