Snap Decisions

2005 short story by Mark Newbold

Nine years after Episode IV – A New Hope

Garda System - 21.44.32 SGT (Standard Galactic Time)

The stars shone in the eternal night, as they always had and always would.  Stars, moons, dust clouds, distant galaxies, all cast their illumination through the ages, a light show that converged here, on the very edge of the Garda System. 

However, a sharp eyed observer would have noticed a wedge-shaped area of sky that carried no stars.  A black shape that glided silently across space, invisible, gliding on the neon blue furnaces of energy that had propelled the vessel forward into the system before they had been turned off.  It entered the Garda System in darkness; all running lights dimmed to near nothing as the sixteen hundred meter long vessel approached Afagard, the third planet of the system.  In the distance shone her sister world of Nogard and beyond that, hidden by a charcoal dustcloud lay the industrial world of Leogard.  But today they were not of any concern.

The black shape turned slowly, blocking stars as it swung into the path of another shape that also blotted out stars.  This shape emitted a miasma of light, and smaller vessels buzzed around it as it rotated lazily, oblivious to the approaching object.

Aboard the black shape all was silent.  The bridge was awash with activity, but composed in silence, and bathed only in the light of the stars the commander of the vessel conducted his operation using signals and computer commands.  Whatever the intention of the ships operators, and there were tens of thousands of them, it was to be cloaked in secrecy.  This ship was rigged for silent running.

A convoy of freighters left the station in a tight line, making their way out into the depths and towards the vessel.  Her commander watched the vehicles approach, still too far away to make a visual identification in the darkness of space, but not for long.  He solemnly nodded to his second-in-command and the officer gave a curt nod and activated his console, jamming the transmissions of the freighters.  Seconds later they watched as a wing of six fighters, small cockpits covered above and below by two arcing wings, raced towards the convoy in a circular formation, fanning out as they neared the freighters.  The commander watched a monitor in silence as the six vessels tore through the line of the freighter fleet, breaking it up and scattering it around and away from the obsidian shape of his vessel.  He curled a smile of satisfaction as his fighters regrouped and returned to base, flying along the spine of his ship and then back below to the hangar bay.

Aboard the station it was simply another day.  Uniformed officers of the New Republic busied themselves with tasks, co-ordinating incoming supply vessels and cargo ships into their vast hangar bays and overseeing the redistribution of materials out to the many bases that were scattered throughout the Setnin Sector.  While not being a member of the New Republic, relations between Setnin and Coruscant had been friendly enough in the forty years since Setnin left the Republic, and bases were still dotted across the sector.  Stations like this would supply those New Republic bases, and as such were key military installations.

Which attracted predators like the Imperial Star Destroyer waiting just a few hundred kilometres away.

No one had noticed its presence.  No one had checked the scanners for minutes, they were too busy organising the influx of cargo ships and outgoing freighters to check.  Besides, Afagard was well protected.  Of all the systems in Setnin, the Garda System was least likely to be attacked.

Which was probably running through the minds of absolutely no one when the Star Destroyer obliterated the station…

New Republic Gunboat Colossus – Setnin Space - 01.24.44 SGT

Private Aera Tyrahh hated being late above almost anything else. 

As she quickly twisted her hair into a braid, walking down the corridor at full marching pace she mentally kicked herself for her tardiness.  General Soli had contacted her regarding an urgent matter more than ten minutes ago, but activity aboard the New Republic Gunboat Colossus was high and she’d had a hard job making her way to the command level through throngs of young soldiers and unfamiliar officers.  Yet she knew Soli wouldn’t accept that as an excuse, and she wouldn’t consider offering it.  As she stood at the blast door and entered the circular briefing room, bathed in the pale red light of the holographic display the young private took a deep breath and prepared herself for a dressing down.  Soli was stood on the far side of the room, arms folded, chin resting on his hand, lost in thought.  She stood to attention and waited for her superior to address her. 

   “Good evening Private. I’m gratified you could make it.”

   “My apologies sir.”  Tyrahh winced inside but said nothing further, her pride already stung.  Soli looked across the room at her and half-smiled.  She was an excellent aide, always efficient and well prepped.  In fact, he’d had little to admonish her for during the months she had been serving him, and she always took his occasional criticisms on the chin.  He admired that in an officer.

   “I’ve just received a disturbing communication.”  Soli glanced outside the Plexiglass window of the briefing room, his eyes scanning the skies.  “The Bremmel Supply Station was destroyed, three hours ago.”

Tyrahh blanched.  She knew crew members on the Bremmel Station, had trained with many of them.  She’d almost been posted there.  Destroyed?

   “By who sir?”

Soli moved towards the Holographic unit and activated a second display.  The world of Afagard flickered into life, the Bremmel Station orbiting it in silence.  A convoy of freighters could be seen scattering and escaping into hyperspace, partially obscured by a huge black shape that blotted out the stars before a blast of light erupted from the triangular mass and crashed into the station, destroying it completely.  Soli shook his head as the display ended.

   “There were no survivors.  We only managed to get access to this footage because one of the vessels entering the Garda System had affiliations with the Raven Institute.”  He grimaced as the Holo projector played the file again.  “Otherwise we never would have learned the identity of the attacker.”

   “An Imperial Star Destroyer.” said Tyrahh softly, and Soli nodded.  As the Hologram zoomed in the outline of the dreaded vessel became clear against the backdrop of stars.  “Do you believe this is the same ship that attacked the other bases?”

Soli turned again to the window.  A number of New Republic supply bases had been attacked during recent weeks and Setnin Command was on alert.

   “Somewhere out there is a rogue Star Destroyer, with the potential capability to render an entire world uninhabitable.  If its captain is organised, has enough crew members to properly operate the vessel and has a plan in mind.”  His voice trailed off as he glanced at Tyrahh, the implication of his words clear.

   “To attack the Garda System he must be knowledgeable of the sector.  That region of space is full of gravitational anomalies.”

   “Which is precisely why we need to call in our heavy hitters right away.”

Tyrahh raised an eyebrow at that as Soli stepped across the room and pressed a button on the armrest of his chair.  Seconds later the door slid upward to reveal a tall, bald man standing in silhouette in the doorway.  He took a step forward as the door slid shut and looked down at Tyrahh.

