TIE Fighter: Prime Wing

The Special Edition

By: Jennifer Quail

 

Chapter One

 

The Imperial-class Star Destroyer Eradicator hovered over the crippled installation, its forward batteries raining green death on the Rebel weapons cache. On the tactical screen, the station’s fading yellow deflector shields flickered and died. A few more bursts, and the display informed the Eradicator’s tactical officer that the station’s power generators had been reduced to 25% operational.

“The target installation is disabled, Captain Kespar,” the officer reported.

The Eradicator’s captain nodded briskly. Kespar was a thin, hawkish man with watery gray eyes that shifted when he spoke. “Excellent. Inform the boarding parties that they may proceed.”

Three troop transports launched from the Eradicator’s hanger, carrying the Imperial Stormtroopers who would occupy the station, heading at their sluggish, but sure pace for the captured installation. The Captain watched from the forward bridge, monitoring their progress on a tactical readout. The transports had heavy shields, but were, for the most part, not very maneuverable and poorly defended. Their initial bombardment had supposedly disabled the station’s weapons systems, but when it came to trapped Rebels, desperate fanatics that they were, it never hurt to be cautious. One of the Star Destroyer’s numerous TIE squadrons swung around the three ships in lazy loops, sensors scanning for any sign of Rebel reinforcements. So far, the skies were clear.

The transports had almost reached the station’s docking bay, shields dropping as they maneuvered to dock. Everything appeared normal, when suddenly every sensor on the Eradicator's bridge screamed a warning as one of the transports died in a fiery red burst.

“Sir!” the lieutenant at Tactical shouted suddenly. “We have enemy ships in sector three-twelve!” On the display, the images of two large vessels appeared on the screen, glowing a hostile red.

“What?” Kespar spun around. “Who are they?”

“One Nebulon-B class frigate,” the young officer reported. “A Mon Cal cruiser, both at twenty klicks. The frigate just launched two squadrons of X-wing fighters!”

“Launch two Interceptor groups to take them out!” Kespar ordered. The eight Imperial fighters, tiny green blips on the display, separated from the Eradicator and rushed out to meet oncoming Rebel fighters.

But even before their launch tractor beams had powered down, another troop transport disappeared in a hail of laser fire from the Nebulon-B. One of the escort TIEs was clipped, and spun off into one of his wingmates, sending both to a sparking, spinning death.

Kespar looked at the Communications Officer. “I thought you said the station didn’t get any distress signals out before we destroyed their communications antenna!”

“They didn’t!” the Communications Officer protested. “We would have detected it. It might be a coincidence…” He looked unconvinced by his own words.

“No, they came out of hyperspace ready for a fight. Forward batteries, open fire on those capital ships!” Kespar ordered. The turbolaser blasts lanced out toward the rounded shape of the Mon Cal vessel, and were met with a seemingly endless fusillade from the larger rebel ships. Meanwhile, the Interceptors were rallying, but found themselves outnumbered by the better-shielded Rebel snub fighters.

“Captain, shields are down to fifteen percent!” another officer called. “We can’t take much more of this!”

The communications officer was clamoring for his attention. “Captain, Gamma wing leader reports heavy losses and desperate need for reinforcements!”

“We can’t take the time to launch another squadron until we take out that cruiser!” The Captain said. “Tell Gamma Leader to hold on until we can send out…”

“Gamma Leader’s been destroyed, sir,” The communications officer said. “We read no contacts from any of our TIEs or the transports.”

Kespar winced and closed his eyes. “Turn the ship. Prepare to make the jump to lightspeed.”

“Captain, shields are down to five percent!” A voice from the crew pit warned.

Tactical called, “That Nebulon-B is turning to assist the cruiser!”

The Eradicator shuddered violently once, and then again. “Captain, shields are down!”

“Prepare for lightspeed…”

But Kespar never finished his orders. At that moment, the Mon Cal cruiser and the Nebulon-B let loose a deadly hail of proton torpedoes. Already crippled and shield-less, the Eradicator still could have outrun them if they’d had time to turn. But they didn’t. And the projectiles were well-aimed, demolishing engines, turbolaser batteries, and finally, the conning tower.

Kespar’s final thoughts before the world exploded around him was a grim certainty that there was no way the station had called for help. Someone had informed the Rebels. He, and his entire crew, had died betrayed.

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Rurik Caelin, First Lieutenant in the Imperial Navy and recent graduate of the TIE fighter training program, knew he should have been happy with the rank and the “well done” from his instructors. Only the best, brightest, and most talented cadets were selected for flight school. He should have been bursting with pride. He should have been overjoyed.

He should have, but he wasn’t.

Wiping black strands of hair from his forehead, he slipped the simulator helmet over his head. He knew that he had to keep his skills sharp, but he was beginning to be sick of holographic battles and simulated victories. If I were from a core world, I’d be on a Star Destroyer by now, he thought bitterly, as he punched up the next scenario. But he was from a tiny, backwater planet in the Outer Rim of the Empire, and that, he learned, made all the difference.

The mission the computer presented him with was to enter a Rebel shipyards and destroy as many of the snub fighters as possible before they went hot and came after him. Rurik had already decided to take out the Y-wings and B-wings and fight the X-wings and A-wings man-to-man. It seemed more exciting that way. The bomber-style Wishbones (Y-wings) and Crosses (B-wings) were too sluggish to make for an exciting chase. His ship for this mission would be a TIE Interceptor. Better than a classic TIE, but not as good as the new TIE Defender or TIE Advanced, he thought. And, scuttlebutt was that Sinear Fleet Systems had something even better up their sleeves.

Then he was in the mission, and Rurik turned his attention to flying. They were in tight quarters, so he quickly redirected power from his engines to his laser canons. Sometimes the Interceptor’s speed was an advantage, but in close-in dogfights, it usually only served to put you in front of your opponent and as such, in front of his turbolasers.

With two quick blasts, he took out the stationary B-wings. Swinging in a wide, lazy arc, he turned to target the parked wishbones. As he did so, a computer warning alerted him that the Pointers (X-wings) and Slims (A-wings) were coming on-line. Leaving two concussion missiles to finish the wishbones, he turned to look for the attackers who would be shooting back.

To his surprise, he found that the pointers and two of the slims were holding back. One lone A-wing was headed straight in to meet him, lasers blazing. That can’t be the computer, he thought to himself. Someone in another simulator? It had to be. Grinning behind the holo helmet, he swung around to meet this challenger.

The slim swung in and out of his sights, never getting quite close enough for lasers or stable enough for a missile lock. Rurik turned the agile TIE and dove sharply, cutting in behind the Rebel. He fired his laser cannons, but the A-wing twisted and spun upward so quickly that for a moment his targeting computer lost the lock. Glancing upward, he saw nothing of the other fighter. He began to turn…

Suddenly a laser bolt slapped him hard from behind. The shell-like Interceptor’s targeting computer immediately fritzed out in a dramatic shower of sparks. Now, though he could still fire, it would be random shots at an unmarked target. Two more blasts and his guidance vanished, leaving him little more than a drifting blaster cannon at the mercy of inertia and his pursuer. There was another flash…

And then the simulator went dark. They’d got him. Heaving a sigh, Rurik pushed his helmet back from his forehead. Had this been a real battle instead of a sim, he would be so many subatomic particles drifting in space. He leaned back against the restraints, feeling the tense muscles in his neck relax a little. Learn from your mistakes in the sim so you don’t make them out there.

The hatch of the simulator cracked open with a grinding of servos. “Lt. Caelin,” Came the rough, gravelly voice of Major Kel Varens, the commandant of TIE Training Base Alpha-27. “Step out of the simulator, please.”

Stifling a groan, Rurik lifted himself up to the deck. Varens was a short-bodied little man with thinning dirty blond hair and narrow eyes that always seemed to glare laser bolts at the new pilots. “That was a real pilot in that A-wing, wasn’t it, sir?” Rurik asked.

Varens nodded tightly, and said with a sardonic sneer, “That was your new wingmate.”

Rurik kept his jaw from dropping, but barely. “New wingmate, sir?”

“Why they’re giving this important an assignment to Rim scum like you is beyond me.” From anyone but Varens, that comment would have made Rurik bristle, and the conversation would have been over one way or another. But from the Major, it was little more than standard abuse. Around the base, it was said that Palpatine himself couldn’t have gotten a word of praise out of the Major's mouth. “Of course, since this is our little freak wing, you ought to fit right in.”

That, on the other hand, stung. Ignoring it as best he could, Rurik asked, “If I may, sir, who was that flying against me?”

They were approaching the opposite end of the simulator complex. Varens, with his typical brusqueness, rapped on the simulator pod. “Lieutenant Commander!”

The pod’s seal cracked open, and Rurik got his first look at his opponent. The loose jumpsuit gave no clue to the form, but this person was small, even slight. They reached up and pulled off the helmet, and Rurik felt as though he’d been kicked in the stomach. The pilot who’d out-flown him, demonstrating enough skill that they ought to have been on a real assignment, was a female.

Even worse, she was an alien.

The eyes that regarded him when the pilot discarded her helmet were pupil-less, intense and a deep red-gold. It took him a minute to realize that they also gave forth a light of their own, and did not merely reflect the light around them. Her skin was a soft, pale blue, only a little paler at her mouth. Blue-black hair was braided in a whip-thin lock that disappeared down her back. He wondered if she was sitting on it. She studied him for a moment before swinging to the deck in one clean move. She came up to his shoulder, but the even, emotionless way she stared at him made him feel as though he was sinking into the deck.

Major Varens did not change his nasty tone at all. “Caelin, this is Lt. Cmdr. Thelea. You’ll be flying with her. I’m going to let you two get acquainted, but be in Briefing Room 1013 in fifteen minutes. You’ll meet the rest of your wing there. Don’t be late.” He stalked off without waiting to hear their acknowledgments.

Rurik was left staring dumbly at this-this-whatever she was. She met his level gaze with an unnerving glowing stare that he noticed uneasily bore a striking resemblance to blaster bolts.

Finally, she said, “It is customary for a junior officer to introduce himself when speaking to his superior for the first time.” Her voice was cool as ice water and as even as the hum of the engines below decks.

Rurik’s eyes narrowed, but the Lieutenant Commander’s squares on her uniforms backed her up more powerfully than a squad of Stormtroopers. “Lt. Rurik Caelin,” he said stiffly, with all the formality he could muster. “May I be so bold as to ask your name?”

She heard the sarcasm in his voice and raised an eyebrow. “You heard my name.” Then, as if realizing he wasn’t going to let it go with that, she said, “My name it Lt. Cmdr. Thelea tal Kyrn. You will call me Commander or Commander Thelea.”

“Your given name?” he asked.

Her expression didn’t change. “Tal Kyrn is a familial reference which would be utterly meaningless to a mere human.” For the first time, the level tone varied slightly, and the scorn was obvious.

“A mere human?” Rurik challenged, bristling. “What makes you so special, alien?”

Her eyes narrowed and her mouth tightened at the corners, just a bit. “What makes me special, Lieutenant, is that I have out-flown every fighter pilot in the Imperial fleet except Lord Vader himself. What makes me special is that I outrank you, and you had better show me a little more respect, unless you want to be piloting a garbage scow to Kessel!”

He tried to meet her glare, but found the red glow disconcerting, to say the least. He wondered if there was anyone who could look her in the eye without flinching. “My apologies, Commander Thelea. Now, if I'm not being rude, may I follow you to briefing room 1013, so that we might meet our new squadron mates?”

Thelea’s expression returned to her earlier level of unreadablity. “Spare me your sarcasm, Lieutenant Caelin, and let’s go. But get one thing straight…I don’t know how long you’re going to last with this unit, but so long as you’re here, I outrank you, and you do not want to get on my bad side. Do we understand each other?”

For a minute, Rurik was sorely tempted to argue with her. Not only was her very alien-ness disturbing, her smug, disgustingly level tone of voice irked the Outer-Rim defiance of authority that was hardwired into his personality. But on a second look, he realized that her unstated threat was backed with more than rank. A small hold-out blaster hung at the waist of her flight suit, and the way her hand rested near the grip said she knew how to use it.

“All right,” he said. “I’ll try not to irritate you. Now, may I escort m’lady to the briefing room?”

Thelea didn’t glare at him, but the icy blankness said enough. “After you, Lieutenant.”

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In briefing room 1013, Major Varens was waiting with another officer in a standard brown Navy uniform. When Thelea and Rurik entered, there were already two other people (humans, Rurik noted with some relief) seated in the chairs before the display screen, both dressed in the black shipboard jumpsuits favored by TIE pilots. They took their seats beside these two and waited for Varens to formally begin the briefing.

While they did so, Rurik took the opportunity to examine the other two who presumably made up the rest of their wing. One was a youth, who couldn’t possibly have been any older than Rurik. The youth had sandy blond hair cut in the harsh military style given to Academy freshmen. Brown eyes that were just wide and eager enough to be annoying were taking in the briefing room and his fellow pilots with quick turns of the head. For a minute, he caught Rurik’s gaze and offered a friendly, enthusiastic smile. Rurik returned the expression thin-lipped. A kid, he thought disgustedly. He can’t be more than eighteen.

The other pilot was as far to the other end of the spectrum from the first as was possible. This man had gray hair and the lined, hard face of a veteran. He looked so much older Rurik wondered if he had seen action in the Clone Wars. His uniform had the broken-in, well-worn look of old clothing, and the marks where many unit patches had been thermal-fixed and then removed. On the sleeves, there were battle patches, too, including one the made Rurik do a double take. It was a black-rimmed sun going supernova, with the silhouette of a standard TIE Fighter at the center. Rurik couldn’t help the low whistle that escaped.

“Yavin,” He breathed.

Thelea, who had been staring pointed at the bulkhead somewhere in front of her, turned sharply. “What is it, Lieutenant?”

Even her iciness didn’t deter him. “That pilot…he was at the battle of Yavin,” He said. “He survived!”

Thelea’s expression didn't change. “A few did, you know, no thanks to the Grand Moff.”

Rurik stared at her, stunned by the casual disrespect. “What?”

“Tarkin was fool. If he had been more prepared for the assault and less overconfident, he could easily have crushed the Rebels,” she said with a clinical detachment, as though showing disrespect for a man that so recently become an Imperial martyr was nothing at all. “Only Lord Vader had the foresight to realize that no man-made object is impenetrable. Tarkin was blinded by his own ambition, and it cost us our best chance to end the Rebellion. Now this war is going to go on forever.”

The gray-haired man had overheard them, and he looked over his shoulder. “I beg your pardon?” he said in the cultured accent of Imperial Center. “The Grand Moff was far from ambitious. It was my pleasure to serve with him for many years, and I assure you he had no interest but the Empire’s at heart.”

“I am impressed by your devotion, Commander L’Grath, but not by your blinders,” Thelea said coolly. Obviously, she knew this old-timer. “Tarkin was a ruthlessly ambitious man, and that was his undoing. Unfortunately, for a great tool of the Empire was lost.”

“Be at attention,” Varens said, and abruptly the conversation stopped. “This is Captain Heverab from the Imperial Security Bureau. He is here to brief you on your first mission as a wing.”

That was the first acknowledgment that they would indeed be flying together. The kid looked disgustingly excited, Rurik noticed, and the old man, resigned. Thelea kept her face blank, but he was beginning to think that was simply her normal expression.

“In the name of Emperor,” Heverab said, a standard enough opening statement. “What I am about to tell you is highly classified eyes-only. One standard week ago, a task force lead by the ISD Eradicator was dispatched to capture a rebel outpost near the Dirkact sector of the Outer Rim.” He activated the holoprojector, and the ships appeared, the Imperial vessels a benign green and the Rebels glowing red, hostile.

“Shortly after they disabled the stations power generators and shield systems, a Rebel task force appeared out of hyperspace.” On the holo, the Nebulon-B frigate and a Mon Calamari launched a swarm of tiny red fighters that quickly overwhelmed the smaller number of TIEs and turned on the Eradicator.

"The Eradicator was hopelessly outgunned, and was lost with all hands. We obtained these images from a lone TIE pilot who escaped and made his way back to Imperial space.” He switched off the projector.

Rurik looked at the other three. The kid looked like he was ready to jump out of his seat from excitement. The old man had the hardened look of a professional, and Thelea still had that infuriating unreadable mask for a face. For himself, Rurik thought that while it was distressing to hear of the loss of a Star Destroyer, and infuriating to think that the Rebel scum responsible had gotten away, the loss of the Death Star and the billions of lives aboard had numbed the Imperial fleet to tragedies.

“We at ISB have determined that the two ships responsible for the death of the Eradicator and her crew came from a small moon of the world called Friedor.” Now the projector displayed that colorless gas giant, with a small red dot pinpointing the moon. “Friedor is a large gas planet in the Je’cEven sector, an uninhabited area of space known to be used as a meeting place and dumping ground for smugglers, pirates and other scum like them. We now believe that a sizeable rebel force is using Friedor’s moon as a staging ground for attacks on our fleet and supply ships. We have also confirmed that the Rebels are shipping supplies through the out-system asteroid belt, where containers are left for pickup.” The picture changed again, and Friedor’s gaseous bulk shrank to a third of its former size, and they saw the rocky expanse of the asteroid belt that ringed the system. “Your mission is to locate this supply dump and destroy it.”

Varens stepped forward. “From this moment on, your are designated as Alpha Wing. Commander Avran L’Grath will be you wing leader, with Lt. Commander Thelea in second position.” Rurik looked at the old man, who merely nodded. “Lt. Rurik Caelin and Lt. Giriad Quoris will round out the wing.” Varens gave them a moment to take that in. As they’d all figured it out already, there was no discernable reaction. Then he continued, “You will be assigned to the Victory-class Star Destroyer Valiant, under the command of Captain Sol Medreian.”

“Sir.” Thelea barely waited for an acknowledgment. “Begging the Major’s pardon,” she said, her voice in the same neutral pitch as always. “Isn’t the Valiant part of Vice Admiral Thrawn’s fleet?”

Rurik had never heard of this Vice Admiral, and he wondered why it made any difference. Admirals were, to him, all the same. But for some reason Varens hesitated, and his lip curled in an expression that might have been disdain.

“Yes,” he said, and he sounded strangely reluctant. “Vice Admiral Thrawn is in command of that group. It is, of course, only a subsidiary of the Outer Rim territories fleet.”

Rurik shivered. That made a difference. That fleet, made up of Destroyers with famous names like Avenger, Devastator, Stormhawk, Judicator, the legendary ships, were under the direct personal control of Lord Vader, himself. Stories were told of a quick rise through the ranks in that fleet, if you were lucky. The unlucky merely disappeared. But Varens was continuing, and with a shake of his head, he forced himself to pay attention.

“For now,” the Major was saying. “You will be issued standard TIE Interceptors. If your performance deems you worthy, you may eventually receive the more advanced models currently being developed.” Then he dropped his usual lecture tone. “I must tell you that I personally see very little hope of that. You are being assigned to this wing for one reason only: there are those who would like to see you not come back from your missions, and frankly, looking at all of you I can see why. Ordinarily, I would tell you now that you are part of the finest fighting group in the Empire. However, I must be honest. You have all shown extraordinary skill, and that is the only reason that an old man who ran from a glorious death, an alien freak who’s a female, no less, some Rimworld scum…” Rurik met the Major’s eyes with a level gaze that held neither the malice he felt nor the shame that Varens was right. “…Or the son of some third-rate, dispossessed noble from an insignificant Core world were not shown the airlock immediately!”

If Thelea was offended by Varens’ words, she chose not to show it. Avran L’Grath, the old man, looked vaguely ashamed and embarrassed. Giriad didn't know better than to look offended, and might have said something if L’Grath hadn’t placed a placating hand on his arm.

“You have twenty-four hours to assemble your gear,” Varens went on. “Then you are to report to shuttle bay 96, where you will be deployed to your new assignment. Bring honor to the Empire!” As he turned away, Rurik distinctly heard him mutter, “If it’s possible for such a group of miscreants.”

The others, if they heard, said nothing. Once the two officers had departed, Giriad, the kid, was the first to speak. “Well, it's nice to know they have so much confidence in us.” Then he brushed it off with the naivete of the young. “But it’ll be great to prove them wrong!”

L’Grath shook his head. “Young man, I’m afraid you have a great deal to learn about what it’s really like as a pilot. In all likelihood, none of us will return from out first mission.”

Giriad didn’t seem inclined to believe this. “What about you? Look at that patch! You survived the worst the Rebel scum could throw at us. So how can it be so dangerous?”

L’Grath’s eyes lowered, and he said in a very aged voice, “Though the Major spoke very harshly, what he said might be considered true.”

Scorn replaced eagerness in the boy's eyes. “Well, I’m not going to run from a fight.” L’Grath didn’t meet his eyes.

Rurik couldn’t let the kid’s cocky attitude pass. “Oh, yeah?” He said. “How would you know? You’ve never seen the outside of an airlock. I’ll bet the first time a wishbone takes a shot at you, you’ll run like a scared mynock.”

