The Bacta War

by Michael A. Stackpole

  She didn’t think she’d blacked out, but as the world lightened again she found herself looking up at a trooper standing over her. He was saying something, but she couldn’t focus on the words. All she could notice was that the armor seemed over-large on him, with the breastplate covering half his stomach and the helmet resting firmly on the armor’s collar.

  The trooper gestured with his blaster carbine, but Iella still wasn’t able to understand him. She tried, but an odd whirring sound eclipsed his words. An angular shadow dropped down behind him. Iella heard a horrid snapping and crunching as the trooper began to telescope down toward the ground. He twisted around, his legs going limp, allowing Iella to see the ragged parallel wounds slashed down through the back of his armor.

  Standing behind him, with claws dripping blood, a black Vratix warrior drew his arms in toward his thorax. His head bobbed once, then his powerful hind legs straightened, propelling him up and out of her sight. If not for the ravaged corpse of the soldier at her feet, she would have had no proof of his intervention.

  Her mouth hung open as she looked at the trooper’s body. Those claws sliced through that armor with the ease of a wampa filleting a tauntaun. No way all the bacta on this world could close those wounds. She leaned back against the trunk of the gloan tree, somehow finding comfort in the roughness of its bark. She heard screams that sounded far distant, more whirring, and other crisper sounds she never wanted to identify.

  “Iella!”

  She looked up. “Sixtus! Have you found Elscol?”

  The large man nodded, then bent and scooped her up in his arms. “She twisted her ankle and got pinned down. How are you?”

  “Hurt, but I should live.”

  “Good. I’ll get you clear.”

  Iella tried to point back toward the troopers. “But they’re out there. Another group, flanking us.”

  Sixtus shook his head. “The Black-claws got them all. It won’t make up for the Vratix dead here, but it should start making the Xucphrans scared.” His eyes narrowed. “When they find their people dead, they’ll have a hard time sleeping.”

  Iella winced against the pain. “Wait.”

  “No, the Ashern have a base camp with some makeshift bacta tanks.”

  “No, not that.” She shook her head to clear it. “Look, don’t leave the bodies here. Take them away, far away. Just have the troopers disappear. Not knowing will be worse than knowing. Take our bodies, too, hide them. Don’t let Isard know how badly we were hurt.”

  Sixtus smiled. “That’s odd.”

  “What?”

  “Your lips are moving, but I’m hearing the kind of things Elscol would say.” He stepped over a thick gloan branch and continued down a narrow jungle trail. “I’d not have thought you capable of thinking that kind of thing.”

  “One thing I know, Sixtus, is that a high body count doesn’t mean victory, it just means a lot of folks died.” Iella tipped her head back toward the village. “A lot of people died there, but not knowing the true story will give our enemies something to think about. If they decide they don’t want to fight because of it, we win.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Captain Sair Yonka of the Imperial Star Destroyer Avarice looked back and forth between the two suits of clothes the silver protocol droid held up for him. To the right he had a conservative black suit, cut along vaguely military lines. He knew it would make him look powerful and might even inspire fear in some people. That is not always a bad thing, he reflected, but not wholly appropriate in this instance.

  The other suit was completely civilian, and he would have chosen it in a heartbeat except that it was a bright crimson. Just what Isard wears. Despite the fanciful styling, including the fringes at the hem of the jacket and along the sleeves, the bloody color and memory of Isard robbed the suit of its playfulness. That suit, because it was flashier than the black, would be more noticed, but people might miss him altogether, remembering only the clothes. This is not a bad thing either, and desirable right now.

  He shook his head. “Let me think about it some more, Poe.” He waved the droid away, but not before he caught a distorted mirror view of himself on its breast. Tall and slender, his black hair and bright blue eyes combined with strongly chiseled features to win the admiration of many women and the jealousy of their men. The touch of white creeping in at his temples had prompted him to grow a black goatee—something that was strictly against Imperial regulations, but not being in the Imperial service anymore, he had no fear of flouting those regulations.