   “Commander Drezzna.  My thanks.”  Soli motioned for the leader of Squadron Indigo, the Setnin Sectors crack fighter squadron to sit but the commander shook his head.

   “Thank you no, I prefer to stand.”

   “Very well.”  Soli activated the Holo projector again, running through the table of events and the conclusions they had divined from the data the shadowy information brokers the Raven Institute had passed through to them.  The commander, a native of the violent world of Janos, watched in stony silence, his steely gaze never leaving the shocking events played out in thin air before him.  After absorbing the details he turned his head to address Soli.

   “You want Squadron Indigo to find this ship?”

Soli nodded and attempted a smile which didn’t quite come off.  He motioned out of the window.

   “That ship is out there somewhere.  Plotting, making plans for its next move.  If we are not swift and decisive then we shall lose the advantage.”

The Janite raised a hairless eyebrow.

   “You think we have an advantage?  How?”

Soli swung an arm out towards the Holo projector.

   “We know who they are.  Imperials.  And ones with an agenda.  They’ve just destroyed another New Republic supply station, one which was well defended.  And the nature of the attack, the implementation of it was brilliant in its execution.”  Soli shook his head.  “Surely you can see the need to send in your team.  Indigo are the best fighter squadron in the Mid-Rim.  One of the best in the entire New Republic.  If you and your pilots can’t locate this ship, who can?”

Renn Drezzna drew in a deep breath and looked beyond Soli to the window.  The General was making a heap of assumptions, about the identity of the attackers among other things.

   “Your appreciation of Indigo notwithstanding, I do not believe we are the right squadron to send.”

Soli raised a shocked eyebrow and took a step back.  That wasn’t the answer he was expecting.

   “Really?  And why is that?”

Drezzna clenched his jaw as he spoke, the words hard to find for such a proud man.

   “Squadron Indigo is going through a transitional period.  Many former members have either died in action or been transferred to other units.”  He gave Soli a meaningful stare that Soli looked away from.  The General had signed the orders to break up previous Indigo rosters.  “I have two members left with six year’s service, but neither of them are potential leaders.  The other twelve are recent recruits, and as yet hardly worthy of being in Squadron Indigo.”

Soli nodded, folding his arms as he turned away from the icy glare of Renn’s eyes.  He paced the room, casting an occasional look at Tyrahh and circled back to the commander.

   “And yet,” he began, choosing his words carefully.  “And yet we have an Imperial Star Destroyer with the destructive capability to level entire words somewhere out there,” he cast his arm to the window again.  “And you tell me your pilots aren’t ready?”  He frowned in mock anger.  “Commander, is that what you’re telling me?”

Drezzna swallowed a whole lot of aggression as he looked down at Soli, the badly acted indignation of the General making the Janites blood boil.  Soli knew damn well that Indigo weren’t battle ready.  They were a long way off and there was no politically correct way to say it.  Renn nodded stiffly like a droid.

   “Yes sir.  That is what I am telling you.”

Soli turned and flung his arms out, shrugging in confusion.

   “So, what do you suggest we do then?  Send in the Catering Corp?  Or Peach Squadron?”

Drezzna stared directly ahead as he cleared his throat to speak.

   “Indigo have needed outside help for a long time.  My capabilities as a commander do not stretch to being a nursemaid to inexperienced pilots who are out of their depth.”  He ignored Soli’s angry narrow-eyed glare.  “With that in mind I contacted a colleague, someone who has experience in hot zones.  And a man with a lot more patience than me.”

Soli stopped pacing and faced the commander.

   “And will this colleague find our rogue ship?”

For the first time in a long time Renn Drezzna smiled.  Soli froze.

   “General, to find a rogue, you need a Rogue.”

ISD Negator – Hyperspace - 04.46.04 SGT

   “A well executed attack if I don’t say so myself.”

Grand Moff Den Treece, the self-appointed Moff of the Setnin Sector, smoothed his uniform and smiled at his reflection in the mirror.  He saw a handsome man, suave and debonair with a touch of danger; his black hair slicked back smartly, his chest broad and strong.  Behind him stood his command crew, the three other captains of his four-strong Star Destroyer fleet that would take back Setnin into the arms of the Empire.  He turned and faced them; one arm tucked behind his back, and seated himself at his desk.

From the other side of the desk the three captains saw Moff Treece just as the rest of the universe did.  A tortured and twisted mess of skin and scar tissue who was as far removed from handsome as was possible for a human being to still live.  And yet this man, this military genius, was their commander, and the architect of all their plans.  They waited patiently for Treece to continue.

   “For our next move we must be patient.  The New Republic will expect us to journey to our next target and attack immediately, but that is not my intention.”  He eyed each captain closely.  “Captain Babbo’da.”  Treece nodded to the green skinned Twi’lek captain.  “Take the Inverter out to the Soluman Delta Gulf.  Keep a low profile but make sure you are seen near to the shipping lanes, the Bordon Space Lane, critical locations.  You have a broad knowledge of shipping activity in the sector, which gives you the advantage.  The Inverters actions will draw fire away from you,” He turned to the next Captain, a broad shouldered red-headed female human.  “Captain Syynaa, take the Supremacy to the Yatchrare System.”  Treece closely eyed Syynaa for a reaction, but he saw nothing.  The Yatchrare System was the very heart of Setnin, home system of Zelon, and the trade city of Chancai.  To send an enemy ship there was a risky proposition indeed and he was impressed by her unflinching stare.  “You are my most intuitive commander, and those instincts I trust.  Be seen, stay on the move.  Captain Kood.”  The dark skinned human male straightened in his chair.  “You are a fierce combatant.  I almost decided to send you on the main mission, but opted to carry that out myself in the Negator.  Take the Invader to Ferrerea.  Cause a stir.  Strike under cover; run silent as we have on the Negator.  We all know how paranoid Ferrereans are.  Let them Ferrereans think the attacks come from…elsewhere.”  Treece stood to his feet.  “I want the New Republic to be so busy chasing the three of you that they ignore the real threat.  After all, they believe they are tracking one solitary Star Destroyer, not a fleet of four.”  Treece clasped his hands together and fixed a rictus grin.  “If they really are that simple to fool then our objective is attainable.  Stagger our attacks; make them think they have a single phantom ship to find.”  Treece straightened as his three captains’ rose to their feet.