Giriad looked at him with visible distaste. “I was flying airspeeders before I could walk. What’s your prior experience, Rimscum? A swoop gang?”

Rurik had a fiery response on the tip of his tongue when a cool, modulated voice cut them off. “This bickering is both pointless and juvenile.” Thelea was sitting with her elbows resting on the arms of her chair, her hands clasped before her. She wasn’t looking at them, her glowing red eyes narrow slits in the glacial mask. “We must function together, as a unit, if we are to survive. Rebel snubs and pirate raiders aren’t the only danger out there. Division amongst ourselves could prove fatal. So please, settle these childish disputes before we leave for the Valiant. Humans.” That last was a mutter, under her breath, and the disgust was faintly audible.

“Well, I do beg your pardon, m’lady,” Rurik said with a mock bow. “We will try to live up to your so-much-more civilized standards.” Something in the alien pilot’s coolly superior attitude was pushing all his disobedience buttons, the ones that had driven his parents to distraction. “What, exactly, is this internal danger we must be so vigilant against?”

Instead of answering, Thelea rose in one fluid motion. “If you will excuse me, I have a great deal to do before we leave. Please, settle your petty differences before tomorrow. We have a great deal ahead.” She stalked out the door with only a brief nod to T’Grath.

“By the Core, but she’s a stony one,” Giriad said. “I hope she flies better than most of her kind. I’m not looking forward to having some alien back me up. I hope she doesn’t get in the way.”

“Don't worry about Thelea getting in your way,” T’Grath said darkly. “Worry about getting in hers.”

Rurik looked to where the alien pilot had disappeared out into the corridor. Getting into Thelea’s way did seem a dangerous move, and it was one he intended to avoid. For now.

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Thelea kept her eyes focused on the ground ahead of her. She had long ago learned that the humans were disturbed by the glowing red, and so she did her best to avoid looking at them. Now she did not think of it, nor did she hear the ringing of her boots on the metal walkway.

Admiral Thrawn’s fleet. She would be serving in Admiral Thrawn’s fleet.

Logically, she knew she would not meet the Vice Admiral. He was far to important a person, even in this human Empire, to pay any notice to a girl who was, after all, tal Kyrn. She shuddered at the thought of trying to explain that epithet to the human, Caelin. She shook her head grimly. He radiated a smug confidence that irked her to the marrow of her being. How could he understand that it meant she was a no one, no House, no betrothal, no name? But something about the black-haired human had piqued her interest. Not his skill as a pilot, though he was undoubtedly gifted. She’d seen better. But the way Giriad and Varens treated him, as though he were less than they, because of his homeworld. That she could understand.

But Thrawn was a different matter entirely. Despite the fact that working for the insignificant human Empire lowered one’s status, his intellect was still considered one of the highest of his House. It was said there were even some who still swore fealty to him, even in his exile, that somewhere there was a home guard loyal to him. If he had only obeyed the High Families’ edicts, he could have been first among them all. Instead he had chosen disobedience and exile, and now served the human Empire, a humiliating demotion for one of such promise.

Then again, she rationalized, if one like him had decided to leave, one with such an intellect, something must be out here. And perhaps now she would have a chance to ask him. Perhaps he could tell her something even more important. It was a slim hope, but he was so much older, a full adult in their long-lived race. Maybe he knew the answer she needed to find. The names of her parents.

She was mulling this over when the hand fell on her arm. She came to an abrupt halt and rounded on the intruder into her thoughts, but realized at once that the aura of this person was both familiar and overpowering. She looked into the cowl of a hood at a pair of blazing ice eyes, all that was ever visible of this person. “What is it?”

He clenched down on her arm, but she didn’t flinch.

“Your mission is a cover,” He said in a harsh whisper. “Be sure to check the contents of the cargo carriers before firing. Someone is slipping the new TIE technology to the Rebels, and must be stopped! Save that container, and call for backup. A troop transport will arrive to deal with the contraband.” His grip dug in painfully, but she did not change expression. “In the name of the Emperor. Success!” He released her and melted back into the shadows.

Thelea considered these instructions as she continued to her quarters. Orders from the Inner Circle were always mysterious but clear. She had to obey. If she didn’t…she shuddered, and pushed the memory far back into her mind. When she had been a lone recon pilot, it had been easy. Now, thinking of the jaded L’Grath, the gung-ho and arrogant Giriad, and Caelin’s irritating lack of respect, she knew it would be much harder. And if one of them was a plant, an enemy, it could be deadly. She had to be cautious. Both her private missions were more in jeopardy than ever.

Chapter Two

 

The shuttle Wrysterian jolted slightly as it docked with the Victory-class Star Destroyer Valiant. Rurik shifted uncomfortably in his cramped seat, wishing he could stretch his aching muscles. It would be several more minutes before the formalities were concluded and they could actually debark, which wasn't nearly soon enough for him. A seven-hour shuttle flight was unbearable enough, but with the company here, it was downright intolerable. Through the long trip, he had tried to make conversation with all his new comrades, and had met with little success.

His first attempt was his fellow lieutenant, Giriad Quoris. The young pilot was still insisting when they came aboard that this would be a glorious success. Rurik wondered if Giriad had ever been permitted to fail at anything. His opening was weak, he knew, but he figured it was worth a shot.

“So, Giriad,” He’d asked. “Where’re you from?”

The boy had given him a haughty sneer that Rurik had seen a dozen times before from Core-Worlders. “From Ashthera, of course. Haven’t you ever heard of my family?”

Rurik hadn’t, but he had heard of Ashthera. A world whose economy centered largely on navicomputer components, it was known throughout the Core regions as a would-be Coruscant run by several families, all who claimed to be direct descendants from the original owners of the giant corporations. Whether they were or not was anyone’s guess.

“No, I can’t say that I have,” He said, trying to be polite. The last thing he needed was yet another mark on his record for instigating an argument. He had plenty of those already. But he couldn’t resist adding, “I’m sure I’ve heard of some of your relatives, though. From what I hear, on Ashthera, everyone's related.”

Giriad’s round boyish features turned livid. “At least I know who my family is. I’m not surprised a backwater Rimworlder like you hasn’t heard of my father, Keron Quoris, or his…”

Commander L'Grath had interrupted then, sounding tired and irritated. “Of course he hasn’t heard of your father, Lieutenant. How could he, when the name of Keron Quoris has been struck from the Ashtherian registry, and he has been thrown off the Board of Controllers?”

Giriad tried to maintain the air of disdain, but he was crumbling. “They never proved those allegations.” He sounded much more like a spoiled child now than snobbish Core aristocracy.

“Proof? There was no need. He practically confessed,” L’Grath said, and there was no mistaking a sudden ice in his voice. He was, after all, the commander.

Giriad looked as if he wanted to say something, but instead withdrew into a sulk; a wise decision, Rurik thought. L’Grath, meanwhile, looked as if he would go back to brooding, but Rurik said quickly, “Commander, if you don’t mind, I had a question that I wanted ask you.”

L’Grath sighed wearily. “I think that I know. You want to hear what the battle of Yavin was like.” Rurik nodded a little sheepishly. “Well, I’m sure you’ve heard all the stories of the Rebel’s treacherous tactics, their sabotage of the Death Star, and their overwhelming attack.”

“I heard that Kenobi and his saboteurs had already staged a terrorist attack to rescue Princess Organa, and that they stole plans that gave the Rebels a tactical advantage,” Rurik said.

L’Grath chuckled grimly. “The plans were already in their hands before they boarded the station,” he said bitterly. “In the end, Kenobi’s raid made very little difference. What mattered was that when the Rebels attacked, we weren’t prepared. Only Lord Vader’s squadron offered any real resistance. The Rebel snub fighters evaded our turbo laser batteries, but Vader’s wing would have defeated them, if it hadn’t been for that pirate Solo.” The dark humor that had shadowed his face faded now, replaced by the tired indifference that had been there before. “But it doesn't matter. I should have stayed with my squadron. I saw one wingman destroyed before me, another crippled, and I did the first thing I thought of. I ran. In the end, it was probably the wisest course of action. But it was also the action of a coward.”

“Well, you were scared,” Rurik offered lamely, and he heard a derisive snort from Giriad. If the kid makes one more smart remark, I’m going to knock that smug grin off his face, Rurik thought grimly, but Giriad remained silent.

To his surprise, L’Grath laughed coldly. “Scared, boy? I wasn’t scared. I’ve been scared before, of course. Flying in the Clone Wars scared me. No, at Yavin, when I watched Vader’s fighter spin away, when I saw that X-wing fire those torpedoes, I wasn’t scared. I was terrified!” L’Grath's face twisted in a strange blend of remembered pain and anger. “I knew that I had failed, and that the only thing to do was to go out in a blaze of glory. But what did I do instead? I put all power to engines and ran. I was lucky to keep my head when the fleet finally arrived and found me. That is why I, a combat veteran of forty years, am flying in a unit with a spoiled Core world brat, some Outer Rim hotshot--no offense intended, Lieutenant Caelin, of course,” he amended, and Rurik nodded. Of course L’Grath didn’t like working with someone from a backwater planet. Few in the Empire did. “And,” L’Grath finished, glancing at the far end of the passenger compartment. “An alien.”

Rurik risked a look into the shadowy recesses of the shuttle. Thelea had apparently not been paying attention; or if she had, she had chosen to ignore them. All he could see of the unnerving red-gold eyes were narrow slits visible through the shadows in the dimly lit cabin. She was leaning back in her seat, her fingers steepled before her. Rurik wondered if she was asleep. Knowing nothing about whatever species she was, it was entirely possible that they slept with their eyes open.

“No, I’m not asleep.” The cool, level voice startled them all. “Unlike you humans,” she went on, seemingly oblivious to their surprise. “I don’t require sleep per se. A few hours of rest are perfectly sufficient.”

L’Grath was the first to recover from his surprise. “Commander Thelea,” he said, somewhat pleasantly. “I hadn’t realized you were awake.”

“Obviously.” She rose, stretching as best she could in the cramped cabin. “We should be arriving soon. Have you quite finished your interrogations, Lieutenant Caelin?”

Logically, Rurik knew he should have simply said yes and shut up. However, his mouth took over, as it usually did. “No, m’lady, I haven’t. I haven’t gotten to you, Commander. Just how did you end up in this unit? How did you get into the Imperial Navy at all?”

Thelea’s glowing eyes narrowed. “Skill, Lieutenant Caelin. Some of those in positions of power appreciate ability, even when it comes in an unpleasant package.” She looked down at the pale blue skin of her hands, face a mask.

“Some say that, after Yavin, the Empire’s gotten desperate,” Giriad said coolly.

“Certainly, if they were willing to take you,” Thelea shot back coldly. Then, as if afraid of the breaking of her facade, she said, “In any case, I was placed on active duty before Yavin.”

“Really,” Rurik said, trying to keep his genuine curiosity out of his voice. “Where have you served, m’lady? The Avenger? The Devastator? The Emperor’s personal guard?”

Thelea met his gaze directly, her red-gold eyes boring into the back of his skull. Rurik cringed. “I was an independent recon pilot. I flew solo missions into Rebel-held sectors to take surveillance holos and return. Twice I’ve lost fighters, but my pickup always managed to get me before the Rebels did. I have ten fighter kills to my credit, seven of them X-wings.”

Rurik felt paralyzed by her gaze, though, without pupils or irises, it was impossible to tell if she was really staring straight at him. Her voice had lost a little of its detachment, sounding distant and airy. Then, abruptly, she snapped out of it. “In any case, I am easily the second-most experienced pilot in this squadron. I'll thank you not to question my abilities.”

That broke the trance her eyes had held him in. “Oh, certainly not m’lady,” he said, standing slowly. “I wouldn’t dream of questioning your abilities. I’d just like to see a demonstration of them.” He met her gaze levelly, without flinching.

If Thelea was surprised, she didn’t show it. “Surprisingly intelligent, Caelin.” Slowly, she sat back down to wait for docking.

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The pilot’s quarters aboard the VSD Valiant were not spacious, though they were better than Stormtrooper barracks. Thelea was glad she made it a habit not to carry too many belongings. Carefully, she unfolded her other two shipboard uniforms, and then set about examining her flight suit. She had always hated the bulky, confining helmets provided for TIE pilots, and the minute she had proved that she was better than competent in a TIE, she had set about to trimming down the heavy uniform.

She’d taken the heavy, stifling helmet and trimmed the faceplate back, consciously styling it after the Rebel’s open-faced helmets. The dark eye shield remained, but now the pilot’s mouth was free to breathe and speak without the muffling condensation on the old shield. Her oxygen flow came through a detachable facemask. It had the same disadvantage as the Rebels, that if she ejected, she had to think about closing the helmet seal. A few of her superiors had pointed that out, in rather explicit terms. However, after they’d picked her up twice, still breathing and intact, from the depths of space, they had grudgingly admitted that her design was, if not superior, at least equal to the standard flightsuit.

She sighed as she surveyed her own lack of belongings. She had taken almost nothing with her when she’d escaped.

Be honest, Thelea tal Kyrn. When you ran away, there had been no time to think of packing. And, as the House that had taken her in never failed to remind her, she hadn’t really owned anything, anyway. She’d been lucky that the Kur’ill’ean traders had been willing to bring her as far as the Outer Rim.

Or maybe not so lucky. She had lied to Caelin, sort of. It hadn’t been skill that had gotten her into the Empire’s elite forces; at least, not entirely. When she’d made her official application to the Naval Academy, she’d been told that someone had expressed an interest in her, and had agreed to act as her sponsor with the odd condition that his identity remain a secret. The Academy processor, a heavyset man with wide, white-rimed eyes, had stared at her in a strange way, though, as though he found the situation amusing. No doubt he though she was some mid-level pad pusher’s overambitious chattel, or perhaps an illegitimate half-human, and entrance in the Academy was the price of her silence. For once, she’d been glad that her training in hiding her feelings had been as complete as any Titled one’s. If she’d shown her contempt for his suspicions, he would have shown her the brig.

Sighing, she settled into the uncomfortable standard-issue chair. She was fortunate in that, as a Lieutenant Commander, she finally had her own quarters. Sharing had been a nightmare (though since she did not exactly sleep, she wasn’t sure what one was like) in that, not only did she have to live with the human chauvinist remarks and pranks, the feeling of someone so close was an unbearable headache.

Thelea had tried to hide the unusual skill at first. On her homeward, the ability to pick up faint traces of a person’s sense from an object they’d handled or better yet, that they’d created, was not entirely unheard of. And of course the special link between two people with a bond was a nearly universal trait. But Thelea’s gift went far deeper. She had discovered at an early age that she could determine a person’s mood simply by concentrating on them. After a while, she no longer had to think about it. It wasn’t long before she was even able to manipulate others through mental suggestions. She’d often wondered if she’d inherited this strange ability from one of her parents. In any case it was useful, especially when flying in a dogfight, and as when she’d picked up Caelin’s wonderings about her aboard the shuttle.

Caelin. She leaned back in the chair, eyes closed to slits, and concentrated. To her left, she sensed L’Grath, that distinctly morose feel, alone in his cabin. Pushing harder, she strained to reach the barrack shared by the squadron's two lieutenants. Faintly, she detected Giriad’s pretentious arrogance, and underneath, that slight uncertainty. She smiled, wondering what he’d say if he knew she quite literally saw though his facade.

There. She focused harder. Caelin, all right. He positively radiated a cocky self-assurance that clashed with her own carefully constructed calm. Briefly she wondered if that was why he was as good a pilot as he seemed to be. Thelea would never admit it, but she’d gotten lucky in the simulator. He had made only one error, and would not be likely to repeat it. Another time, and he just might out-fly her. Which made him exceptionally dangerous if he turned out to be the traitor.

She relaxed, easing the strain on her mind. The Secret Order had assured her that there would be a traitor in this wing, someone who’s loyalty was certainly not to the Emperor. And yet she had neither seen nor sensed any duplicity in any of them. L’Grath? Unthinkable. Giriad? That kid-like eagerness blended with aristocratic arrogance could well be cover, but was he capable of that depth? Caelin?

Thelea smiled. Yes, Caelin was certainly capable of that duplicity, and he had the talent as a pilot to make it look like an accident. But there was something else about him, a basic decency buried under that Outer-Rim attitude that made her think it was unlikely. Or, in a strange way, made her hope it was unlikely. But in any case, there were ways to deal with someone like him. One way or another would work.

Sighing, she took out her datapad and began reexamining the charts for the mission. There would be a briefing in two hours, but as she knew too well, there were aspects of the mission that wouldn’t be covered. Absently she rubbed the brand on her left forearm that had been burned in through some dark magic she did not dare question. Her private mission would require more than a typical briefing.

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In the dimly lit command room, he leaned back in his chair and contemplated the darkness. The room was black except for the soft glow of starlight outside the viewports, silent but for the quiet hum of the engines. There were no pressing matters to demand his attention at the moment, so he was free to do what he most enjoyed…think. But no holographic studies today. He had read the new duty roster for the TIE squadrons, and knew what he had hoped, dreaded, expected, for a long time.

She was here, assigned to this very fleet. He had done his best for her, alone as she was in the galaxy, but he had not realized that she had developed her skills so far. Decorated twice, a member of that Order that thought it was a secret…He sighed, and the faint touch at the back of his mind that he had always suppressed, so well sometimes that he forgot its existence, became more than an impression, more like words.

She has certainly matured.

“Yes,” he said to the darkness, though speaking aloud was ridiculous. He would be heard only by thinking. And if any of the men heard, they would think him mad. At least, more so than they already did. But it was comforting, in a way. It made it seem more like ordinary conversation. “She had to. Only by showing talent beyond any human average can she hope to succeed.”

She has more than talent. Superior intelligence.

“She is one of us,” He said dismissively. “That goes without saying.”

The laugh was like crystal breaking. Not always.

“True,” He admitted. “But with her, of course.”

And the gift.

He stiffened in his chair. “Your gift?”

Of course. It can be inherited, you know.

“Yes,” he mused, more to himself now. “I suppose that I did. But what about…the other?”

She knows. I will see to it that she does not interfere. Yet.

“How?”

That is my concern. You must look out for her other interests.

“And the Empire’s.”

The laugh again. Oh, always. Then a feeling of amusement.

“Not all of us are so personally ambitious,” he chastised mildly, though it never did any good. “You should have known better.”

I do, now. But you must beware. The Secret Order cannot always protect her. Only warn. It may be necessary for you to intervene at some point.

“If so, I will do what I can,” he said. Then, for the first time, softened his tone just a fraction. “You know that.”

Of course. Do not step in unless she needs it, though. She must learn for herself. And she's more capable than you might think.

“Do not dictate to me,” he said. “I can see when she needs help.” He paused. “As for the other part…”

She'll know when she needs to know. Not before.

“Of course.” He felt the connection beginning to fade. “I will look after her here. Do what you can.”

I always do. The connection dimmed to a faint spark, and then receded. He sighed and turned back to the stars. There were battles to plan and strategies to devise. He would have to consider this matter more carefully at another time.

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Rurik shifted the heavy helmet from under one arm to the other. The cool, carefully controlled temperature of the Star Destroyer that was normally comfortable for humans and humanoids became unbearably stifling in the bulky flight suits. In the cramped confines of the TIE fighter hangar, it felt almost lethal. Already he could feel the sweat beginning to run down his neck and back.

Beneath him on the gantry the TIE Interceptor hung suspended with dozens of others of its kind and its cousins, the old square-winged standard TIEs and the awkward, squat TIE Bombers. Next to them, the Interceptor was sleek and dart-like, tapering foils giving it the semblance of a raptor ready for flight. Rurik smiled, remembering the lizard-like avians that had cruised the upper air currents of his homeworld. They’d looked ferocious, but were actually gentle giants who preyed only on small reptiles and mammals, not humans. Watching them soar beyond the range of his macrobinoculars had been his introduction to the world of flying. Now he looked down into the snug cockpit of the fighter, and a feeling of anticipation began to slowly edge out the fluttering in his stomach. A real mission at last! Though he didn’t have Giriad’s overconfidence, he couldn’t quite believe the cynical versions of combat L’Grath and Thelea related. Their instructors at Fighter Training wouldn’t have given them such easy simulations unless real combat was like that, would they?

His musings were interrupted by the sound of footsteps on the gantry. Rurik straightened and turned to find Crewman Starbo, the tech in charge of this bay of fighters. Starbo was, while only an enlisted man, a citizen of Coruscant. That gave him the right to lord over Rurik, an officer but a Rimworlder. Or so he thought, anyway. Starbo gave a condescending smile that didn’t show in his watery blue eyes.

“So, is the freak wing ready for action?”

Rurik gritted his teeth. “May I remind you, Crewman, that our proper designation is Alpha Wing? Please refer to us by our proper title.”

“Well, excuse me, Lt. Caelin.” Starbo, of course, didn’t sound the least bit apologetic. “Has your geriatric commander reported in?” Rurik glared, but he ignored the remark. “And that Ashtherian kid. Who’s going to wipe his nose and look after him when he wets his suit the first flight?” Though he privately suspected the tech was right, Rurik kept his own counsel. Starbo, mildly disappointed that he wasn’t getting through, said, “And how about that alien female? I’ll bet flying with her will be interesting.”