  While the warped reflection did not describe his outsides, it certainly did match how he felt inside. Yonka turned and walked out onto the balcony of his twenty-sixth-floor suite at Margath’s. Strains of music drifted down from the 27th Hour Club, but it washed over him without effect. Even the sight of three moons hovering above the placid ocean, two ivory and one blood red, failed to register as anything more than yet another planetary night sky.

  Leaning on the balcony rail, Sair Yonka slowly shook his head. He had the distinct feeling he was in the wrong place at the wrong time, but that oppressive sensation was one he’d lived with for longer than he could remember. While the Emperor was alive, he was able to hide within the protective shell of the government’s legitimacy. I knew what I was doing was right in someone’s eyes. Patrolling the Rim, keeping pirates away from raiding worlds like Elshandruu Pica here, that was a mission no one could deny was necessary. That Rebels were often classified as pirates and dealt with harshly meant nothing. It was fairly common among pirates to call themselves Rebels to justify their predation on Imperial outposts.

  Since the Emperor’s death he had clung to his role as a defender of the Empire to justify what he had been called upon to do. He added to that a very real desire to see to it that his people were not ordered into some futile fray at the whim of some self-appointed Warlord. Zsinj had tried to recruit him, but Yonka had steadfastly refused to take any orders except those coming from Coruscant. He bound himself to Ysanne Isard, because she seemed the best bet for dealing with the Rebels. Her focus on destroying them, then reestablishing the Empire seemed to make the most sense to me.

  Then she went and lost Coruscant. Yonka bounced a fist off the railing. He’d followed her orders and helped her establish her presence on Thyferra, but that was before he heard about the Krytos virus. He appreciated her sense of pragmatism in dealing with the Rebels, but the virus targeted all sorts of folks who never so much as raised their voices in support of the Rebels. Her use of the virus meant she was capable of anything and that scared Sair Yonka.

  The fear did not surprise him as much as the depth of it did. He knew she had operatives in his crew and had no doubt they’d strike at him were she to give the appropriate orders. Defying her was something that would have to be done—he knew that. But not yet. Escorting convoys is nothing new to me or the Avarice. Perhaps if we’re given a mission like the destruction of Halanit I will balk. Until then, a confrontation has no merit.

  He sighed. He had Isard on one hand and Antilles’s Rogues on the other. An Imperial Star Destroyer Mark II, like the Avarice, had little to fear from a squadron of snubfighters. He acknowledged that their use of proton torpedoes could, in fact, hurt his ship, but his own pilots were very good and his turbolaser crews repeatedly drilled in antiship and antitorpedo fire missions. He had no doubt his ship could hurt the Rogues, but, he suddenly realized, he wasn’t certain how much he wanted to hurt them.

  They have no choice but to see me as a threat—as the most significant threat Isard has for them. He’d read the performance reports from the Virulence ever since Lakwii Varrscha had taken over as Captain. They were not impressive in the least. The Virulence’s fighters scrambled slowly against Rogue threats and had never even come close to downing any of the Rogues. While his ship had yet to kill any of them either, they did drive them off faster, preventing them from getting off second and even third proton torpedo volleys against the convoys.

  He shook his
head again and forced thoughts of the Rogues and Ysanne Isard from his mind. The Avarice orbited through the night sky above, forming a dart-shaped silhouette as it passed before the bloody moon. It’s up there, as are all my worries, while I am down here. I came here to relax, so I shall do so, though not so many others would find this situation relaxing.

  Elshandruu Pica’s Imperial Moff, Riit Jandi, had married a woman nearly forty years his junior. Yonka had known Aellyn Jandi years before on Commenor. They had grown up together and had slowly begun to realize their attraction to each other when he won an appointment to the Imperial Naval Academy. He lost track of her until, much later, he had come down to pay his respects to the Moff after rooting out a band of pirates that infested the system’s asteroid belt. Once he and Aellyn laid eyes on each other, their feelings were rekindled and, for the past five years, they’d carried on a secret affair.

