The Old Republic Series

by Sean Williams

  Theron gave each of his guards a cheery wave and stepped into the room. As the door slid shut behind him, the Director looked up from behind his desk and shook his head.

  “Care to tell me why I shouldn’t have you court-martialed for physically assaulting a fellow agent?”

  “That Houk came at me first,” Theron reminded him. “I was just minding my own business on Nar Shaddaa when he pressed that knife up against my back. How was I supposed to know he was one of ours?”

  “A review board might buy that,” the Director admitted. “Until they remember the part where I ordered you to get off Nar Shaddaa!”

  “I just thought you were being overprotective,” Theron protested. “I would have taken you a little more seriously if I’d known you were in the middle of a mission. But you didn’t really explain the situation.”

  “I don’t have to explain things!” the Director snapped. “I’m the boss, remember? I give you an order and you follow it.”

  Theron shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

  “At least I managed to rescue the prisoners.”

  “But you did it in a way that compromised the entire operation. You think this is the first time Morbo’s auctioned off our people? We’ve been watching him for months. Tracking his suppliers and marking his buyers, slowly putting together all the bits and pieces of the entire operation. Operation Transom wasn’t about rescuing four Cathar; it was about putting an end to the whole POW slave trade!”

  “Come on, Director,” Theron replied, raising an incredulous eyebrow. “We both know that would never happen. Even if you shut down everyone Morbo ever dealt with, someone else would just step in to take his place.”

  “Maybe so,” the Director conceded. “But at least we’d slow them down for a while. Make the traffic dry up.”

  “Morbo and everyone else at that auction thinks the explosion at the spaceport has something to do with selling POWs,” Theron countered. “They’re not going to start chasing after fresh meat anytime soon.”

  “I heard there were casualties,” the Director said.

  “Four dead,” Theron admitted. “Three were hired assassins. Kind of asking for it if you go into that line of work. The fourth was a low-level thug working for the Old Tion Brotherhood. I looked into him; he won’t be missed.”

  “So Teff’ith made it out okay?”

  “More or less.”

  “Then I guess it’s all worth it in your book.” The Director sighed. “Did she have any idea you were there?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “With all the times you’ve helped her out, she can’t be that bright if she hasn’t noticed you by now.”

  Theron smiled. “Maybe I’m just that good.”

  “I still think you should let her know that she’s in your debt. Might make her more likely to help us out down the road.”

  “That’s not how Teff’ith’s mind works,” Theron said, shaking his head. “She’s … complicated.”

  The Director got up from behind his desk and came around to the other side, crossing his arms as he sat on the edge.

  “Theron—she’s become more trouble than she’s worth,” the Director told him. “It was bad enough when all you were doing was chewing up your vacation days to help her out. Now it’s interfering with ongoing SIS missions. I can’t allow that.”

  “I know you think this is just some crazy obsession,” Theron told him. “But down the road this is going to pay off. Sooner or later SIS is going to need her help.”

  “How do you know that? Is that you talking, or Ngani Zho? You having visions through the Force now?”

  The words stung, but Theron wasn’t going to back down.

  “Master Zho used to tell me that what most people call gut instinct is really just the Force reaching out to us. He said we’d be better off if we listened to it more often. And I have a feeling about Teff’ith.”

  “And I’ve got a feeling about you,” the Director said. “A bad feeling.”

  He turned away and went back to sit behind his desk. He took a deep breath and let it out in a long, slow sigh. Then he reached out with his hands and placed them on the top of his desk, fingers spread wide as if bracing himself for what he was about to say.

  “Theron—I’m transferring you to the analytics department. Effective immediately.”

  “Analytics?” Theron exclaimed in disbelief. “You trying to turn me into some kind of number-crunching desk-jockey?”

  “I can’t just ignore what happened on Nar Shaddaa,” the Director said. “You’re a good agent, and I want to keep you in the fold, but you have to learn that your actions have consequences.

  “Besides,” he added, “it’s good to have experience in other departments. I think a three-month stretch with analytics will make you a more rounded agent.”