Rurik bristled, beginning to tire of the condescending sarcasm. “Are you quite finished tearing apart this wing, crewman?”

Starbo grinned like a Shistavanen. “She’s quite a piece of work. Very exotic, but not too outlandish. Might be a bit of fun. I’ll bet that’s how she got her appointment.”

Grinding his teeth, Rurik said tightly, “If you are finished here, Crewman Starbo, you’d better attend to your other duties before I report you for insulting a superior officer.”

Starbo’s grin didn’t fade. “I see you’ve noticed.” Rurik made as if to raise his comlink, and the tech backed off. “Your ships have been loaded as per orders, Lieutenant Caelin,” he said, now the picture of brisk military discipline. “All weapons are charged, and each ship is carrying six proton torpedoes.”

“Very good, crewman. Go and report to Commander L’Grath.” Rurik turned away, signaling that the discussion was closed.

But as Starbo walked away, Rurik distinctly heard him mutter, “She’s interesting, I’ll bet.” He shot the tech a glare, but the other man didn’t turn around to see it. What had made him so defensive of the rest of the wing, Rurik didn’t know, especially when their attitude toward him ranged from apathetic to condescension to a strange sort of disinterest. But Starbo’s words had burned.

This time he didn’t hear the footfall, but a voice said, “Very impressive, Lieutenant. I probably would have shot him.”

Rurik nearly fell off the gantry. “Commander Thelea,” he gasped, trying to regain his composure. “I didn’t hear you coming.”

How she’d moved so silently in that flightsuit he had no idea. “Of course not,” she said, smiling thinly. “That was very eloquently handled, Lieutenant.” The comment sounded sincere.

For some reason, that made Rurik uncomfortable. “He insulted my wing, Commander. He is an enlisted man, and I reprimanded him.”

“Even if you agreed with his assessments?”

That brought him up short. He stared at her, jaw dropped, until her smile expanded and he realized he must look like a boy just off the farm. “What makes you think I agreed, Commander?”

“But maybe with some of his assessments of the members?” she asked, always in that neutral tone, although for just a minute he could have sworn the smile touched her eyes. “I’m not sure he’s far off in his remarks on Lieutenant Quoris. Someone just may have to look after him after today. And you can’t deny that Commander L’Grath is certainly no longer in the prime of his life.”

Rurik shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot, gloved fingers slipping on his helmet. “Well, honestly, no, Commander, I can’t.”

Thelea’s smile grew narrower, gold-red eyes widening in a strange imitation of innocence. “And I cannot believe you do not find me exotic, Lieutenant.” She stepped close enough that she was almost invading his personal space. The glowing eyes became unbearably close. “Most races do. We’re very unusual.”

Rurik tried to maintain some sort of rigid disassociation. “With all due respect, Commander Thelea, I don’t believe exotic is the word. Unusual, perhaps. But you are superior officer and your appearance is irrelevant.”

“Even though I am an alien?” The word rolled off her tongue with a mixture of distaste and amusement. “That doesn’t disturb you?”

“Again, that is irrelevant, Commander,” he said, forcing the words past strangely taut vocal cords. “Whatever I feel about your race, the Imperial Navy has seen fit to promote you, and there is nothing I can do.” Whatever superior powers there are in the galaxy, please, let her back off. She was so close he could see the fine lines in her skin. Her eyes, he realized, did not have pupils or irises, but the intensity of their glow seemed to have dimmed a little. Distractedly, he wondered if their self-illumination acted as some kind of compensator for light. “Is that all, Commander?”

As if nothing had happened, she stepped away. “Yes, Lieutenant Caelin. I trust you are ready for our first mission?”

“Of course, Commander. Is that all?” He turned back to look down into the cockpit. “If so, I was about to begin pre-flight.”

“Carry on, Lieutenant. Fly well.” Without a further word, she turned and headed for the next TIE berth. Rurik watched her go, shaking his head. There had been something else going on there, but he didn’t know what.

Unfortunately, he didn’t have time right now to ponder the second officer’s strange actions. Securing his helmet seals, he braced himself on the gantry and dropped into the fighter’s cockpit. Time enough for wondering when the mission was over.

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Thelea double-checked the seal on her modified helmet, and tugged at the flight gauntlets. Fingers moving with practiced ease, she began bringing the Interceptor’s systems on-line. Lasers, engines, navigation, targeting computers, all ready. Not for the first time, she wished she were flying one of the new Advanced or Defenders. Even the gunboats, for all their slowness and their lack of maneuverability, had shields and ion cannons. The new TIEs could also reportedly outrun and outmaneuver anything the Rebels had. Of course, rumor also had it that the Rebels were developing an newer, faster craft. But the Defender would be more than a match, and she could hardly wait to have a chance to test it.

Providing, of course, that she lived that long.

She was having doubts about her judgement of Caelin. He hadn’t backed down, and his physical response, involuntary though it was, had been obvious. She smiled grimly at the memory of his nervousness. But underneath the confusion her actions had generated, she had not felt any anger or hostility. He had sincerely meant what he’d said about her outranking him. Thelea was more disturbed by the enjoyment she’d derived from their proximity. She usually disliked the fact that she had to be close to read the finest nuances of another person’s senses. She calmly, rationally, analyzed her response to him. His features were aesthetically pleasing, even for a human. He had to be younger than her, but accounting for her race’s longer life span they were at about the same stage of development. But there was that smug, cocky attitude that was enough to get beyond even her careful calm. He could still be the one. But she found herself hoping that he wasn’t.

Now was not the time to consider that issue. She now had to focus on both her missions. She hadn’t told any of the others, of course. Chances were one of them already knew.

The comm in her helmet crackled. “Alpha Wing, this is the Valiant. This is a communications check. Report in.”

“This is Alpha Leader communications check, over,” L’Grath’s voice came over the comm.

Thelea waited for the Valiant to acknowledge him, then said, “Valiant, this is Alpha Two voice check, over.”

There was a slight pause, and then, “Acknowledged, Alpha Two.”

Another pause, and then she heard Caelin’s voice. “Alpha Three, standing by.”

“Why does he get to be Alpha Three?” another voice, whiny as it was familiar, said.

“Cut the chatter, Alpha Four,” L’Grath said sternly. “He has more seniority than you. Now finish your voice check before I put you on report.”

“Alpha Four, standing by,” Giriad said, not sounding any happier about it.

That brat is going to get himself killed, Thelea thought grimly. And he just make take a few of us with him. She punched up the flight plan on the navigation map. VSD Valiant would drop out of hyperspace two hundred clicks from the asteroid field around Friedor, and Alpha Wing would launch immediately, diving into the floating ring of rock and destroying the Rebel supply cache. Except, she told herself, for the container with the stolen TIEs.

“Alpha Wing, we are beginning the hyperspace jump,” the voice on the comm announced. “You will launch immediately upon arrival. Fly well, for the glory of the Empire!” Outside of the Valiant, the stars elongated, turning into star lines.

“Alpha Wing, this is Alpha Leader,” L’Grath said. “Be ready. But remember, this may not be as easy as we were told.”

Thelea nodded grimly behind her face shield. No, it won’t, she thought. Especially if one of you knows about something I don’t. Flexing her fingers purposefully, she gripped the control stick and waited.

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Rurik braced for the jolt as the launch tractors grabbed his TIE and flung the tiny craft away from the hull of the Valiant. Punching the engines to full, he swung about and fell in beside Giriad’s craft. They formed behind the two TIEs piloted by L’Grath and Thelea. The old man’s voice came over the comm. “Alpha Wing, this is Alpha Leader. Alpha Three and Four, hang back and use our designated targets for attack. One proton torpedo should be enough for each container.”

“Copy, Alpha Leader,” Rurik acknowledged, though he was privately seething. Did they think he was incompetent?

“Alpha Three, this is Alpha Four,” Giriad said, sounding dejected. “Did you hear that? Are we going to just sit here and wait for them to tag targets?”

“Yes, Alpha Four, we're going to just sit here,” Rurik said through clenched teeth. “For skies’ sake, Giriad, be quiet. This is an open channel.”

“That’s good advice, Alpha Four.” Thelea’s voice came over the comm, level as always. “I suggest you take it.”

Rurik winced, and hoped that Giriad did, too. Even while reminding his wingman, he’d forgotten she was listening. “Copy that, Alpha Two,” He said ruefully.

The asteroid belt was not made up of huge rocks; for the most part they were no bigger than a Lambda-class shuttle. It was more like an immense debris cloud than an asteroid field. That did not make it safer to navigate, however. Rurik barely had time to think about his flying, instead regarding on instinct and automatic reactions to swerve around asteroids. He heard Giriad gasp and swear under his breath, again forgetting the open channel. There was no reprimand this time, however. The wing leaders were too occupied trying to keep themselves alive to worry excessively about their wingmen. Then, as abruptly as it had come up, the asteroids vanished and they were in the middle of a field of cargo containers. “This is it, Alpha Wing,” L’Grath said. “Alpha Two, with me.” The two interceptors swung in a tight arc and headed for the containers. Rurik watched his computer.

As the lead craft swung within two klicks of each container, the contents registered on his targeting display. The first was nutrient concentrate. “Three, take it,” Thelea ordered crisply. He swung in a wider path and armed the torpedoes. It looked as though there were twenty containers, and with six apiece, they shouldn’t have to resort to lasers. One shot should be enough. Giriad was targeting L’Grath’s mark, and Rurik’s thumb hovered above the firing button when all their computers screamed a warning.

“Alpha Wing, we have enemy ships in sector two-six!” the Valiant’s communications officer relayed.

“We see them,” L’Grath said.

“Make that twelve marks at three-ten,” Thelea said, her glacial tone never wavering. “Looks like a squadron of pointers, coming in fast.”

“Three and Four, turn to intercept,” L’Grath said. “Two and I will destroy the remaining containers.”

“With all due respect, Lead, I will continue our identification before we destroy each target,” she said, swerving at the same time to prevent the Rebel fighters from acquiring a lock. “Three may be goods we’ll want to confiscate.”

“What could the Rebels have that we’d want?” Giriad broke in. “We need help here!”

Rurik glanced at his targeting computer and knew Giriad was right. Two TIEs against an entire squadron were bad odds no matter how you looked at it. “Lead, he’s right. We’re gonna be in over our heads here.”

All L’Grath said was “Stand by.” Rurik looked over his shoulder anxiously. The X-wings were closing to combat range. There wasn’t much “by” to “stand.” Throttling the engines back, he locked his lasers to dual fire and slowed to dog-fighting speed. Bolts of red energy shot past his cockpit and the Rebels were on top of him.

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Thelea grimaced as she saw the readout from her targeting computer. Suddenly, the red-lit cargo containers had been joined by an angry swarm of scarlet X-wings. Rurik and Giriad would be no match for twelve fighters. She had to go back and help cover them. But the words of her hooded informant rang in her mind. She had to find the stolen TIEs. L’Grath was shooting randomly at containers. He’d already gotten two. They might have been destroyed already. She cursed under her breath. The old man had better not be panicking.

She swung the little craft agilely past two of the cargo containers. One had food, another medical supplies. Then she spotted one that seemed a little apart from the others. Gotcha, she thought, pressing the Interceptor for more speed. L’Grath might see it at any minute, and he would probably not listen to her order to stop.

Suddenly her computer blared a warning. At the same instant a bolt of red energy slapped the little ship hard. She dove automatically, seeing the X-wing shoot by overhead. At the same instant her targeting computer registered the contents of the container as Imperial starfighter parts.

“The TIEs,” she muttered, too low for the pickup to catch. Then her ship jolted like a shocked Bantha as the X-wing came back around at her. Great. I can’t disable the container until I get rid of him, and this looks like it could take a while. Sending her TIE into a spiraling dive, she targeted the X-wing behind her, all the while keeping one eye on the container speeding by beneath her.

The X-wing pilot obviously noticed her divided attention, swinging between her and the cargo vessel. Thelea called down all sorts of curses on the heads of whoever her mysterious supervisors were. She twisted the control stick and fired twice, the green bolts shooting aimlessly away into space. She switched to her proton torpedoes, trying to keep an eye on the container.

“Three, Four, can one of you disable the container? Do not destroy it. Repeat, do not destroy it. Just disable it. Do you copy?”

There was a long pause. Then Giriad's trembling voice said, “Three, I can’t hold off these two!” If Caelin heard, he didn’t reply. Was he even still alive?

Thelea cursed silently again. She wasn’t getting any help from that quarter. She’d have to take the X-wing out herself and worry about disabling the cargo later. But the way the Rebels were coming, that could be too late. Even a stray shot could destroy the contraband ship. Another salvo reminded her that survival was her utmost concern right now. She started to come about…

When another Interceptor shot by from above, diving straight at the Rebel fighter. Spinning to avoid a deadly hail of red fire, the TIE pilot fired a torpedo straight into the X-wing’s face. The Rebel disintegrated in a sparkling cloud of shattered metal. Thelea had only a second to marvel at this sudden turnaround before she swung about and fired three shots into the container, crippling it.

“Who was that?” She demanded on the comlink, but deep down she already knew.

“Sorry it took so long, Two.” Sure enough, it was the just-beneath-insolent voice of Rurik Caelin. “I’ll try to improve my time to intercept.”

Thelea bit back the sarcastic remark that sprang to mind, the realization hitting her, He just saved my mission. More important, he probably saved my life. “Good shooting, Three,” she said aloud. “Where are the rest of the X-wings?”

“I got two,” Caelin reported. His voice, she noted, did not waver. A very good sign. “Giriad actually nailed one, but looks like he’s running scared. I don’t know how Lead did.”

“Neither do I, but I know how to get rid of them.” She swung her fighter to parallel his path, and then pressed the button of her comm that sent a message for reinforcements.

Rurik noticed the transmission. “What was that? They said no reinforce…”

Even as he spoke, an unfamiliar, metallic voice came over both their headsets. “Transmission acknowledged. Reinforcements are on the way.”

“Who in the Empire was that?” Rurik asked, sounding completely confused.

Thelea smiled tightly, though of course he couldn’t see. “Our reinforcements.”

Rurik started to ask just what in the worlds she meant when a transport escorted by two Assault Gunboats dropped out of hyperspace and onto their screens just outside the belt. “Alpha Two, this is Transport Sigma. We copy your position. Transmit the coordinates of the container.”

“Acknowledged, Transport,” Thelea said, keying her computer. “Good to see you.” The gunboats raced past her and Rurik’s fighters, heading for the X-wings, who seemed to have discovered the truth in old adage about discretion being the better part of valor.

“All right, Two,” Rurik said, jabbing at his comm for the wing’s private frequency. “Just who are they?”

Thelea knew the honest response would be to say that she didn’t have the faintest idea, but she bit back that reply. She knew Caelin wouldn’t believe her. “I will tell you what I can, later,” she said, not really meaning it. Hopefully he’d forget about it by the time they were back aboard the Valiant.

“Right now, I’m more interested in cleaning up here.” And figuring out just who in blazes tipped those Rebels, she thought grimly, bringing her fighter around to join the fight. This attack had been too well-timed and coordinated. The Rebel ships had known exactly when to appear. Someone had tipped them off, and if they didn’t discover who, the next time they might not have time for backup.

Chapter Three

 

“Well, I can safely say that was one of the least enjoyable experiences of my life.” Rurik grimaced as the squadron, battered but miraculously intact, left the debriefing room. Thelea was not certain whether he meant the mission or the debriefing. Either was entirely likely.

The debriefing had occurred aboard the Valiant, in the presence of Captain Medreian and his second-in-command, Commander Varkris. The questions had centered mainly around the container and the source of their reinforcements. Thelea had repeated, time and again, that her she had orders from a higher source, one that wished not to be revealed. They hadn’t liked it, they had asked her, ordered her and even threatened her and still she remained silent. They’d finally given up in disgust, the threats left hanging empty. Rurik, however, wasn’t as easily dismissed.

“What did you mean when you said that the transport was from a ‘source that you could not identify?’”

Thelea’s glowing eyes settled on him, and for once they seemed less a threat than a measurement. “I’m sorry, Lieutenant,” she said finally, voice never changing. “I am afraid that I cannot say.”

“You mean you don’t know or you can’t say?” Rurik pressed.

For just a minute, he thought Thelea’s eyes flickered sideways, avoiding his. “I’d rather not say.” Her tone did not waver, but the sudden evasion told him she was not telling the truth. For now, however, the set of her jaw was firm and spoke volumes.

“Do you think they’ll court-marshal us?” Giriad's tone was sullen. He’d been silent during the debriefing-cum-interrogation, except when directly addressed. The words Medreian had used to describe Giriad’s words and conduct had been, simply put, harsh. Rurik almost thought unjustly so. Sure, the kid had run scared, but who among them hadn’t considered it when they’d seen the X-wings bearing down on them?

One person, he thought, even as she spoke. “No, Lieutenant, they’re not going to court-marshal us,” Thelea said wearily. “The results of our actions were so beneficial as to easily outweigh our disobedience.”

“But obedience is an Imperial soldier’s primary duty,” Giriad protested.

“We are not the Board of Inquiry, so spare us the Academy platitudes,” she said. “You will learn, Lieutenant Quoris, that in the field it is the end result that matters. Who is left standing, not who obeyed their orders to the letter.” She looked as though she wanted to say more, but then something odd happened.

They had been walking past the hangar bays where a cargo shuttle convoy was being unloaded. There were crew members in olive-drab jumpsuits scrambling about piles of supply crates, shouting orders and directing the lifter droids in moving the cargo. As the four TIE pilots passed an open crew hatch, a nondescript man in the same uniform as all the other enlisted personnel stepped in front of them. Clicking his heels smartly together and executing a crisp salute, he placed a datapad in Thelea’s gloved hand. Without a word of explanation, he turned and disappeared into the mass of crew, droids, and containers, indistinguishable from any other enlisted man.

Rurik looked from the Thelea to the cargo bay and back again. Her head was bent, and she was paging down the data screen rapidly, red eyes never blinking. Then she punched two keys in quick succession and looked up.

“If you gentlemen will excuse me,” she said, setting the pad atop a cargo crate. “I have an appointment I need to keep.” Without a further word, she spun on her heel and disappeared down one of the Valiant’s myriad corridors.

Rurik watched her go, his brows furrowing. “Now what in the Empire was that about?” L’Grath only shook his head, and Giriad looked as though he wanted to make a smart remark, but thought the better of it. Rurik stared down the corridor after her, and then noticed the datapad still sitting where she’d left it. Snatching it from its perch, he’d pounded the page key twice before he realized the screen was blank. A few more taps confirmed his suspicion. “She erased it,” he said, looking down at the pad but not seeing it. “Wiped clean.” He looked back after her and then at the pad again. “What is going on here?”

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Thelea tapped at the keypad of the computer terminal, the blue Basic characters flashing past and casting a darker blue light over her skin. She scrolled rapidly through the initial report of the incident, which should have been a near-verbatim transcript of the just-completed debriefing…judiciously edited, of course. Then came the list of the captured containers and their contents. And as the data pad had said, there were glaring omissions. Nowhere was it mentioned that the original mission had been search and destroy, and nowhere did it mention the captured TIE parts, and the combat-ready squadron of X-wing fighters that had been waiting for them. It said that a Rebel scout fighter had stumbled across the operation and offered resistance. It explained how the fighter group designated Alpha had “neutralized” the threat, but not before the X-wing had destroyed several containers.

If her face could have reddened, it would have been inflamed. As it was, her emotional training kept her features reasonably composed. Only her glowing red eyes narrowed, and her pale lips thinned. But only the outward expression of her anger was suppressed. Inwardly, the rush of hot fury almost made her dizzy.

“What is this?” She demanded, voice forcibly level. That wasn’t what had happened at all. She was not naïve enough to think that the recorders could always say what had really happened. The damage to morale if the suspicions of treachery were made public would be disastrous, but to make it sound as though her own squadron had been surprised and outclassed by a lone Rebel snub fighter…she almost logged out immediately, but then remembered. The source of the debriefing should be named at the bottom of the transcript.

Thelea stared at the source name, eyes widening. “L’Grath, Caelin, Thelea, Quoris,” she read, shaking her head. Not a word of their own statements had appeared, and yet there were their names and serial numbers. That was when she noticed the message light.

She tapped the private retrieval code that the Inner Circle had given her “to protect the integrity of our communications.” The fact that this was a blatant breach of regulations never seemed to bother them. Then again, from the little she’d seen of them, few regulations bothered them.

The text of the message was brief. THE REPORT WAS FILED BY ONE OF YOUR SQUADRON MATES. THE FIGHTER LOGS HAVE BEEN ALTERED TO REFLECT THIS AND THE FLIGHT RECORDER CHIPS HAVE BEEN CONFISCATED. THE CARGO MANIFEST WAS CHANGED BY SOMEONE ELSE, UNDOUBTEDLY WORKING IN CONJUNCTION WITH THE PILOT. WE WILL LOCATE THE SOURCE OF THAT DISCREPANCY. UNTIL OUR NEXT COMMUNICATION, BEWARE. YOUR OWN WINGMEN MAY BE DANGEROUS. As always, there was no signature. There didn’t have to be.