   “For the Empire.”

   “For the Empire.”

New Republic Gunboat Colossus – Setnin Space - 11.35.30 SGT

The battle damaged X-wing had swung into the vast landing bay of the Colossus almost half an hour ahead of schedule, its arrival surprising many of the young ground crew who scrambled quickly to prepare the bay for its touchdown.  Power units and droids scurried about in readiness for touch down, and just as the landing gears snapped open the bay was ready.  Engines cooled and the cockpit opened as a small crowd gathered around the X-Wing, and the occupant grinned as he removed his flight helmet and gloves.  In the distance he could see an approaching figure stride across the landing bay, bald head catching the harsh lights above.  Renn Drezzna moved through the growing crowd and waited at the foot of the ladder for the new arrival to hop off the final rung and turn to face him, an easy grin sitting on the new arrivals features.

   “Commander Wes Janson, reporting for duty.”

   “Welcome aboard Commander.”  Renn shook Janson’s hand firmly and the two of them began to move through the crowd as more onlookers came for a glimpse at the veteran pilot.  Wes swung his bag onto his shoulder and moved in long strides, walking the slight cramp out of his legs after his lengthy trip and taking a look around the wide bay of the Colossus.

   “This sure is a big ship you’ve got here Renn.”  Wes grinned as he glanced at his old compatriot.  “Bet there’s no sharing bunks on this boat.”

   “You’d be surprised.  Colossus is essentially a training vessel.  Most of the crew are on their first posting.  In their wisdom, Setnin Command decided to pack as many recruits in here as possible.”  Renn motioned towards the door they were heading towards where even more youthful faces were waiting.  “And like most ships, news travels fast.”

   “Ahh, I love a captive audience.  They take anything you say as gospel and do it.”  He scratched his head.  “At least, they used to.”

Renn looked down and gave Wes a quizzical look.

   “Wes, tell me you have been training rookie pilots.”

Wes gave Renn a look of mock shock and turned back to the approaching crowd.

   “Would I lie?”

   “Probably.  And Wes?”

Janson raised his eyebrows, keeping his face as neutral as he could.

   “Please, no practical jokes.”

Wes nodded solemnly.

   “Sure thing.”  He lied.  “And I’m sorry your hair never grew back.”

Renn ran his hand across his bald pate and frowned as the blast doors opened and they entered the first of many gatherings.

As they had conducted a cursory tour of the Colossus Wes could sense Soli wasn’t impressed by his battle record or his Rogue Squadron commission, and in many ways he was silently thankful.  On too many occasions he’d visited other vessels and squadrons and been treated like a visiting dignitary, fussed and preened over.  And while he would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy the attention on occasion it was refreshing to be treated like just another pilot, which of course he was.  Still, grateful as he was for Soli’s lack of ceremony he’d still come to a swift conclusion.

He liked the General. 

Just not very much.

   “Welcome to the bridge of the Colossus Commander Janson.”  General Soli motioned towards the chair next to his own on the bridge and Wes accepted it with a smile, taking his seat and waiting for the General to do the same.  Renn stood just behind, next to Private Tyrahh, the stars whirling past the oval bridge windows, the wide command area stretching almost out of sight both left and right.  Wes was impressed by the size of the gunboat, knowing that Setnin vessels were generally built to a different specification due to the hazardous nature of the regions spatial anomalies, but this impressive ship far surpassed his expectations.  Soli waited for the Rogue to take in the bridge and then cleared his throat to speak.

   “As I’m sure you are aware, Commander Drezzna is having difficulties training his new recruits.” 

The Janite frowned deeply but held his silence.  Wes turned to face Soli.

   “General, with respect, Commander Drezzna has never been trained to instruct rookie pilots.  He’s a battle hardened fighter pilot, not a flight instructor like I am.”  Wes paused, catching Renn out of the corner of his eye.  “To be frank sir, I’m surprised you expect a Janite warrior to train these kids.”

Soli held Wes’ stare for a second longer than necessary, realising that the Rogue pilot was gently baiting him.  He nodded.

   “Perhaps that was an error on both our parts.”  Soli gave Drezzna a small glance.  “Squadron Indigo is the elite fighter squadron in this sector, and beyond.  They have an illustrious history that stretches back many years.  And now, with the appearance of this Star Destroyer we have a threat that Indigo are uniquely equipped to deal with.” Soli leaned forward.  “I need Indigo to face that threat.  Without them this mission is in dire jeopardy.”  Soli leaned back in his seat and waved an arm towards the vast window before them.  “Of course, I could scramble fighters to every corner of the sector, from Janos to Wennicas, but what good would that do us?  Indigo have the skills and the knowledge to be sent out into the field independently, alone and without support.  They could find our renegade ship.”

   “But General, if they’re not prepared for combat then what use are they?”

Soli and Renn both frowned at that remark and Wes rose from his seat to face them.

   “Listen, we all know what Indigo has achieved in the past.  Mantin VII, the Battle of Ruuthorne, Tantum V.  But if these kids aren’t up to scratch then they’re dead meat, especially if this Imperial commander is as good as you claim.”  Wes turned to look out of the window, the stars streaming by like raindrops on a pane of glass.  “Give them to me for five days.  If I can’t show them what they need to know in that time then you’ve got the wrong pilots anyway.”  Janson turned back.  “Indigo pilots are the best of the best.  Let me help make it that way again.”

Soli nodded thoughtfully and stood, moving around the back of his chair.  He looked silently at Tyrahh, who almost imperceptibly raised her eyebrows to signify that she thought it was a worthy idea, and at Drezzna who nodded slowly, his hands clasped behind his back.  Soli folded his arms and turned to look at Wes.

   “Five days it is then.  And if our rogue Star Destroyer makes an attack before then?  What will you do?”

Wes and Renn exchanged a quick, meaningful look.

   “What pilots always do.  Scramble and engage the enemy at point blank range.  It’s what Rogues and Indigos have always done.”

Soli jabbed a gnarled finger at Janson and gave him a squint of a stare, Tyrahh waiting in silence.

   “Five days Commander.  I want my squadron trained and that ship hunted down.”

Wes waited until the General has left the bridge before turning to Renn and raising a mischievous eyebrow.

