Hundreds of metal spheres spilled out and into space. Vader slammed on his stick, driving the interceptor down, but he could not avoid the shrapnel altogether. The spheres slammed into his ship and clung there, and he saw that they weren’t shrapnel but buzz droids. The magnetic balls sprouted legs and eyestalks and clambered along the wings and fuselage of his fighter, positioning themselves to do the most damage.
He dodged fire from a pursuing vulture droid by veering hard left, fired on another, destroying it, then drew on the Force and caused a wave of kinetic energy to repel the droids from his vessel. Unable to resist the sudden blast, they flew off in all directions and, to his surprise, exploded with enough force for the series of blast waves to rock his ship and temporarily send him spinning. A vulture got behind him while he was vulnerable, fired, and nicked his wing before he could right his ship and shake the pursuit.
“The vultures are carrying a payload of explosive buzz droids,” Vader said over the comm. He glanced back toward the Perilous and saw scores of the vultures, fat with the explosive buzz droids, flying straight at the Star Destroyer.
“Try to keep them off the Perilous,” the squadron commander said to the rest of the pilots, understanding the implications right away.
Vader slammed on his stick, whirled his ship around, and headed back in the direction of the Perilous, but he could see he was already too late. Dozens of the droids had been vaporized in the withering fire from the Star Destroyer, and the more maneuverable V-wings locked on and destroyed many, too, but many would get through.
Meanwhile, clouds of buzz droids that had survived the destruction of the vulture droids carrying them floated free in space, legs and eyestalks waving. Vader saw several latch on to a V-wing as it flew through them. They scurried onto the wings and canopy and exploded, shearing a wing, shattering the canopy, and destroying the fighter.
Vader accelerated and flew directly toward a cloud of them, using his free hand to focus his use of the Force as he approached. A gesture, an exercise of will, and he slammed several of the free-floating buzz droids into one another, where they exploded, clearing his way. He locked on to another vulture droid before it could reach the Perilous, followed it as it veered left, then right, fired, and turned it to a cloud of flames.
As he’d expected, the vulture droids fired as they approached the Star Destroyer, but they did not reduce speed to increase maneuverability. Instead they stayed at maximum acceleration, obviously intending to crash into the ship and release their cargo. Vader destroyed another, then another. But he couldn’t get them all, and the surviving vultures slammed into the ship at full speed.
Enormous towers of flame rose from the Perilous’s superstructure. Vader veered hard left and wheeled around, cutting down another vulture droid as he turned. He could imagine that the damage to the interior of the Star Destroyer was worse than he could see, as the vulture droids would have ejected their buzz droids into the corridors. The tiny bombs would run deeper into the ship and explode.
Two vultures headed directly for the shield generator. He destroyed one and then another, but the buzz droids they carried floated out of the fire of the vultures’ destruction, glommed on to the shield generator, and there exploded into flame. Another vulture crashed into the flight deck; another hit adjacent to the bridge. Many crashed into or near the ship’s gun turrets and destroyed them. Secondary explosions rocked the ship. The Star Destroyer was bleeding fire and debris and bodies from scores of wounds.
Vader flew under the ship, looking for more targets, and saw another wave of vultures streaking toward the Perilous.
Curses and exclamations of shock carried over the comm from the V-wing squadrons.
“Stay focused,” the squadron commander barked. “And destroy as many as possible before they reach the ship.”
Vader wheeled back around, accompanied by the bulk of the V-wing squadron, and opened fire on the vulture droids. He destroyed one, another. A V-wing to starboard caught droid fire and exploded.
—
Kallon had stopped muttering and even he was grinning as they watched the Perilous burn. Gobi could no longer sit, but paced the floor in excitement, eyes on the screens, a smile fixed on his face.
But Cham had a better understanding of the ship’s ability to withstand damage than did his comrades. They’d wounded it, killed hundreds, maybe thousands of Imperials, but they were nowhere close to destroying it.
“Her guns are out of commission!” Gobi exclaimed. “She’s defenseless! Let’s finish her!”