Thelea sighed and deleted the message. It hadn’t told her anything she didn’t already know. Someone in the squadron was a traitor, and someone in the upper levels was obviously working with them. But which one? That was still the question. Caelin, Quoris, L’Grath? It took all her control to keep from kicking a chair across the cabin.

As was always the case with her singular abilities, a temper tantrum seemed to enhance them. Her normal impressions of the people aboard ship increased to almost an intolerable din. She felt the normal quiet rhythm of crewmen going about their business, perhaps tenser than it had been before the Death Star, but at their regular levels. Except...there was something different. Somewhere in the ship someone was angry, nervous, radiating hostility so loudly it drowned out all the other voices. Thelea’s eyes narrowed and stared at the bulkhead as she tried to focus on that one infuriated sense. The swirl of a thousand minds competed for her attention, and her teeth ground in frustration and a new wave of anger. And then, suddenly, it focused. A man, unsurprisingly, somewhere in the…in the hanger bay…he was nervous, angry, he didn't like what he was doing, but he was resigned to it…damn, she was losing him.

She had no training in using her abilities, but she had made one discovery; the angrier she got, the more frustrated, or the more frightened, the more control she had, the more powerful she became. Now she let the irritation and fury she’d been feeling since she’d read the false report surge through her, and suddenly the stranger’s location was in sharp focus, though his personal sense remained blurred. Using his eyes, she looked around. They…he…was in the hangar where the TIE fighters were. Where their TIE fighters were. He was just closing an access hatch above one of their fighters, his hands shaking with a whirlwind of emotions. Anger, with others and himself, fear, betrayal, and most of all a grim resignation. He looked at the hatch and its number…Rurik Caelin’s fighter. Guilt, now, but still resigned. He had to do his duty, he had to plant…

Thelea started into awareness with a lurch, losing an epithet in her native language no one but the lowest class would ever say. “A bomb!” The minute anyone opened the TIE's dorsal access hatch, the little ship would explode in their faces. She reached for her comlink and then thought better of it. Whoever planted that explosive might still be there. They might even be the mechanic themselves. Besides, better not to have to explain how she knew. Grabbing her holster and the tiny hold-out blaster, she strapped them on as she went out the door. Her only hope of deactivating the explosive was to do it herself. And, if the saboteur was still there…well, she wouldn’t go down easily.

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Rurik turned down the catwalk leading to the TIE fighter bays. He resisted the urge to kick a bulkhead in frustration. Why had they lied? He understood that they couldn’t broadcast the fact that the squadron had been ambushed, or the location of the incident, but why make it look as though they had not only been ambushed, but humiliated as well? Obviously L’Grath and Thelea had something to do with it. He half-hoped one of his senior wingmates would have drawn this patrol slot, too. He had a piece of his mind to give them.

Not that I’d dare to, He admitted to himself. Arguing with a senior officer, whether they were a decrepit has-been or some…whatever Thelea was, was asking for a one-way ticket to Kessel. Rurik heaved a sigh. There was nothing he could do but take the implied reprimand and live with it.

As he stepped off the lift and onto the platform where the squadron's Interceptors were docked, he collided with a familiar form in a maintenance uniform. “Watch it,” he snapped irritatedly before recognizing the person. “Look where you're going, Starbo.”

The technician glared sullenly at him. “Watch it yourself, Caelin,” he snapped. “You’ve been a big enough problem.”

“What are you talking about?” The TIE pilot demanded.

“Thanks to you, that alien freak of a commander put me on discipline report,” Starbo told him. “One more and I could get demoted.”

“If you’re on report, I’m only sorry that I didn’t put you there myself.” Rurik was in no mood to deal with the tech’s surly temper.

“What did you do for her that she likes you so much, anyway? You one of those who likes aliens?” Starbo smirked lewdly. “Did you do her a favor?”

Rurik reacted without thinking. He spun around, dropping his helmet, and grabbed the tech by the shoulders. “Let’s get one thing straight. Commander Thelea is my superior officer and yours, too, and I don’t think those kind of remarks are appropriate.” Starbo glared, but didn’t say anything. Rurik shoved him away.

“I won’t report you this time.” The tech looked as though he were about to say something, but thought the better of it. Rurik let go. Nice as it would be to knock some sense into him, Starbo wasn’t worth a discipline referral of his own.

He stopped above the hatch to his Interceptor. The hatch had a security lock that required a passcode. He’d forgotten about that and paused, fumbling with the heavy gauntlets of his flight suit. Then the glove snagged on the cuff of the suit. “Oh, blast it,” he muttered, tugging at the recalcitrant glove. There it went…he reached for the key pad.

“Caelin!” He looked up, so startled he dropped the glove. Commander Thelea had stepped out of the lift. She looked as if she had run from wherever it was she’d come from. “Don’t open the hatch!” She started towards him across the gantry.

“What?” He turned and stared at her. “Commander, what are you…”

“Just don’t!” Thelea broke into a run. As she did so, his finger, almost as though it was on autopilot, pressed the final number. The hatched popped open with its normal hydraulic hiss, but then he heard a faint beep that wasn’t normal. He took a step toward her…

Thelea dove at him suddenly, tackling him to the ground. Just as they hit the deck, the TIE fighter’s cockpit exploded. Hot shards of transparisteel and sparking remains of internal circuitry bounced off their backs, hissing and crackling. Rurik felt a particularly volatile piece burn the back of his neck. Thelea, whose face was somewhere near his ears, muffled a shriek and rolled away as her hair singed. For a minute, they kept their heads down and remained flat on the deck. The conflagration that had been an Interceptor flared and just as abruptly died out. Carefully, they raised their heads.

Rurik looked from the charred remains of the cockpit to Thelea’s singed and disordered figure and back again. If she hadn’t appeared when she had, his head would have been inside the cockpit when the bomb went off.

“That could have killed me.” Then he looked at her, realization dawning. “You saved my life.”

Thelea was, for the first time since he’d met her, disheveled. Her powder-blue skin was marred with a midnight-blue bruise on her cheek and a slight speckling of burn marks. She blinked, her eyes seeming a little dimmer than usual.

“It was nothing,” She said, coughing a little from the acrid smoke. “The least I could do.”

“Thank you.” It was the first thing that he could think of to say. He didn’t know what he’d thought, but her response was far from effusive. She shrugged, and looked at the charred remains of the TIE's cockpit.

“That could have been your head. We don’t have enough TIE pilots to go around.”

He shivered, thinking what could have happened. Then something occurred to him. “How did you know?” Gratitude began to be tempered by suspicion.

It seemed well-warranted. Thelea’s eyes lowered, and, as after the briefing, she couldn’t seem to meet his eyes. “I can’t explain.”

“Really? That’s unusual,” he said, crossing his arms. “I suppose you had a vision that the TIE was going to explode.”

Her reaction was odd, to say the least. “I don’t think it really matters, do you?” She reached for her comlink. “We’d better call for a medical team.”

“Now wait just a minute!” He reached out and clamped a hand over the comlink. “Yes, it does matter. If you didn’t set that bomb, how did you know it was going to go off?”

“If I set the bomb, why would I warn you that it was going to go off?” she countered, for the first time he could remember, raising her voice. But it wasn’t so much her tone as the logic of what she’d said that made him stop and think.

“Just think about it, Caelin. First, if I wanted to kill you, I could have blown your starfighter out of the sky during that firefight. I wouldn’t have to take the risk of setting a bomb. And second, why in blazes would I tell you about the bomb in advance?”

“But if you didn’t set it, how did you know it was there?” he countered. Thelea gritted her teeth audibly and refused to answer. Rurik rolled his eyes and shifted his hand from her comlink to her shoulder. She started, trying to step back, but he tightened his grip.

“Look,” he said. “A security team is going to be her in minutes. Now, I’m inclined, for some reason, to think you’re telling the truth. But if you don’t explain to me right now how you knew about the bomb, what am I supposed to think?”

Thelea considered that silently for a minute, face expressionless as always. Finally, she lowered her eyes. “If I told you, you wouldn’t believe me.”

Rurik’s suspicion began to fade slowly. Something in her voice was different, almost insecure. Her eyes were fixed on the deck paneling.

“What is it?” She remained silent. “Commander, how did you know about that? You can tell me.”

The sound of the lift opening startled them both. Thelea looked over her shoulder at the security team hurrying along the catwalk. She looked back at Rurik. “Meet me in the recreational center at 1845. I’ll be on the sparring court.” Before he could say yes or no, she turned to face the investigative team, effectively ignoring him.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He stared into the deep blackness beyond the viewports. The report of the accident glowed on his screen, attached to the same report that told of Alpha Wing’s reportedly lackluster performance. And yet something about it didn’t ring true. According to all these reports, Thelea had failed. She had failed to perform to Imperial standards, so had her squadron, and by rights they should all be sent back to their old assignments. Somehow…

You don’t believe that, do you?

He sighed, clasping his hands behind his back. “Of course not.”

She would never knowingly betray the Empire, She commented with a slightly wry note to her “voice.” It must be one of the others.

“Which one, though,” He mused.

Use your talents, she said in that gently exasperated tone he found he missed. L’Grath was born and raised on Coruscant, Quoris is from Ashthera, and Caelin is from some Outer Rim world, the name escapes me…

“I thought nothing escaped you.” The smile was only a little more relaxed than he would have used with one of his men, though she couldn’t see it.

If that were true, I wouldn’t be in this predicament, she noted dryly. At any rate, find out who the traitor is. Her life and yours may very well depend on it.

“I would hope she’ll be able to figure it out herself,” he said. “But, of course I’ll investigate. Quietly, of course,” he assured her before she could say it. “But this next assignment recommended for them…”

This time they’ll have backup, she pointed out.

“True, but how do I justify sending them on this assignment after their rumored past performance?” he wondered.

That, I’m afraid, is your problem, she said, not without sympathy. You’re in command. It’s your decision.

“Blunt, as always,” he said. “And correct, as usual.” He looked down at the datapad. “So, the raid on Freidor will be spearheaded by Alpha Wing. Perhaps the traitor will reveal himself before then.”

Perhaps, She conceded, but, the doubt could not be disguised by the distance or the unorthodox method of transmission.

She did not see the smile, of course, but he knew she sensed the foreboding in his next words. “If not, there are ways. Not pleasant, of course, but there are always ways.” A sense of hesitant agreement preceded her withdrawal from the conversation. Once more, he stared into the blackness.

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Rurik entered the Valiant’s recreation area dressed in the standard black exercise suit, looking around self-consciously. He saw a few bridge crewers and technicians using the various pieces of equipment provided to keep the Imperial Naval Officer in perfect fighting trim. Thelea had told him to meet her at the sparring courts, and he took the lift down to the central pit where the six circular force-field area were located. There was a rack of sparing rods to the right of the lift as he stepped out, and he selected one before checking the court use schedule.

“Caelin.” The voice near his left ear almost made him jump out of his skin. He hadn’t even heard Thelea approach. As always, she looked at him with that level, unreadable stare. “You’re late.”

“Explaining about how my TIE blew up in my face took longer than I thought,” he said. Her expression didn’t change, and he felt that urge to sink into the deck again. “It’s only a few minutes. Now, you wanted to talk.”

Without saying anything, she turned and stepped onto court three. Rurik, hesitant but not knowing what else to do, followed. Hefting the rod, he stepped into one of the two overlapping circles that comprised the court. Thelea was waiting with a faintly impatient air, her own staff hanging almost casually in her right hand. “Ready?”

He activated the force field that would not only prevent them from actually harming each other, but would also grant them some privacy. “Whenever you are,” he said.

Without warning, Thelea expertly spun the rod in an arc, a move he almost didn’t have time to parry. The plastiform sticks sparked with electricity as they made contact. Rurik circled warily. Thelea had faded back a little, as if she was able to gauge his skill from the single blow.

“There is a traitor in the unit,” she said without breaking stride.

“Tell me something I don’t already know,” Rurik said dryly. “I almost got my head blown off, remember? Speaking of which, I still want to hear how you knew about that.”

“In a minute.” Hoping to catch her off-guard, Rurik lunged abruptly, swinging his staff in a fast series of lunges and arcs, each of which Thelea parried seemingly without effort. “First, and foremost, we have to find out who this person is. It’s not me, and unless you staged that explosion, I sincerely doubt that it's you. So, it’s either Giriad or L’Grath.”

“What if it’s not one of us?” Rurik countered as he did the same with her next thrust. “What if it’s someone aboard the Valiant? I saw crewman Starbo coming out of the hangar. He damn near ran into me. He had the time and the knowledge to rig my fighter. He’s certainly not shy about disliking us, either.”

“If we used dislike for Alpha Wing as evidence, most of the ship would be suspect,” Thelea said dryly. “No, I think it had to be one of us. That, or the Captain or Commander Varkris. Did you see the report that was filed on our debriefing?”

Rurik shook his head, unable to catch his breath for a minute. Thelea, seemingly unaffected by the strenuous exercise, explained the falsified report. Rurik managed to draw enough air to say, “That doesn’t mean someone didn’t break into the computer and change the report after it was filed. A tech would know how to do that.”

“But how would he have known the correct details?” she countered. “It has to be one of our own. Which means, of course, L’Grath or Giriad.”

“Why would either of them want to kill me?” Rurik asked, ducking a particularly hard swing.

“Why wouldn’t they?” Thelea said dryly. “A better question would be why did they betray the Empire? The Rebels knew we were coming. Someone had to tell them. Besides the ISB officer who briefed us and the Captain, we were the only ones who knew in advance what we’d be raiding.”

Rurik hadn’t even thought about that. Being attacked while on a raid was such a common occurrence, or so he’d been lead to believe, and nearly getting blown to shreds had been a little distracting…

“Do you realize what you’re saying?” he asked, staring at her. “You’re accusing members of our own flight of treason against the Empire. Do you know how serious that is?”

The blow from Thelea’s staff caught him across the chest, and he staggered backwards into the force field. Thelea looked at him, her lip curling just a trace. “Of course I do. You think I’m an idiot? But what other explanation is there? The person who put that bomb in your TIE didn’t want to kill you, in particular. In fact, he felt bad about it.” Rurik was still dazed on the floor, and with a sigh of pure disgust, she offered a hand to help him up. Grudgingly, he reached for it…and with a lightening-quick twist of his wrist, he flipped her to the ground. Thelea, startled, lost her grip on the rod and Rurik was able to pin her.

“All right, one last time,” he said. “How do you know about who planted that bomb? Don’t give me any more of this I-can’t-tell-you stuff. And while we’re at it, where did that transport come from, and who was that guy with the data pad?”

Thelea was incensed. In any other circumstance, she would have been able to throw him off. But he had her arms and shoulders pinned so efficiently that she couldn’t find any leverage. “All right,” she sighed grimly, avoiding his eyes. “But you can’t repeat a word of this, understand?”

He paused for a moment, then nodded. She braced herself. “I have certain…abilities. They’re not entirely unheard of among my people, but my…gift…is unusually strong. I have the ability to sense other beings’ emotions. Sometimes, if I concentrate, I can even read their minds.”

She was oversimplifying, she knew, but now was not the time for an involved explanation of her people’s Bonding, the mastery of emotions, and the old stories about those with special gifts. “I sensed someone in the TIE hanger, and when I concentrated I was able to see through their eyes.”

Rurik’s eyes showed only skepticism. “You really expect me to believe that?” She nodded. “Why?”

“Because it’s the truth. I know it sounds insane, but that’s what happened. As for the transport, and that man in the cargo hold…”She trailed off, eyes shifting to her own arm. “Let me up, and I’ll tell you.”

For a minute, Rurik considered disobeying. Then he met the intense red gaze, and relented. “All right,” he said, stepping back. “Now what?”

Thelea pulled the right sleeve of her exercise gear up to her elbow, and turned her forearm up. “Have you ever seen that before?”

Rurik stared. It was not a tattoo, or a brand, or any sort of cosmetic mark he’d ever seen. The mark was violet in color, a strange three-pronged design with a circle at the center. “What is it?”

She pulled down her sleeve, hiding it again. “That is the brand of the Emperor’s secret Inner Circle, third level. It is a secret group of pilots and others in the armed forces who serve the Emperor’s special purposes, and if you ever tell anyone that I showed this to you, I will kill you.”

He shivered. She spoke in a bland, emotionless tone, but something in her face told him that she meant it very sincerely. “Your secret is safe.” Then, as he considered that, he asked, “That transport came from them, didn’t it? That’s how you knew there were stolen TIE parts in one of the containers. And that datapad was a message from them.”

“Very clever, Lieutenant,” she said dryly. “Unfortunately, they either do not know or do not wish to tell me the identity of the traitor.”

“I still say we can’t rule out Starbo,” Rurik insisted. “He might have alerted the Rebels after we arrived?”

“How? For that matter, how could anyone?” Now she seemed to be thinking out loud as opposed to speaking to him. “How would they get a transmission away without detection? You can’t just dial the Rebellion on the holonet.”

“The Valiant would have monitored comlink transmissions,” Rurik pointed out. “There has to be some kind of secret encryption code and method of communication.”

“Thank you for stating the blindingly obvious,” Thelea said. “Anyway, what we have to worry about is stopping him, whoever he is, before he kills one of us or sabotages another mission. We can’t tell anyone else about this, understand? The more people we tell, the more likely it is that the traitor will find out.”

It was Rurik's turn to be sarcastic. “I think I could have figured that out myself, m’lady,” he said, slipping back into the disrespect mode. “What should we do?”

Before she could reply, the inter-ship comm sounded a tone. “Attention all TIE pilots,” a mechanical voice announced. “All pilots will report to the main briefing room at 2000 for mission briefing. Flight dress is required. Repeat: all pilots…” The message repeated twice, and the tone sounded again.

Thelea glanced at her chrono. “We have just enough time to get cleaned up and changed. Remember what I said. Don’t tell anyone. We can discuss this later.” Before he could reply, she turned on her heel and strode toward the lift. Rurik watched her go, and then started slowly back to his quarters. He had a lot to think about.

Chapter Four

 

Thelea grimaced as she joined L’Grath and Rurik in the Valiant’s main briefing room. Rurik barely glanced at her beyond a brief nod of greeting. She returned the gesture just as casually. While he seemed determined to implicate that tech, Starbo, it was still likely that the traitor was in this room.

“Where’s Lt. Quoris?” she asked, sounding as disinterested as always.

L’Grath shrugged. “He said he had something to do and he’d be here as soon as he finished. Something to do with a message for his family, I think.”

Thelea looked surreptitiously at Rurik, who arched his eyebrows just slightly. His family? Or someone else? “Well, he’d better be here on time,” was all she said aloud.

As if by magic, Giriad appeared, panting, and dropped into the seat to Rurik’s left. “Sorry,” he gasped. “My parents, my monthly holonet time, you understand.” L’Grath and Thelea didn’t say anything. They didn’t even look at him. Rurik studied him out of the corner of his eye.

“Talking to your family?” he asked. When Giriad nodded, Rurik said, “Anything exciting going on back on Ashthera? Your father gotten himself off the black list yet?”

Giriad started up out of his seat, but L’Grath's hand fell on the Ashtheran’s shoulder. “Easy, boy,” he said. “Just ignore that.” He shot Rurik a cold look, but the other shrugged unapologetically. If the kid was the traitor, then his opinion of Rurik wasn’t going to be altered by a few snide remarks. Besides, traitor or not, he had it coming.

“Attention!” Commander Varkris stood near the holoprojector at the center of the room. “The Valiant has been chosen to spearhead our assault on the Rebel presence in this sector of space. This is a great honor. Our TIE squadrons will be personally responsible for the disabling and capture of the Rebel’s starfighter base on the second moon of the gas giant Freidor.” Alpha wing exchanged startled glances. “This is only a part of a coordinated strike against several Rebel installations. Vice-Admiral Thrawn will be briefing us momentarily from his flagship VSD Victorious.”

Thelea froze. She honestly thought she stopped breathing as she waited for the holoprojector to come on. She had never seen him before, only heard stories of him, unfairly harsh stories or so she thought. Away from home, he was her only link to the answers, providing of course that he knew them. But what, exactly, did he look like? Was he really as brilliant as the stories claimed?

Rurik nudged her. “Wonder what part of the attack they’ll put us on after that so-called report? Clean-up crew?” Exasperated, she shushed him.

Varkris activated the holoprojector. For an instant, it displayed an image of VSD Victorious. Then, there was static, and it resolved itself into an image of a man in a white Vice-Admiral’s uniform. Then it focused…

Rurik drew in a long breath. The man in the image, if man was the right word, was…he turned and stared at Thelea. At the center of the room, Commander Varkris announced, “Attention!” The pilots rose. “Vice-Admiral Thrawn.”