  Kina Margath, owner of the hotel in which Yonka was staying, had befriended Aellyn Jandi and agreed to help her conceal her affair from the Moff. Rumors were spread that Yonka came to Margath’s to romance Kina. Aellyn used her influence with the Moff to get favorable treatment for Kina’s casino and hotel operations, and Yonka always managed to haul a goodly supply of exotic liqueurs and beverages from the worlds he patrolled to Elshandruu Pica, enabling the 27th Hour Club to meet its boast of being able to supply any drink a patron could name.

  Yonka turned away from the railing and, looking back through transparisteel viewports, watched the droid brush specks of lint from the two suits he had been shown. A choice based on my mood is not the way to go. I should dress to make an impression. Aellyn will like either suit, but I won’t be wearing clothes very long in her presence, so her tastes do not matter. He slowly smiled. What others think is important. Her husband, for example, what would he like to see me wearing?

  “Poe.”

  The droid turned to face him. “Sir?”

  “Please arrange for the repulsor limo to be ready in an hour. It will take that long for me to refresh myself and dress.”

  The droid nodded as best he could. “You have made a decision on what to wear, sir?”

  Yonka laughed and strode back into the suite. “Poe, I have indeed. This affair is not without danger—the wrath of a Moff is not often survivable.” He stroked his goatee with his right hand. “If one is going to dress for death, can bloodred ever be a wrong choice?”

  Because of his position half a kilometer due east of the planetary Moff’s oceanside cottage, Corran saw the repulsor-lift limousine approaching first. The driver had it speeding along, which would have made it a difficult target for a blaster rifle shot, but he wasn’t sideslipping or changing height to make such a shot impossible. No fear of ambush, which is good.

  Corran turned on the comlink clipped to his helmet and tapped it twice with a gloved finger. A single click came back, confirming Wedge’s reception of Corran’s warning about the limo’s approach. Corran watched for any more vehicles following. Their briefing suggested Yonka wouldn’t be bringing his own security detail, and that the Moff’s wife regularly eluded hers; but the chance that her husband had others watching her or Yonka had to be covered.

  He waited for one minute, then slowly started working his way back to the rendezvous point. Like the other Rogues on the mission—save Ooryl and the other Gand accompanying them—he wore some of the stormtrooper armor they’d gotten from Huff Darklighter. The dark blue color Darklighter had stained it so it matched his personal security force’s uniforms blended perfectly into the night. He carried a blaster carbine, wore a blaster pistol on his right hip, and had spare power packs for both on his belt. He clipped his lightsaber to the back of his belt, so it dangled down like a stubby tail, out of the way but accessible if he needed it.

  Of course, on this mission, if I need it, we’re in deep Huttdrool. In theory, it was a quick hit and run. Though Yonka didn’t know it, Kina Margath had long been a Rebel agent on Elshandruu Pica. Poe, the droid serving as Yonka’s valet, had once been part of Rogue Squadron’s staff. Once Wedge put out feelers to learn more about the soldiers in Isard’s employ, a complete rundown on Yonka’s affairs came back, providing the basic information for the mission.

  If any more than one or two shots get triggered, we’ve done something very wrong. So far it had gone completely as expected, and Corran didn’t like that. On such missions—the same sort he’d performed dozens of times when with the Corellian Security Force—nothing ever seemed to go as planned. In going after Yonka, the most likely glitch would arrive in the form of the Moff’s own squad of stormtroopers, and that was a serious complication. Exfiltration under fire is not going to be fun.

  Even though he knew that outcome was a distinct possibility, Corran didn’t have a bad feeling about the mission. Prior to his learning he was the grandson of a Jedi Master, he would have put the lack of dread down to his rather foolish and rash belief in good luck. He’d always trusted his feelings about things, but he’d never questioned the mechanism that generated those feelings. To him they just existed, and he had learned to abide by them or deal with the consequences.

  Now he knew that his feelings were really based on sensations he was getting of and through the Force. Before they were intangible and even though he gave them weight, others did not. Now, because of Luke Skywalker, the Force had gained credence. Others would accept what he felt as if it were a true measure of what was happening.