  “I’m plenty rounded already,” Theron said.

  “You need a break from fieldwork,” the Director insisted. “Since you can’t seem to stay out of trouble even when you’re supposed to be on vacation, this is the only option I have left.”

  “I’m not cut out for office work,” Theron said. “You’ve seen my personnel profile.”

  “Our evaluations say you’re highly intelligent, intuitive, and adaptable. I think you’ll fit in just fine.”

  Theron chewed his lip in angry silence before saying, “What if I resign?”

  “You won’t,” the Director countered. “You care too much about the Republic to simply abandon the cause.”

  “I could go work for the military,” he threatened.

  “Saluting superior officers? Following orders? Barking out ‘Sir, yes, sir’ twenty times a day? Right.”

  “Fine then,” Theron said. “I’ll just put in for the rest of my vacation time.”

  “Request denied,” the Director answered. “Got a special project in the works, by order of the Republic Supreme Commander. All hands on board. Nothing personal.”

  Theron sighed and bowed his head in defeat.

  “You start tomorrow morning,” the Director continued. “Analytics is on the third floor. Do I need to send another escort to make sure you show up?”

  “I’ll be there,” Theron promised. “But I won’t be happy about it.”

  “Give analytics a chance,” the Director suggested. “They do important work, and we really are working on a special assignment for Jace Malcom. We’re calling it Operation End Game.

  “Trust me, Theron,” he added. “You want to be a part of this.”

  CHAPTER 8

  SEATED IN THE COMMAND CHAIR on the bridge of the Ascendant Spear, Darth Karrid struggled to keep her contempt at bay as her gaze traced across the two dozen Imperial officers and crew working at their stations all around her. Huddled over consoles and computer screens, their fingers flew over control pads as they reacted to the constant stream of incoming data while the vessel hurled through the empty void of hyperspace. The inefficiency of their clumsy, archaic method of interacting with the ship filled her with disgust.

  “Ten minutes until we reach Leritor, my Lord,” Moff Lorman said from his seat on the far side of the bridge.

  “Be sure to come out of hyperspace beyond the range of the Republic sensors,” she cautioned.

  It was unlikely Lorman would make such a careless and obvious error; the Moff was a capable officer. But like nearly every Imperial assigned to the Ascendant Spear he was an interloper on her ship, an insignificant parasite clinging to the underbelly, and she didn’t trust him not to make a mistake that would put her ship in danger.

  Darth Mekhis had designed the vessel with numerous automated systems, and the Spear required a crew of only three thousand to operate at peak efficiency—less than half of what would typically be assigned to an Imperial capital ship. Karrid had come to accept them as a necessary inconvenience, though there were times, like now, when she resented their presence.

  When plugged into the Spear’s command pod she had total access to all the vessel’s systems and s
ensors, but the effort of controlling an entire capital ship single-handedly was mentally and physically exhausting. She had no choice but to defer to Moff Lorman and his crew during routine travel and other similarly mundane activities, allowing them to run the vessel using conventional means while she saved her energies for the high intensity of battle.

  “When will we send a message to Darth Gravus telling him reinforcements are on the way, my Lord?” Moff Lorman asked.

  Karrid rose from her seat. “I will contact Gravus,” she said. “After I have taken command of my ship.”

  She crossed the bridge with quick, purposeful strides, making her way to the turbolift. The doors slid open and she stepped inside, pressing the button that whisked her down past floor after floor until she reached the innermost level of the vessel. She stepped out of the turbolift and made her way down the short corridor leading to a heavily secured door. A retinal scan confirmed her identity, and the door slid open to reveal the Ascendant Spear’s true heart.

  The circular chamber was nearly thirty meters in diameter, but the inside was empty save for the control console on the perimeter, Karrid’s two apprentices—one a male human, the other a female pure-blooded Sith—and the large crystal sphere in the center. The apprentices were sitting cross-legged on the floor on either side of the sphere, meditating to focus their minds in preparation for the coming battle.