Thrawn was an alien. Not only that, but that blue skin, red eyes, and the cobalt hair… “So that’s why you were interested when they said we’d be in Admiral Thrawn’s fleet,” he murmured. Thelea didn’t look at him. Her eyes were fixed on the holo. She nodded slowly.

“Pilots,” Thrawn began. He had a smooth, even voice. Rurik shivered. If Thelea’s voice had more of an overtone of command, they would sound almost exactly alike. “You have been selected to lead the attack on the insurrectionist base at Freidor. To be selected for this assault is a great honor.”

Thelea stared at the glowing red eyes, so like her own. Thrawn was tall, with a lean build. Like Thelea, he had cobalt-blue hair and powder-blue skin. His aristocratic features were all the more evident to her, knowing as she did what family he came from.

He could help you. The thought came unbidden, from a source she didn’t understand, but she had never been as certain of anything. He knows something. He can help.

“The Valiant will drop out of hyperspace within striking range of Freidor,” Thrawn said, and his image was replaced by a holo of the planet. An image of the Valiant appeared over the moon. “The Valiant will then launch her Interceptor squadrons, which will destroy the base’s starfighter defenses and provide cover for the bombers. Those bombers will assault the base directly, assisted by Victorious’ turbolasers.” The picture pulled back.

“A Nebulon-B frigate and a Carrack-class attack cruiser will be stationed at the edge of the system. They will intercept any incoming or escaping craft. I trust that there will be very few of the latter.” The tone was mild, instructional, but there was no mistaking the threat behind those words. “The TIE Interceptor assault group will be headed by Alpha Wing, Avran L’Grath, commanding.”

There was a murmur of surprise and apprehension. L’Grath started visibly, Giriad let out a low whistle, Rurik exclaimed, “I don’t believe it,” and Thelea could not move or even breathe. Why? You never do anything without a reason. Why us?

“After that report? Why?” L’Grath said. Hearing the echo of her own thoughts made her jump.

“They want to get rid of us?” Rurik suggested dryly. “You have to admit, the point group is going to get chewed up.”

“Maybe they figure they’ll dispose of the embarrassments,” Giriad said, and for just a minute, Rurik could have sworn that there was trace of unit pride in his voice. When he saw that they were looking at him in surprise, he added, “Well, some of this wing, anyway.” Rurik studied the kid’s face suspiciously, but Giriad didn’t meet his eye.

Thelea barely noticed. She was suddenly aware of the eyes of all the others in the room, at least it seemed like everyone, were upon her, boring into her. There had been times when she was conscious of her differences, but now, when they saw that there was another, and that he was an admiral. Now what would they think? The worst part was, even she didn’t know quite what to think. She had to speak to him, if only for a few moments.

Thrawn, of course, light-years away on his flagship, saw none of this. “This is a great honor, crew members of the Valiant. Success, for the glory of the Empire.” The image blinked off.

“We make the hyperspace jump to Freidor in four hours,” Varkris announced. “Be ready. For the glory of the Empire.”

The pilots were noticeably hushed as they left the briefing room. Thelea lingered for a minute, waiting for the room to clear, for the eyes to leave her. Rurik waited, too, and fell into step beside her as she left. They didn’t say anything for a minute, each keeping their gaze firmly on the deck ahead.

Finally, Rurik said, “So, that’s why you were so interested when you found out what fleet we’d be a part of.”

Thelea nodded absently, her mind turning over minute details of the conversation. There had been an odd inflection in his voice when he’d dismissed us, She thought. An undertone a human wouldn’t notice, but that I heard plainly. There was a touch of irony there. Rurik's next words brought her to an abrupt halt, snapping her out of her reverie.

“Is he a relative of yours?”

If Rurik had been surprised at the similarity, Thelea’s reaction stunned him. She spun on her heel, her arm catching him across the chest. “If you had any idea what you’d just said…” Her words choked off in mid-sentence. Turning away, she lowered her eyes, her arm slackening abruptly.

Rurik stared at her. “I’m sorry.” The words came out without thinking. She didn’t respond. “I didn’t know that it was such a…such an insult. I didn’t mean it that way.”

Her shoulders heaved with a long sigh. “I overreacted. You couldn’t possibly understand.” It was as close as she would come to an apology. “No. He’s not related to me. At least, I don’t think he is.”

“You don’t think he is?” Rurik echoed. She’d started walking again, and he found he was running to keep up with her. “What do you mean? You don’t know who your relatives are?”

Thelea didn’t answer for a long moment. He was only a human, not capable of understanding exactly what it meant to be as she was. Not only that, but it was hard to speak so openly to someone, anyone, after a lifetime of being no one. But she had already entrusted him with her life, and the success of her mission, by revealing what she knew about the traitor. He could still betray her.

Something told her he wouldn’t.

“I am tal Kyrn,” she said simply. “I am no one. I have no family. On my world, I am less than nothing. No matter what I do, until I know the names of my parents, what my name should be, I can never be anything.”

Rurik was stunned. He had wondered why she insisted on everyone’s use of her given name instead of what a human would consider her surname. He’d written it off as another strange alien convention. “Why? Are they dead?”

Thelea snorted grimly, allowing a trace of disgust to cross her normally impassive features. “It would be easier on me if it was that simple. I don’t know. I assume so. Otherwise…” She shook her head violently, eyes lowered. “It’s beside the point. What do you make of our orders?”

Rurik was momentarily thrown by the shift of topic. Thelea was staring straight ahead, eyes rigidly fixed on a point somewhere ahead of her. It was more than enough to tell him the topic was closed.

“Um, I hadn’t really thought about it. I guess they must be trying to dispose of us. Maybe it’s the most obvious means of killing us.” He glanced around surreptitiously before whispering out of the corner of his mouth, “Haven’t you received any instructions from the you-know-who?”

Thelea glared at him, her eyes narrowing. “Who?” Rurik gave her a pointed look, and she sighed. “They don’t talk to me about every mission, you know.”

“Not much help then, are they?”

She lifted a blue-black eyebrow. “They saved your life in the Freidor asteroid belt, didn’t they?” Rurik had no answer, and she sighed. “If we find something important, they’ll let me know. Until then…well, sometimes a mission is just a mission.” She stopped at a lift cluster. “I’ll see you on the flight line.”

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On the Victorious’ bridge, Captain Medreian paced back and forth slowly above the control pit. “Commander, what is the status of the fleet?”

Varkris looked up from the communications station. “The Predator and the Repressor have completed their jump to the Hafredes system, and the Terminator is preparing to go to her station. Iron Fist and Valiant both report successful jumps.”

Varkris turned and straightened, a little too self-consciously. “Sir, permission to speak freely.”

Medreian raised an eyebrow, the only external sign of surprise. “Granted, Commander.”

Varkris shifted uneasily from foot to foot. “Sir, the decision to use Alpha flight as the point group…”

Medreian cut the first officer off sharply. “That decision was not mine to make, Commander. That choice came from the Vice-Admiral.”

“Sir, that’s actually why I have some reservations about this,” Varkris said. “Alpha is Lt. Commander Thelea's wing. She’s…well, besides the fact that she’s a woman, she’s…you know.”

“If the Academy saw fit to graduate her and send her to TIE flight school, who am I to question it?” The Captain's eyes wandered to the status boards. “Commander, if you’re not going anywhere with this…”

“Captain, you saw Vice-Admiral Thrawn. You know what he is. Look at her! You know what she must be, and that’s the only reason he…”

“What the Vice-Admiral is and what he isn’t are completely irrelevant, Commander,” Medreian said, raising his voice just enough so that the controllers in the crew pit could hear him. Might as well only make the speech once. “We have been given orders, which we will follow. Unless you think that Lord Vader or Fleet High Command should be consulted regarding your reservations?”

Varkris’ throat tightened visibly. Fleet High Command would be bad enough. But Lord Vader had personally selected Thrawn’s Victory-class group as part of his Outer Rim Fleet. Questioning the Dark Lord, even if only by implication, could be a fatal mistake.

“No, sir,” he said, subdued. “I apologize.”

Medreian waved the first officer away with a distracted flick of the wrist. But as he turned to go, Varkris could have sworn he heard the Captain mutter under his breath, “The point group’s going to get chewed to pieces, anyway.”

Varkris’ jaw clenched. That’s what they thought with the first Freidor mission. They weren’t supposed to come back, Thelea foremost among them. This time they had to be sure. He went to make sure that this time, the person responsible understood his orders. This time there would be no mistake.

One way or another, Alpha Wing was finished.

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Thelea slipped into the cockpit of her Interceptor. She had heard the rumors of the new TIEs they were designing, and there were stories being told about a ship called a Skipray that would be more than a match for Rebel fighters. Thelea was looking forward to having shields, and, if the rumors were accurate, torpedoes and ion cannons, but something about the little Interceptors had an appeal for her. They were fast, agile, and powerful, and they handled delicately; far better than their TIE/ln predecessors. They could outrun anything the Rebels had now, even these new A-wings. The speed was, at times, a disadvantage. There was a tendency to overshoot targets, especially the sluggish Y-wings. Sometimes the touchy handling made targeting difficult. Still, it was a determined little craft, and she liked to fly the Interceptor.

Not to mention that real pilots didn’t need shields. She’d always felt that the lack of shields improved a pilot’s skills. They were quicker to evade and more inclined to be cautious.

She flipped a few switches, watching with a taut, satisfied smile as the diagnostic reports came back. All good to go. The TIEs had been under intense security, with no one but pilots and crew, these supervised by Stormtroopers, allowed near the fighters. Thelea was taking no chances, though. Her own programs came from a secure source, and if they said that the ship was fine, she believed it. For a moment, she wondered if she should have given Rurik the program as well. She shrugged it off. It was probably fine. Besides, she didn’t trust him quite that far.

The hyperspace jump was complete fairly quickly. Thelea checked her breathing apparatus one last time, just as she felt the slight jolt that always accompanied the launching tractor. A quick flip of her wrist brought the twin ion engines that gave the fighter its name to full power, and she turned the control yoke and swung the ship away from the bulk of the Victorious. Another tight turn and she was flying in close formation with the rest of Alpha Wing. They were in a classic point formation, with L’Grath in front, Thelea at his right, Rurik at the left and Giriad bringing up the rear. The other squadrons mimicked the form behind them, with the slow-moving bombers bringing up the rear.

“Keep tight now,” L’Grath ordered. “No one fire until we’re within range of the base or until the fighters get to us.”

Thelea keyed her targeting computer. “There are three wishbones on the pad. Looks like they’re powering up.” She frowned. “Where are the others? The advance reports said there should at least be an X-wing squadron here.”

“Maybe they’re under cover,” Rurik suggested. There was a tense silence as they waited. The three Rebel fighters were indeed preparing to intercept the incoming Imperials, but where was their backup?

They didn’t have a long time to wonder. According to the Interceptor’s targeting computers, the Y-wings were now operational and accelerating towards the TIEs.

“Alpha Lead?” Thelea asked uncertainly, as the distance between them and the Rebels diminished and L’Grath did not give an order. “Shall we intercept?”

“Something’s not right here,” he said. “Something’s wrong.”

“No kidding,” Rurik muttered. “Lead, permission to do an inspection flyby before we bomb the base.”

L’Grath didn’t answer for a minute. Thelea spotted the orange flashes of the Rebel’s lasers. L’Grath repeated softly, “Something’s not right.”

Thelea’d had enough. “Gamma group, Iota group, this is Alpha Two. Accelerate to attack speed and engage those Y-wings. Try to disable one and take the pilot alive. Bomber group Beta and Delta, hold off on your attack run until we complete a flyby.”

Gamma leader, sounding uncertain, replied, “Alpha Two, is something wrong with Alpha Leader?”

“Negative, Gamma Leader,” L’Grath broke in. “Obey those orders.”

Thelea accelerated, shooting past L’Grath. There was no word of reprimand, which was, in itself, unusual. Rurik, and, to her surprise, Giriad, followed her towards the base. The Y-wings shot by, firing only a few shots at them. Emerald laser bolts arced by…Gamma and Iota obeying their instructions. L’Grath, seeming to hesitate, pulled in behind them.

“See anything?” Thelea asked.

“Negative,” Rurik said, sounding more than a little suspicious. “The place looks dead.”

Thelea stared at the scanners. “There’s no sign of life. Nowhere. The place is totally abandoned. There’s not even any signs of droid activity.”

“That can’t be right,” Giriad said. “They couldn’t have abandoned the base without us seeing.”

Thelea swung her fighter low over the base. Even the turbo laser batteries did not swing to follow them with their guns. Behind them, the Y-wings were being torn apart by the far superior Interceptors. As per her orders, one fighter, crippled, was drifting above them, and the targeting computer registered a shuttle on its way from the Valiant to retrieve the captured Rebel. “They could have,” she said, almost too quietly to hear. “If they’d known we were coming.”

“How could they know?” Giriad protested. “We made the jump to hyperspace as soon as the briefing ended. No one could have alerted the Rebels before we arrived.”

“Perhaps they were scared off after our raid on the supply dump,” L’Grath suggested. “They may have been gone while the mission was still being planned.”

Thelea studied the readout. There were still faint heat blooms from the main hangar bay, the residue of recent activities and takeoffs, far too many to be from the three lone wishbones. But heat dissipated rapidly. The ships had probably left no more than a half an hour before the Imperial’s arrival. That barely gave them time to get the cargo transports loaded and away. There was also no sign of the normal devastation of an abandoned base that resulted when the Rebels destroyed any equipment left behind. No, these people had left in a hurry, and not too long ago.

“No, they just left,” she said, more to herself than to the others. “Just before we arrived. They were warned.” She keyed her comlink. “Beta group, Delta Group, take out the perimeter defenses, but leave the main base intact. They left in an awful hurry. They made have just made a mistake.”

“They may have also left booby traps,” L’Grath said. “Better to follow the mission plan.”

“What’s the point?” Thelea demanded. “They’re gone. Slagging the base may destroy any evidence they left as to who tipped them off.”

“You think the Rebels would be careless enough to leave a name behind?” L’Grath snorted. “They may be outlaws, but they’re not stupid.”

“We can’t take that risk,” Thelea snapped. “Beta, Delta, you have your orders. Inform the Victorious. There’s something going on here, and we have to find out what.”

The TIEs swept down over the abandoned station, all but one oblivious to the tiny observer nearby. Concealed in the asteroid belt, Alliance probe PB-421 relayed the movements of the little fighters out on a tight-beam, highly secure channel. The only person who knew how to listen for the probe’s faint voice, the one among them who’d supplied the secure channel to the probe, was keeping perfectly, devastatingly, silent.

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Light-years away, the Rebel frigate Wind Hammer monitored PB-421's signals.

“Looks like we beat them, sir,” First Lieutenant Kesk Drei’lya said from the communications station. Captain Anies Chaldar didn’t allow a smile to lift her war-worn features, but the Alderaanian woman did offer a nod of agreement. “And none to soon. Terrible that we had to lose those Y-wings, though. We shouldn’t have let them stay to wipe the computer.”

“You prefer the Imps finding it and figuring out where we went?” Drei’lya said rhetorically. Chaldar didn’t bother to answer. “Anyway,” the Bothan continued, “if our friends can keep up this level of contribution, there’s no chance of them finding out where we’ve gone.”

Chaldar shot him a severe glare. Mentioning their contacts within the Imperial fleet, even in an ostensibly secure location, was never a wise idea. One never knew who was listening. “Regardless, we can never take chances.” The Bothan’s fur rippled, then flattened, in a sign of agreement.

The Captain straightened her shoulders. “We’d better begin making sure they can’t follow us. Helm, get ready to plot six jumps, changing course each time. No one should be able to follow us through that. The next report from Intelligence will tell us if those Y-wing pilot’s sacrifice was worth it.”

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The Victory-class Star Destroyer Victorious was an enormous ship by almost any world’s standards. She boasted a crew of over five thousand, not including her Stormtrooper contingent, and she easily dwarfed even the largest, most opulent luxury cruisers ever designed. But she was still small beside a newer Imperial-class Star Destroyer, and now, hovering in the shadow of the Empire’s greatest creation since the ill-fated Death Star, she seemed little more than a child’s toy. The Super Star Destroyer Executor, one of only four SSDs yet built, a long, ebony, dagger hanging in the starscape, made all the rest of the Empire’s technical marvels pale in comparison.

If the Victorious was reduced to toy-like insignificance by the immense vessel, the Lambda-class shuttle traveling between the two seemed no larger than a Tatooine sand mite on a bantha’s back. To observers on the Victorious, the shuttle became smaller and smaller until it seemed to vanish against the Super Star Destroyer’s bulk. To those on board the little ship, the Executor grew until it filled every inch of the viewscreen, and its docking bay, their target, gaped like a mouth in the vessel’s side. The two pilots exchanged nervous glances, neither daring to voice the question both were thinking; would they return to the Victorious with or without their current passenger?

The passenger himself was not as anxious. His alien features hid any apprehensions he might have been feeling about his rapidly approaching meeting with the Dark Lord. But then again, Admiral Thrawn had never been one to be intimidated by authority. It was an old habit with him. Sometimes, it was advantageous to be able to speak his mind without fear of those he was addressing. Unfortunately, that usually meant those he was addressing were not always pleased with his remarks.

More than once, he’d found himself in unpleasant situations because he hadn’t had the tact, some might say the good sense, to couch his remarks in sycophantic phrases. As if such artifice would impress Lord Vader, anyway.

Once aboard the Executor, the Admiral was escorted by two Stormtroopers to Vader’s private meditation chamber. Thrawn could not tell from their manner whether the troopers were there as an honor guard or to guard him as a prisoner. Standing before the Dark Lord, he wished there was something in the room to give him an idea about what Vader might be thinking. The chamber, however, was bare of all decoration, and, as far as all his covert investigation could uncover, Vader had almost no personal possessions of any kind, let alone any artwork. With the skull-like mask over his features, his expression gave no clue to his thoughts.

They stood there, silent, for a long moment, each man surveying the other carefully, as if waiting for him to make the first move. Finally, Vader spoke. “I suppose you have an explanation, Vice Admiral?”

Thrawn nodded tightly. “A very simple one, Lord Vader. The Rebels were warned in advance, as I told you they would be if you insisted this mission proceed without sufficient security. We did not have time to ascertain the identity of the spy, and therefore our mission was compromised yet again.”

“You have evidence, I hope, that this spy is more than a convenient excuse for successive failures.” The threat in Vader’s tone was evident.

“Yes, Lord Vader, I do,” Thrawn said, opening a pale blue hand to reveal a datachip. “This is a holorecording of the interrogation of the pilot we captured during the assault. He did require a long period of convincing before he was willing to reveal what he knew about the informant in our fleet.” Thrawn allowed a dry smile to cross his features. “After he finally broke, he was not able to provide us with a name for the traitor, but the did say that it was known among the Rebel pilots that the informant was associated with our TIE squadrons.”

Vader didn’t reply for a long moment. The black-cloaked figure was motionless, the heavy cape did not stir with the faint breeze from the air recycling vents. Only the sound of the mechanical breathing said that he was anything more than a great black statue.

Finally, the Sith Lord said, “Wasn’t the same squadron involved with the earlier debacle at Freidor? An alien is a member of that squadron, as I recall.”

Thrawn froze, still as Vader had been a minute before. Forcing the words around taut vocal cords, he said, “The other three members of the squadron are far more likely suspects.”

Vader interrupted, “I know, Admiral. But I am very interested in this alien.” He seemed to take almost a delight in using the word. “I have reports from sources within the fleet that she is one of the most promising of our pilots. Almost supernaturally so.”

The Inner Circle, Thrawn thought. He had never actually spoken to a member of that group, but he did know a little about them. Rumors said they were Force-adepts who worked directly for the Emperor. Then, Vader’s last words registered.

“Supernaturally?” he asked, careful to keep his voice in check. “You don’t think that she’s a Force-sensitive?”

He pictured a smile on whatever features lay hidden behind the death’s head. “Possibly. It is of little consequence, at least for the moment. Unless, of course, she turns out to be the spy. In which case, she would be a Rebel, and a potential Jedi at that. As such she would be subject to summary execution.”

“She is not, Lord Vader,” Thrawn said, more forcefully than he’d intended.

Vader ignored the remark. “The problem is within your fleet, Admiral. If, as you say, the fault is with a spy, this traitor must be found. Uncover the traitor’s identity, Admiral Thrawn. If you fail to rectify the problem, whatever the cause, you know the consequences.”

The bow was, perhaps, a little slow in coming. Thawn inclined his head in acquiescence. “As you say, Lord Vader.” The meditation chamber closed, but Thrawn maintained his impassive facade long after it had; until, in fact, he was safely aboard his flagship again. Then, and only then, did he let his displeasure show. Identifying the traitor did not disturb him as much as Vader’s implications about the girl. If she were Force-sensitive, it could only be the worse for her. He leaned back in the chair of his command room. L’Grath, then, or Caelin, or Quoris. One of them.

He sighed. Identifying the traitor was no longer simply an idle exercise in deduction. Vader was not a man to be taken lightly when he made threats. Best that he get started. Keying his control pad, he brought up a display of artwork from Ashthera.

