Star Wars: Knight Errant (20 page)

Rusher looked up to see blue laserfire zinging past the port window. A second later orange fire arced past the viewport on the Kerra’s side. “Who’s got us?”

The Mon Cal looked up. “They
both
have, sir.” Several of Odion’s and Daiman’s ships had broken off to follow them toward the nebula.

“Rear turret?”

“Damaged in the shelling, sir.”

Rusher shrugged and walked up the steps. “Won’t be long now,” he said, looking down. Bactra’s ships were up ahead, tantalizingly close—but they’d never get there at this rate.
Diligence
didn’t have the speed or shields to survive an engagement.

“This is crazy!” Confronting Rusher, Kerra waved toward the window behind her. Another ray lit the space outside. “You can fight! This ship’s bristling with weapons!”

“This ship’s weapons are on pallets in the hold, lady,” Rusher said, glaring. Grabbing her arm, he turned her abruptly to face outside. “Those gun barrels out there are just
cargo
—and half of them are gone.”

Kerra’s face fell as she looked where he was pointing.

“Our aft gun’s out. That leaves us with a couple of fixed rock-crumblers that fire forward,” he said. A barrage echoed through the ship, causing Rusher to reach for a vertical support. “They’ve got us. We slow for a second to turn around—”

Kerra looked blankly down at the control pit. There had to be something she could do—but her mind, usually crackling with ideas, failed to produce. Looking back, she saw the brigadier. Arms crossed, Rusher leaned against the column and stared out the window at the rest of his ship. The laser blasts were coming closer now, mirroring off the shine on the window.

“Thanks. For … for getting us this far,” she said.

He didn’t look back. “Sorry we couldn’t get your kids clear.”

Kerra started to step toward the window. “They’re not exactly my kids—”

Kerr-rraannng!
The view outside the window abruptly changed, laserfire and nebulosities becoming black steel and screaming red lights.
Diligence
rocked violently, knocking both Kerra and Rusher backward from the bulkhead.

“They hit us!”

“No,” Rusher said, scrambling to his feet, looking up at his ceiling. “They
bumped
us!”

Kerra joined him back at the viewport. Odion’s dark gunships soared by on the right, barely clearing
Diligence
’s body. To the left, Daiman’s tri-pronged pursuit fighters jetted past. Firing away—firing ahead.

“They’re not targeting
us
,” Kerra said. “They’re shooting at
Bactra
’s ships!”

Rusher’s jaw dropped. Ahead, in the nebula, two of Bactra’s crescent-shaped cruisers had just erupted into flames. “What in the—”

“Incoming message,” the comm operator announced from behind. “Hologram!”

Suddenly the holographic image of Daiman was beside them, fluorescent in the darkness. “All irregular units, attend to me. This operation has entered a new phase …”

Rusher shook his head. “What … just happened?”

His bridge was silent.

The message had been as terse as the one on the parade grounds, days before. Daiman had commanded
Diligence
—and, Rusher presumed, any other mercenaries surviving Gazzari—to follow on a particular hyperspace route.

Rusher saw the warrior woman perched at the far
thest point forward on the command deck, kneeling as she studied the nebula ahead. There wasn’t much left to see—save debris.

Daiman and Odion’s forces had together torn into Bactra’s surprised flotilla, laying half of it to waste in less than a minute. Bactra’s largest vessel and the other survivors had leapt abruptly for hyperspace, followed by several of the warring-until-a-minute-ago brothers’ capital ships. And leaving just now were the two large cruisers, one Odion’s and one Daiman’s, that had landed untouched on Gazzari shortly before.

“He mentioned coordinates.”

“Right here, Brig.” The comm operator read what they had been sent. “You’re not gonna believe this.”

Rusher was nearly struck dumb. “This—this is in Bactra’s space.
Jutrand
.”

“It’s his capital, isn’t it?” Kerra’s voice came from up ahead. She was still rocking gently on her knee, looking out into the nebula to a point far beyond the burning wrecks. “It’s Bactra’s capital.”

“I don’t know,” Rusher said. “Maybe not for long.”

Rusher tried to put the pieces together. He had to think that Odion would have sent the same message to his own forces. Why else would they have attacked Bactra at the same time? But that only raised another question: why would Daiman and Odion have done anything at the same time, besides try to kill each other?

His visitor looked back, every bit as confounded as he was. “I’ve been away for a while,” she said. “Is there any precedent for Daiman and Odion collaborating?”

“None. You just saw it,” Rusher said. “If I hadn’t seen it, I wouldn’t have believed it.”

Kerra stood. “There’s nothing here I can’t believe.” Her voice was lower than he’d heard it before.

Rusher looked back to the Mon Calamari. “Anyone targeting us?”

“No, Brigadier. Daiman still has forces lifting off from Gazzari, but all Odion’s people appear to have followed him.”

To Bactra’s homeworld
. Rusher looked up to see Beadle Lubboon in the doorway, holding a datapad. The kid looked as if he had gotten lost at least once heading for the bridge.
That’s all right
, Rusher thought.
We’re all a little lost right now
.

“I have your head counts, Brigadier.”

Rusher climbed the steps from the command pit to take the datapad. “Master Dackett?”

“The medics had to strap him to the table, sir, to keep him from coming up here when the shooting started.”

Exhaling, Rusher took the datapad. His relief over the news lasted until he saw the numbers.

“One thousand seven hundred and seventeen.”

