Apocalypse (18 page)

And now someone in the Home Fleet was letting blockade-runners slip through the cordon. He had no doubt that they were messengers, carrying offers of support that Daala and Lecersen would eagerly accept, no matter what they had to promise in return. If Jag did not end this insurrection soon, he was going to have a civil war on his hands. Perhaps he would have something even worse, with the Empire collapsing into anarchy and the Moffs turning on one another.

As Jag pondered the difficulties of keeping the Empire together, a dozen turbolaser beams flashed across the bridge display, targeting the Star Ranger as it entered Boreleo’s debris field. Stone sprayed everywhere, then the screen went white with luminous overload, and the image of the Star Ranger vanished before it grew obvious whether the little scoutship had been destroyed.

Jag waited, staring at the screen. When it did not clear after a couple of seconds, he turned to the task force commander, Admiral Vitor Reige, and cocked an expectant brow.

“I’ll have a report for you as soon as possible, Head of State.”

Reige, a tall, hook-nosed man with dark hair and piercing blue eyes, shot a glance toward his aide, who started across the bridge to relay the inquiry to the
Bloodfin
’s captain. It was a frustratingly slow way to get a simple answer, but in the military, chain of command was all.

“Thank you, Admiral Reige.” Jag was fairly certain that the admiral remained loyal to the Empire’s legitimate Head of State. But Reige’s mentor had been Gilad Pellaeon himself, and it was impossible not to wonder what kind of effect the friendship between Pellaeon and Daala was having on the admiral’s judgment. “And you might ask for a tracking report. Whatever the Star Ranger’s fate, I’d be very interested to know how it slipped through our blockade.”

“As would I, Head of State,” Reige said. “At the moment, all I can think of is that the craft has been outfitted with stealth technology.”

“Sorry, Admiral—I only wish that was it,” said Tahiri Veila.

Standing at Jag’s shoulder on the side opposite Reige, she was unarmed and wearing bright red confinement bracelets around both wrists. Though Jag had every confidence that Tahiri intended to honor her promise to stand trial for murder, the brig gear was an overt statement of her status as an Imperial prisoner—and her idea. It had been aboard this very ship that she had killed Gilad Pellaeon. So Tahiri had offered to wear the restraints as a concession to the feelings of Vitor Reige and the many others who had loved Pellaeon as a father. Thus far, the strategy seemed to be working. There were plenty of sour looks and muttered insults, but the crew seemed to accept that she was merely on parole until a proper trial could be organized.

After a tense silence, Reige grudgingly acknowledged the comment by turning his head in her direction. “I take it you have another explanation, Prisoner Veila?”

“The Force,” Tahiri replied. “A powerful presence has entered the debris field—one I haven’t felt here before.”

“A
powerful presence
?” Reige scoffed. “And that would mean what, precisely?”

“Sith,” Jag said, trying to ignore the cold knot that had begun to form in his stomach. He turned to Tahiri. “Is that what you’re suggesting?”

Tahiri hesitated, her eyes fixed on the bridge display as the image returned to normal. Two of the kilometer-long massifs had been reduced to a collection of red-glowing boulders, and there was nothing of the Star Ranger to be seen.

Finally she said, “I certainly feel a darkness, but whether it’s Sith …” Her gaze shifted toward the forward viewport, beyond which the shattered moon appeared to be little more than a tiny ball of flame at the convergence point of a steady stream of turbolaser strikes. “All I can say is that whoever’s out there, they are strong in the Force. Very strong.”

“And still alive.” The remark came from directly behind Tahiri, where Jag’s Chiss aide and bodyguard, Ashik, was standing. “You feel that, as well?”

Tahiri nodded. “I do.”

“Most impressive, Prisoner Veila,” Reige said drily. “With you aboard, one wonders why we need sensor crews at all.”