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“What was that all about? You assured me that they’d be dealt with!”

Varkris cringed under his superior’s onslaught. “Sir, with all due respect, I tried. How was I supposed to know that the Rebels would evacuate before a battle could take place? It would be difficult to say they died in friendly crossfire if no one was shooting!”

The voice on the other end of the audio-only link didn't sound placated in the least. “Your operative couldn’t arrange for anything?”

“Not without blowing his cover. Look, with all due respect, I said we’d eliminate all three and we will. It’s just that with the Rebels apparently getting inside information about fleet activity, it's a bit dicey around here. We should wait until things cool down.”

“I’m getting impatient, Commander Varkris,” the other said coolly. “Our plans cannot afford having people such as them around when we execute them. I want them dead, and I want it done soon! Next time I want their corpses, not excuses!”

“Understood,” Varkris said, even as the comm shut off. He leaned back in the stiff metal chair, exhaling a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. This time, there could be no mistakes. This time, he would do it himself. They would die, or next time, his punishment would be far more severe than a bawling-out over the comm. If Alpha wing still existed the next time they asked, his reprimand would be swift and personal. Very, very, personal.

Chapter Five

 

Thelea did not enjoy seeing anyone tortured, even a Rebel. It seemed like such an inelegant way to extract information. She had always wondered why they didn’t simply have the good sense to kill themselves when escape was impossible and capture was imminent. It wasn’t as if they weren’t going to die anyway. All TIE pilots, indeed, all Imperial soldiers, had standing orders that death was always preferable to surrender.

She looked at the young Rebel pilot. Getting into the cell in the first place had required a great deal of bargaining and finally outright bribery, but instinct had driven her to speak with their prisoner. He seemed to be bearing up better than a few she’d seen, but underneath the resolute exterior, she could almost smell his fear. It was one of those little abilities that, more often than not, proved very useful.

“You know where they’re taking you, don’t you?” she asked. “They’re taking you to Lord Vader. He’s going to torture you. Then, he’s going to kill you.”

The pilot’s face twisted in a combination of pain, disgust, and the faint remains of defiance. “Wonderful. I’ll give him your regards.”

“Don’t do me any favors,” she said coolly. “Listen, Rebel scum, you admitted you had orders to ‘be careful’ about which TIE fighters you destroyed. Which one were you supposed to look out for? Who was supposed to escape?” There was a long silence, as the Rebel glared at her and she meeting his gaze evenly. He didn’t blink; she allowed herself a grudging admiration. Most Imperials couldn’t manage that trick. “Tell me now and I’ll see you get a quick, relatively painless disintegration here, instead of letting Vader choke it out of you.”

“Yeah, sure,” the rebel coughed, but she saw in his eyes he wanted to believe her. “I’m warmed by your concern for my welfare.”

“Don’t be,” she snapped, though she recognized the sarcasm. She knew full well she’d never keep him away from Vader. “This is self-interest. Whoever that person is, they’re endangering my life. I want him stopped.”

“Rot in hell,” he spat, the effort causing a spasm of pain to arch his body grotesquely.

Thelea ground her teeth, the frustration rising like bile in her throat. She became aware, as she did, of an equally potent anger in the cell, anger and a deep fear, centered in the Rebel pilot. The sensations were difficult to grasp, but now that she could sense him, she tried to focus. Even as her frustration was replaced by determination, the sensation faded.

Damn, she cursed to herself. How in all the worlds can I read him? Then, a thought occurred to her. If the abilities only manifested themselves when she was angry or frustrated, then logically, if she made herself feel those emotions, the abilities should come back.

Gritting her teeth, she concentrated on how irritated and antagonizing talking with the Rebel was. Slowly, the sensations returned, increased, and suddenly, to her own surprise, her mind was touching the mind of the pilot. It was a frightening sensation, so vivid she almost jumped away from him. This wasn’t like looking through someone’s eyes, just borrowing an optic nerve by slipping in on a random emotion. Instead of mere impression, she sensed actual thoughts, almost words in her mind. She realized that she could search and sort these thoughts, too. The more she focused, the more she drew upon her frustration and anger, the clearer the images became.

There it was. “A transponder?” she said, not really aware her lips were moving. “Masked?”

“Don’t know how…” he sounded as though he were asleep. She didn’t know if he was really slipping away or if it was an effect of the contact between minds. “Just told…it would be there.”

“On whose?” she demanded.

“I don’t know…” The voice was barely a rasp. She searched a few more memories; blundered, really. She did not know how to refine these skills, and had no idea whether she was doing any permanent damage. It did get her an answer, even if it wasn’t the answer she preferred. He was telling the truth. He didn’t know. But, at least she knew what to look for.

Letting out a breath she hadn’t know she was holding, she felt the connection slip away as her anger drained from her. “I hope you don’t suffer too much,” she said, and turned on her heel, exiting the cell without looking back.

Let him get away from Vader? No one dared to cross the Dark Lord, especially not a lowly TIE pilot. They’d come for him soon enough. She had what she needed. At least, she had a place to start.

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Rurik looked down from the gantry. “Commander, with all due respect…”

“I don’t expect you to understand, Lieutenant,” she cut him off, slipping along the access walks around the cockpit of Giriad’s Interceptor. “Just humor me.”

“I really wish that you would tell me what you’re looking for,” Rurik said, watching with his arms crossed.

“I’ll know when I find it.” She edged around the fighter’s viewports, examining even the lining of the transparisteel. So far, she hadn’t found anything that even remotely resembled a transmitter or anything like that. She’d already checked L’Grath’s fighter and found nothing. The same had gone for Rurik’s, but she wasn’t about to tell him she still didn’t trust him entirely. Now, as she studied the underside of the left wing strut, she said, “So far, I haven’t. I’m beginning to wonder if I haven’t imagined this whole thing.”

“I could help you if I knew what you wanted,” Rurik offered, not moving.

“Thank you, Lieutenant,” she said dryly. “But, the only reason I’m letting you stand there, is I like talking to someone besides myself. When I want help, I’ll ask for it.” Just then, her fingers passed over an irregular spot on the strut. “Hold on.” She crouched lower. “Toss me that glowrod.”

For a minute, Rurik just shook his head. Then he picked up the rod and dropped it at the edge of the gantry. Thelea looked up at him, glowing eyes narrowed in disgust. He crossed his arms across his chest, raised an eyebrow. Sighing disgustedly, she straightened and reached for the rod. “Thank you ever so much, Lieutenant.”

“Glad to be of service, Commander,” he replied with equal dryness.

Thelea let that one pass, instead concentrating on the object she’d found. It was thin, almost like a wire, but definitely made of metal. There were tiny blue letters on it, too small of her to read, but almost iridescent in the light of the glowrod. The end was a cylinder of metal, with a thin fiber extended from it.

“A transmitter,” she murmured. “It’s a transmitter.” Without turning around, she dropped the glowrod. “Caelin, there’s a microspanner on the gantry. Hand it down here, please.”

For a moment, Rurik was so startled at her abrupt politeness he didn’t quite catch her request. A red-eyed glare thrown over her shoulder jolted him into action. He scrabbled through the toolbox on the gantry until he found the small implement she’d requested. “What is it?”

Thelea didn’t reply, activating the spanner and carefully detaching the filament from the TIE’s strut. Turning it over in her palm, she tried to read the tiny letters, but they were too small. The fibrous antenna was no wider than a single thread of Sivurian silk.

“A transmitting device of some kind,” she said, not turning around. “How much you want to bet this is what that Rebel was supposed to be listening for?”

Rurik dropped to a crouch at the edge of the gantry. “Giriad?” he said, the disbelief combining with disgust in his tone. “A Rebel spy?”

Thelea’s mouth tightened at the corners. “So it would seem.” She handed the tiny device to Rurik and turned back to examine the spot from which she’d removed it. Tugging off her skin-tight glove, she passed a finger over the spot. When it came away, she rubbed thumb and forefinger together, eyes narrowing.

“I can’t believe it,” Rurik was saying meanwhile. “Quoris of all people. He seems like such a…baby. How could he be a turncoat?”

“Maybe he wasn’t,” Thelea said, boosting herself to a sitting position on the edge of the access gantry. “There’s adhesive tac still on the strut where the transmitter was. It’s still sticky. That was a hastily-applied piece of equipment.”

“So he was in a rush to get it on there before we had to leave or before a tech caught him,” Rurik dismissed. “Let’s report this to Commander Varkris.”

Thelea was on the catwalk with one graceful leap, so quick that Rurik hadn’t even realized she’d moved until she was standing beside him.

“Varkris?” Her hand fell on his shoulder, stopping him and turning him around. “Varkris might not be on our side.”

“What?” Rurik stared into the glittering orbs, wishing he’d figured out how to read her. “He’s the first officer. Whose side is he on? The Rebels?”

“Whoever’s doing this may not be working for the Rebellion, at least not directly,” Thelea said, her voice low. “But, somebody wants us dead. And until we find out who that someone is, and who he’s working for, I say we don’t trust anyone. That means Giriad, L’Grath, the tech crew, even the bridge officers.”

“You’re saying we’re going to hide this from everyone?” Rurik demanded, aghast. “That’s next door to treason! If we do that we’ll both have to learn how to breathe vacuum. We have to at least tell Commander L’Grath.”

“No!” Thelea’s tone left no room for objection. Even as she snapped the monosyllable, something caused her to stop, whatever else she might have added by way of explanation lost. Her eyes were suddenly focused over his shoulder, back toward L’Grath’s fighter. “Wait a minute.”

She turned around and went back to L’Grath’s Interceptor. Rurik followed reluctantly. “What is it now?”

Without glancing back at him, she said, “I just remembered something.”

“What?” Receiving no reply, Rurik heaved a sigh of the long-suffering and followed. Thelea was now on the access gantry of their commander's fighter, inspecting the wing strut in the same place as she’d retrieved the transmitter from Giriad’s fighter. “Commander, you already…”

“Hush,” she said distractedly, almost as though speaking to a child. “I just remembered something I noticed when we were looking at L’Grath’s fighter. There was nothing unusual, except a little mark on the wing strut in the same place as where I found the transmitter on Giriad's fighter. I didn’t even think about it until I found it.”

Rurik crouched down and shone the glowrod over her shoulder. Thelea’s red eyes showed a brief flicker of surprise before she turned her attention back to the strut. She ran her fingers over the outer plates that protected the delicate internal circuitry.

“Here it is,” she breathed, touching the joint where the strut met the solar panel. “Let me see the transmitter.” Realizing that if he wanted answers he was going to have to wait and see, Rurik handed over the tiny device. “Look at this.”

Peering over her shoulder, he saw that there was a small gap in the protective paneling, just wide enough that the transmitter fit into the crack. “Coincidence?”

Thelea removed the device and examined it. “More adhesive.” She looked back over her shoulder at him. Rurik raised an eyebrow, and she narrowed the glowing eyes. “Someone’s playing a very clever game here, Lieutenant. Still think we should report this?”

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“Varkris, I’m disappointed.”

“Sir, I didn’t…there wasn’t anything I could do.” Varkris shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot, his back locked at rigid attention. “I had no idea the Rebels would intercept the shuttle. If I had, I would have had him eliminated myself.”

“The pilot was useless!” Varkris winced at the inhumanly sharp tone. “His recovery by the Alliance is no great loss to us. But you allowed Commander Thelea access to him!”

“It wasn’t my choice,” Varkris protested before he thought about his words. “She requested permission from her own wing commander and he asked the captain. How could I protest without explaining my reasons?”

“We cannot tell you everything. You are supposed to be able to act on your own discretion.” The executive officer waited anxiously as the pause lengthened. “The Rebel has been recaptured. We now can never be sure what he told them, and whether one of Alpha Wing is working for the Alliance.”

“I thought you said one of them was working for you,” Varkris demanded. “That’s what you told me the last time I spoke to you.”

For the first time, there was uncertainty. “We have our doubts.”

“What? Now you’re saying you’re not sure?”

“That is not important. Right now, the difficulty is Thelea. We have reason to believe she has involved Caelin. That makes both of them liabilities. Eliminate them. No more hoping the Rebels will deal with them for us. Finish them. As soon a you can.”

Varkris’ mouth tightened into a thin smile. The order he’d been waiting for. “With pleasure.”

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“What are we going to do?” Rurik was almost running to keep up with Thelea. “If we’re not going to tell L’Grath or Commander Varkris about this, then who?”

Thelea shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe no one.”

“Thelea, we can’t just do this ourselves. We’d have to watch our backs at every minute, and, one of those times, he’ll have the drop on us.” Rurik wondered why she was staring at him with that impenetrable red gaze, not saying anything. Finally it dawned on him that had called her Thelea rather than Commander or even a sarcastic nickname. She seemed to be mulling that over, trying to figure out how to respond.

Finally, she said, “All right, Rurik, what would you suggest we do?”

He couldn’t help it. A grin slowly spread across his features. “We’re going to have to be very surreptitious. Now, who do we know in the fleet that might believe us?”

Thelea shrugged. “Not the Captain, that’s certain. Not L’Grath or Giriad, and neither of them would be much help anyway. I can’t contact the…well, you know.” She indicated her hidden brand on her arm. “They don’t leave telecom ids. And if we can’t trust Varkris, then who?”

Rurik considered that for a moment. Then, his grin became sly. “There’s one person who might listen.” Thelea quirked a skeptical eyebrow, and he looked pointedly at her. Suddenly, it clicked.

“You don’t mean…” Her face did not pale, at least, not that he could tell, but her eyes widened. “We couldn’t. Not possible. How could we…”

“Do you have any reason to believe he might be a traitor, or that he would turn us over to Lord Vader?”

“No.” She shook her head slowly, her lips still trembling. “No, he wouldn’t, but I still can’t…”

“He’ll listen to you.”

“I can’t!” For the first time since he’d met her, there was anxiety in her voice. Even so, his own next words surprised him.

“We’ll go together.”

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He looked out at the stars, waiting. He didn’t know how he knew the voice was coming, but this time he did.

She is coming.

“Of what consequence?” he asked softly.

She needs your help. Do what you can. Just as always.

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Thelea resisted the urge to fidget in her seat. Talking their way onto the shuttle had been surprisingly easy. Easy, she admitted to herself, for Rurik. Whatever he’d done on that backwater dustball he called home, he’d learned to smooth-talk his way into just about anything. She’d have to be careful. He was probably good at sabacc, too. She had simply stood by and looked appropriately officer-like.

The shuttle was approaching the fleet flagship almost too fast for her. Rurik, seated beside her, seemed completely relaxed. Thelea knew she appeared calm outwardly…she was working on it. Eyes half-closed, she focused on the inner balance she’d learned to find.

Right now, however, her heart was pounding so hard it was impossible to focus. All her skills that let her stay frozen in the heat of a deep space firefight were useless now. The last time she remembered being so nervous was the night she’d left the homeworld, knowing she’d never go back. This was as close as she’d come.

Once she felt the deck plates of the Victorious beneath her feet, she was more certain than ever that this was a mistake. “Rurik, we should just go now. By now they’ve missed us on the Valiant and we’ll be court-marshaled. If we go back…”

“Too late,” he said, looking much more relaxed than he must have been. If her thoughts hadn’t been so distracted, she was sure she’d have sensed nervousness. A Human Replica Droid couldn’t have been so calm. “All we have to do is get to the ready room, and explain that we have an emergency that we have to explain.”

“We are just going to march in and demand an audience? What if he throws us out? We could be court-marshaled! We should just go back now.”

“Thelea, what are you afraid of?” Rurik demanded. “Are you really afraid he won't see us? Or are you afraid he will?”

“Two days ago, I’d have thrown you in the brig for talking to me like that!” she hissed, but she knew he was right. On the one hand, they could both be busted back to the training station or worse. On the other…she felt the pouch in her uniform pocket that held the little transmitter. There was more than careers depending on this. And perhaps…hadn’t she wanted to meet him? She drew in a breath, and let the tension drain from her. It was almost as though something was helping allay her nerves.

“All right. Let’s go.”

Finding the ready room was the easy part. The Victorious had exactly the same layout as all the other Victory-class Star Destroyers in the fleet, and no one challenged their presence. Getting into it might be the hard part. The door seemed unguarded, and to their surprise, did not have a key card lock.

“Shall we knock?” Rurik asked, somewhat dryly.

Thelea hesitated, then said, “No. Follow me.” She stepped to the door, which slid aside obligingly enough. Instead of a ready room, they found themselves in a dark antechamber, the lights dimmed to shadow. Thelea stepped to the inner door, Rurik close at her heels. The door behind them slid closed, and she had the uneasy sense of being trapped. And that they weren’t alone…

“Rurik, look out!” she snapped, spinning on her heel and drawing her blaster.

The shadowy gray form she’d almost sensed rather than saw froze. In the dim light she made out the form of a nightmarish figure, with a prominent jaw full of predatory teeth and surmounted by the nostrils of a tracking animal. She saw the thin glitter of an assassin's knife in the being’s right hand.

“Who are you?” he demanded, his voice grating like sand on plate glass.

“We’re here…”

Before she could finish, a voice on the intercom above the inner door said, “Let them pass, Rukh.” The creature did not appear happy about it, but he withdrew again into the shadow from which he’d come.

The inner door slid open silently. Exchanging nervous looks, they stepped into the gloomy sanctum. At first, the room seemed empty. But then they saw the chair at the end, and the white uniform. Two glowing red slits above the white were the only illumination in the room, save Thelea’s own eyes.

“Lieutenant Commander Thelea tal Kyrn,” the even, cool voice, so full of authority, said, rolling the name thoughtfully on his tongue. Then, as an afterthought, “Lieutenant Caelin. Please, come in.”

Thelea swallowed, but drew herself up to perfect attention. “Let me do the talking.” She stepped ahead of him, coming close to command chair. Rurik watched from two paces back. He had the uneasy feeling he was watching some sort of ritual. Thelea had suddenly adopted an attitude he’d never seen her use. She stopped, folded her hands before her, finger-tips down, and lowered her head.

“Vice Admiral Thrawn,” she said quietly, eyes on the deck plates.

“Welcome, Commander,” the Vice-Admiral said, rising to stand before her. “I’ve been expecting you.” He stepped forward, within a pace of her, and he gestured slightly with one hand. It must have been a signal, because she raised her head and met his gaze.

Thrawn studied her features carefully, almost as though he were examining a sculpture. He never moved, but Rurik could see that he’d taken in all her figure in that one glance. Finally, the Admiral nodded, as if he approved of something. Thrawn turned and stepped away. “What brings you here so surreptitiously?”

Thelea glanced at Rurik out of the corner of her eye. He knows, she thought grimly. He knows all about the shuttle. “Vice-Admiral, we have information that we felt we should present to you directly.”

“There are appropriate channels,” he said, returning to his chair. “Why did you not notify your squadron commander, or one of the officers aboard the Valiant?”

“Sir, we felt that we…” She hesitated, and Thrawn leaned forward slightly in his chair.

“Yes, Commander?” he said patiently, his voice still level.

“We felt that we could not trust our chain of command,” she said, her voice just as even. “We have reason to believe that someone within the chain of command is attempting to have us killed.”

Thrawn didn’t seem to react to this for a minute. Then he said slowly, “Do you have evidence?”

She removed the small transmitter from her pocket. “We found this transmitter on our wingmate’s TIE Interceptor, after a battle where we failed to engage the enemy because they had been notified of our presence. We are not sure by whom, but we are afraid that our mission and our lives are jeopardized.”

“Why not simply report this discovery to your wing commander?” the Vice Admiral asked. Thelea, with an uneasy glance at Rurik, explained the confusion regarding to which fighter the transmitter had originally been attached, and from there the other problems they had experienced, including the compromised missions and the attempt to blame the entire wing, and the encounter with the Rebel pilot.

Thrawn listened patiently while she spoke, withholding comment. “So, Vice-Admiral, we are not sure who the traitor is. The behavior of our first officer has lead us to believe he is not trustworthy, either. We did not know what to do, until Lieutenant Caelin suggested that we bring this to your attention.”

For the first time, Thrawn’s attention turned to the other pilot. Rurik, who had only recently prided himself on being able to meet Thelea’s gaze without flinching, found he could not do the same with the Admiral's glowing eyes. “What gave you such an unusual idea, Lieutenant?”

Rurik swallowed around a dry throat. “I thought you would be the most likely to believe us, sir, and not accuse us of manufacturing the evidence to protect ourselves.”

“What made you reach that seemingly illogical conclusion?” Thrawn asked. “Why not your captain?”

Rurik shifted uneasily. “Well, sir…” He said weakly, his eyes shifting from the Admiral to Thelea, and their undeniable resemblance.

Thrawn followed his gaze, and a slight flicker crossed his expression. “I see.” He turned to Thelea. “And what did you say to this, Commander?”

Thelea hesitated before answering. “I was not certain, Admiral. I did not know how you would receive me.”

“Why is that? Why would I receive you any differently than I would any other loyal servant of the Empire?”

She lowered her eyes. “I am tal Kyrn, Admiral. I have no voice for you to hear.”

