“Sir, they have managed to block all communications to and from Praesitlyn,” Slayke’s chief communications officer said. Slayke only nodded. “We have to assume,” the communications officer continued, “the Republic doesn’t know what’s happened. I don’t know how they managed that—it must be new technology. The blasted Trade Federation’s got billions of credits sunk into research, so it’s not unlikely. At least our communications are unaffected, until we get down on Praesitlyn, anyway.”
“Those idiots in the Senate,” Slayke murmured as though to himself, “will lose this war yet.” He leaned with both hands on the edge of the display and focused on the enemy ships around Praesitlyn, bright little blips so numerous that they resembled an asteroid belt around the planet. “We are the only force within striking distance,” he said. “You all know the importance of Praesitlyn to the Republic, to our homeworlds, our friends, our families.” He paused, then said quietly, “Here’s how we’re going to do it.”
Slayke’s fleet was small in comparison to the one he was about to attack, consisting of CloakShape fighters, gun tugs, and Phoenix Hawk–class light pinnaces. His capital ships consisted of several Carrack-class light cruisers, Corellian corvettes, gunships, and Dreadnaughts. While his ground forces were only fifty thousand strong, they were highly trained, highly motivated, and equipped with armored vehicles, Bespin Motors Storm IV twin-pod military cloud cars, and a full array of supporting arms. The great advantage of this small force was that it was an integrated combined-arms force of infantry, air, armor, and artillery, operating under a carefully thought-out but flexible battle plan. Moreover, Slayke’s commanders were officers whom he trusted completely to take tactical initiatives in fluid battlefield conditions.
A reasonable person might think it utter insanity to use a force as small as Slayke’s to attack Tonith’s army. But Zozridor Slayke was not always a reasonable man.
He turned to his officers and held up his fist. “We go in like this—” He rammed his fist toward the chart. “A huge armored fist. We’ll concentrate all our forces on one sector in their cordon, hit them with everything we’ve got, and blast open a hole to land the army. It’s going to be real hot for our ships in orbit,” he added, nodding at his captains, “but we’ll be counting on you to keep their orbital fleet off balance. Once we’re on the ground we’ll close with the enemy and grab him by the belt, hold him tight. That way his fleet won’t be able to attack us without fear of hitting his own forces. Our initial attack will be a total surprise to him, and it’ll take some time for him to recover. We’ll exploit that surprise and cut right through.” He paused. “We’re about to cross a bridge, and once over, we’re burning it behind us. It’s do or die.”
They all knew that. Once on the ground, Slayke’s army could not be reinforced if things went badly. Failure was just not an option. But Slayke was no overconfident fool.
“I have dispatched a message to Coruscant,” he continued, “requesting reinforcements.” He shrugged. “Perhaps they can spare a Jedi or two.” This also caused laughter: everyone knew how much Slayke despised the Jedi.
“Well, look at it this way, sir,” an officer in the back of the compartment said. “We won’t have to share the glory with them!”
“Well said! Before they can get here to mess things up, we’ll have some fun with those metal soldiers down there. Now, what do you think?”
“Ooooorah!” the officers shouted, stamping their boots in unison on the deckplates.
“You will have your operations orders before you get back to your ships,” Slayke announced. But they were not yet dismissed.
This was Zozridor Slayke’s great moment. He had risked everything, even became an outlaw with a price on his head, to get to this place with this army at this crucial instant in time. He saw himself now as the fulcrum of history.
Slayke drew himself up to his full height. He addressed his officers—many, he knew, for the last time. These soldiers had been recruited from all over the galaxy, and they had risen to positions of trust and authority in this small army through courage, devotion, and demonstrated ability. “Remember who you are!” he shouted. The last word echoed through the compartment. “What you are about to undertake is not done for fame or reward or ambition; you are not compelled into this fight by necessity like slaves! We go into battle now out of simple duty to our people.”
Slayke paused. The wardroom had fallen completely silent. There were tears in some eyes—all of which were focused on their commander. Slayke took a deep breath. When he spoke again he raised his voice to its full timbre, and it rang from the bulkheads: “Freedom’s Sons and Daughters expect every person to do his duty!”