   “Yub yub, General.”

ISD Negator – Janduk System - 17.02.55 SGT

The ISD Negator slid through space like a shark, cutting past spatial anomalies and gravitational obstacles like a rat through a maze chasing a prize.  It was mere hours since Treece’s fleet had split up, heading off in different directions around the sector for their carefully planned mayhem and yet the tension was still at a premium.

Aboard the bridge voices were hushed as Treece strode down the walkway to the forward window that afforded him a view of the hull of his destroyer below and space beyond.  They were preparing to embark on the next leg of their journey, dropping out of hyperspace at regular intervals to change direction and plot new courses.  The self-appointed Grand Moff was satisfied with how well their operation had gone so far, and with the efficiency and loyalty of the three commanders who had pledged their vessels to his fleet.  Captain Babbo’da was a cautious soul, always taking the straightest line in any situation but possessed of an encyclopaedic knowledge of the region that was vital to have.  Captain Syynaa had an uncanny intuition that kept her frequently out of danger, though she often skirted it and Captain Kood was a man ever-eager for a confrontation. 

They would serve his purposes well.

He knew that when the time came he could depend on the three captains to make the hard choices, engage in the tough battles.  He knew that if they stuck to his plan diligently that the New Republic would have no reason to think there was anything but one vessel terrorizing their supply stations.  He also knew that, as he folded his arms behind his back and took an inspection of the bridge, that if needs be he would sacrifice those three destroyers, their crews, their armour and soldiers for the possession of the Setnin Sector. 

His sector. 

He had ruled once before, and he would so again.

Lieutenant Treadle, his second-in-command, approached with a datasheet and handed it to the Grand Moff.

   “Sir, our probe droids have detected New Republic movement in-system.  Shielded settlements and supply depots.”  The officer stood to full attention.  “Orders, Your Excellency.”

Treece read through the datasheet again.

   “Send a wing of BUG Fighters to sweep the area.  A bloody nose on Janduk will unsettle the New Republic even further.”  He handed the sheet back.  “Keep me informed of all activities.  Contact our sister ships and inform them of my decision.”

   “Very well sir.”

New Republic Gunboat Colossus – Setnin Space - 21.14.36 SGT

It was clear from the get-go that Renn Drezzna thought the bar of the Colossus was a distinctly inappropriate location for Wes to meet Indigo for the first time, but Janson insisted on it.   He claimed that, while being the most regular place a pilot frequented after the briefing room, it would also put the squadron at ease and illustrate to them that decorated Rebel hero Wes Janson was just one of the guys.  Drezzna fought the urge to equate bars with drunkenness and the inability to properly pilot a vessel and let it slide, deferring to Janson’s knowledge in such matters.

The two men sat at the long oval bar chatting with Joeb the bartender, exchanging stories and tall tales as the fifteen members of Squadron Indigo entered the bar.  Wes purposely kept his attention of Joeb as they streamed in, nonchalantly taking a swig of his Duarga as they seated themselves near to the bar away from the Holo tables that played music for the ground troops across the bar.  Wes turned his stool around and stood to his feet, drink in hand.

   “Alright, you guys all know who I am.  You’ve watched the HoloNet, seen the vid shows, read the rags.  I’ve won more medals for my flying than I care to remember and seen more engagements than the penthouse suite at the Red Star Hotel.  I’ve lost good friends, flown alongside some of the most skilled pilots ever to take hold of the stick and learned to respect my enemies, no matter what.  But despite all this,” He eased himself off the edge of his seat and began to pace in front of the attentive young pilots.  “Every time you seal that cockpit shut you’re flying off into the unknown.  There are a million different things that can combine and twist about to bring you down, things out of your control.  But one thing that you can control is your focus.”  He lifted his drink and took a swig.  “When you get in a hot zone, you are the receptacle of hours and hours of training, of flying and combat time.  You already have the answers; it’s just a case of pulling them out in the right order.  You,” Wes pointed at a young pilot who sat quietly at the rear of the group.  “What’s your name?”

   “He doesn’t have a name, he’s the squad mascot.”  Called out a burly Entallian from the rear of the crowd, but Wes ignored the taunt.  He waited for the slight man to speak.

   “Gill Devender sir.”

   “Gill, imagine you’re in a close combat situation.  You’ve lost your wingman in the fight, maybe he’s down, maybe you’ve been split up.  A squad of fighters are grouping towards you.  What do you do?” 

   “He ejects!” called out the Entallian again, and Wes gave Gill a comforting wink before moving through the seated crowd to the Entallian.

   “Alright, Mister Premature Eject-ulation, what would you do?”  Wes folded his arms and stood toe-to-toe with the towering green alien.  “And think out of the box.  Zero points for kissing your butt goodbye.”

The Entallians cocky smile evaporated as he shot to his feet, staring a hole through Wes, who calmly took another sip of his Duarga.  Renn was there like lightening.

   “Sit down Suule.”

Wes shook his head at Renn in an easy manner, a smile descending again on his face.

   “It’s fine Commander, no harm done.”  Wes turned to the rest of the assembly.  “Anyone else got more than two brain cells to collide into an idea?”

   “If they’re not firing I would let them pass through, work from the rear.  Otherwise I would play the percentages and make a run for it, fight another day.”

Wes nodded at the answer that came from the attractive brunette with the bobbed hair and leaned against the counter, watching Joeb as he moved past to serve a gaggle of troops further down the bar. 

   “What’s your name?”

   “Lieutenant Terrie Saffra sir.”

   “And why do you think that’s the correct answer?”

Terrie ran her hand through her hair and shifted in her seat.

   “I don’t.  It’s just what I would do.”

Wes suddenly became animated, placing his glass on the counter and clenching his fists in front of him.

