The Bacta War

by Michael A. Stackpole

  “Always did think she was smart.” Mirax held her right hand up. “One last thing, Corran: You realize that I’m not walking away from my lifestyle or my father. The Mirax Terrik you get is the Mirax Terrik you know.”

  “I think your father and I have an understanding, but even if we didn’t, you’d be worth it. Realize I’m not going to change either.”

  “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  Corran arched an eyebrow. “So?” He could feel his heart pounding in his chest. “Will you marry me?”

  Mirax lifted his hand from the table and kissed it. “Yes, I will, Corran Horn.”

  The tension in him exploded in a nervous laugh that freed a single tear to roll down his cheek. He slipped his hand from hers, then pulled off the gold chain and Jedi medallion he wore. “This station isn’t a good place for finding jewelry and I didn’t want to ask Zraii to machine up a Quadanium ring, so all I have to offer you is this.” He held the medallion out by the chain, but Mirax refused to take it.

  “Corran, I know how much that medallion means to you. It’s your good luck piece. I won’t take it, especially just before the coming assault.”

  “Mirax, you’ve just agreed to marry me. Any luck left in this thing has clearly been drained. You’re the most important person in the galaxy to me, so if this will keep you safe, or even if it will remind you of me, it’s better off with you than hanging around my neck.”

  She accepted it from him and stared down at the medallion resting in her palm. She ran a thumb over Nejaa Halcyon’s profile and slowly smiled. “Do you think our children will look like him?”

  “Better him than your father.” They both laughed. “At least for the boys, that is. If our daughters look like their mother, I’ll be as pleased as possible and as protective of them as your father is of you.”

  Mirax looped the chain over her head and let it slip beneath her clothes. “I’m going to find you something that’s just as special as this is. Maybe I’ll talk to Zraii about fabricating something for you, something you’ll never forget.”

  “Like what?”

  “A ring, maybe, made from the Lusankya’s hull. It held you captive the way you hold my heart captive.”

  “You’re good, Mirax, very good.”

  “I’m the best, Corran, and you always push me to excel.”

  He smiled. “So, when do we break the news to your father?”

  Mirax paled slightly. “The when comes after the how I think. Give me some time to figure that out. We can tell Wedge, though, and some of the others, but that can wait until tomorrow. We have other things to do tonight.”

  “Such as?”

  “You, Corran Horn, have asked me to marry you, I have accepted and I intend us to do everything right in our marriage.” She stood up from the table and dragged him up after her. “Toward that end, there are certain things I think we should practice until we perform them perfectly.”

  Fliry Vorru found it easy to read the emotions running through the two ship captains. The briefing Ysanne Isard was giving them clearly frightened Captain Lakwii Varrscha. Though the woman stood taller and was more muscled than Ysanne Isard, she lacked the vitality that gave Isard her commanding presence. That the woman had risen so high in Imperial service marked her as competent, but Vorru felt her rise had much to do with the fact that she had hitched her career to that of Joak Drysso and his rising star had dragged her along to the limits of her abilities.

  Joak Drysso, in contrast to Varrscha, was small and blocky, with prematurely gray hair that was matched by the color of his goatee. Despite his diminutive stature, he had an air of menace about him. Were it not for the perspective supplied by his surroundings, Vorru could have imagined him being a stormtrooper standing a hundred meters distant—lethal and not given to surrender.

  Isard had chosen to wear her red Admiral’s uniform for the briefing, despite the heat and humidity. “There it is, then. You will be attacking an Empress-class space station. The armaments and shielding are minimal, though the chance that some upgrades are in place cannot be overlooked. The Yag’Dhul system is twenty-four hours from here. I expect the station to be destroyed and you to return here within sixty hours from now. Are there any questions?”

  Drysso nodded sharply. “I have to wonder, Madam Director, at why you are sending both the Lusankya and the Virulence on this mission. The Lusankya, as well you know, has more than enough firepower to obliterate the station. In addition I have twelve squadrons of TIE fighters at my disposal, which is more than enough to overwhelm Antilles’s paltry forces. Even Minister Vorru’s most generous estimates of the Rogue strength gives us a two to one advantage in fighters, and as good as the Rogues might be, they cannot hope to prevail against us.”