  “It’s time,” Karrid said as she approached the sphere.

  She placed a hand on the cool exterior, and the sphere parted vertically in the middle, the two halves opening at her touch to reveal the true genius of Darth Mekhis.

  The interior of the Ascendant Spear’s isolated command pod featured a single chair surrounded by dozens of monitors and screens. A delicate web of interwoven wires was suspended a meter above the chair. A dozen loose strands hung down from the web, each tipped with a long, thin needle.

  Lowering herself into the chair, Karrid’s fingers tapped at the control panels built into the arms. The pod slowly closed, encasing her in the nearly indestructible glittering cocoon. The fingers of her left hand traced a complex pattern over the control panel, powering up the command pod and causing the web of dangling wires above her head to come to life. Twisting and writhing, they slithered down to wrap themselves around Karrid’s face and the back of her skull.

  Karrid closed her eyes in eager anticipation, allowing the dark side of the Force to flow through her. Outside the sphere, she sensed her apprentices deep in meditation, opening themselves to her so she could draw on their strength as she took command of the Spear.

  The wires gently caressed her neck and cheeks with the fine-tipped needles on the end, sending a shiver down the Falleen’s spine. Then one of the needles plunged itself into the cybernetic implant at the back of her neck, making her gasp aloud. Another slid into the implant behind her left ear, and two more burrowed into the left side of her skull on either side of her temple. Two connected to her forehead and five more pierced the back of her skull. The final strand of wire slithered across the lid of her still-closed eye before slipping into the tiny aperture of the cybernetic interface implanted in her left cheek.

  She opened her eyes, her vision now an amalgamation of what she saw on the screens and monitors as well as everything within range of the ship’s sensors. The starfield flickered rapidly into view as the Ascendant Spear dropped from hyperspace on the edge of the Yucrales sector, just beyond sensor range of the Imperial and Republic fleets engaged in battle over the skies of Leritor. Though the other ships couldn’t detect her presence at this range, the Spear’s advanced systems gave Karrid a perfect awareness of what was transpiring.

  A combination of her Force abilities and the cybernetic implants relaying data from the Ascendant Spear’s long-range scanners enabled Karrid to instantly see that although the battle had just begun, Darth Gravus already had the upper hand.

  The Republic had a single capital ship in the fray—the Mardorus, a D-class attack cruiser. Over five hundred meters in length, the Mardorus had a wide, flat hull covered with a thick layer of armor plating, as if the vessel were hidden under a hump-shaped shell. It was supported by two Hammerheads half its size—easily identifiable by the forward bridges extending perpendicularly above and below the longer main body of the vessel—and three slightly smaller CR-12 corvettes—sleek, narrow ships equipped with battering-ram-shaped bows to run enemy blockades and prominent external afterburners to enhance speed and maneuverability. The fleet was rounded out by half a dozen BT-7 Thunderclap fighters. The latest Republic incarnation in personal attack-craft, the agile Thunderclap resembled a sideways Y, with the cockpit situated in the crook of the two smaller arms.

  In contrast, Gravus’s personal Dreadnought, Exemplar, was almost eight hundred meters in length. The wedge-shaped capital ship was flanked by three claw-shaped C-class destroyers that were nearly as large as the Republic flagship. Each destroyer was supported by a complement of six Interceptors, the Empire’s agile, fang-winged answer to the Republic Thunderclap.

  Gravus had devised a battle plan that would minimize the risk to his own ship. The destroyers had been deployed to engage the corvettes and Thunderclap fighters, freeing up the quick and nimble Interceptors to continuously strafe the Hammerheads and the heavily armored Mardorus. This allowed the Exemplar to remain at a safe distance, firing away with its batteries at the Republic vessels with no fear of any return assault. Unfortunately, unless Gravus moved closer to the action he was limited to inflicting minimal damage on the enemy capital ship’s deflector shields and reinforced hull. Ultimately the Imperials would prevail, but it would be a battle of attrition.