   “Pre-cisely my point.  It’s what you would do.  There is no right or wrong answer here, there are too many variables.  What if the squadron was grouping but not firing?  What if they all opened fire at the same time?  What if your wingman was out of scanner range but on an intercept course?  Who knows what else?”  He threw his hands in the air for effect and slyly gave Terrie a warm wink.  “Gill has just as much chance of being right as Suule or Terrie.”  Wes returned to the barstool and sat back down.  “What you need to do is open yourselves to all the options that are scattered around you in the midst of an engagement.  And ask yourself what type of pilot you are.  Do you fly better solo, or are you a wingman kind of flyer?”  He glanced at Renn who was stood at the rear of the group by Suule and motioned to the commander.  “I’ve studied Indigos past missions, reviewed the squadrons history.  Indigo flies better without detailed mission plans, making decisions based on the circumstances of that particular engagement.  And I know that you guys,” He pointed in a wide arc, taking in all of the assembled Indigos, “are more than capable of doing that.  So, in small words for those who aren’t quite feeling this, who’s ready to learn?”

Wes couldn’t help but smile when he saw fifteen hands rise into the air, and barely stifled a snigger when the bartender did the same.

Two Days Later

New Republic Gunboat Colossus – Setnin Space – 03.04.55 SGT

Two productive days passed aboard the Colossus.

While Wes and Renn played good cop, bad cop and drilled new ways of thinking into Squadron Indigo, Soli and Tyrahh sifted through the information the Raven Institute had, and continued, to pass to them.  It was a tangle of clues, but clearly there was more within the data packet than the mere image of the Star Destroyer.  Raven had been monitoring the movements of this vessel, never making assumptions about affiliation or intent, but silently tracking its progress through the Mid-Rim over the past few weeks.  And now, after the small number of supply post attacks had handed them a loose motive, that information had made its way to the Colossus, the largest and most capable New Republic vessel in the area. 

And home of Squadron Indigo.

Soli concentrated his efforts on tracking the ISD and learning its home port, trailing the path of the BUG fighters that had only hours before wreaked havoc in the Junduk System.  Meanwhile Tyrahh had made it her mission to discover the commander of the destroyer.  Perhaps, she thought, if we learn who commands the ship we can research their background and find out their obsessions, and perhaps play on them.  It was a worthy tactic, but so far the mysterious commander’s identity had eluded her.

Until just after 03.00 in the morning when, almost in a daze she decrypted a file and watched in surprise and shock as a long forgotten personnel file, a face from well before her time in the services, scrolled across the screen.  Upon presenting the information to her superior Tyrahh couldn’t help to be unnerved as she watched the reaction of Soli as the face coalesced into view.

   “Grand Moff Treece?” whispered Soli.  “But he’s dead.”

   “It was thought so sir, but there was never any actual confirmation of his demise.  New Republic intelligence assumed he was dead.”

Soli frowned and looked away. 

   “Assumptions make fools of us all Private.  And we of all people should know the dangers of believing one’s enemy is dead.  And there,” he motioned towards the screen.  “There is the proof.”  He shook his head.  “Treece.  Damn.”

Tyrahh waited a moment, sensing Soli was running a stream of options through his mind.  Treece, the former Grand Moff of the Setnin Sector was not only a driven, brilliant genius but a vengeful and dangerous man who held no love for General Soli.  In fact it was Treece who bestowed upon Soli his hated nickname, Snorknose Soli.

   “What are your orders General?  Commander Janson has already had three of his five days.  Indigo will be ready to scramble shortly.”

Soli gave Tyrahh a dangerous look and blew out a short angry breath.

   “Do not presume to tell me my job Private, I know our state of affairs.  Squadron Indigo has two more days to train.  I gave Janson that concession and it shall be met.  And then, when he has no excuses I expect him to produce a fully trained team capable of finding and nullifying that Star Destroyer.”  He stood straight and eyed the screen again.  “Treece is a master tactician, but I am no slouch.  What we need to do is out manoeuvre him, hand him bait that he cannot resist.”  Soli fell silent.

   “Do you have any ideas sir?”  Tyrahh waited for the blast furnace of a reply but instead watched as Soli seated himself in silence.  He suddenly appeared very tired.

   “No Private, I do not.”

Tyrahh steeled herself and stepped forward.

   “If I may make a suggestion sir?”

   “By all means.”

   “Perhaps it would be wise to inform Indigo of this discovery immediately.”

Soli frowned.

   “To what end?”

   “It is likely a handful of Indigo pilots will have encountered Treece before.  Some will have dealt with him at close quarters.”  She placed her datapad on the work surface and eyed Soli closely.  “There is even the possibility that Commander Janson has engaged him in battle.  Squadron Indigo is in a transitional period sir.  Perhaps handing them this information will bolster their spirits.”

Soli thought that at the very least it was impertinent of Tyrahh to say what she had said, but there was a solid ring of truth about her words.  He nodded and lifted her datapad, keying in a command and handing it back to her.

   “Wake Commander Drezzna and inform him of this latest development.”

   “Me sir?”

Soli nodded solemnly.

   “Yes Private.  You discovered Treece’s identity, and clearly you think this will assist the squadron.  It should be you who broadcasts the good news.”

Tyrahh pondered on the dubious nature of good news as she left Soli alone in the half light of the briefing room and made her way down the corridor to the turbolift that would take her eight levels below to the flight deck and crew quarters where Indigo lived.  Straightening her hair and attire she left the lift and strode towards Drezzna’s quarters, datapad in hand and a feeling of importance in her step.  As a lowly private she would never expect to handle duties such as this, and for a woman barely out of her teens it felt like a weight she wasn’t capable enough bear.  But despite his cold demeanour and constant admonitions Soli clearly believed she was a capable officer with a future in the service, and somehow that made it worthwhile.

Tyrahh collected herself and was about to buzz Drezzna’s door when she heard a whispered voice at the other end of the corridor.

   “Aera.”

Tyrahh turned her head, unaccustomed to being addressed by her first name.  Terrie Saffra came trotting up the corridor, bare feet tip-toeing along the cold steel deckplates, her long legs barely covered by the t-shirt she was wearing.  The Lieutenant wrapped her arms around herself, the air conditioned corridor cooler than she expected and smiled as Tyrahh turned to face her.

   “Lieutenant Saffra.”  Tyrahh began to raise her arm for a salute but Terrie pushed it down.

   “When I’m off duty it’s just Terrie, got it?”  She looked left and right down the empty corridor.  “Got a few minutes or you busy?”

Tyrahh glanced at Renn’s door and cocked her head.