“The second wave, Kallon,” Cham ordered, and Kallon sent the command to the second wave of vulture droids Cham had held in reserve. He resumed muttering to himself the moment he sent the signal.
Another hundred or so vulture droids, all of them heavy with explosive buzz droids, powered up and accelerated out of the asteroid belt toward the ship. Cham watched them go, daring to let hope find a home in his chest. He bit down twice to activate the tiny comm implanted in his ear and spoke to Isval.
“We may not need you after all,” he said. “Things are going well.”
“I hope you’re right,” she returned, and he caught the disappointment in her tone. “But we’re ready.”
—
Isval sat in the copilot’s chair of the boxy repair ship on the vast underground landing pad on Ryloth. Beside her in the pilot’s seat, Eshgo fiddled with the comp.
The movement had been able to put teams aboard three of the repair shuttles, and now they were just waiting. She wanted to stand and pace, but there was no room. The antigrav tool pallet and the rest of her team—Eshgo, Drim, Crost, and Faylin, the lone human in their group—filled the cramped quarters of the shuttle.
Cham had said everything was going well. If all went according to plan—and things usually did when Cham made the plans—she expected a call to launch to go out shortly. If the Perilous was burning, and she hoped fervently that it was, it would need non-Imperial assistance.
Several dozen other repair ships sat on the pad. Maintenance droids and engineers holding datapads moved here and there, checking the status of the ships. The onboard comm was listening in on emergency Ryloth frequencies.
“Nothing,” Eshgo said.
“They’re not desperate enough yet to call for Twi’lek help,” Isval said, staring out of the ship. “But they will be.”
Meanwhile, there was nothing to do but wait, and Isval detested waiting.
—
Vader eyed the oncoming wave of vulture droids.
“Stay back, Commander,” he said. “The entire squad. Destroy any ships that get past me.”
“Sir, but…”
“Those are my orders, Commander.”
“Yes, Lord Vader.”
Captain Luitt’s voice came over the comm, his tone stressed. Alarms blared in the background. “Lord Vader, I’m not sure we can survive another barrage from the vulture droids.”
“You won’t need to,” Vader said, and cut the connection.
Vader fell entirely into the Force, let his anger flow through him, harnessed it for the weapon it was, and flew directly toward the vulture droids.
—
The mirth went out of the command center, replaced by the quiet of an unspoken question. Gobi gave it voice.
“Is that a single ship breaking off? Is that a V-wing or something else? What is it doing?”
Cham could not distinguish one fighter craft from another, but he had no doubt who sat at the controls of that single ship.
He’s not a man, Isval had said, and Cham half believed it. He activated his comm and spoke to Isval. “I think we may need you after all.”
“What’s happening?” she asked, excitement in her tone.
He shook his head, uncertain. “Vader. I thought we might get lucky, but…just be ready.”
—
When Vader got within weapons range of the vultures, the entire swarm broke in all directions and opened fire on him. Enmeshed in the Force, he intuitively calculated a
ngles, velocities, and vectors, his interceptor rising, falling, spinning, wheeling, navigating the firestorm of blasterfire where the margin for error was millimeters. He didn’t return fire. His weapon was not blasters. Instead, he fixed on the leading vulture droids and reached out with the Force.
With an effort of will and a slight gesture, he tore open the belly compartment of three vultures. The tiny, explosive buzz droids they held poured out into space. Many of the trailing vulture droids, unable to dodge, collided with the scattered buzz droids, and explosions turned dozens of vulture droids and buzz droids to debris.
Vader took hold of another vulture droid’s belly and tore it open, then another. Clouds of buzz droids filled space with countless small explosions, wreaking havoc on the vulture droid swarm. Vader flew through and past them, still dodging blasterfire. He wheeled hard about and pursued them as the surviving vulture droids—perhaps only a score—made their way toward the Perilous.
“Allow none of the stragglers though, Commander,” Vader called to the squadron commander as he accelerated in pursuit.
Vader had the vulture droids trapped between him and the rest of the squadron. He went high to avoid any crossfire and watched the V-wings trade fire with the droids. The droids hit and destroyed two V-wings, but the rest of the squad made short work of the remaining droids. Debris, fire, and clouds of buzz droids spun through space.
