Pash Cracken stood in the hangar of the Viscount-class Star Defender Pillory, and stared through the airlock at the soft blue sphere below. Mon Calamari was the chosen rendezvous point for the rebellion fleet, and currently the heavens above it were littered with ships of every size and make. Even civilians—just like in the first Rebellion—had come to offer support in this new war. Even though Wedge and the other organizers were thrilled at the turnout, Pash got the unnerving sense that they were a bit overwhelmed. In their hasty plans, a firm chain of command had not been set out. Now their orders contradicted each other and there was no one to take the lead and develop an organized system. Ackbar was the obvious choice for Supreme Commander, but tactics alone couldn’t run an outfit of such a size.
In truth, Pash himself had no idea where his own place was. Wedge had offered him a leadership position, but of what, a squadron? He didn’t know. So in essence, until they gave him a job, he had nothing to do but wander around and work on his A-wing.
The main hangar itself was alive with activity and new arrivals. Beings scuttled every which way in search of parts or just someone to tell them what to do. Pash shook his head at the disorder. He had been a TIE pilot at the height of the Empire, and so some of that discipline and love of coordination was inbred in him. He was beginning to regret his decision to help this mess. His father had even cautioned him against openly supporting the revolution. Airen was a reasonable and just man, and knew Antilles and the others were right; yet he also had devoted the last part of his life to the protection of Contruum and was loath to throw their people back into harm’s way. If Antilles couldn’t put things together better than they were, Pash was beginning to agree with him.
He spun on his heel and marched back towards the inner parts of the battleship, but a cluster of X-wings caught his eye. There were a dozen or so orange-clad pilots weaving with purpose around the landing struts, and big man in an officer’s uniform stood in the middle of them, barking orders. Pash smiled. How times did change. Gavin Darklighter had been a kid when he joined the Rogues; now to think he was their leader. “Captain Darklighter,” Pash called, breaking into a soft jog.
Gavin turned, already smiling. His hand was extended and waiting when Pash reached him. They clasped enthusiastically, all smiles. “Pash Cracken. It’s been years.”
“A long time,” Cracken agreed. He cast his eyes at the other Rogue pilots preparing their fighters. “So the Rogues have continued the tradition of being notoriously capricious.”
“So the New Republic would say,” Gavin agreed with a grin. “It won’t be the last time we resign our commissions, I’m sure. And as you know, it’s certainly not the first.” His brow nettled ever so slightly. “But I am surprised to see you here. I thought the General had decided to support us quietly.”
“I am not my father,” Pash sighed. “And these men and women are some of my oldest friends. In the end, I can’t let them down, not when they’ve asked for my help. Besides, my involvement doesn’t automatically endanger Contruum. I’m here independently.”
Gavin took this all in with a thoughtful nod. “Most of us are.” The smile returned under his carefully shaped mustache. “Does this mean you’ve decided to rejoin the Rogues?”
Before he could answer, another voice called out. “Captain Darklighter?”
Pash swiveled his head to face the interrupter. A beautiful woman trotted towards them, dressed in a standard flightsuit with her chestnut colored hair pulled in a high tail on her head. She was young, very young, but with a gaze as mature as any twice her age. Pash couldn’t get over the feeling that he had seen her somewhere before. “Yes?” Gavin folded his arms over his chest.
The woman stopped, not at all out of breath despite the fact she had just ran a considerable distance across the hangar. “Staff meeting in the Admiral’s office in fifteen minutes, Sir. General Antilles wants you there.”
Gavin frowned at her. “Why didn’t he just comm me?”
She pointed at his breast pocket and the small bulge of a comlink underneath. “You’ve had it turned off, Sir.”
Gavin patted it with annoyance and harrumphed gently. “Well. What’s this meeting about?”
She shook her head, bright brown eyes dancing. “I’m not sure, Sir. But if I had to venture a guess, I’d say it’s the soon arrival of the Chiss taskforce.”
