by Troy Denning
A burst of orange flashed at the far edge of the asteroid, and Jaina looked across the dusty plain to find the blue flicker of a blastboat being chased skyward by a funnel-shaped cloud of flame, vapor, and tumbling specks. Having seen similar eruptions more times than she cared to remember, she guessed that the assault on the command bunker had actually overloaded the shields and shattered the observation dome. If that did not fix Caedus’s attention on Luke and her parents, nothing would.
Jaina snapped her lightsaber off its magclamp and turned back to the doomed gun crew. She had only about six minutes of good air left—half that if she exerted herself in a fight—so that ruled out any thought of waiting until she could just slip past. She would have to take them all out before they could report what was happening—ideally, before they realized what was happening.
Twelve stormtroopers, one Jedi assassin in a damaged dropsuit, three seconds to do the job. No problem.
Jaina primed the mini cannon in the dropsuit’s left arm, then focused her attention on the dust caps dangling from thin cords at the ends of the FlakBlaster’s emitter nozzles. They were probably the simplest technology on the weapon, just shrinlasti socks designed to seal out dirt, moisture, and anything else that might get down the barrels during storage or transport. But they were also electrical nonconductors—to prevent static buildup—which meant the magnetic sleeves that encased the plasma packets as they raced up the barrel would disintegrate on contact.
Confident that Caedus would be too busy worrying about Luke and her parents to sense what she was doing, Jaina used the Force to grab three dust caps—all she could control at once—and slip them over their emitter nozzles.
The gun commander cocked his helmet and just seemed to stare at the barrel ends in disbelief. The gas chief and his tank changer spun away and dived for cover, distracting the master engineer, who turned toward them instead of keeping his attention fixed on the output gauges and barrel monitors that might have saved them all.
The master engineer was still turning when the first plasma packets reached the dust caps. The three emitter nozzles vanished in an eye-blistering flash; then the plasma packets already ascending the barrels also began to disintegrate, triggering a chain of ever-growing secondary explosions that engulfed the gun in milliseconds. The entire gun crew disappeared beneath a boiling dome of white fire.
A couple of seconds later the FlakBlaster’s defensive shields finally came down. What looked like a miniature solar flare went arcing out over the asteroid … then liquefied gas began to boil from damaged neurodium canisters, expanding into a thick, emerald fog.
Jaina sprang down into the fog, using the Force to descend the slope in a single leap. She landed a few meters behind the ring of jagged, blue-glowing metal that had once been the FlakBlaster. Knowing that any survivors would be inside the hangar, where the power master and his assistant had positioned their fusion core, she raced into the hangar—and collided headlong with a stormtrooper rushing out to aid his companions.
Being the smaller one, Jaina found herself accelerating backward with the stomach-churning abruptness possible solely in low gravity. Fortunately, she was the only one expecting a fight, so she had time to reach out with the Force and pull the stormtrooper along. He was so surprised and confused that he did not reach for his blaster holster until he was chest-plate-to-chest-plate with Jaina, and by then she had the hilt of her lightsaber jammed against his ribs. She ignited the blade and stirred it around to be certain of a quick kill.
The life left him in a red puff of decompression. Jaina rolled him away from her, then used her still-functional left-side maneuvering jet to bring herself under control. A pair of armored figures emerged from the hangar entrance, looking like armored ghosts as they came rushing through the fog carrying medkits and emergency life-support packs. Jaina raised her arm and ran a line of cannon bolts across their faceplates, reducing their helmets to balls of red mist before they had any hope of reporting her presence.
When no more crew emerged from the hangar, Jaina extended her Force awareness just far enough to confirm that there were no survivors, then quickly shut it down again. She was probably being somewhat overcautious, but after hearing Ben describe some of the things Caedus could do with the Force, she saw no reason to take chances.
Trying not to think about the death she had just wrought, Jaina slipped into the hangar and went straight to the air lock. Of course, there was a security pad in the center of the hatch. Despite her scrubber problem, she resisted the temptation to retrieve the magnetic key from the gun commander. That would create a record of the door opening after the explosion had killed him. Instead, she removed an automatic lock slicer from her belt and affixed it to the security pad.