Odie and Erk didn’t get far from the caves before once again the ground beneath and the air about them heaved and reverberated to the sounds of battle, this time somewhat farther away.
“General Khamar must be counterattacking,” Odie said, removing her helmet.
Erk pulled aside the ground sheet that he was using to protect his face from windblown sand particles and searched the sky. “I don’t think so. Look!” He pointed to the north where, just above the horizon, bright fingers of flame lanced down from the heavens. The sky there suddenly exploded in brilliant flashes followed seconds later by a deep rumbling; one of the flame pillars descending toward the ground blossomed into a brilliant chrysanthemum of fire. “Ships are landing!” he shouted. “One was just hit. It’s a relief force—Coruscant’s sent a relief force!” He threw his arms around Odie and impulsively kissed her on the cheek.
Odie was so surprised—and pleased—she didn’t know how to react, so she blurted out quickly, “Sergeant Maganinny said recon troopers always ride to the sound of the guns. Shall we?”
“Turn this thing around and let’s go!”
But when Odie depressed the foot pedal, the speeder’s motor only whined feebly.
“Out of power?” Erk hoped he didn’t sound as worried as he felt. He hopped off the speeder so that Odie could access the power-cell compartment housed in the rear.
“No,” she answered, a concerned expression on her face. “And these things are usually maintenance-free.”
“Here, look at this.” Erk pointed to a small hole in the housing cover. He felt the hole with a finger. “You’ve been shot. Feel the edges around this hole: it was burned through.”
“I—I did have a run-in with some enemy troopers,” she said, popping the cover. She grimaced and looked away. The compartment was full of grit, and the power cell was coated with sand heat-fused into glass. As they stood looking down into the compartment, the cell gave a little pop! and a thin tendril of smoke rose upward. “That’s it,” she said. “We’re foot-mobile now.” She stepped back and looked down at her speeder for a moment, then began to cry.
“Hey!” Erk laid a hand on her shoulder. “We’re okay. We’ll make it.”
“It’s not that.” Odie shook her head. “It’s—it’s my speeder!”
“Oh,” Erk said, mentally kicking himself. “I should’ve known,” he muttered. “A recon trooper and her speeder, a pilot and his fighter.” He shrugged. “Come on, trooper, we’re both widows now.”
Odie smiled through her tears. “It’s stupid but, well, you know, that speeder and me…” She threw up her hands.
“How far do you think we are from the center?”
“Maybe seventy-five or one hundred kilometers?”
“Can we make it on foot?”
Odie shook her canteen. “If we can conserve our water.” They had both drunk as much water as they could hold before starting out from the caves in an attempt to tank up for the long journey ahead of them, but they had been figuring on riding Odie’s speeder, not walking.
“Do you know where there’s any water along the way?”
Odie shook her head. “We’ll look as we go.” She popped open the storage compartment beneath her seat and began to withdraw items they’d need on the trek.
“We just have everything g
oing for us, don’t we?” Erk said wryly.
“Well, I hope those bug stompers you’re wearing will hold up.” Odie gestured at her own heavy boots, standard issue for reconnaissance troopers, who needed such footwear to protect their feet and legs from brush, stones, and debris. Erk’s boots were much lighter and didn’t look very sturdy.
“With me as your copilot, we’ve got it made,” Erk replied as, bowing, he bade her lead the way.
“We are what?” Tonith shrieked, jumping to his feet and spilling some tea down the front of his white robe when his chief of staff told him they were being attacked. “By whom? Full details,” he demanded, recovering some of his composure.
“Apparently, sir, we were being shadowed by another force. They couldn’t have come from Coruscant or Sluis Van, and they had to be small to avoid our detection—”
Tonith impatiently waved a hand at Karaksk. “Get on with it.” Already his mind was working. He didn’t like surprises, but one had to deal with them. By the time the Bothan finished with his report, his fur was continually rippling, but the worse the news became, the calmer Tonith grew.