Darklighter stroked his goatee in heavy contemplation. “I see. Thank you, Lieutenant.” She gave him a smart salute but didn’t budge from her spot. “Is there something else, Lieutenant?” the captain raised a brow.
“Sir, I was wondering about my former admission into the squadron. I…was hoping the invitation was still open, Sir.” Pash could detect the wince in her voice, even though her face was unwrinkled.
Gavin’s face hardened into a stern and unreadable mask. “Lieutenant, you never came for your gear, you never even came for training. There are many others willing to take your spot. Why should I give you precedence?”
Her lips pursed into an expression just as stubborn. “Would you have had me leave my family in their time of need? It is because I did not come that we are receiving this aid from the Chiss. My duty was elsewhere. Sir.”
His old friend tossed a glance at Pash. “What do you think, Commander? Should I let her replace a loyal and trustworthy pilot just because she happens to have more skill?”
Pash examined her critically. She stared back, unflinching. There was something very fierce in her, like sand panther on a leash. He was part intrigued, and part frightened. “What’s your name?” he demanded.
“Jaina Solo,” there was the tiniest bit of pride in her tone.
His eyes grew wide. “Jaina Solo? Shouldn’t you be in a playpen somewhere?”
She managed to glare without appearing insubordinate. “I’ll be seventeen in three days, Sir. I’m hardly a child.”
Pash glanced at Gavin in disbelief, then returned his eyes to the eldest Solo child. “You’ve certainly got the will, I’ll give you that. And skill too, you say?” this last to Darklighter.
Grudgingly, Gavin nodded. “She was ranked third in the preliminary trials.”
“An impressive score,” Pash told her. She graced him with a sly smile. “I think that in a situation like the one we are in, it could be considered negligence not to put our best in the front. Let her have her spot for now.”
Solo turned a triumphant look on her new commander. “Fine,” he acquiesced. “For now.”
She saluted again, but couldn’t contain the smile. “Thank you, Sir. You won’t regret it.”
“I better not,” he warned.
Pash watched her go, feeling somehow unnerved. He hoped he hadn’t made a mistake.
“So?” Gavin prodded.
“So what?” Pash frowned.
“Are you going to take back your place as Rogue Four?”
Pash glanced at Solo’s retreating figure. “You know, I just might.”
- * *
Jagged Fel kept his shoulders squared as the first shuttle carrying an envoy of the Chiss Ascendancy settled into the otherwise empty bay of a New Republic dreadnaught. The Chiss glider carried only a dozen or so of his comrades, but the pressure weighing on this moment was not lost on him. If he misstepped one way or another, all would be lost. He would have to guard his tongue very carefully.
The landing ramp lowered slowly, and a cadre of black-clad Chiss soldiers marched confidently towards him. Per request, this first meeting was between he and his fellows alone. There were no others in the hangar. No doubt they were being monitored, but he suspected they would not be able to translate Cheunh. Not surprisingly, the first officer down the ramp was one he knew very well. “Shawnkyr,” he nodded, tensing even more.
She kept her gaze straight, making him look up to meet her red eyes. “Colonel Fel.”
“I trust you understood my transmission?”
“There was some discrepancy,” she admitted. “But in the end we could come to only one conclusion. This is a bold move, even for you as a human.” She didn’t mean it as an insult, Jag knew. It was a fact that he would always be different among his peers. He had come to accept it.
“It was the only way. Did the Four Families agree?”
“We came to a consensus,” his childhood friend nodded. “House Sabosen was not pleased with the divergence from the laws. It is not our practice to strike first.”
Jag nodded, torn inside. “I know. But what has been done here and of Nirauan can easily be described as open aggression. We are justified. More than justified.”
Shawkyr grunted her agreement. “The Families—and the CEDF—agree with you. We will play our part if you can play yours.”
“I’ve been doing it for weeks,” Jag sighed. “I can hold until the end of this war.”
Something akin to a smile tugged at he corners of her blue lips. “You will take back your place as Spike Lead.” It wasn’t a question, he noticed.