Thrawn didn’t reply for a minute. Instead he closed his eyes, as if meditating. “You are a soldier of the Empire, Commander Thelea. That tells me more than a name might.” He opened his eyes. “I will begin a private investigation into this. You have no other recourse in the fleet?”

Thelea tightened her jaw. “There is a group, sir, within the Empire, who have at times provided me with information. I am under orders, however, not to reveal their identity to anyone.”

“I am aware of their existence,” Thrawn said, with equal care. “I know nothing against them, but I also know that they have a private agenda, one that may not include protecting their agents. Trust their word, but do not depend on it.” Thelea nodded. “I will have only the most trustworthy of my own agents look into the situation. I wish I could do more to help you, Commander, but my hands are tied. Be assured that you have an ally.” He rose and took a data pad from a desk console. After pressing a few keys, he removed the recorder chip and placed it in Thelea’s hand. “Use these codes to contact the Victorious, and you may monitor the investigation's progress. Be careful. I can’t offer you any personal protection.”

Thelea nodded again, more crisply. “Understood, Admiral.”

“I’ll arrange for you to travel back to your ship with the next supply convoy. There will be no questions.” He tapped a few buttons on the comm system. Thelea and Rurik stood at attention, waiting for a dismissal. Rurik studied her out of the corner of his eye, and he saw what he would almost swear was disappointment in her face. The Admiral looked up. “One more thing, Commander.”

“Yes, sir?” she said, drawing herself up straighter.

For a minute, the Admiral said nothing. Then he touched a button on the control pad. “Do you recognize this?”

Thelea turned and looked at the hologram that had appeared. Rurik waited near the desk as she approached the pedestal. It was a necklace; a medallion engraved in a silver and gold swirling pattern, the ends filigreed in a lacy pattern. At the center was a deep-colored stone, apparently blue, but as she moved around the holographic pedestal, it changed to green to silver to a deep gold. Thelea’s brows knit together as she stared at it, and a memory surfaced…

She was little, little enough to be carried. There was a black cloak, and a soft tunic. The medallion glittered just within her reach, and she lunged for it, but her tiny hands missed by mere inches. They were moving so fast, and it slipped away. She didn’t know where they were going, only that she was afraid, so afraid…

The memory slipped back into the shadows of her mind. “Yes,” she murmured softly. “I remember someone, when I was very small. They were carrying me, and I remember grabbing at it.” She looked up at the Admiral. “Why? Do you know…” She couldn’t get the words out. Thrawn didn’t say anything. He shut off the holoprojector and stepped beside her.

“Be very, very careful, Commander,” he said quietly, and to her surprise, he placed a hand on her shoulder. “Your service is valued more than you know.”

Chapter Six

 

 

Thelea sat with her back rigid, braced against the wall of the pilot ready room. Rurik, across from her, was doing his best to seem casual. If Giriad or L’Grath thought something was wrong, they didn’t show it, but she couldn’t help the feeling that something wasn’t right. No one had said anything about their absence and Thelea and Rurik had agreed that they would remain silent on the matter. Whoever the spy was would certainly not bring it up. But whichever one the traitor was, he had to have realized by now that something had gone wrong. Either he’d missed the transmitter on his own craft, or he’d realized no one had found the transmitter where he’d planted it.

As for promise of investigation…Thelea had to fight to keep the disgust from showing. If Thrawn had kept his promise, he was being very surreptitious about it. So far, Thelea hadn’t noticed anyone new looking around. Then again, if the agent looked out of place, the spy would be able to spot him. So far, there had been no mention by anyone of Rurik and Thelea’s unauthorized side trip, either, but the Admiral had arranged for their return trip, complete with passes. Even so, Rurik had been more than a little surprised at the ease with which everyone aboard the Valiant had accepted their story. Thelea had pointed out that it was very unlikely anyone was going to argue with a Vice-Admiral.

As to how they’d left the Valiant…they’d both thought it wisest not to explain. There’d been more than a little grumbling by Commander Varkris, but he had seen the Vice-Admiral’s signature and said nothing aloud.

“How much longer, you think?” L’Grath was sitting with his back to the wall, eyes closed…the portrait of an old, tired man.

“Whenever we’re falling asleep and least prepared,” Rurik said.

“Or maybe they will just cancel the flight,” Thelea suggested. “I could live with that.”

“We should be so lucky,” Giriad said. “Hey,” he added, sitting up from where he lay on one of the benches. “Did anyone hear about those new fighters? Think we’ll get them?”

“What, the ones they’re calling the TIE Advanced?” Rurik asked. “Yeah, I’ve heard about those. Supposedly they’re going to replace some of the Interceptor squadrons with the Advanced. How much you want to bet we’re not going to be one of them?”

“We have a good record,” Giriad protested, a little less whiny than he’d been in the past. Rurik wondered whether that whining and juvenile behavior were a cover for a darker nature.

“Since when does record mean anything?” L'Grath said. “When I was on the Eradicator, my wing had an 86% mission success rate. That didn’t get us anywhere.”

“You were on the Eradicator?” Thelea sat up a little straighter. “I thought they were destroyed with no survivors.”

“A few of us were fortunate enough to escape,” L’Grath said. “I was able to use the confusion of the battle as a shield from the Rebel attackers.”

“Strange that you never mentioned this before,” Thelea said, almost too casually.

L’Grath replied, “I never felt it was relevant before.”

“You’d be amazed at what I consider relevant,” she said, still sounding deceptively at ease. “There are many things I find relevant that most people would ignore.”

L’Grath’s reply, whatever it might have been, was lost when the door to the ready room opened and Commander Varkris entered. Looking at the four pilots, each of whom remained seated when the first officer entered, he said, “I’m glad we’ve adopted such a casual treatment of superiors,” he said. “On your feet!”

Rurik and Giriad were the first up, having not only youth on their side but a somewhat healthy respect, if not for the officer, than for what he could do to them. L’Grath was a little slower, and Thelea last of all, making it clear through her expression that she rose because she chose to do so, not because of an order.

“You’ll be launching in approximately fifteen standard minutes,” Varkris announced. “The mission parameters have been kept secret, as you know. Now, we can reveal only that you will be dropped into a system and your target will be a deep space research station, protected by approximately seventy mines.” The groans were automatic and audible. Varkris simply glared until they were silent. “Your task is to clear the mine field and then assist Beta bomber group in disabling the platform. This mission is highly secret, and so you are not allowed to speak to anyone now, or after the mission is complete. Do you understand?”

They nodded agreement, but the glances that passed between the wingmates said enough about their doubts. “Good hunting, Alpha Wing,” Varkris said, and there was no mistaking the sardonic twist on his words. “Success. Report to your fighters in ten minutes.”

Thelea waited until the door had closed behind him before saying, “All right, who thought something was wrong with that?”

“Safe to say we all did,” L’Grath said. “Not telling us is standard procedure, but not telling us about an ordinary run on a deep space platform, even when it’s mined…something’s up.”

“Well, I certainly haven’t heard anything from official sources,” Rurik said. “What about you, Commander Thelea?”

She narrowed her eyes. “Absolutely nothing, Lieutenant Caelin. Why do you ask?”

“No reason,” he said casually, but his eyes were troubled.

Thelea didn’t show it, but her answer concerned her as much as it did Rurik. The Inner Circle had been noticeably quiet of late. Being blindsided by this assignment was nerve-wracking, to say the least. She wasn’t even sure they knew about the spy. Probably…they seemed to know everything. But a better question was whether they knew the spy’s identity. If they did, why hadn’t they told her? They undoubtedly had plans of their own. She had no right to demand information, and didn’t know how to contact them anyway.

Rurik stood up and retrieved his helmet from the hook above the bench. Thelea was fiddling with the mouthpiece of her modified helmet, which supplied her with air in the depressurized environment of the TIE and also contained her communications equipment. Casually, she stood up and stepped beside Rurik.

Lowering her voice, she murmured, “Be sure to check your air supply. If they can sabotage the hatch, they can get to something more important.” He nodded tightly. Emptying the air and tampering with the gauge so it gave a false reading would be fairly simple for a saboteur, and a very easy way to dispose of him or Thelea permanently. Fortunately, when he checked his suit, the oxygen canisters were full, and when he tested the valve, a jet of air escaped.

Thelea started for the door of the ready room. “Time to go, gentlemen. Wouldn’t want to keep Commander Varkris waiting.” The others followed her, not out of obedience but acknowledgment that she was right. Annoy Varkris and they all just might end up in the brig or worse.

When Thelea slipped into the cockpit of her fighter, the sense of dread that had been at the back of her mind increased, gnawing at the pit of her stomach. She rechecked her suit, her instruments, the weapons, her air, everything she could think of, and yet still her senses told her that something was wrong. All systems nominal, and yet a sense of impending doom hung over her. She tried to brush the feeling aside. The mission was unusual, yes, but nothing truly unusual. Clearing a minefield was a hazardous duty and she hadn’t done that in a while, so it was rational and logical to be a bit anxious. Then again, she’d never had quite this feeling of dread about a mission before, either. Normally, as she’d learned from experience, bad feelings usually proved very justified.

She blinked behind the dark faceplate, years of training limiting her visual surprise to that tiny gesture, even here where no one could see. The message light hadn’t been on before, had it? She could have sworn that the console was dark. Intrigued, she activated the screen.

There was no holo, only text. The message was brief and to the point. “The Valiant is being lead into a trap. If you are overwhelmed and the ship cannot defend herself, send the encrypted data burst attached to this message. Reinforcements will arrive as quickly as possible. Beware.” It was unsigned, of course, but who else but the Inner Circle would know such things? For a moment, Thrawn sprang to mind, but she pushed the thought away. He would have no reason to resort to subterfuge. She noted the attached data burst to the message without attempting to access it. Tampering with it might trigger a self-destruct, and then where would they be? She’d simply have to trust that the message was genuine.

She felt the barely perceptible shift as the Star Destroyer came out of hyperspace. The warning light on the TIE’s control panel flashed, and she flexed her fingers before resting them on the control yoke. The tractor beam would guide the little fighter out of the Valiant’s bay with no help from her. They’d have only a few klicks to prepare before they entered the minefield, and, in the shield-less Interceptors, they would have to be at full throttle with weapons charged or the mines would cut them to pieces. The little fighter launched with a jerk and she punched the speed to full. Swinging in a tight arc, she pulled abreast of L’Grath’s fighter, with Rurik and Giriad close behind.

“Stay in formation,” L’Grath ordered. “At ten klicks, break off for your assigned quadrant.” Thelea acknowledged the order, all the while keeping her eyes on the targeting display. The tiny dots representing the mines clustered around the larger image that was the space station. She checked her distance from them and her jaw tightened. Almost there…

“Ten klicks,” L’Grath announced, “Break off on three…two…one!” The four fighters broke away in perfect synchrony, and Thelea braced herself, swinging into an evasive pattern. The distance was running out. The mines would go active when she passed within two klicks, and the Interceptor would only handle a few shots, even indirect hits.

A laser bolt burned past the cockpit and she hit the targeting computer’s lock. Almost at the same instant, she opened fire. The first mine, the one that had fired, disintegrated in a cloud of gas. She didn’t notice, she was already spinning the little fighter at her second target. Her heart, which beat much slower than a human’s, was pounding at an unnaturally high rate of speed. She had the oddest sense of double vision, of a strange double anxiety, as though she were feeling her own battle nerves plus someone else’s. She shook off the feeling, focusing, and splintering two more mines into dust. Another burst made her little craft shudder and for the first time her respiration sped up.

“There’re more than seventy mines out here!” She thought it was Giriad’s panicked exclamation, but she couldn’t be sure.

Her headset crackled with battle interference, and then a taut voice said, “Alpha Two, this is Alpha Three. I think I’ve got a problem.”

Rurik… “Alpha Three, what’s the problem?”

“My targeting computer’s out,” he said tersely. “I can’t see to shoot.”

Thelea felt the panic rising in her, and she realized that it wasn’t her own fear but Rurik’s. Even as she swung around and shattered another mine, she began scanning the computer, looking for Rurik’s fighter. “Rurik, watch it, there are two behind you!” Rurik spun the fighter and blasted the two mines, but not before one came perilously close to striking the TIE. Without the targeting computer, he could attempt to shoot by eyeballing the targets, but in a mine field he would eventually lose out to the mine’s numbers. With the computer out, there was no way she could even send him targeting data. But she couldn’t break off to cover him. All protocol said she was to ignore her wingman’s trouble and complete her mission objectives. And she knew she couldn’t do that.

Her own fighter shuddered from yet another near miss. A few more like that and she’d be done for. But she couldn’t abandon Rurik. “Is your computer repairing the damage?”

“It's going to talk another five minutes,” he said, and she could hear the rising panic. She could see from here that he was shooting wild, swinging and firing at anything that shot back. That would work for a while, but he couldn’t possibly keep it up much longer. She looked at her own targets. She was doomed, too. There was no possible way for her to take out this many.

Her finger hovered over the transmission key.

And stopped. Keying for the Valiant’s channel, she said, “Home One, this is Alpha Two. We are badly outgunned by the mines. Request reinforcements.”

There was a momentary pause, and then the communications officer said, “Unable to comply, Alpha Two.”

“Why in the worlds…” She broke off. There was no time to argue. The secret order’s reinforcements might not arrive in time, but at least they’d have a chance. She sent the coded transmission and turned her attention back to the mines and to Rurik’s predicament. “Stay calm, Alpha Three,” she said, trying to keep her own voice level as she stared into the blackness. “Just stay calm.” As she spoke, she slowed her own breathing and allowed instinct to take over.

Rurik, meanwhile, was struggling with his own panic. He knew he was going to die, this mission was hopeless, there were four pilots to deal with far more mines than anyone had anticipated, and he was effectively blind. Swinging around and around, he fired aimlessly, hoping he hit a few more of them. Stars, there had to be more than seventy here. Thank all the Powers that the station wasn’t in range.

The voice that cut onto their comm channel shook all four of the pilots. “Alpha Two, what was that transmission?” Varkris.

“Frankly, sir, it’s none of your business.” Thelea couldn’t help it. Protocol be damned, if she was going to be killed then she wasn’t going into the void cowering before Varkris. “We’re in trouble out here and I’ve sent for help.”

“Really? Or for the Rebels, traitor?”

The flash of white-hot anger blinded her for a moment. “I am no traitor, Varkris. If we’re slaughtered out here, it’s because this mission’s real objective was killing us. If you want this station taken, send out reinforcements!”

“I’ll do no such thing, traitor…” She cut off the transmission with a jab of a finger. “Rurik, listen to me.” Protocol be damned. “Stay calm.” Even as she spoke, her own battle nerves receded. “Listen to me. Breathe. Focus on the targets. Your computer will be on-line soon. You can shoot without it. Just relax. Let your training take over. You don’t need to think to shoot.” As she continued the steady stream of even words, she allowed her own piloting to slip into the instinctive. This was how she flew best, without concentrating, becoming a part of her fighter. She was no longer even aware of exactly what she was saying.

Neither was Rurik, but it was working. He could feel the terror abating as she spoke, his fear receding as her cool, even voice soothed him. No longer did he spin the Interceptor in random arcs. Instead he swung purposefully at each of the mines around him. They disintegrated into clouds of gas and shrapnel. His breathing evened out, matching the sound of Thelea’s that he could hear over the comm channel.

In her own quadrant, Thelea was now back under control. She’d vaporized most of the mines near her, and more importantly, she was no longer in a panic. She scanned the area. L’Grath and Giriad, remarkably, were both still alive, much to her surprise. Rurik had himself back under control, and a moment later he said, “My computer’s back. Thanks, Alpha Two.”

“Don’t mention it, Three.” Thelea turned her attention to the station. All four of them were damaged. She had no idea how they were going to take on the well-armed platform. Right now they were out of range, but in a matter of minutes that would change. “Leader, this is Two. What is our procedure for the platform attack?”

“We haven’t finished with the mines, Two,” L’Grath said. “Four and I are in need of assistance.”

Thelea frowned behind her mask. Neither she nor Rurik were in any condition to take on the mines, much less the platform. Flying in to aide the other two made much less sense than their all withdrawing and regrouping. All her systems were up, but far from peak efficiency. Some of those bursts had been closer than she liked to think about. “Sir, with all due respect, none of us are in any condition either to attack…”

“Alpha Two, this is an order. You and Alpha Three will engage the platform or continue to engage the mines,” L’Grath said. “Obey those orders or I’ll have you court-marshaled.”

The bad feeling she’d had all day resolved itself into grim certainty. “Sir, we are not in any condition. Ordering us to attack is tantamount to murder.” There was only a silence. “Three, Four, did you hear that?”

“She’s right, sir,” and to her amazement, that was not Rurik speaking but Giriad. “We can’t possibly take on firepower of that magnitude. I can barely turn my fighter.”

L’Grath still didn’t respond and it was Rurik’s turn to speak up. “Sir, we can’t. Varkris isn’t listening. He won’t send reinforcements. Sir, what’s wrong?”

L’Grath didn’t reply, and Thelea watched in amazement as he turned his fighter and came around towards them. The remaining mines were too far apart to give him serious trouble, but he was flying as though he didn’t care. She tried again. “Commander, what is the matter with you?”

“It doesn’t matter,” and she couldn’t believe that was his voice she was hearing. “You’re all traitors for disobeying. It doesn’t matter, the Rebels will be here any minute. Attack the platform or die where you sit, it doesn’t really matter!” Throwing the little fighter into a dive, he came at them, not firing but fast enough that all did their best to evade.

“Commander!” Thelea couldn't say more. All her attention was occupied suddenly by evading the station’s lasers and by the warning shriek from her computer that a new ship had arrived in-system. It was a Calamari cruiser, and while it was not yet within range, she knew it wouldn’t take long. “Enemy ships in system!”

“Is that who you sent for?” Varkris’ voice on the comm again. “Was that what the transmission was?” Angrily, she switched it off. L’Grath was swinging around again, and she pushed her damaged ship to its best speed.

“Three, Four, evade!” Her order almost came too late when a burst of laser fire from L’Grath’s fighter nearly splintered Giriad’s Interceptor. Fortunately, neither had to be ordered to get out of his way. Any closer to the station and they were dead. If that Calamari cruiser launched a fighter contingent they were finished. Trapped between the two, the injured TIE fighters would be crippled and destroyed. It was sheer numbers. “Valiant, if you’re not going to send reinforcements, we’re coming back,” she said, for the first time raising her voice. “Something’s wrong with Alpha Leader and I’m taking command of the squadron.”

“Alphas Three and Four, you are ordered by the First Officer to disregard Commander Thelea’s orders,” said the controller, uneasily.

“With all due respect to Commander L’Grath,” Rurik said, glad to finally be able to say what was on his mind, “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.” What the blazes, they would all be court-marshaled anyway. “I’m right at your elbow, Thelea.”

“Alpha Four, coming about.”

Thelea couldn't help the faint, genuine smile that crossed her features. “Thank you,” she said into the pickup, so quietly she wasn’t sure he could have heard. Aloud, she ordered, “Three, Four, form up on me. We’re getting out of here, one way or another. And watch out for L’Grath,” she added, scanning for the other TIE. He was headed away from them for now, at least, in the direction of the incoming Rebels. “He may come around for another pass.”

Thelea saw the other TIEs drop into formation behind her. She only hoped she wasn’t making it easier for the Valiant’s gunners. She was glad they were following but had no idea where she was leading them. There was no guarantee, with Varkris in this move and Merdrian apparently going along with it, they could return to the destroyer. But in Interceptors, unequipped for long-distance travel, there was no place else to go. The chances of getting to a civilized system were practically nil. They could try, but there was very little chance they’d succeed.

She was about to admit their dilemma to Rurik and Giriad, who undoubtedly knew already, when an unfortunately well-aimed laser burst streaked past her cockpit, and an instant after than an Interceptor shot by. “He’s back!” Rurik warned, almost too late.

“Yes, I can see that,” she muttered. What in space was the old man trying to do, kill himself? There was no question but he was trying to engage her, and going about it in a reckless way. “Commander L’Grath,” she said, keying for his comm frequency. “What’s going on? What have you done?”

“It doesn’t matter now,” he said, and she was astounded at the deadness of his voice. “One way or another.”

“Commander, whatever it is, it can be worked out…” A burst of laser fire cut off her futile words. She knew equally well what was waiting for him if he came back with his mission a failure.

“I come back and they disintegrate me as a traitor, is that what you want?” L’Grath didn’t sound angry or desperate. Just morose.

Thelea studied his fighter’s readout on her computer. He was wounded, as was she, but they were fairly even in terms of damage. She could take him on if it came to that. “Sir, what did you do?”

“Betrayed my oath as an officer of the Empire,” he said. “And then betrayed them as well.”

“The Rebels?” That was Rurik, sounding stunned.

L’Grath laughed tonelessly. “If it only were that simple. That’s not important. What matters is the point of this mission was to get rid of you. The two of you were just causing problems. You could have just left well enough alone, but you had to go beyond your orders. Now it’s too late for all of us. You might as well fight the Rebels. At least it gives you an easy way out.”