“Sir,” Karaksk ventured, “I believe you should have stayed with the fleet. The ships are being thrown into confusion.” As soon as he uttered those words he regretted them and almost cringed at the angry outburst that he was sure would follow.
Tonith held up a hand. “No, the issue shall be decided here, not in orbit.” He paused, and Karaksk sighed with relief that the admiral had let his remark pass. “Very well,” Tonith went on, as though talking to himself. “They are much smaller than our force; they are behind us. Here is what they’ll do: they will attempt to close with us as soon as possible, get close enough so our ships in orbit won’t be able to fire on them for fear of hitting us. We should expect a flexible battle plan and plenty of individual initiative—they’d have to have that, and boldness, to attack us like this.” He raised a bony forefinger and waggled it at the Bothan. “There is a fine line between boldness and foolhardiness. Let’s see how we can turn that against them. Begin fortifying our positions immediately. We’ll let them attack us all they want. When their strength is depleted, that’s when we’ll counterattack.”
Carefully, Tonith recovered his teacup. He shook out the few remaining drops and methodically, in a well-practiced gesture, poured more of the steaming liquid. From close by came the rumble of fighting. He grinned, revealing his purple-stained teeth. “Ah, a challenge,” he said, sipping the tea. “Very interesting, very interesting indeed.”
The one factor Zozridor Slayke hadn’t counted on was Pors Tonith.
8
Supreme Chancellor Palpatine made a series of calls, one of them to Senator Paige-Tarkin.
Senator Paige-Tarkin had never seen the Chancellor looking this worried, HoloNet transceiver image or not. His hair appeared even grayer than it did in person, and his face was more lined by worry. She felt a genuine surge of pity for the great man. She had watched him carefully since his assumption of emergency powers to deal with the Separatist threat, and she believed the cares of public service in this crisis were wearing the poor man down.
“This is a matter of the utmost urgency,” he said. “I need to see you at once.”
“We can’t discuss it now?” she asked. “I’m expecting dinner guests.”
“No, I am afraid this venue is not secure for what we have to talk over.” The Chancellor’s image smiled sadly. “I do apologize for interrupting your plans like this, Senator.”
“No, no, not at all, sir, I am at your disposal. How long do you think we’ll be?”
“It could take some time, Senator. I do apologize again.”
She hesitated. A member of the powerful Tarkin family, Paige-Tarkin was an unabashed admirer of the Supreme Chancellor, and in her public and private life she described him as the one person who could lead the Republic to victory in this crisis. Now he, who had devoted his entire life to public service, was apologizing for asking her to interrupt an evening at home with friends to deal with important galactic business? “No bother,” she responded, her voice catching with emotion, “but can you give me any idea what it involves?”
“All I can tell you is that a situation has arisen that might have the most serious consequences for the inhabitants of the Seswenna sector, Senator.”
Paige-Tarkin’s heart skipped a beat—Seswenna was the sector she represented in the Senate. “Where shall we meet?”
“My apartment, as quickly as you can get here. I must—”
“Your apartment, Supreme Chancellor?” she blurted. “Not your office?”
Palpatine shook his head. “This is a matter of the utmost sensitivity—it’s best if nobody knows about the meeting yet. My security droids are sweeping my apartment even as we speak; it would take longer to assure the security of my office. Now I must invite some others, so please excuse me.” The image vanished before she could ask who the others might be.
Quickly, Paige-Tarkin canceled her engagements, changed, and called for transportation.
Mas Amedda received the next call. As Speaker of the Senate and a loyal follower of the Supreme Chancellor, Amedda was best known for keeping his mouth shut and maintaining order during Senate debates. He had also supported granting Palpatine the emergency powers he believed the Supreme Chancellor needed to deal with the Separatists. Palpatine knew he could count on Amedda in this crisis, and his help would be invaluable when the inevitable debate broke out in the Senate.
Then Palpatine summoned Jannie Ha’Nook of Glithnos, a senior member of the Security and Intelligence Council. Ha’Nook saw everything in terms of profit and loss to herself. Although of a somewhat independent mind, she had also voted to grant Palpatine his emergency powers.