“Of course,” Jag nodded. “It will be good to be back where I belong again.”
“You are most welcome back, Jagged,” she inclined her head. “These circumstances will adhere your name to the histories for many generations.”
“For the right reasons, I hope,” Jag frowned. He couldn’t help a tiny knot of guilt in the pit of his stomach. The new revolution was counting on him, as were the Jedi—one in particular. And, he had to admit, they had come close to swaying his opinions. But he was a man of his word. He would not break a solemn vow.
The Chiss would help defeat the Baci, just as he had promised. During that time, he and the other officers in close contact with the Republic would gather any sensitive information possible. When the war ended, the galaxy would be in shambles from the splitting of their own numbers. The Ascendancy would kindly help put the pieces back together, and soon the realm that had been so ignorant of their very presence would be ruled by them. The Chiss would hold sway even into the Core of the galaxy. It was a magnificient plan, if implemented correctly.
Shawnkyr snapped him a crisp salute, and the other pilots followed suit. “Your orders, Colonel?”
He set his jaw and cleared his head of doubts. “We should meet with their leaders and draw up some sort of treaty. Then you’ll return to the Fleet and tell them all that’s transpired. Find out if I have any new mission objective or orders.”
“You’ll not go with us, Colonel?”
“They will want to keep an eye on me until they know for sure they have the Chiss’s allegiance,” Jag sighed. “For now, I must remain here.”
- * *
The weapon was strange but deadly, fascinating even to Cale’s trained eye. The red blade shown with an inner light, and emitted a powerful energy and heat. Yet it was balanced and easy to handle, an elegant tool. “I have studied it closely, and admit that I cannot decipher a need for something like this,” Zeya was saying as she twirled it experimentally. “It is interesting, certainly, but impractical. Why would these Jedi use such a thing?”
“It has many uses,” Cale closed his eyes, sorting through the memories he had stolen from Leia’s head. “They wield it like a shield against lasers. It can cut through anything. Its use has become an art for them.”
“But why?” she continued, staring at the last remnant of his child’s mother. “Why do they fight with this particular weapon?”
“It is the easiest way to defend when you so choose, without having to kill,” Cale answered at last. “They seek to preserve life. But it also deadly in a skilled hand. Any Jedi we encounter will sport one.”
“Then we must develop a means of resistance against it,” Zeya disengaged the weapon and laid it on the tabletop between them. He had only just been released from the medical wing, but refused to return to the quarters he had twice been bested in. While new ones were being prepared he stayed in a smaller, simpler estate closer to the bow of the Dintellion.
Cale thought for a long while on this, sifting through all Leia’s knowledge of the subject. “There is no means effective enough. Most Jedi that are killed either die in a starship, sacrifice themselves, or by someone else wielding a ‘lightsaber’.”
Zeya considered this a long time, her keen eyes intense as she thought on coming strategy. “All right. Then we learn to use lightsabers as well.”
Cale gestured futilely at the inert cylinder. “We have only this one, Zeya, and Leia’s memories have no extensive knowledge of technique.”
“Technique can be found anywhere,” she shrugged. “And I can easily build myself another of these. I’ve already taken this one apart several times.”
Cale studied her intently. “We will be no match for them in hand to hand combat. They have to many years of training.”
“At first maybe,” she agreed. “But then we are doing this to throw them off balance more than anything. Unnerve them. And by the second time I face a Jedi hand-to-hand, I guarantee you I will best them. I will not rest until I am a master of this device. I urge you to learn yourself in this art as well, Premier. Any Jedi that attempt to take your life will try to kill you with one.”
Cale gently picked up the lightsaber and rolled it around in his palm. “You think it would be a good investment of our time?”
“I know so.”
The door to his outer office opened and a servant poked his head inside. “Premier, we have just received word from the force sent after Lady Solo. She has been pinned in a deserted star system not far from here. She is being pursued at this moment.”
A satisfied smile curled his upper lip. “Excellent. Keep me updated. I want to know the moment she is dead.”