  Vorru cleared his throat. “You have forgotten the Alderaanian War Cruiser?”

  “Its firepower is negligible. A Super Star Destroyer can absorb all the damage it can do and still destroy it at leisure. I will designate two squadrons of TIEs to keep it off me. There is no need for the Virulence to come with me on this mission. Moreover, its departure from Thyferra puts this world at risk.”

  Isard blinked. “At risk? From whom?”

  “Antilles and his people. Recall, his X-wings are hyperspace capable. If they bolt when we arrive, they will be able to come here and have twelve hours to fly missions against positions here before we could possibly return.”

  Vorru frowned. “Toward what end? Antilles can’t take this planet without troops.”

  “But he has them, Minister Vorru, in the Ashern rebels.”

  Isard waved their exchange away. “No matter—any gains they made in your absence would vanish when your return.”

  “Leaving the Virulence here would prevent even minimal gains.” Drysso stroked his goatee. “While I have the utmost respect for and confidence in Captain Varrscha, her ship is not required on this mission.”

  “Nor is it required to safeguard Thyferra.” Isard smiled slowly. “I have the Thyferran Home Defense Corps to ward off the Rogues, if they do what you say they will. What few of them the THDC allows to survive will be useless to the Ashern rebels. We can easily hold out for twelve or twenty-four hours—whatever it takes for your return. And the Virulence will be going with you to guarantee your return. Ait Convarion made the mistake you are making in underestimating Antilles. Convarion paid for his arrogance with his life.”

  Drysso accepted Isard’s warning without a flicker of reaction. “I assure you, Madam Director, the Lusankya will return from Yag’Dhul victorious.”

  “I trust this will be the case, Captain Drysso, otherwise you’ll have no reason to return here at all.” Isard nodded solemnly. “You will find the consequences of failure most disagreeable.”

  Isard shifted her attention to Captain Varrscha and Vorru waited for the Virulence’s commander to collapse. “Captain Varrscha, you understand the mission as it has been given to you?”

  “Yes, ma’am. The Virulence is to offer all aid and assistance to the Lusankya to complete its mission. I will execute Captain Drysso’s orders instantly.”

  “Ah, I see.” Isard’s eyes narrowed. “You have served as Captain Drysso’s subordinate officer for years now, yes?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Following his orders is admirable, but what would you do if you thought he was making a mistake?”

  “I don’t understand the question, ma’am.”

  Anger curled its way through Isard’s voice. “Are you capable of taking the initiative, Captain? If the Lusankya were suddenly faced with a threat, could you act to head that threat off without an order from Captain Drysso?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Very good, Captain.” Isard strolled over to where the other woman stood, her voice dropping to the level of a growled whisper. “Understand this: The Lusankya is more valuable than you or your ship. Its preservation is vital for our continued success here at Thyferra. You will do whatever you must to see to it that the ship returns her
e. Captain Drysso may consider your presence to be that of an observer, but I consider you a shield between the Lusankya and disaster.”

  Isard spun away from her and addressed all three of the individuals in the room. “If Antilles knows we are coming, he will have something prepared to oppose us. Even if he has not anticipated us, I do not think he will be helpless. He will be desperate, and desperation can inspire people to great feats of heroism. In desperation there is danger for our forces, so you must be careful. If your victory costs us too much, we could be in jeopardy.”

  Drysso’s face became a resolute mask. “Victory will be mine, Madam Director.”

  “Those are famous last words, Captain Drysso.” Isard snorted derisively. “Do your best to see you do not join the teeming mass of failures for whom those were the last words.”

  Iella Wessiri snapped the trigger assembly for her blaster carbine back into place and tightened the bolt to secure it. She picked up a power pack to slam it home, but stopped when Elscol Loro crouched and squeezed through the opening to the Vratix den they shared. “News?”

  The smaller woman nodded. “All leaves have been canceled for crew from the Lusankya and the Virulence. Within six hours or so they should be under way.”