   “Nothing that can’t wait.”  She lied, motioning towards the end of the corridor and the small lounge area to the left.  Terrie held up a finger for Aera to wait, ran back to her quarters and returned thirty seconds later in flip-flops, jogging pants and a sweatshirt, the Squadron Indigo logo of three lightsabres and flying X-Wings emblazoned across it.  They walked the short walk to the lounge and flopped onto the comfy seats, the far wall of the five by five meter room a window that gave them an unparalleled view of the cosmos, the wall holding the sliding door also made of transparisteel.  Terrie crossed her legs as she sat down, handing the hot mug of chav to Tyrahh and waited for the younger woman to speak, blowing the steam away from her hot vegetable drink.

   “Can’t sleep?”

Terrie shook her head and took a sip.

   “Never can when the pressure’s on.  Brains ticking over.”  She peered at Aera over the rim of the mug.  “How about you?”

   “I’ve been sifting through files all day and the time got away from me.”  She took a mouthful of chav and eyed Terrie closely.   “Although it’s been worth the effort.”

   “Really?” asked Terrie coyly, not wanting to appear to be prising information from the younger woman.  Tyrahh nodded, seeing a chance to avoid waking the stolid Janite Drezzna from his slumber.

   “We know the identity of the Star Destroyer commander.  And perhaps the reason for his attacks.”

Terrie tucked her legs under her chin and waited for Aera to continue.

   “So who is it?”

Private Tyrahh checked the corridor in case any eavesdroppers were passing by and leaned close.

   “Grand Moff Treece.”

Terrie stared at Tyrahh in open-mouthed shock and placed her chav onto the table. The stars suddenly seemed a lot closer outside the window.  Treece.  It was beyond belief.

   “I’m sure you’ve already had this conversation but Treece is dead.”

Tyrahh nodded and took another sip.

   “Apparently not.  The intelligence handed to us by the Raven Institute is undeniable.  Somehow Treece has returned and managed to obtain a Star Destroyer.”  Tyrahh leaned back in her seat and glanced outside as three A-Wings, adorned in flashes of Indigo’s dark blue stripe spun by.  “Now we need to construct a plan to bring him out into the open.”

Terrie looked down, deep in thought.  She knew of a sure-fire way to do just that.  Her previous career had shown her the exact way to lure Treece anywhere he was required to be.  And recent events in the Setnin underworld made that plan fit perfectly.

   “Does Snorknose have his plan figured out yet?”

   “No.  He asked me to wake Commander Drezzna and inform him of Treece’s involvement.  Beyond that he has nothing.”

Terrie grinned and lifted the mug to take a gulp of her chav.

   “Call a meeting for 07.00 in the main briefing room.  I want everyone there.  You, Indigo, General Soli, Commander Janson, anyone who can help.”

Tyrahh gave Terrie a half-smile, unsure as to what she was planning.  The older woman sensed her uncertainly and grinned.

   “Don’t worry.  For once I’m the bearer of good news.”

   “Thank you for all coming so early.”  Terrie nodded smartly to the assembled gathering as she activated the Holo-screen, which sprung into life showing an image of a young Treece.  “Den Treece.  Graduated from Carida and swiftly rose through the ranks.  He was posted to Mantin VII, eventually overseeing the construction of the Revenger Super Stardestroyer.”  She allowed herself a small smile as the image of the lethal destroyer flickered into life.  The destruction of the Revenger during the Battle of Mantin VII was the first modern Indigo mission, and a successful one at that.  “Despite that failure Treece was offered the position of Governor of Chancai, and within seven years he was elevated to Grand Moff, overseeing the entire Setnin Sector from his luxury dwelling on Chancai.”  The image changed again.  “But Treece developed an obsession for another planetary governor.  Glann Cipple.”

   “The underworld ganglord?” asked Janson, shifting forward in his seat as the visage of Cipple coalesced.  Terrie nodded.

   “The same, Commander.  Treece had ambitious plans for Setnin but was hampered by his obsession.  He was determined to see Cipple belittled and overthrown, so he set about uniting his underworld enemies against him.  A data disk was stolen from Cipple’s Amagad Fortress and handed, at a price, to the other five leading ganglords of the sector.  But Cipple had the last laugh.  The disk was a fake.”  Terrie switched the image again, showing the destroyed remains of an island.  “Devlins Island on Soluman, or what remains of it.  Cipple lured his enemies there and detonated a nuclear device, destroying the island and many of his enemies in the process.  And Treece was present during these events.”  She altered the image once more to show a huge gathering of Imperial Stormtroopers.  “After a period of convalescence Treece oversaw an operation known as the Trefnarian Stormtrooper Project, an attempt to reintroduce pure, unsullied DNA into the Imperial cloning programme.  But, due to interference by an A-desandian smuggler all of the clones on Trefnare suddenly died, deeming the project a failure. Treece left Trefnare in disgrace.  Until now, New Republic Intelligence believed him to be dead.”

Wes glanced at the others present and raised his hand.

   “Sorry to be the one asking all the questions, but how do you know all this?  There’s no mention of any of this in the briefing pad you sent out.”

Terrie smiled and looked down, walking to the other side of the room.

   “I used to be one of Glann’s many field agents.  And I was part of the team who led his enemies on that wild goose chase to Soluman.”  She jerked a thumb over her shoulder to the image behind her.  “And that’s how I know we can get Treece to be wherever we want him to be.”

General Soli shook his head and folded his arms in clear disappointment.

   “Glann Cipple was recently deposed as leader of the underworld.  Amagad has been reduced to rubble.  Treece is no fool, he will know that.”

Terrie nodded her head and changed the image again, this time to a recent image of Treece.  His mangled features contrasted starkly with the suave man who had occupied the Holo-screen moments before and the assembled gathering gasped.

   “Grand Moff Treece as he appears today.  Given the injuries he sustained on Soluman he’s not quite the man he was before, I’m sure you’ll agree.”  Terrie switched to a recent shot of Amagad, ravaged by the monumental explosion caused by the starship Heed crashing into the Bay of Amagad.  “And remember sir, no trace of Cipple has been found.  No body.”  She turned to look at Treece’s twisted features.  “We assumed Treece was dead for precisely the same reason.  No body.  And the Grand Moff will think the same of Cipple.”  Soli shook his head in disagreement, but Terrie pushed on.  “Believe me sir, his obsession was that acute.  And I believe you said it yourself, `Assumptions make fools of us all.’”  Soli turned to give Tyrahh, the recipient of that particular pearl of wisdom a narrow-eyed glare as his own recent statement came back to tie his current argument in knots.  “One of the reasons he will have returned is to not only reclaim the Setnin Sector but to dispose of Cipple once and for all.”

