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."
29
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 goateesomething 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. / 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 donehe
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 t o 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 antitor-pedo 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 threatas 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 dangerthe 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 Moffs
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 Moffs 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 missionsave Ooryl and the other
Gand accompanying themhe 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 missionsthe same sort he'd performed dozens of times
when with the Corellian Security Forcenothing ever seemed to go as planned. In
going after Yonka, the most likely glitch would arrive in the form of the Moffs
own squad of stormtroopers, and that was a serious complication. Exfiltration
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 Corranespecially after the disaster on Thyferra. / 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. Oo
ryl 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 departurenot 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.
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.