| abstract
| - “Still here, Captain?” a voice called from across the bridge. The captain, an aged Zelosian whose once-bright emerald eyes were now rheumy and clouded, turned at the sound. He was wearing his Yanibar Guard Fleet dress uniform and the carefully-pressed fabric rustled with the motion as he swiveled to face the new arrival. “Commander Darik,” the Zelosian returned in greeting. “I might ask you the same question.” The stocky Human female, also in a Yanibar Guard Fleet dress uniform, strode across the bridge to stand beside the captain, who was content to gaze at his surroundings. It was a strange sight for them both. Normally, the bridge of the Niman-class cruiser-carrier was crowded with a dozen crewmembers and humming with activity. The room would have been filled with ceaseless racket emanating from the myriad computers, displays, and bridge officers. Displays and holograms would have flickered and alternated as they received and processed information, splashing a kaleidoscope of color onto the otherwise stark white fluorescent lighting of the overhead glowpanels washing down over the steel gray walls. Now, however, the bridge was bereft of activity. The consoles were inactive and only the two officers stood in the chamber. “Feels so empty in here, sir,” Darik noted. “Did you hear that echo?” “Indeed,” the captain agreed, his own rasping voice a hushed murmur. “I never thought I’d see her like this.” The commander nodded as the captain swiveled his head back to survey the main viewport. “I’m surprised you stayed around to see it, sir.” The captain gave one fractional nod as he glanced anew at the officer who had been his starfighter coordinator for the last six years. She was relatively young for her position, only in her mid-thirties, which aside from their genetic differences, made him old enough to be her father. The thought both amused and saddened him at the same time. “I felt I owed it to her,” the captain replied. “Either that, or I just needed to say my own farewells.” “I know what you mean, Captain,” Darik said. “And I’ve only known her for a fraction of the time you have.” “What’s this I see on the bridge?” barked a gruff voice from behind. “Is that you, Destra Starkellos Zel?” The two officers swiveled to see a sizeable man stalking in, followed by a much shorter blue-skinned female Duros. Both were well-into middle age for both species and similarly attired. “Doctor Tenelly and Chief Evins,” the captain greeted them amiably. “What brings you two to the bridge?” “Same reason as you, I suspect,” the chief’s gravelly voice answered. “Bid our last respects to the old girl.” “I remember when I first really saw her,” Commander Darik put in. “I’d seen her before from a distance, but there was a moment when she was there for me. When I’d lost all other hope.” “Why don’t you tell us about it?” the captain encouraged her gently. She stared out into the distance as she recalled that instance, her face assuming a faraway expression. It had been seven long years ago. “Vanguards, come to bearing two-six-one mark three and form up on the B-wings. We’re covering their runs on those Vong capital ships!” Alana Darik clicked her comm button in acknowledgment as she slewed her Sabre II starfighter around in a tight turn. The maneuver placed her targeting reticule squarely on the organic body of a Yuuzhan Vong starfighter analog, better known as a coralskipper. A salvo of molten plasma projectiles flashed by her cockpit, one of them grazing her shields, but Alana ignored it. Holding down the trigger on the main control stick, she watched her triple lasers pound the coralskipper. The alien craft tried to break as it generated a defensive void singularity to consume her laser shots, but Alana diligently strafed her aimpoint across its entire body, peppering it with energy blasts. Naro, her wingman, cut in behind her and opened up from a different angle and their combined firepower detonated the coralskipper in a sudden flash. Shifting power to engines, the two pilots looped around to join the remainder of Vanguard Squadron. Technically, they weren’t a full squadron as their home ship, the Makashi-class frigate Tsui Choi, could only hold eight Sabres in its hangar, but they still referred to themselves as such. All around them, the space above Rishi was filled with brilliant detonations and streaks of weapons fire as the Yanibar Guard Fleet clashed with a massive Yuuzhan Vong fleet. The blue, white, and green surface of Rishi served as a backdrop over which oblong shapes blasted away at each other, leaving debris, explosions and—most disturbingly—frozen corpses in their wake. Alana already had three coralskipper kills to her name in the first ten minutes of the battle, but the Yuuzhan Vong kept coming. Her sensor board was all but useless, overwhelmed by the sheer number of enemy contacts. “Narrow your sensors to reduce the clutter,” Vanguard Lead advised as if reading her thoughts. Alana followed the order and the immediate battlespace resolved itself into a more meaningful representation. Thankful to have even a moment’s respite, she was able to catch her breath as the eight Sabre IIs of Vanguard Squadron linked up with a handful of other Sabres and older Shoto starfighters. The small formation of starfighters clustered around a large formation of cruciform B-wings, at least six squadrons, who had thus far stayed out of the harrowing melee that pitted starfighters against innumerable coralskippers. Alana figured that was wise; the B-wings were meant to hurt larger ships and losing them to coralskippers would be a complete waste. “Vanguards, you are designated part of Assault Wave Cresh,” the fleet starfighter coordinator onboard the carrier Vigilant Refuge informed them. “Move to assist New Republic forces and engage the Yuuzhan Vong capital ships there.” Vanguard Lead acknowledged and the formation of starfighters vectored, rolling over themselves to one side and plunging straight “down” relative to the planet so they were diving towards Rishi. Below them, a motley force of indigenous and New Republic ships were being pursued by three hideous Yuuzhan Vong capital ships. Streams of plasma fire poured from the Yuuzhan Vong warships, chewing multiple ships to pieces. “Accelerate to attack