A red flash announced that it had made contact with the security system. Leaving it there to do its work, Jaina returned to the fusion core and reversed the sensor feeds on the cooling valves, then disabled all eight safety shutoffs. The core temperature began to climb slowly. She slid the output switch to three-quarters, which would allow her about five minutes to clear the area before the reactor blew and destroyed all evidence of her attack on the gun emplacement.
By the time Jaina returned to the hatch, the automated slicer was flashing double green to indicate that it had defeated the security system and erased all traces of the breach. She returned the slicer to her equipment belt, then opened the hatch, stepped into the air lock—and felt her spine tingling beneath someone’s gaze. Jaina leapt to one side of the air lock and slapped the SECURE pad, then spun around.
Through the closing hatch, she glimpsed a line of figures entering the hangar. Armored in colorful Mandalorian beskar’gam, they were moving quickly but cautiously, covering one another as they crossed the threshold, then shining their sleeve lamps into every dark corner to ensure there were no stormtroopers hiding in ambush.
The smart thing would have been to let the hatch close and jam the controls, leaving the entire squad to die when the fusion core overheated. That was what Fett would have done, and probably most of the Mandalorians in the squad as well. But Jaina could not let herself become quite that ruthless. The Mandalorians were hardly allies, but they weren’t foes yet, either, and that meant she couldn’t go around killing them because their presence happened to be inconvenient.
Besides, the leader was a female in familiar yellow-orange armor with gold sigils. And—assuming Jaina was the lucky one who walked away from the fight with her brother—the last thing she wanted was to have Boba Fett after her for letting his granddaughter die.
An orange beacon flashed on Jaina’s head-up display, warning her that her air scrubbers had failed. Now she was rebreathing her own exhalations. Instantly, she began to feel a little queasy, but she suspected the sensation was more psychological than physical. Even filled with air that she had already breathed once, the dropsuit contained enough oxygen to keep her conscious for two or three more minutes.
Jaina reopened the hatch and waved an admonishing finger at the two commandos who swung their blasters toward her, then used hand signals to explain that the fusion core was rigged to blow. The Mandalorians gave up their search, and the first three crowded into the air lock.
As they waited for the chamber to pressurize, an anger verging on harmful intent began to boil into the Force. Jaina pretended not to notice and simply stared at the commando across from her, a broad-shouldered titan in a red helmet and black armor. Jaina was pretty sure he was Vatok Tawr, a talented fighter as quick as he was strong, with a ready smile and a quiet manner that seemed at odds with his rawboned cheeks and fist-flattened nose. She had trained against him several times.
The green glow of the equal-pressure light finally filled the air lock chamber, not a moment too soon for Jaina. Her head was starting to feel light, and she had to fight her own involuntary reflexes to keep from breathing too fast. She slapped the control pad and stepped through the internal hatch first, presenting her back to the Mandalorians as she opened her fac
eplate for a moment and gulped down several sweet breaths of dank, musty air.
Beyond the hatchway was a small marshaling vestibule where groups could assemble before and after they had passed through the air lock. Jaina Force-flashed the vidcam monitoring the area, then—knowing that the entire area would be obliterated when the fusion core detonated—simply blasted the security cam apart. As it dribbled to the floor in pieces, she crossed the vestibule and peered down a long, straight tunnel that descended toward the heart of the asteroid. It remained as empty as her inspection tour with Fett had led her to expect.
Jaina turned back to find Mirta and a Mandalorian male she did not know—at least judging by his blue helmet and beskar’gam—standing shoulder-to-shoulder behind her. Their G-10 power blasters were not pointed at her, but they weren’t really pointed anywhere else, either. Vatok stood behind them, towering over the pair almost like a Wookiee.
“I’m surprised you warned us,” Mirta said. “That’s not too bright, after what your uncle pulled up there.”
“You don’t like the door charge, don’t crash the party,” Jaina said. “We didn’t invite you.”
“But you knew we were coming,” the third Mandalorian said. “And you set us up.”