“Well done, Commander,” Vader said. “Maintain a perimeter. I’m returning to the Perilous.”
The Star Destroyer hung against the dark of space, the huge wedge of its superstructure burning in dozens of places along its length. Jagged holes in the hull yawned like mouths.
Vader entered through the smoke-filled landing bay and saw the destruction there. Flames were everywhere. Broken tubes vented gas and fluid. Crew scrambled everywhere, some in portable oxygen masks, others succumbing to smoke. Droids, automated suppression systems, and fire teams fought the fires here and there, but most went untended. The damage was more than the crew could deal with. They’d need assistance. Bodies and body parts lay scattered among the wreckage. Ships burned on the landing pad, including the Emperor’s shuttle.
Seeing that, Vader suspected his Master had foreseen much of what had happened. But if so, he’d done little to stop it.
Vader set down his ship, popped his canopy, leapt out, and strode through the carnage and smoke. Wrecked mech droids, the ruins of fighters, and pieces of exploded vulture droids littered the landing bay, smoke curling up from the debris. Emergency alarms screamed. Vader hurried toward the bridge.
Throughout the ship, the scene was the same. Crew running about shouting commands, screams of pain, smoke and fire, chaos, disorder.
Vader’s anger grew with every step he took.
—
Belkor stood in his quarters, heart racing, nervous sweat putting an uncomfortable sheen on his face. He took a deep breath when his comlink buzzed.
“This is Colonel Belkor.”
“Sir, you should get to the comm center right away. The Perilous has been attacked.”
Belkor had rehearsed his answer many times. “I’m on my way,” he said, with just the right amount of alarm and urgency. “Status of the Perilous?”
“Unknown at this time, sir. We don’t have details yet. Still awaiting word.”
Belkor cut the connection, smoothed his uniform, adjusted his hat, donned his mask, and headed for the communications center. Men and women in uniform hurried through the halls of the installation. The ring of his boots off the uncarpeted floor sounded loud in his ears as he mentally replayed what he would say to Mors.
Ahead he saw the transparent doors of the communications hub. They slid open at his approach, leaking out a gust of frantic comm chatter. He caught snippets here and there. The lieutenant colonel in charge in his absence saw him enter and hurried toward him, nodding at something in his ear comm as he walked.
“Colonel Belkor,” the lieutenant colonel said.
“Update,” Belkor ordered. His legs felt weak.
“The Perilous was hit the moment she entered the system, sir.”
Again, Belkor’s rehearsed answer came quickly to his lips. “Hit? How? By whom?”
“Looks like the terrorists, sir, but we can’t be certain.”
“Status?”
He expected to hear that it had been destroyed, but he didn’t.
“She’s heavily damaged, sir.”
Belkor’s mask melted in the heat of his surprise. “What do you mean damaged? I thought—” He caught himself just in time, and said, “That’s good news at least. Go on.”
“She sounds heavily damaged, from what we can glean. Reports are still coming in. She’s limping badly and on fire. Looks as though she was attacked by a whole swarm of mines and old droid fighters, if the reports are accurate. The attacking ships have been destroyed, but she needs help containing the fires and with repairs.”
“Get me Moff Mors on the comm.”
“Yes, sir.”
Belkor felt the soft vibration of the encrypted comlink he kept in his pocket, Cham reaching out to him. He ignored it the first time, and the second, but on the third he looked around, stepped into a corner of the room, and put the comlink to his ear.
“Yes,” he said, sounding as though he were speaking only to another Imperial officer. “I’ve heard, yes. It is unbelievable.”
Cham’s voice came over the connection. “Put out a call for all available repair ships, including non-Imperial ships, to get to the Perilous and offer aid.”
Belkor swallowed his anger and adopted a fake half smile. “I don’t think that’s possible. You didn’t do what you were supposed to.”
The lieutenant colonel was waving him over. He must have reached Moff Mors. Belkor signaled him to wait.