“Commander, if you betrayed us to the Rebellion, well, then you don’t deserve better than execution,” Thelea said. “If you’re working with someone on the Valiant…”

Her question was cut off by a burst of laser fire as he came around at her again. Automatically she dove beneath him, her evasive maneuver so late and so clumsy that any normal pilot would have cut her to bits. She swung up into a pursuit pattern, just as she heard Giriad’s shouted warning.

“Rebels! Coming in, point six three!”

“Three, Four, can you handle them?” Thelea asked, even as she targeted L’Grath’s fighter and fired a warning shot.

“Not this many, Lead,” Rurik reported. “We won’t last five minutes.”

“Then run for it,” she ordered. “I’ll bring L’Grath back.”

“Copy that, Lead,” Giriad replied, and Rurik echoed him automatically. Thelea realized for the first time that they’d called her Lead. She wasn’t exactly sure, but she thought she like the sound of it.

“Evade the best you can and head for the Valiant. If those Rebs follow you, they’ll have to shoot. I’ll catch up as soon as I can.” She opened the throttle and went after L’Grath. The little fighter shuddered in protest at the acceleration as the engine speed picked up. Unlike the Rebels who, she noticed, were closing awfully fast, she didn’t have an astromech to effect repairs and was limited by what the computer could accomplish. She winced, but didn’t ease back. L’Grath was in as bad a shape as she was.

“Commander L’Grath,” she said, on a comm channel she knew he could hear. “You are ordered to stand down and return to the Valiant. Your actions warrant investigation for treason.”

His fighter dove so quickly out of her sights that, for an instant, she was uncertain of where he’d gone. The targeting computer flashed a warning as he reappeared in her rear sensors. Throwing her fighter into an inverted loop, she complicated the evasion with a twisting maneuver that, while it did not put her back in a pursuit spot, did get L’Grath out from behind her.

Red lasers streaking in close proximity made her check her computer. There was a squadron of X-wings bearing down on them. She looked at her diagnostics again. Engines at 79% of full capacity, lasers at 68%…she might be able to take on one TIE as injured as she was, but the pointers were something else. “Let him get cut to pieces, then,” she muttered, bringing her fighter around to follow Rurik and Giriad. Where were reinforcements when she needed them?

The blip on her computer appeared so rapidly that she at first didn't notice. Only when the new ship began closing on them did she read her computer's screen. A Star Destroyer…a Victory-class Star Destroyer!

“TIE wing Alpha,” said an unfamiliar, but still welcome voice. “This is Victorious. You’ve done a good job here. Let us clean up for you. Head for our hangar bay and we’ll bring you aboard.”

Thelea allowed herself a real smile behind the mask. “Copy that, Victorious. It’s good to see you.”

She was brining her fighter about when suddenly the little ship jolted like a stung mynock and the computer shrieked one warning before the screen went dark. A quick glance overhead confirmed her suspicion…L’Grath was back, and now she was without any sort of targeting computer. Behind the faceplate, a smile curved her features.

“You want to end it? Let’s end it now.” Asking the Interceptor for more speed, she spiraled into a dive and his fighter shot past overhead. Hoping to whatever greater powers might be out there that she didn’t have a burnout in the lasers, she brought her fighter’s nose up and fired. The first shot was wide, a testament to her lack of a computer. she told herself sternly, Concentrating all her energy and ability on tracking L’Grath’s ship, she followed him through a swinging evasive maneuver.

“L’Grath, this is your last chance.”

“Thelea, those pointers are closing,” Rurik warned on the comm. “There’s no time.”

“Get aboard the Victorious, Three,” Thelea said. “I’m busy right now.”

“Thelea, you’re disabled…” Irritated, she flipped her comm off. There was no time to argue. She tracked L’Grath with her eyes only. He would come around for another pass. She would have only one shot at this.

“Come on, come on,” she murmured under her breath. L’Grath’s fighter swung into her sights.

She fired two blasts that missed. Cleanly. L’Grath swerved and dove again to avoid them.

Suddenly the other fighter was gone, vanished in a swirl of ion trails. Thelea grinned behind her mask as she saw the Victorious’ tractor beam capture the little fighter and draw it away into the hangar bay. Slumping back in the seat, Thelea gauged her proximity to the approaching Star Destroyer and settled down to wait for a pickup.

Chapter Seven

 

“L’Grath, a traitor?” Rurik Caelin stared Thelea. “How did you know?”

“When he started shooting at me, I had a feeling something was wrong.” The red eyes didn’t waver from his, but he could hear the sarcasm. Then, abruptly, the confrontational tone vanished. “To be honest, I wasn’t sure until then.” She paced the length of the Victorious’ briefing room, hands clasped tight behind her back.

“But if you think, it makes sense. No one was supposed to have survived from the Eradicator. If he did, he must have either avoided the Rebels, or they avoided him. He had the authority to change records and he had the access to the fighters. The only further question is who was helping him.”

“And just how in worlds were you able to send a distress signal to the Victorious?” Giriad asked.

“I don’t know,” Thelea said, irritated and forgetting her control. “I was given a datacard and told that if I needed to call for help, to send the code and help would come. I don’t know who gave it to me, or why.”

“What are you going to say when they ask that?” Giriad shot back. “We’ve been aboard six hours and they haven’t asked anything! That can only be trouble.”

“Well, I do not know and nothing is going to change that. I’m not telepathic, for Empire’s sake!” Well, not in that sense, something inside her whispered, but she ignored it.

Rurik eyed her, idly rubbing the fingers of his right hand along the inside of his left arm. Her glowing eyes narrowed and she looked pointedly away. “That won’t be much help when they come in here to debrief us. What are you going to tell Captain Medreian?”

“I am going to tell him that the Victorious responded to our distress signal, and that, as he could see, his own first officer did not want to assist us. In fact, I seem to recall Varkris refusing us backup. That seems suspicious to me.” Thelea’s face revealed nothing again, but Rurik could guess what she was thinking. “I was warned we’d been betrayed. Now the question is why, and who are they working for?”

“Working for?” Rurik raised an eyebrow.

“For someone who’s supposedly from such a shady background, you’re remarkably naïve at times, Rurik,” she said. “No one does anything without a reason.”

“Do you think Varkris is working for the Rebels?” Giriad asked.

“L’Grath certainly was,” Rurik said before Thelea could reply. “And Varkris is working for somebody.”

“You think L’Grath could have been a double agent?” she mused.

“I think you’re seeing conspiracies where none exist,” Rurik shot back.

“Maybe you should ask Commander L’Grath.”

They jumped at the voice, and turned to the door of the briefing room. Vice-Admiral Thrawn stood there, flanked by Captain Medreian of the Valiant and another man with a Captain’s insignia, probably the commander of the Victorious. Rurik snapped to attention and Giriad scrambled up from his seat. Thelea, more sedately, bowed from the neck, hands still clasped at the small of her back.

“As you were,” the Admiral said. “We have questioned Commander L’Grath regarding his actions. He has not been forthcoming. Time in detention may encourage him to cooperate. I would be very interested to hear why you disobeyed orders, not only from your Wing leader, but from the first officer of the Valiant.” Thrawn paused. “Though on listening to the datatapes of the mission, I cannot blame you. Your disobedience saved your lives.”

“It was Commander Thelea, sir,” Giriad said. “If she hadn’t known…”

“Lieutenant, be quiet,” Thelea muttered, turning her head slightly to glare at him.

Thrawn’s mouth twitched in some semblance of a smile. “No, Commander, he is quite correct. Upon review, we have found your actions to be quite commendable. You saved Lieutenant Caelin’s life.”

Thelea shrugged. “I did what was required at the time. Nothing more.” Medreian looked convinced, but Thrawn was eyeing her suspiciously. “Especially considering that Commander Varkris refused much-needed reinforcements. If the Victorious had not arrived, we would have been cut to the pieces by the incoming Rebel fighters.”

The Admiral turned to Captain Medreian. “Has your second-in-command explained his actions regarding that situation, Captain?”

Medreian’s eyes hardened. “Not adequately, Vice Admiral. I’ve been trying to get him to explain, but all he’s told me is that he had reason to believe a member of the wing was a Rebel agent, and that by his reasoning, three innocent pilots were a small sacrifice to punish a single traitor.”

Glowing red eyes darkened. “Did he now,” Thrawn said. “Did he, indeed.”

“Tell me, Commander Thelea,” said the third man, presumably the Victorious’ captain. “How did you obtain that distress signal? That’s the Victorious’ emergency frequency. It overrode all the communications circuits.”

For the first time, her impassive face showed her anxiety. “I don’t know, sir.”

The Captain’s eyebrows shot up. “You don’t know?”

“When I strapped in…when I entered my Interceptor, I found the data chip and a message warning me that the mission was a trap, telling me to transmit the encoded information if I needed help,” Thelea explained, visibly distressed. Rurik winced at the edge to her voice. Thelea had lost her calm before, but now she sounded frightened. “I sent the message. The Victorious arrived.”

Thrawn nodded slowly. “Tell me, Commander,” he said slowly. “Do you have any knowledge of a group calling themselves the Empire’s Inner Circle?”

Rurik could have sworn Thelea stopped breathing. If her anxiety was evident to him, it had to be blindingly obvious to Thrawn. She glanced at the two captains, at Giriad, and back to the Admiral. Finally, she said quietly, “I’m afraid I can’t help you, Admiral.”

For the first time, Thrawn seemed taken aback. “You’re certain, Commander?”

The lines around her eyes deepened, the only outward sign of her anguish at lying. “I am sorry, Admiral.”

There was a long silence. Medreian, more than a little nervous at one of “his” pilots being openly defiant, shifted from booted foot to booted foot, glaring through narrowed dark eyes at Thelea. Rurik was more interested in Thrawn’s reaction. If the Admiral decided to be displeased…

Instead, Thrawn simply nodded. “Understood.” Thelea’s shoulders slumped with relief as she realized she was not about to be court marshaled or worse. “Regardless, you three have still conducted yourselves with great honor and bravery. That will not go unrewarded.” A gesture of a slender blue hand summoned a black-uniformed aide from the door. The aide carried a lacquered flat black case supported on both forearms with an air of reverence. He stopped beside the Admiral and came to attention. Suddenly Thelea knew, in a rush of dread and excitement, what was coming. She stepped between Rurik and Giriad and slightly ahead of them.

“Alpha Wing…attention!” With a clack of their rather scuffed flight boots, they came to parade-ground perfect attention. Thrawn smiled, just a little. It was impossible to tell whether the expression touched his eyes.

The box opened with a faint click and revealed three glittering gold medals resting on black velvet. Thrawn lifted the central medallion by a long navy-blue ribbon. “The Imperial Medal of Unity,” he said. “Presented to the Members of Alpha Wing, Victory-Class Star Destroyer Valiant for bravery and success above and beyond the call of duty. Namely, engaging a mine field without question of orders, despite overwhelming odds; engaging a superior number of enemy fighters after sustaining severe damage in the aforementioned mine field; and finally, exposing and capturing a traitor to the Empire. Presented to Lieutenant Giriad Quoris.” Giriad, barely able to conceal a grin, stepped forward as Thrawn placed the medal around his neck. “Lieutenant Rurik Caelin.” The medal weighed heavily against his uniform, and only Academy-ingrained discipline kept him from fingering the gold.

Thrawn paused as he raised the last medal and stood before Thelea. “Presented to Lieutenant Commander Mrith’hele’arana.” The medal went around her neck, but Thelea did not even seem to realize it was there. Her mouth came open, but no sound came out. Rurik forgot standing at attention in his amazement…was Thelea actually crying?

Thelea couldn’t cry…not in the sense a human could. She could do something quite similar, however, and she could feel the sobs welling up deep inside her. I will not cry, I will not cry, I haven’t cried since I was an infant, not here, not now… She controlled herself…barely…but it was a minute before she trusted her voice to speak.

“Mitth’raw’nuruodo,” she stammered in their own language, barely forcing the name out. “How…why…”

Thrawn’s smile softened a trace, so faintly a human would not have noticed. “Calm yourself, child. Remember your manners,” he replied in kind.

Thelea drew in a deep breath and tried again. “You know my full name,” she said. “You knew all along. Why have you never contacted me? You must have known who I was, that I was serving the Empire. Why?”

He hesitated, and she saw the confused expressions on the humans. Apparently deciding the humans had no chance of understanding what was being said, he told her, “Because you had no need of the knowledge. Knowledge is power, Mrith’hele’arana. Always remember that. It will serve you in good stead in the Imperial Navy, just as it would on homeworld. And I did not contact you because I wanted to see what sort of solider you would become. You have exceeded all expectations.”

The praise was almost more than she could bear. Still, grateful as she was, he had answered only half of her questions. “You know who I am. You must know who my parents are, why they abandoned me. I have to know.”

Rurik wasn’t sure what they were saying, but it sounded urgent. He had come to know Thelea’s body language well enough to see that she was agitated, pleading even. The language was strange, fluid and full of long vowels and strange breaks in the flow of speech, unlike any humanoid language he'd ever heard before. Thrawn’s accent was somewhat more clipped than Thelea’s, but that might, he thought, be attributable to Thelea’s emotional delivery, or perhaps the different timbre of their voices…he shook his head. Whatever Thrawn was saying now, it sounded distinctly like a lecture. That intonation didn’t seem to differ across languages.

Thelea lowered her head as Thrawn spoke. “I did know your mother, a long time ago. She was impulsive, highly intelligent and very unwise both in her choice of life partner and in her choice of…vocation.” He paused, just perceptibly, visibly measuring her, deciding how much to tell her. “She was forced to leave her home. She decided that you would be better off not knowing, for now, about her and about her disgrace, and so she left you with distant family to be raised as tal Kyrn, houseless. Many years later, after I had come to the Empire, she told me that you were applying to the Academy.”

“She’s alive?” Thelea interrupted. Her impertinence earned her a glare and she subdued herself.

“Not in the sense you mean,” Thrawn continued, when he decided that she was going to be quiet. Thelea was about to ask what he meant, but the slight, disproving inclination of his head suggested she not do that. “She asked, as an old acquaintance, that I look out for your interests.”

He let the silence hang for a moment as Thelea turned the information over in her mind. “You,” she breathed. “You were my sponsor for the Academy.”

“I wished to remain anonymous,” he said. “You did not need to know. I was, incidentally, very pleased with your performance. More than could be expected, even from one of us. Before you ask, I had nothing to do with your assignment to my fleet. That was beyond my control. Your reassignment was not.”

“Reassignment?” The word struck her like a blow. Not now, not after this… “What reassignment?”

Thrawn switched back to Basic fluidly. “Your squadron has been selected for a great honor. The Fleet has acquired a new flagship: the Super Star Destroyer Executor. Lord Vader will be using the ship as his headquarters for the final assault on the Rebels. It is your honor, Alpha Wing, to be assigned to the 207th Interceptor Assault Squadron. You will participate in the final defeat of the Rebel Alliance.”

Rurik and Giriad exchanged ecstatic grins…such an honor they hadn’t expected. Thelea, however, looked more distraught than anything. “Vice Admiral,” she said, also in Basic. “With all due respect…”

“Be silent,” he snapped, again reverting to their tongue. “Where I will soon be going, you, for your own sake, must not follow.” He looked at all three again. “You do the Empire proud by your service.” Turning on his heel, he left without further word, Medreian and the Victorious’ captain following close behind.

“Can you believe it?” Giriad fingered the medal around his neck in disbelief. “I thought we were court-marshaled for sure.”

Rurik was less fascinated by the medal than by Thelea’s strangely blank features. “Thelea? Are you all right? What did he say to you?”

She turned slowly, red eyes wide and sightless, moving like a dream-walker. “My name is Mrith’hele’arana,” she said softly, voice scarcely audible.

Rurik didn’t entirely understand. He knew that she had said once that she had no name, and therefore no honor or familial ties. Thrawn had obviously corrected that situation, for whatever reason. She’d called him by a longer name, too, similar to her own but one he couldn’t have hoped to repeat. She still looked numb. “That’s an awfully big mouthful for us pitiful humans,” he said. “Would you be hideously offended if I still called you Thelea?”

An expression foreign to her features crept over them, so foreign he barely recognized her. For the first time since he’d known her, Thelea smiled. And there was not question that it touched her eyes.

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“She will be in the best place possible for advancement,” he said to the darkness. “That is what you wanted.”

Yes.

“She is a good and capable officer.”

I know. She paused. Give her the means to defend herself. He didn’t reply for a long time. Are you still there?

“Yes,” he murmured. “You’re absolutely certain?”

It’s time. Past time, if some could be believed.

“Ah.” He didn’t respond further for a moment. “She has been back, hasn’t she?”

Under the circumstances, it would be more accurate to say that I have been back to visit her. But she may be right. Leaving Thelea to blunder on her own is more dangerous than giving her the tools to hide her abilities.

He sighed. “I leave it to you. If you think it best…”

I do.

“Very well, then.” He paused, and then decided to allow himself a moment. “I still miss you.”

There was a surprised silence. Really? How fascinating. In her own way, he thought, she was smiling.

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Thelea packed the remainder of her belongings into the regulation bag, shoving a little harder than was necessary. She couldn’t say she would miss the Valiant. She couldn’t say she was happy to be leaving the fleet, either. If she lived to be five hundred, she would never understand Thrawn. Then again, from what she had been told, very few ever did. First, he gave her something she’d wanted since she was old enough to understand, a name, a clue to her origin. Then, not only did he not expound on that, he announced that, by his own authority, they were all being transferred! Not that a posting to the 207th squadron of the Executor was a bad thing…it was, in fact, more than she could have hoped for.

Lord Vader’s new flagship was rumored to be the greatest ship the galaxy had ever seen, and the names of the ships around it were legendary; Avenger, Judicator, even Vader’s old flagship, the Devastator. The fact that Thrawn seemed to want to be rid of them hurt more than she cared to admit. The fact that Varkris showed no signs of either remorse for his mistake or punishment for his treason only aggravated the injury.

Her door chime sounded. Probably Rurik, come to talk before they left. “Come,” she called tiredly. No response.

Of its own volition, her hand went to her hold-out blaster. Moving slowly, predatorily, she approached the door and triggered the lock. She found herself staring into an empty hall. All right, now I’m losing my mind to boot. She looked up and down the dark corridor and saw no sign of anyone. She was about to return to packing and write off the chime to a computer glitch, which wouldn’t be unheard of on a ship as old as this, when she looked down. Sitting propped against her door was a small package wrapped in a velvicloth bag. Intrigued, she picked it up and stepped back inside.

The bag’s tie was attached to a small data chip. Cautiously, she inserted the chip in her datapad and read the brief message that appeared, much to her surprise, in her own people’s script.

“Do not attempt to contact me after you receive this. I cannot provide any more answers than are contained here. You are going to face many dangers soon, or so I was warned by a benefactor who wishes to remain nameless. In the bag is a gift your mother wished you to have when you were ready for it. I do not approve, but she insisted and I will honor my promise to her. It served only to cause her trouble, trouble that cost her her life. I would strongly advise against wearing it, carrying it in plain sight, or using it unless the need is desperate. You will know when that time comes. Understand this transfer is for your own good, though you may not understand that now. I know that by the reckoning of the humans; indeed, most races, you are an adult. By our lives, you are still little more than a child. You have much to learn. I can only promise that in time, you will understand. Look out for yourself and for comrades you trust. As you serve the Empire, trust your instincts.” The message was signed “Mitth’raw’nuruodo.”

Turning to the bag, she slid the metallic cylinder it contained and turned it over in her hands. It was about the right size to be gripped with two hands, weighted so one end was slightly heavier. The lighter end was open, not quite like a blaster barrel, but similar. The heavy end had a ring so that the device could be hung from something, a belt perhaps, or a hook. There was a switch close to where her fingers curled over the grip. When she pressed the switch, the open end produced a finite beam of light not quite a half-meter in length that glowed a pale gold. When she turned the blade in her hand, it sliced through the air with a low humming sound. Somewhere, in the back of her mind, she recalled a glowing gold light, and the sounds of a loud argument. Closing her eyes she tried to call up the memory in more detail, but all she remembered was a woman’s harsh, angry voice and the beautiful glow of…

“A lightsaber,” she murmured. This was a lightsaber. Was that why her mother had died? Was she a Jedi? That would explain why she’d left. But if she were a Jedi, then Vader and the Emperor must have…

The blade closed down as she touched the switch again. The Admiral was right. If she were to need the lightsaber, better to keep it hidden than to explain what it was, where it had come from. Determinedly, she placed the saber and the data chip back into the bag and buried them deep among her belongings. There was a new life waiting aboard the Executor. Whatever, whoever she was, she had her duty to consider, first and foremost.

When the door chimed again, it was in fact Rurik. “Ready? It’s almost time to report to the shuttle bay.”

“Yes,” she said, back still turned to the door. Then, her shoulders straightened. “Yes,” she said more firmly. “I’m ready.” Slinging the bag over her shoulder, she turned and walked purposely with him out the door.