“I was wondering that
before
the prisoner spoke, Admiral,” Jag said, putting a little durasteel in his voice. He could understand Reige’s indignation at having Tahiri walking free aboard the
Bloodfin
, but her Jedi abilities were too useful at the moment to leave her locked in the brig—and it was time for Reige to recognize that. “Had
she
been sitting at a sensor station, perhaps she would have spotted the infiltrator before it was silhouetted against the debris field.”

As Jag spoke, Reige’s aide returned and whispered something into the admiral’s ear. The look of puzzlement that came to Reige’s face quickly changed to one of vindication, and he turned back to Jag with a look approaching defiance.

“I doubt it would have made any difference
who
was at the sensor stations, Head of State.” Reige pointed to a holopad in the fleet admiral’s salon at the back of the bridge, then said, “The Star Ranger seems to be using a new form of jamming technology. If you would care to join me, I’ll explain.”

By the time Jag and the others had retreated into the salon, the tactical hologram of the Exodo II planetary system was already on display. The image portrayed an outer shell of designator symbols beginning with the letters
ISS
—for “Imperial Sienar Sentinel”—surrounding a mottled green-and-black sphere. Save for the lack of clouds, the planet looked identical to the world Jag saw every night outside his stateroom window. The task force, hanging in orbit where the moon Boreleo used to be, was a knot of designator symbols too tangled to read.

Reige nodded, and his aide pointed a remote control at the holopad. A moment later a circle of perhaps thirty ISS symbols dissolved into static.

“The time scale has been compressed a thousandfold,” Reige explained. “Every second on the holo represents a little over a quarter hour in real time.”

The static circle continued to expand for a couple of moments, then quickly began to shrink and elongate in the direction opposite Exodo II’s spin. Within three seconds—about three-quarters of a standard real-time hour—the circle had narrowed into a short, slender band that was traveling around the planet toward the task force.

“The static resulted from an energy flash that traveled along this
route, temporarily blinding sensors,” Reige’s aide explained. “At the time, the reconnaissance officers attributed it to a solar flare and didn’t worry about it.”

“Which is a very bad mistake, and one they had better not make again,” Jag said. He turned to Tahiri. “Would you care to explain what we’re seeing?”

“Of course, Head of State.” Tahiri’s gaze remained fixed on the holo. “It’s a Force flash.”

“A
Force flash
, Prisoner Veila?” Reige said. “I’m afraid you’ll need to define the term for those of us who aren’t on intimate terms with members of the Jedi Order.”

“It’s a countersurveillance technique,” Jag said, doing the explaining himself. “The Jedi use it to temporarily blind security cams and intrusion alarms. On the vids, it looks like a minor glitch.”

Tahiri nodded. “Exactly. But this one …” She fell silent as the hologram changed scales to depict the inner cordon of the blockade, and then she turned to face Jag. “This one is very powerful. Even Grand Master Skywalker isn’t strong enough to blind a picket boat’s sensors at those kinds of ranges.”

“If you’re trying to tell us it was no Jedi piloting that Star Ranger, there’s no need,” Jag said. “I have it on good authority that the Jedi like Daala even less than I do at the moment.”

This drew a polite laugh—no more—from the staff officers.

But Tahiri’s expression remained serious. “Actually, Head of State Fel, what I’m trying to suggest is that the pilot can’t be Sith, either.”

She pointed at the hologram, which now showed the designator symbols of six destroyers and thirty escort vessels arrayed around the shattered remnants of the moon Boreleo. Fully half of the vessels were engulfed in static.

“Not with enough strength to blind that many starships.”

Jag saw the fear come into her eyes and knew what she was thinking. “Go ahead and say it, Tahiri,” he said. “Admiral Reige will need to know.”

“Very well.” Tahiri swallowed, then said, “I think we’ve found Abeloth.”