Next on the list was Armand Isard, director of Republic Intelligence, a man who knew much but said little.
Finally, Palpatine called Sate Pestage, controller of the Senate’s executive agenda. Pestage was a master of persuasion. Many times since Palpatine’s assumption of emergency powers Pestage had convinced recalcitrant Senators to get behind the Supreme Chancellor.
Thus Supreme Chancellor Palpatine gathered his staunchest allies to deal with his enemies.
Palpatine’s apartment was comfortable but not ostentatious, as befit an abstemious public servant in the service of the people. Since not everyone arrived at the same time, he engaged his guests in small talk until they were all present. As soon as everyone was seated, he nodded to Sly Moore, his administrative aide. At his signal she engaged the security system that provided additional asssurance that no one eavesdropped on their deliberations.
“We may begin, sir,” she announced.
“I apologize again for getting you all here on such short notice,” Palpatine opened as his guests settled in. “I will come straight to the point. A very powerful Separatist force has captured Praesitlyn. A much smaller force—a rogue force, in fact—is opposing the invasion, but the outcome of this opposition is very much in doubt. Armand, give us the facts as we know them.”
“A Trade Federation invasion force—we don’t know its size or composition but must assume it is very large and very potent—has taken Praesitlyn. We must assume, because all contact has broken off, that they are now holding the Intergalactic Communications Center. We must also assume that they are preparing to use the planet as a springboard for further incursions into the Core Worlds. We received this information in a message sent by the commander of the force the Supreme Chancellor mentioned, which had been shadowing the invasion fleet for some time.”
Paige-Tarkin gasped. “So that’s what you meant!” she exclaimed, looking at the Chancellor. “Have they made any move against the Seswenna sector?”
“Not that we know of,” Palpatine answered. “But they have some means of blocking transmissions, so anything is possible. We do know that they have invested Sluis Van with another fleet of about one hundred twenty-five ships of different classes, evidently a holding operation, not an o
utright invasion. We must assume that once they’ve consolidated their hold on Praesitlyn, yes, they will move against Seswenna, Senator, either by force or by argument.”
“We’re making a lot of assumptions here. How do we know all this?” Jannie Ha’Nook asked, looking first at Palpatine and then at Isard.
The Chancellor nodded at Isard to continue. “We received intelligence of this event from Captain Zozridor Slayke.”
“The pirate?” Ha’Nook interjected. She twisted a lock of hair around a forefinger and pursed her lips as she thought.
Palpatine smiled. “Not anymore. I pardoned him.”
“And a good thing you did,” Isard added, “because right now he and his army—the Sons and Daughters of Freedom, as they call themselves—are all that is opposing the Separatist force on Praesitlyn.”
“Who is commanding the invaders?” Ha’Nook asked.
“Through other sources,” Isard replied, smiling cryptically, “we think it might be Pors Tonith of the InterGalactic Banking Clan.” He glanced over at Palpatine, who nodded that he should proceed. “We don’t know much about Tonith, but he is no pushover. As a financier he is known for his ruthlessness, applying almost military precision and determination against his rivals. Apparently he’s had some success leading military operations, too. Anyway, the last message we had from Slayke was that he was about to attack.”
“How big is his force?” Mas Amedda asked.
“I’m not sure how many capital ships, but it’s estimated he has an army of fifty thousand beings.”
“Great balls of fire!” Paige-Tarkin exclaimed. “And he’s going up against a whole Separatist army with a force that size? Unbelievable!” The guests all looked at one another in astonishment.
Palpatine steepled his fingers, carefully placing the tips beneath his nose. “So,” he began, “the situation is desperate. As you all know, our deployable forces are all engaged throughout the galaxy. I do not believe that Captain Slayke, despite his obvious qualities of bravery and resourcefulness, will be able to expel the invaders. He can only upset them, delay them, and even if he does succeed in this, no doubt the Trade Federation is planning on sending an overwhelming follow-on force to secure Praesitlyn.”
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