  “No convoy is forming up?”

  “Nope, this is clearly a strike mission.”

  Iella frowned. “You mean the strike mission.”

  “Isard does appear to be dancing to the tune Wedge has called.” Elscol shrugged. “I just hope Wedge can pay the synthesizer jockey when the bill comes due.”

  “He took Coruscant. Freeing this rock isn’t going to be that much tougher.”

  “Yes, but Isard wanted the New Republic to have Coruscant. She’s being a bit more possessive about Thyferra.”

  “True.” Iella set her carbine down, then hit several buttons on her chronometer. “Well, this news puts us on the clock, then, I guess. Forty-eight hours after the Lusankya leaves Thyferra, Wedge and the others will be here. You’ve already told Sixtus we’re on?”

  “He and his taskforce are already heading to their staging points and expect to be in position to liberate the detention center when they get our signal.”

  Iella caught a funny note in Elscol’s voice. “And you’d still like that signal to be a lift-truck bomb being flown into the Xucphra administrative headquarters to blow it up, right?”

  “Call me silly, but I don’t see why risking injury in an assault so you can capture Isard is preferable to scattering her constituent atoms all over the place with a bomb. And don’t give me the justice line again.”

  Iella shook her head. “Look, I know how evil Isard is—she turned my husband into a mockery of himself. I’d like nothing better than to shove a blaster up her nose and melt her brain. I wouldn’t consider it murder—”

  “Nor would anyone else.”

  “—But her death isn’t the point. Stopping her is. Even more important than that is to let her be tried in a court of law for her crimes. It’s vital to let people know that the laws have purpose and that evil people will be held accountable for what they do.”

  Elscol frowned. “And a bomb doesn’t do that?”

  “A bomb is just more anarchy. Killing her that way will allow people to say she had to be kept quiet or important people would have been revealed to be collaborators. Blowing her up allows people to say she really escaped the blast. The lack of a trial, because she won’t be held accountable for all of her crimes, means people can begin to think she wasn’t so bad. Twenty years from now, thirty or fifty, there could be a neo-Imperial movement that holds her up as an example to be emulated. Blowing her up will make her a martyr, but a trial will show her up as a monster, warts and all.”

  Elscol chewed her lower lip for a moment, then shook her head. “Well, I hate to admit it, but you’re actually making some sense. I must need a vacation.”

  “We all need a vacation.”

  “Okay, we’ll find some resort on a world where the Empire is just a nasty rumor, if we survive this assault of yours.”

  “When we survive it, you mean.”

  Elscol smiled. “Right, when we survive it. I hope, though, you aren’t expecting me to go in there with my selector lever on stun. Ain’t going to happen.”

  Iella retrieved her carbine and slid a power pack home. “If it shoots back, I’m shooting to kill. With Vorru, Isard, or Dlarit, I’ll go for a stun shot, but only if that’s not going to get me or anyone else killed.”

  “Your plan calls for more finesse than the bomb, but I guess we can make it work.”

  “We will.” Iella nodded solemnly. “Two days until Thyferra regains its freedom and Ysanne Isard loses hers.”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Captain Joak Drysso let a low sinister laugh fill the dark hollow of the ready-room on the Lusankya. He recalled with holographic clarity the image of the Executor plunging into the heart of the half-completed Death Star at Endor. He’d known at that point that the battle was lost, so he’d taken his Virulence and fled from the battle. I always knew I would have another chance to crush Rebels.

  He didn’t believe for an instant the fiction that Antilles and his people were outcasts from the New Republic. Theirs was obviously a mission meant to keep Isard bottled up until they could deal with her—and Antilles had done a good job of keeping her attention on him. Had he not preoccupied her, she might have seen the wisdom of creating an Imperial Combine, bringing together the various Warlords out there to put an end to the New Republic. It would have been very successful, he was certain of that, and she could have even led it because she possessed what everyone else wanted: Bacta.