O
UTSIDE THE
C
HIMAERA
RAGED A SILENT STORM OF TUMBLING MEGALITHS
and flashing turbolaser strikes, a hell of Daala’s own making erupting inside the shattered pieces of the moon Boreleo. Vansyn’s flagship, the
Wyvard
, hung only a few kilometers away, blocking the mouth of a semi-permanent passage and venting black smoke from the cavity that had once been her bridge. Long streams of bodies and flotsam were jetting from the melt holes in her forward hull, and hundred-meter tongues of flame were shooting through the splits in her sagging midsection. And still Fel’s Chiss allies continued to pour maserfire into the flagship’s lifeless hulk, trying in vain to blast her out of the way so they could at last enter the heart of the debris field and attack the
Chimaera
.

But at the moment, Daala’s attention was not on the battle. Instead she was sitting in her command salon, where an Imperial News Network report was playing on a pop-up display at the end of the conference table. The report was a day old, but with Fel’s fleet jamming all transmissions into or out of Exodo II’s vicinity, it was the first newscast
she had seen in nearly a month—and the closest thing to an intelligence briefing she had received since taking refuge inside Boreleo’s remnants.

“… the Moffs are seizing this opportunity to settle old scores,” reported an intelligent-looking woman with an oversized nose.

Her image was replaced by the flashing web of a turbolaser battle in deep space.

“When Moff Garreter mobilized his fleet to assist Head of State Fel, Moff Woolbam attempted to annex Rimcee Station. Garreter was forced to divert to protect the integrity of his holdings. The situation is the same across the entire Empire, with Moffs skirmishing over border systems that have been contested since before Palpatine was Emperor.”

The newscaster’s image reappeared, this time with a chart of the modern Empire hanging above her right shoulder. Red starbursts began to dot the map as she continued.

“Battles and invasions have been reported in more than a dozen systems. Imperial fleets are being forced to intervene in the Vexta Belt, Entralla, Dactruria, and Tovarskl. At Muunilinst, a three-way fleet battle rages among forces loyal to Head of State Fel and Moffs Woolbam and Callron the Younger.”

The newscaster’s face expanded to fill the entire display.

“The instability has caused turmoil in financial markets in every sector as investors brace for a descent into chaos. Unconfirmed reports suggest that two fleets of the Imperial Navy have been approached by powerful Moffs attempting to buy the loyalty of their commanders.”

“Pause report,” Daala said, bringing the newscast to a temporary halt.

She shook her head in dismay, unable to believe how badly her plan to liberate the Empire was floundering. Had she foreseen the stalemate between herself and Jagged Fel, she would never have attempted to unseat him. As bad as it was to leave the Empire in the hands of a Jedi puppet, even that would have been better than allowing it to disintegrate into anarchy. And truth be told, Daala was not merely
allowing
it to happen—she had
caused
it when she had failed to remove Fel.

To be fair, though, she was guilty only of bad timing. Fel simply wasn’t up to the job of ruling a dynamic civilization like the Empire.

Sooner or later, the Moffs would have sensed his weakness and rebelled anyway. Daala took a calming breath, then faced the young Star Ranger pilot who had risked her life to deliver the report.

“This is madness,” Daala said. “The Empire is sinking into barbarism.”

“Exactly.” The young woman had narrow blue eyes and a wide mouth that seemed just a little too large for her face. “That’s why I felt I had to come to you, Admiral. Head of State Fel is not up to the job of holding the Empire together.”

“That shouldn’t surprise anyone,” Lecersen observed. Seated in the chair next to Daala, he looked on the verge of cracking himself, with purple circles beneath his eyes and skin as gray as a fleet officer’s uniform. “And that’s all the more reason we need to find a way to slip out of here
—now
.”

Daala answered without taking her eyes from the young lieutenant. “Escaping is easier said than done, Drikl.”

“If Lieutenant Pagorski can sneak
into
this rubble pile, I dare say we can find a way to sneak
out
.” Lecersen stood. “And the sooner, the better. We need to get back out there and take charge.”

“Take charge of what, exactly?” As Daala spoke, she continued to study Pagorski, trying to figure out why a young woman who had only recently been released from a Galactic Alliance prison would risk her life to join the remains of a cornered, badly battered fleet. “The Final Fall of the Empire?”