  That frightened Corran—especially after the disaster on Thyferra. I don’t know enough about the Force and what it means to rely on it. I certainly can’t let others use what I feel as a crutch. If I’m wrong, they’ll pay for my mistake. I won’t have that happen.

  He reached the rendezvous point in a little ravine slightly northeast of the cottage. Corran crouched between Ooryl and Rhysati, across the way from Gavin, Wedge, and the tall Gand named Vviir Wiamdi. The other two members of the team waited in Picavil’s spaceport with two X-wings, ready to cover their escape if things got messy. Bror Jace and Inyri Forge will be able to down anything the Moff can put in the air, but if we need them I’m sure the Avarice will scramble fighters, and then we’re stuck.

  Wedge looked up at Corran and nodded. He tapped Corran and Rhysati on the knee and pointed off toward the right. Ooryl and Vviir were directed left, leaving Wedge and Gavin to go straight in at the open garden doors and into the back of the cottage. Wedge tapped his chronometer, then held up two fingers.

  Two minutes to get into position, then we go. Corran nodded and followed Rhysati. He still felt good about the mission. Let’s hope that holds true. Let’s hope the only surprise is that which appears on Yonka’s face.

  Sair Yonka let himself into the cottage and nearly dropped the magnum of Mandalorean Narcolethe he’d brought to share with Aellyn. The door clicked shut behind him, muffling the sound of the repulsor limo’s departure—not that he could have heard it past the thunder of his heartbeat in his ears. He had enough presence of mind to prevent his jaw from dropping open and instead crafted a smile that flashed white teeth at her.

  Though neither as tall or slender as he was, Aellyn shared with him black hair. She wore hers long, so it descended well past her shoulders and lay gently along the swelling of her breasts. The gown she wore had been woven of a wispy fiber that had been dyed a midnight blue. It covered her from thin shoulder straps down to her ankles and glowed electrically where the light hit it, yet proved sheer enough to tantalize him with visions of what it sheathed. Her blue eyes sparkled with mischief, promising much and summoning most pleasurable memories to his consciousness.

  The slight breeze from the garden brought the scent of flowers to his nose and teased playfully with the skirts of her gown. Her glance darted toward the open doors and the darkness beyond. Yonka fondly recalled having made love with her in the garden, beneath the canopy of stars and the trio of Elshandruu Pica’s moons. His smile broadening, he set the Narcolethe on the side table next to the door and extended his hand toward her.
r />   For a half second, primarily because the dark blue of the armor matched perfectly the color of Aellyn’s gown, the two blaster-toting figures entering through the garden doorway seemed appropriate. Only when Aellyn opened her mouth to scream and the second figure shot her did he realize they were not part of any surprise Aellyn had cooked up for him. Even so, the blue hue of the stun shot that hit her still seemed somehow in keeping with the theme of the evening.

  Yonka raised his hands. He heard the comlink clipped to the leader’s faceplate buzz, but he could make out none of the words. The man nodded, then reached up and removed his helmet. Despite the sweat pasting brown locks to the intruder’s forehead and the edges of his face, Yonka immediately recognized the man. It can’t be

  Yonka felt his chest tighten, yet fought to keep his voice even. “You needn’t have had her shot, Antilles.”

  “Wouldn’t do to have witnesses, would it?” Wedge nodded toward her without letting his blaster waver from Yonka’s direction. “We could have killed her, but unnecessary bloodshed is not something we revel in. In fact, we don’t like it at all.”

  Eliminate me, and you assume my ship won’t function at all well. Yonka found himself flattered, but he was too much of a realist to allow vanity to lift his spirits. “One man does not mean much on a starship.”

  Wedge smiled. “You underestimate your worth, Captain Yonka. Like it or not, as you go, so goes the Avarice.”

  “Killing me will only have a minor effect on the Avarice.”

  “I agree, Captain Yonka.”

  “Yet you have come to kill me.”

  “Kill you?” Wedge shook his head. “I’ve come to offer you a deal.”

  Yonka blinked in amazement. “Deal? What kind of deal?”