“And Fett knew we were coming,” Jaina said. She spread the bulky arms of her dropsuit in a sort of shrug. “Galaxy’s a cold place, Blue. Get used to it.”
A snicker sounded inside Vatok’s helmet, and Jaina instantly felt an aura of general hostility radiate outward from Blue. She made a mental note to keep him where she could see him, then turned back to Mirta.
“What are you doing here, anyway?” she asked. “I know Fett didn’t send you to help me.”
“How bad you want to die, Jedi?” Blue asked. “Keep asking questions—”
“It’s okay, Roegr.” Mirta disconnected her helmet from its vac suit connectors, then took it off and ran a gloved hand through her curly brown hair. “Jedi Solo is going to be helping us with the Moffs.”
Jaina cocked her brow. “Sorry to disappoint you, but I have other plans this trip.”
“Plans can be adjusted.” This from Vatok. “We’re down two-thirds of our strike team. A Mando-trained Jedi might take a little sting out of that.”
Jaina’s heart sank. Two-thirds of the strike team; that was probably twelve or fifteen Mandalorians—some of them people she likely knew. Then a sad thought occurred to her, and she turned back to Mirta.
“Ghes?” she asked.
Mirta’s eyes turned glassy, and she quickly slipped her helmet back on.
“He’ll make it,” she said, “if there’s enough left of our Tra’kad to get past the Imperials.”
“There will be,” Jaina assured her. It had been less than a month since she had been on Mandalore drinking at the wedding of Mirta Gev and Ghes Orade, and she had never seen two people so much in love—aside from her parents, of course. “You can’t stop a Tra’kad.”
“Really?” Roegr retorted. “Tell that to my brother.”
Jaina went from feeling sorry for Mirta to remembering that compassion was a weakness—and one she could not allow any of the Mandalorians to prey upon.
“I’m sorry for your loss, Roegr.” Jaina turned back to Mirta. “But let’s just settle for staying out of each other’s way. I’m not going to help you take out the Moffs.”
“Actually,” Mirta said, “you are.”
She reached for her equipment pouch—and found her hand suddenly frozen in midair by the Force.
“You really don’t think I’m going to let you pull a thermal detonator, do you?” Jaina asked. “That trick’s as old as my mother.”
“I’m just trying to show you something,” Mirta said. “Something that will make you want to help us.”
“I really doubt that’s possible.” When Jaina sensed no dishonesty in Mirta’s presence, she released her Force grasp and said, “But go ahead and try.”
“You Jedi.” Mirta pulled a small vidreceiver from her pouch, then activated it and punched in a few codes. After a moment, she smiled and turned the vidreceiver so Jaina could see it. “Always underestimating Mandalorians.”
The display was small, the image it showed even smaller, and it took Jaina a moment to make out what she was seeing. Even then, she did not quite believe her eyes.
The screen showed one of the smooth-polished cells that passed for VIP quarters in Nickel One. Seated in the corner, slumped in a large flowform chair with one hand raised toward his brow and his yellow eyes focused vacantly on the floor, was the brooding, dark-cloaked figure of her brother.
Darth Caedus—alone, deep in meditation, and vulnerable.
Jaina understood almost instantly. “The preparations!” She looked up at Mirta. “That’s what Fett was doing when I left—tapping into the surveillance system.”
“Not tapping.” There was a note of jolly good humor to Vatok’s correction. “Taking.”
Mirta continued to hold the vidreceiver, allowing Jaina to study the image as long as she liked. It was hard to believe it might be so easy—that all she had to do was watch her brother’s cell until he was meditating or sleeping or doing any of a dozen other things that would leave him vulnerable.
And of course, it would never be quite that easy. Her brother would feel her coming, or sense that he was in danger, or just change locations unexpectedly.
But it was a start.
“Okay,” Jaina said, “maybe I do want to help you. But we have to do it my way, or you’re on your own.”
“As long as your way includes killing the Moffs, sure,” replied Mirta. “We don’t mind following a Jedi Knight. They used to make good generals, after all.”