“Do it now, Belkor. Right now. She’s burning and she’ll go down. Do it.”
Belkor’s anger at being ordered around by Cham prevented him from speaking for a moment.
“I’ll see what I can do,” he finally said between gritted teeth, and cut the connection.
Belkor hustled to the lieutenant colonel.
“I have the Moff,” the lieutenant colonel said.
“I’ll take it in the conference room,” Belkor said.
“Yes, sir.”
Belkor composed himself before stepping into the quiet of the conference room. There, he activated the comm, and a hologram of Mors formed about the triangular conference table. She looked crisp in her uniform and clear eyed. Belkor did not like it at all.
“Moff Mors,” Belkor began. “The Perilous was attacked the moment she—”
“I already heard!” Mors shouted. She was red-faced with anger. A lock of dark hair escaped the tight bun she wore it in and formed a hook across her brow. “What I want to know is how an entire fleet of rebel ships held position at the edge of the system and no one knew of it?”
“Our resources are limited, as you know. We don’t normally patrol that far out in the system.”
“That’s not my question, Colonel! I want to know how they got there to begin with!”
In truth, Belkor had diverted patrol craft and flight clearances in a way that allowed Cham to move the ships into position, but he had been careful to do so using Mors’s authorization code. The diversions themselves were not necessarily suspicious—changes to patrol routes happened all the time in response to intelligence. But if anyone grew suspicious, the investigation would point to Mors. It would be Belkor’s word against Mors’s, of course, but in that situation Belkor would come out the better. He could show that Mors was a spice addict, that she embezzled the proceeds of Imperial mining operations, that she fraternized with known criminal elements like the Hutts, and that she’d shirked her responsibility when she’d thrown the management of Ryloth into Belkor’s lap. Meanwhile, Belkor, loyal to a fault, had tried his best to do his duty.
“I’ll figure out what happened and hold those responsible to account,” Belkor said. “M
eanwhile, may I suggest that we send out an immediate call for all available repair ships to give aid to the Perilous?”
“Yes, yes,” said Mors, and waved at him to go do it. “Do that. What?”
“What, ma’am?”
But Mors hadn’t been speaking to him. She was speaking to someone on her staff that Belkor could not see. While Mors was occupied, Belkor opened the door and called out to the lieutenant colonel.
“All available repair ships, including non-Imperial ships, are to be ordered to assist the Perilous. Do it now.”
“Yes, sir!” the lieutenant colonel said, and started issuing orders.
Belkor returned to the table and to Mors, who was still speaking to someone Belkor could not see. Something had changed. Mors looked shrunken, collapsing in on herself, her face crestfallen, her eyes fearful.
“I need that confirmed,” Mors said to her staffer, a tremor in her voice. “I need it confirmed right now.”
Something in Mors’s tone alarmed Belkor.
“Moff?” he asked, his voice tentative.
Mors swallowed, cleared her throat, and sat down. “Belkor…the Emperor and Lord Vader are reportedly aboard the Perilous.”
The words hit Belkor like a kick to the stomach. For a moment he could not speak or breathe. He put his palms on the table to support legs that seemed to have turned to cloth. “I…the Emperor?”
“This happened on your watch, Belkor,” Mors said. She sounded small, timid, terrified.
“Our watch,” Belkor said. “Our watch, ma’am.”
To that, Mors said nothing.
Thoughts ricocheted around Belkor’s mind, none of them making much sense.
Had Cham known? How could he have known?
He must have. Cham had known all along and he’d strung Belkor along and now Belkor was in too deep and he’d be responsible for—
“Colonel!” Mors said, bringing him back to himself.
“Ma’am?” Belkor said.
“Get escorts and repair ships up there, Belkor. And I’m coming down to Ryloth.”
“Of course,” Belkor said absently, and cut the hologram. “Of course you are.”
He grabbed the holoprojector and slammed it against the table once, twice, until it shattered. He felt eyes on his back—everyone in the main room of the comm center was probably staring at him. He didn’t care. For a long moment he simply sat there, breathing heavily, any attempt to think lost to the churn of his emotions. Vader. The Emperor.