Renn Drezzna stepped forward from his standing vantage point at the rear of the briefing room.

   “So Lieutenant, assuming you are correct in your analysis, how do we relay this message to Treece?”  He motioned to the screen, which showed images of the Bremmel Station being destroyed and the black shape of the Star Destroyer lurking away.  “He is constantly moving his vessel across the sector, never staying in one place for more than a few minutes.”  He checked his briefing pad.  “The Soluman Delta Gulf, the Yatchrare System, Ferrerea.”  Drezzna waved his arm towards the images on the screen, and the blackness of space beyond.  “He could be anywhere.”

Terrie folded her arms and tapped a steel-capped toe on the steel floor.

   “I suggest official media outlets.  The Chancai News Net, Chancai Express, the HoloNet, local press.  Get on the ten o’ clock news, bombard the media with sightings of Cipple, and then orchestrate a confirmed sighting on a world convenient for us to make a stand.  General,” She turned again to Soli.  “Where would you suggest?”

Soli stifled an amused grin as he leaned forward.

   “Assuming I agree with your plan I would say...”  He paused in thought for a moment.  “Varoone.  It’s a system littered with gravitational anomalies, asteroid fields, and unstable patches of space.  It would be hellish for Treece’s vessels to cope with but,” Soli shifted in his seat. “A well-trained unit like Indigo should have little trouble.”  He gave Wes a challenging sideways glance.  “Assuming you are up to the challenge of course, Commander.”

Wes stared directly ahead at Terrie and nodded.

   “Varoone it is.  Give us a time and we’re there.”  He returned Soli’s glance.  “I wouldn’t want to be late for our date.”

   “We still have time to train.” interjected Drezzna, breaking the stony silence that had descended between General and Commander.  “I suggest we refine this plan and make some decisions.”

Terrie smiled as Soli and Janson slowly nodded, their moment broken and Renn’s authority renewed.  The Janite narrowed his eyes and returned his implacable glare to Terrie.

   “You have the floor Lieutenant.”

One Day Later

Chancai News Network Studios – Zelon, Yatchrare System – 22.00.00 SGT

   “Welcome to a special edition of Arnee Kwarnee’s Evening Slot.  I’m Arnee Kwarnee and this…is the news.”

   “Arnee Kwarnee’s Evening Slot.  With Arnee Kwarnee and co-host Ned Hillins.”

   “Good evening, and in breaking news it looks like the big gundark still plans on ruling the nest.  Glann Cipple, the deposed and supposedly deceased governor of Amagad City has shockingly been sighted in the Setnin Sector.”

   “That’s right Ned.  It appears that Cipple, his secretary of defence and a number of high ranking Amagad officials were spotted on Wennicas just hours ago.  Governor Cipple, long associated with the Setnin underworld was believed to have been killed in the enormous explosion caused by the legendary starship Heed crashing into the Bay of Amagad three months ago.”

   “Nothing has been confirmed as of yet, and as soon as we have concrete evidence we’ll bring it to you first on the Chancai News Network.  Alright, time for a song so here’s Arnee Kwarnee and the Jizzing All-Stars with `Four Struts on my Freighter’.”

   “Ned, you’re too kind.”

ISD Negator – Fallast Corridor – 22.05.55 SGT

The ISD Negator cruised around the exit point to the Fallast Corridor and waited in silence, her running lights as dim as dead stars as she watched the bustle of traffic drop from hyperspace and enter the sector.  From here, most legitimate traffic entering Setnin dropped from lightspeed to re-enter co-ordinates and continue their journeys through the sector, either along minor routes that eventually led to the Bordon Space Lane, among the busiest traffic routes in the Mid-Rim, or on their own plotted courses. 

Treece watched the oblivious traffic bob out of the safety of hyperspace and twitched a curled lip as they passed by.  They didn’t even know he was there, couldn’t sense the enormous, lethal shape of his vessel as it watched like a predator in the shallows, waiting for the right moment to strike.  He liked that thought, the knowledge that he could obliterate every one of those ships in seconds as they emerged, naked and unprotected from the Fallast Corridor.  But for the moment that would serve little purpose.  For now, the mere sighting of a Star Destroyer would cause panic and turmoil, enough to achieve what he wanted.  And so, with a nod of his head to Lieutenant Treadle the running lights of the Negator sprang to life and over a kilometre of deadly steel and lasers appeared to wink into existence.

The effect was instant and dramatic.  Vessels, though many kilometres distant, dodged and weaved, scurrying from the shark that had just arrived.  Some hastily plotted hyperspace routes that would lead them to deep space and the uncertainty of chance, others turned and flew against the traffic back into the corridor.  Some headed for the nearest planet, many light years away.  A handful carried on about their business as if nothing had happened.

But beyond doubt all of them knew an Imperial Star Destroyer was again on the prowl in the Setnin Sector.

Treece smiled slyly.  Ships entering the sector at this juncture would be on their way to any of the two hundred and fifty worlds of the Setnin Sector, and some beyond to the Outer Rim.  It was better than the best advertising time credits could buy.

Treece’s moment of satisfaction was interrupted by his number two clearing his throat.

   “Lieutenant Treadle, as ever your timing is appalling.  What news do you have?”

   “It’s all across the media sir, multiple sightings.”

Treece grinned as he turned, his arms still folded across his grotesquely misshapen chest.  Excellent.  My four destroyers are causing the stir I intended them too and our notoriety has spread across the sector.

   “So my plan is finally bearing fruit.  Where were we sighted?”

Treadle cleared his throat, not eager to incur the anger of his superior.

   “You misunderstand sir, not sightings of us.  Sightings of Glann Cipple.”

Treece raised an eyebrow.  He wasn’t expecting that.  Cipple was dead, evaporated in the explosion that levelled his Amagad Fortress and most of Amagad with it just a few short months ago.  Evaporated in just the way Cipple had tried to destroy him, six painful years ago on Soluman.  Cipple’s underworld empire had fallen, crushed and blown away by the forces of change, pushed aside for a new generation to prosper…

My god, he suddenly thought, stricken by the stark similarity of their situations.  Work it out man.  Cipple is still alive.