Jaina didn’t believe her, of course—but it was good enough for now.
Hey, Tenel Ka—you know why wampas have such long arms? Because their hands are so far from their face!
—Jacen Solo, age 14
Even with a comm feed into Nickel One’s surveillance system and help from the Verpine resistance network, the trip down from the surface had been one nerve-racking dash after another. Jaina and the Mandalorians were literally steaming sweat into the closed confines of their makeshift observation post inside the Data Assimilation Chamber, and the air inside had grown as muggy as it was sour. The Verpine technicians kept coming over to ask the humans to stop perspiring so heavily, explaining that the extra humidity would soon begin to wreak havoc with the delicate circuitry of the VerpiTron cyberbrains that were streaming updates to the giant holodisplays out in the Strategic Planning Forum.
When that happened, Jaina knew, Mirta would strike whether or not they knew Caedus’s location. Nearly the entire Moff Council was gathered in the Strategic Planning Forum, discussing the imminent arrival of the fleets of Admirals Daala and Niathal, and no Mandalorian would let pass an opportunity to eliminate so many targets at once.
Jaina finished scrolling through the feeds on her borrowed vidreceiver, then shook her head in disgust. There had been no sign of her brother in any of the monitored chambers, no hint that he had even passed down one of the asteroid’s spotless tunnels. Nickel One’s security system had simply lost track of him.
Jaina glanced over and found an image of the Strategic Planning Forum on the display of Mirta’s vidreceiver. Most of the small screen was filled with an image of the holodisplays the Moffs were studying, so that the room looked like a tiny yellow dot—representing the system’s sun—surrounded by an inner ring of floating stones—the Roche asteroid field, depicted far larger than true scale. In front of the hologram, twenty speck-sized humans sat clustered together near the bottom of a dozen rows of theater-style seating.
“Hear anything useful?” Jaina asked.
“Plenty,” Mirta said, removing the soundplug from her ear. “Just nothing that’s going to help us find your brother.”
She disconnected the vidreceiver’s audio jack, and human voices began to spill from the speaker, surprisingly clear and resonant.
“…
should have listened to Caedus after all,” a deep, refined voice was saying. “It certainly seems he was correct about this ‘conquest.’ We’re lucky that suicide run on the Dominion only killed two of us—”
“Very lucky,” added a raspy-voiced jokester, “considering the two Moffs we lost.”
The interruption drew a round of a hearty laughter, then Refined Voice continued, “Yes, I suppose every catastrophe has its positive side. But now we’ve lost the Harbinger as well, and with the Hapans, Daala, and Niathal all converging on us, that certainly won’t be the last Star Destroyer we lose.”
“Caedus’s intelligence was better than ours this time,” replied a durasteel-voiced man. “I’ll give you that. But that hardly means we should present him with the dozens of Star Destroyers we have in the Roche system. Even if we were inclined to turn the Empire over to the bad seed of a common spicerunner and his gutter-crawling Princess—which I sincerely hope we’re not—”
A chorus of amused snorts confirmed that the Moffs were not.
“—Caedus has hardly proven himself worthy of our confidence. That mess at Fondor was very nearly the Alliance’s undoing.”
“Hear, hear!” boomed a thick-tongued Moff. “Caedus is no Palpatine, I can tell you that.”
“Yes, yes, Jowar,” said Refined Voice. “We’re all aware that you served on the Emperor’s personal staff as a young officer.”
“And he’s not likely to let us forget it,” added Raspy Jokester.
This drew a few polite chuckles, then Refined Voice continued, “But I hope everyone here realizes that if Caedus hadn’t brought the Fourth Fleet along, we’d actually be outnumbered right now.”
“True,” agreed Durasteel Voice. “And doesn’t that betray a certain naïveté? A wiser man would not have brought in the Fourth until we were already outnumbered. He might well have been in a position to dictate terms to us, rather than the reverse.”
Mirta thumbed the volume down, then said, “That’s the gist of what they’ve been talking about. Most of them seem to like the idea of joining with the Galactic Alliance to form a New Empire, but only if it’s under their control.”