  Isard’s short-sightedness in this regard didn’t surprise Drysso, primarily because she thought like a politician, not a warrior. Isard took great delight in being subtle and tricky, then when she decided to wield a hammer, she did it in a very clumsy manner. Sending Convarion out to destroy Halanit was a wasted gesture. An assault shuttle and a squadron of TIEs could have laid waste to that settlement. The attack did nothing but salve her ego and anger Antilles.

  He would have handled things entirely differently. Drysso had agreed a strike was necessary, but he would have gone after Corellia and brought the Diktat to heel, adding Corellia and its shipyards to the Iceheart Empire. That would supply them the means of building more ships. He would have then badgered Kuat into making a similar deal, giving him access to those shipyards. And then on to Sluis Van. Once I have those three sites under my control, I can strangle the New Republic by restricting trade—without ships and shipyards, nothing moves between stars.

  Drysso had chosen to stay with Isard because he thought she represented the best chance at reestablishing the Empire, and because she had the most legitimate claim to the throne itself. He had supported her decision to abandon Coruscant—a world that does not provide the means to wage war is worth little in a war. The New Republic’s conquest of it did hamper the Rebellion, and Isard’s possession of the Bacta Cartel put her in a very powerful position in the galaxy.

  Unfortunately, her power is embodied by this ship. Drysso caressed the arms of the command chair in which he sat. Only through this ship can she project her power to other worlds, command their compliance and punish their defiance. Now this ship is mine and thus is her power ceded to me.

  The comlink clipped to his jacket beeped. “Drysso here.”

  “Captain, five minutes to reversion to realspace.”

  “On my way to the bridge.” Drysso stood and strode from the ready-room to a turbolift for the short ride up to the bridge. As the lift slowed, he composed himself, setting his face with a stern expression. The door opened and he immediately strode out onto the Captain’s walk. “Report, Lieutenant Rosion.”

  The Chief Navigator looked up from the pit where he worked. “We’re coming in as scheduled. The station is in orbit around Yag’Dhul, occupying an orbit outside of that of the largest of Yag’Dhul’s three moons, with its position always opposite that moon.
We are coming in on the only good entry vector that won’t run us afoul of the world, its moons, or the system’s sun. The station should be clear for an attack once we close into range.”

  “Very good.” Drysso glanced over at his communications officer. “Ensign Yesti, when we revert to realspace, please inform the Virulence that we expect it to come in below us at a range of twenty kilometers. Inform Captain Varrscha she is not to power her weapons up except under my direct order.”

  “As ordered, Captain.”

  Drysso continued to walk forward until he reached the viewing station. The light tunnel through which the ship sped began to break down into long shafts of light. They, in turn, resolved themselves into unwavering gemstones set in a black blanket. Directly ahead of the ship’s distant prow, the system’s sun burned brightly. Yag’Dhul and its moons appeared as colorful spheres hanging in space. Silhouetted against Yag’Dhul’s gray face, the space station appeared to be little more than a cross—insignificant and defenseless.

  “Captain, we’re showing signs of snubfighter deployment at the station.”

  “Very well, tell Colonel Arl he is free to deploy his fighters in a defensive screen. Have you spotted the Alderaanian War Cruiser yet?”

  “Negative,” reported Drysso’s aide. “We are clear for a hundred kilometers around us, and Virulence is reporting similar clearance.”

  “Push the sensor sphere out to two hundred kilometers, Lieutenant Waroen, and keep scanning the fringes of the system for that War Cruiser. Time to engagement?”

  “Ten minutes to range.”

  “Bring our shields up to full.”

  “As ordered, sir.”

  Drysso stroked his goatee as he watched the station grow larger. The scrambling of the station’s snubfighters did not surprise him. That was the only reaction they could have, which is why he countered with deploying his fighters in a screen. It would be difficult for the X-wings to work their way through his screen and, while engaging in dogfights, all but impossible for them to maintain the sort of unit cohesion needed for a crushing volley of proton torpedoes to be launched at his ship. While proton torpedoes and concussion missiles were certainly a danger to his ship, they were only a danger in vast quantities—far more than three dozen snubfighters could possibly deliver.