   “Where was he sighted?” asked Treece, consciously keeping his voice strong, steady and neutral, betraying no sign of the anticipation that swelled in his chest.

   “Numerous locations.  Chancai News Network had him spotted on Wennicas, the HoloNet on both Chancai and A-desando.” 

Treece thought furiously.  Cipple had concerns on all of those worlds.  Treadle continued.

   “But there’s just been a definite sighting confirmed on Varoone.”

Varoone.  A desert world, insignificant in the grand scheme of things.  Perhaps Cipple had small dealings there, but nothing more.  It was an out of the way world that dealt in matters of little importance.

And the logical place for a man in Cipple’s situation to keep his head down while the proverbial dust settled.

   “Lieutenant, set course for Varoone.”

Treadle frowned, unsure whether he should speak but the sudden glares from the rest of the bridge crew gave him courage.

   “Sir, with respect, I have been your first officer for many years.  I understand your desire to apprehend Glann Cipple, but we are due to rendezvous with the rest of the fleet in fifteen hours to make final preparations for the Janos attack.”

Treece turned sharply on his heel, his nose almost touching Treadle’s.  The sudden anger in his face twisted it into an even more disconcerting visage than it already was and Treadle visibly blanched.

   “Lieutenant, you understand nothing.  Your father may have been a great Star Destroyer commander but to me you are nothing more than the pampered son of a long-dead Admiral.  If I wish to have my orders questioned I shall inform you beforehand, do I make myself clear?”

Treadle nodded quickly.

   “Of course sir.  Setting course for Varoone.”

Treece barely noticed the stars shift into streaks of light as the Negator adjusted into hyperspace or the looks of suspicion on the faces of his bridge crew as carefully laid plans went awry.

ISD Negator – Varoone System – 07.42.43 SGT

   “Sir, we have entered the Varoone System.  Scans indicate no sizeable vessels present in the system.  You are cleared to proceed.”

   “Very well Lieutenant.  The ship is yours until my return.”

   “Very good sir.”

Lieutenant Treadle removed his hand from the comm. unit as he turned to watch Grand Moff Treece’s shuttle exit the docking bay ahead.  Against Treadle’s advice, Treece had decided to take a shuttle and a small squad of Stormtroopers down to Varoone to confirm the rumours for himself, and while the lieutenant had initially argued vigorously against this course of action, saying the ship needed its commander at such a time, Treece flatly refused to hear the merits of the argument and proceeded on his course anyway.   

And yet as Treece exited the destroyer and began his covert trip to Varoone, dodging anomalies and other dangers, Treadle felt the silent breeze of relief cool him.  For too long he had withered under Treece’s harsh yoke, unable to execute ideas or suggest alternative plans of action.  The Grand Moff, while being a tactical genius, held little regard for the abilities of others.  Undeniably he was a man with a vision, but Treadle couldn’t help but wish that he could play a larger part in the execution of those plans.

And so as the Grand Moff disappeared into the distance Treadle felt a surge of exhilaration and release as he made his way to the bridge.

New Republic Gunboat Colossus – Varoone Orbit – 08.34.54 SGT

The Colossus dropped out of hyperspace and held position in space as solidly as if it had been constructed right there and then.  Weapons ready, alert for action, the gunboat occupied its position impressively and scanned in a wide, 360º degree bubble for enemy vessels, aware that the Varoone Systems strange gravitic forces would likely make scanning an art rather than a science.  

Aboard, activity was at a premium as ground crews and support staff prepared the hangar bay for action.  Sixteen vessels, all X-Wing fighters, lay in wait, fuelled and ready for combat.  The atmosphere was tense and edgy, but primed and ready.

   “Squadron Indigo, this is Rogue Five.  Guys, this is it.  If we’re not ready now then we never will be.” 

Wes Janson checked out of his X-Wing’s cockpit window and looked down the long docking bay at the fifteen Indigo vessels that waited, engines warmed and ready to launch.  His own X-Wing, the only one not adorned in the deep blue stripe of Squadron Indigo raised itself slowly from the deck and taxied to the enormous exit, breaking through the invisible energy shield that held the atmosphere in place and streaking away from the Colossus.  Through his headpiece he could hear comm. chatter as Indigo followed his move and joined him in the depths of space, circling the Colossus above the desert world of Varoone. 

Renn Drezzna calmly surveyed the shape of the squadron as it powered towards its destination and addressed his fellow warriors.

   “Rogue Five, this is Indigo Leader, we copy that.  Move into position.”

Safely ensconced in his command station aboard the imposing gunboat General Soli watched as the now sixteen-strong squadron broke away in a precision formation towards the northern pole of the planet, led by Commanders Janson and Drezzna.  During the past day, due to circumstance one less than he had initially allowed Janson, the Rogue Squadron hero had done exactly what he had promised and delivered a group of pilots with a plan, confidence and intent to deliver the goods.  Soli was aware of the hand he had dealt Indigo in the past, and it certainly wasn’t one with the aces intact.  And the stoic and uncommunicative Drezzna had hardly been the ideal candidate to train up a group of misfits.  But Janson, cocky and jocular as he was had managed to instil the right attitude in them. 

In just four days Janson had managed to make Indigo fly again.

The sixteen vessels arrived at their intended point in space, directly above the north pole of Varoone and hidden from detection by the planets strong magnetic field.  I-Two’s voice, that of Lieutenant Sharn Retgarr cut across all channels.

   “Colossus, activate transmission block.  Indigo, switch to secure channel I-45.” 

Indigo complied and held station in silence.

No one knew when or where their mystery Star Destroyer would appear, but I-Three Terrie Saffra was more than confident it would arrive soon, if it wasn’t here already.  The news broadcasts had been littered with the surprise story of Cipple’s re-appearance, and knowing Treece’s vanity as she did she would bet her life on him following up on the rumours.

Although a part of her, part that had engaged many Star Destroyers in the past and knew the dangers inherent, hoped he would see through the ploy.  But only a small part.

Grand Moff Treece’s Shuttle – Varoone System -  08.37.02 SGT