  Karrid had neither the patience nor the temperament for such a strategy. With a flick of her little finger, she opened a hailing channel to the Exemplar, accelerating the Ascendant Spear toward the other vessels at the same time.

  “Darth Gravus, this is Darth Karrid. The Ascendant Spear is at your disposal.”

  Gravus’s reply was swift and certain. “Disengage, Karrid! We didn’t call for reinforcements. This is my battle to win—not yours!”

  Karrid ignored his orders; the Ascendant Spear’s engines had already accelerated the ship to 70 percent of maximum sublight speed, bringing them in range of the Republic sensors. The triangular design of the Spear was common among Imperial capital ships, but its immense size—more than twice that of any other participant in the battle—was instantly recognizable.

  As Karrid had expected, the Spear’s arrival drew an immediate response as one of the Republic Hammerheads disengaged and came about to face the new threat. Two of the Thunderclap fighters also veered around, spinning and diving to avoid the destroyer cannons as they sped off to support the Hammerhead.

  The Hammerhead’s turbolasers opened fire a second later. On a level deep within her subconscious mind, Karrid felt the heat as the Spear’s deflectors easily repelled the first volley. An instant later the Thunderclaps swooped in, one from port, the other from starboard. Lacking enough firepower to inflict significant damage on a ship the size of the Ascendant Spear beyond point-blank range, the pilots relied on speed and maneuverability to get in close enough to strafe the surface of the larger vessel.

  To Karrid they were like annoying insects buzzing in her ear; the only logical response was to slap them out of existence. She focused her mind on the starboard defense turrets, using the Spear’s sensors to track the fast-moving Thunderclap before willing the guns to fire. A rapid series of ion blasts hit the fighter in rapid succession, each one striking its target with the unnatural precision made possible only by the perfect fusion of machine and organic.

  The Thunderclap exploded in a ball of heat and light, but Karrid barely noticed. She had her sights set fully on the second fighter. The pilot was taking desperate evasive maneuvers, wheeling, spinning, and diving at crazy angles. Against the augmented reactions derived from Karrid’s symbiotic link to her ship, he may as well have been standing still. The port turrets fired, and the secon
d Thunderclap disintegrated.

  The Hammerhead opened fire again, and Karrid once more had the sensation of distant heat as the deflectors repelled the incoming blasts. The Hammerhead was still too far out to pose any real threat; it had been relying on the fighters to occupy the enemy until it got in close enough to pierce the Spear’s shields. Bereft of their escort, they were vulnerable and exposed.

  Karrid seized the opportunity, opening fire with the Ascendant Spear’s main guns. The blackness of space was illuminated by a blazing barrage of concentrated red energy beams. They ripped through the Hammerhead’s deflector shields and shredded the armor-plated hull. Inside, the emergency systems would be overloaded as the vessel’s automated systems tried to somehow keep it functional long enough for the crew to evacuate. A second volley from the Spear ended that faint hope as the lasers pierced the engine core containment unit, and the Hammerhead vanished in a violent explosion.

  Gravus’s voice rang out once more, simultaneously echoing in Karrid’s ears and in the part of her brain that was linked into the ship’s communications systems.

  “You think this will turn the Dark Council against me, Karrid?” he sneered. “You could take out every Republic ship in this quadrant, but when it comes time to choose someone to join their ranks, they’ll still pick me over a Falleen!”

  “You do not grasp the danger you are in, Gravus,” she answered coldly. “You could be killed in this battle. I am here to ensure a desirable outcome for the Empire.”

  The threat was veiled, but like any true Sith her rival immediately understood the sinister implications of her words: only one of them would leave this battle alive.

  “Ignore the Republic ships!” Gravus commanded his fleet, forgetting in his panic that the new orders were being transmitted over the same standard Imperial frequency Karrid was using. “Fire on the Ascendant Spear! Destroy it at all costs! Do not let it—”

  His words were cut off midsentence as Gravus—or someone under his command—had the sense to flip over to an auxiliary communications channel. But Karrid knew words alone wouldn’t be enough to justify killing Gravus to the Council; she needed him to make the first move.