Kerra looked back. “That’s your crew?”

“No,” Rusher said. “That’s
yours
.”

Rusher’s crew looked back at him. How could so many refugees have fit on
Diligence
? Their commander had the answer. “Our survivors are five hundred and sixty.” He ticked off the numbers. Some percentage each of Ripper, Coyn’skar, and Zhaboka battalions—plus those whose assignments had kept them aboard
Diligence
on Gazzari.

He dropped the datapad to the carpet and stood in silence for a moment. Then he turned.

“Daiman gave us an order. Load coordinates for Jutrand.”

On the other side of the bridge, Kerra nearly leapt out of her boots.
“What?”

“We were hired to fight a battle for Daiman,” Rusher said, gravely. “He says it’s not over.”

“It is now!” Kerra stomped down the steps into the command pit, walking behind the seated bridge crew. “What are you going to do, throw rocks at Bactra? I
mean, you just said it. Half your crew is
dead
or—” She stopped herself and looked incredulously up at the brigadier. “No, no,” she said, leaning over the navigator’s chair. “Belay that order. Just—”

“Belay?” Rusher stormed to the railing. “Listen, lady, you’re lucky to be here right now. I’m of a mind to dump you and your kids back on that ridge and go, while we still can!” He looked at the ships outside. At least no one was shooting any longer, but that didn’t mean they were safe. “Whatever our condition, we’re professionals. We’ve got a commitment. Daiman could still be in the system with us, for all we—”

“No. Odion and Daiman followed Bactra—on those cruisers that came to pick them up.” Kerra looked up at him. “I don’t sense them anymore.”

“You use the Force?” Rusher stared at her. “The lightsaber’s not just for fun?”

“I’m a Jedi.”

Rusher rolled his eyes. This was surreal. “Some kind of Knight errant, running around in Sith space alone, is that it? Saving student bodies here and there.”

“No, this is new,” Kerra said earnestly. “Usually I save whole planets.”

Rusher looked at her for a moment, expecting her expression to change. It didn’t.
I was right the first time
, he thought.
She’s crazy
.

Throwing up his hands, Rusher turned to walk off the bridge. “Okay, we’re done. Plot us a way out of here.”

“To where?” the navigator and Kerra asked in unison.

Rusher shrugged. “Just somewhere.” They needed repairs. Reinforcements. Time to regroup. But they wouldn’t be welcome in Daiman’s space after skipping out on the Jutrand leg. They could try to argue they were too crippled to make the trip, but Rusher didn’t put much stock in the odds of sympathy from Daiman.

And most of all, they had to rid themselves of their passengers.
One in particular
. “I’m going to go check on Master Dackett and the others.”

Rusher paused in the doorway and looked back. “And for your information,
five-sixths
of my crew is dead or missing. Get it right.”

The door closed behind him.

“Bactra is finished,” Narsk said, relaxing on the sand.

The desert breeze was warm on his fur. Quality medpacs were doing wonders for him, too. Odion’s idea of medical care was amputating sore limbs and grafting blasters in their places.

It had taken mere days for the joint surprise attack to break the back of Bactra’s regime. Narsk had left near the outset, as planned, fleeing to an outpost near Jutrand to observe and recuperate. Now he was making his final report. “Odion and Daiman are fighting over the remains, but that’s to be expected.”

A female voice expressed satisfaction. “The errand is complete, then. A bequest will be arranged.”

Narsk bowed his head. “Certainly.” This audience was almost certainly done. Two sentences were the most he’d ever received by hologram.

As he began to rise, another question came: “What … about the Jedi?”

Startled, Narsk straightened himself before the comm unit’s cam. “Kerra Holt? She was on Gazzari,” he said, “targeting Odion. I don’t know if she escaped.”

The words hung in the air for a moment. Narsk wondered whether he was supposed to have said something more—or something different.

“She did escape,” the response came, at last. “I know exactly where she is.”

Narsk didn’t know how, but he knew not to ask. He swallowed hard, his throat only just now restored by the
drinks of the oasis resort. He could feel his brief respite coming to an end. “What is your bidding?”

“Keep an eye on her. She could mean more to my plans than you know.” The hologram began to fade into the rays of the double sunset. “And as for
you
, prepare for travel. I know another who needs the services of a specialist …”

Saaj Calician liked to look at the grand city, but he couldn’t remember why.

He vaguely recalled first seeing the view from The Loft on his arrival, years earlier. It was then that he had found the metropolis
grand
, and it was that appraisal that he continued to rely upon, now that his facility for description was leaving him. Today, when the regent looked down, he saw only the geometry of life here; little beings in little hexagonal buildings, rising from the pale cerulean sea that surrounded his mesa. The ocean, too, he seemed to remember liking—but he couldn’t be sure. It was just an impression, and Calician could no longer determine whether it was his thought or somebody else’s.

The Krevaaki lingered at the window ringing the penthouse, letting the sun warm his tentacles. Even through the dark screen, it always helped his circulation. For a moment, he thought he almost had feeling back in all his limbs.

But the feeling was fleeting. Calician’s glowing black eyes narrowed in irritation. Other Krevaaki, twice his age, had more range of movement than he had. Some days he couldn’t even wiggle the feelers beneath his shell-like snout. There was nothing fair about it. The regent had
not
been living hard. He was
not
well traveled.
But he was, by vocation, the elder—and the job had made him old.