speed,” Vanguard Lead ordered. Alana complied, shoving her throttle forward. Her Sabre IIs rattled as it accelerated in formation with the other fifteen Sabre IIs in Assault Wave Cresh, shooting ahead of the B-wings directly at the mataloks. Thankfully, there were few coralskippers in the vicinity of the three warships. However, it would fall to the Sabre IIs to draw the fire of the mataloks to divert attention and defensive singularities from the hard-hitting B-wings. Swallowing hard, Alana set her shields to double-front and gritted her teeth. “They’ve noticed us,” Naro said suddenly the space in between the advancing starfighters and the three mataloks was inundated with overlapping waves of plasma fire. Molten starbursts blossomed all around her, buffeting her Sabre II. Alana threw her starfighter into a series of erratic maneuvers designed to confound the Yuuzhan Vong gunners aiming at her fragile craft. If she received a direct hit from the larger plasma cannons, her starfighter would be instantly slagged, so she jinked as best as she could. Despite her efforts, several near-misses and grazes slapped into her shields, sapping their strength. For the moment, all that Vanguard Squadron could do was hope to evade until they were close enough to return fire. “Grutchins incoming, look sharp!” Vanguard Lead warned. Alana shuddered, her eyes widening as she looked around nervously for the starship-eating insects that the Yuuzhan Vong were known to launch en masse to devour other craft. Unlike the newer Maelstrom fighters, the Sabre IIs lacked the point-defense systems that would fire explosive shrapnel at oncoming missiles or grutchins. Three blue icons on her sensor board winked out as the grutchins found some of the formation. “Set proton torpedoes to proximity burst and fire one apiece,” the squadron leader ordered. “We need to clear a path through these bugs for the B-wings.” “Copy that,” Alana said, arming and firing the missile. It rode a pink trail of exhaust before detonating amidst a swarm of grutchins. Similar detonations helped carve a path through the horde of malevolent insects. Now they were in range to fire on the mataloks. “Fire at will,” Vanguard Lead said. Alana lined up the reticule and squeezed the trigger, spraying laser bolts at the hulking mass of the mataloks. She barely remembered the next several seconds, evading fire by instinct, punching out her full complement of proton torpedoes as the ominous bulk of the mataloks loomed ever closer. She could barely see through her viewport from the defensive fire and her starfighter shook as explosions detonated around it. Then she was past the warships, chased by the flanking batteries. The magma globules eroded her shields, but she saw that the B-wings of the assault wave had left an impression. Gouts of flame erupted from two of the mataloks as the heavy starfighters did their work, knifing into the warships with concentrated volleys of torpedoes. “Assault Wave Cresh, transferring control to the Mace Windu.” The fleet flight controller’s voice sounded pained, then cut out abruptly. “The carrier is under heavy assault,” Naro said quietly as they cleared the formation of mataloks and looped around. Alana felt her spirits begin to weaken subconsciously, and she suspected that the loss of the battle meditation from the carrier was partly responsible along with the dismal outcome of the battle. It was an eerie effect, but having participated in exercises before, she felt she could almost tell when the fleet was benefiting from battle meditation. Right now, it definitely wasn’t, no doubt due to the peril befalling the Vigilant Refuge. “Incoming coralskippers!” Vanguard Lead called. “Break by wing pairs.” “Belay that!” barked a new voice. “Windu control here. Use shield trios.” “Copy that,” Vanguard Lead said begrudgingly, knowing that the alternate formation was effective against Yuuzhan Vong due to protective overlapping shields, but was not optimal with a unit size of eight. “Assault Wave Cresh, vector to coordinates six-three-two, mark one-niner. We are in a free fall scenario,” the controller added. Alana paled. A free fall scenario meant the fleet was lost and surviving units were to withdraw at their discretion. Such a thing was unthinkable. It had never happened to the Yanibar Guard before. The coordinates they had been given would get them into a polar orbit where they could go to ground or attempt to flee the system. “We can’t make the jump to hyperspace with all the gravitic distortions,” Naro reported. “There’s sixty coralskippers plus gunboats chasing us,” Vanguard Lead said grimly. “There is no escape. We fight until they stop coming. Let’s get ‘em.” Alana gripped her control stick, muttered a small oath and hauled back on the controls, wheeling the fighter around to point directly at the oncoming fighters. Unfortunately, the shield trio formation left her and Naro lacking, while the other fighters enjoyed comparative safety. “Accelerating to full,” she said. “Me and Vanguard Seven will attempt to disrupt their formation so you and the B-wings get a clean shot at the capital ships.” Punching the throttle to full before Vanguard Lead could object, Alana and Naro dove into the Yuuzhan Vong formation. Her vision was crisscrossed with streams of incoming plasma fire and she retaliated as best as she could. Dovin basals generated black holes in front of her weapons fire, absorbing it easily. The reverse was not true. Her shields absorbed the first few impacts, and then collapsed as she zoomed through the formation. Several coralskippers turned to follow her and Naro, allowing the rest of the assault wave a chance for a clean shot. And then it was just her. Her sensor board showed the symbol for Vanguard Seven winking out behind her. She risked a glance back and saw a messy explosion that had once been her wingman. A dull ache rose into her throat, but Alana had far more pressing matters to worry about. If she lived, she could grieve for him later. Five more coralskippers were on her tail. Without shields, even a near-miss would burn into her hull. Her vision seemed to narrow into a tunnel as she threw herself into flitting wildly, dancing through fields of fire. Sweat soaked her flight suit and her fighter shook with the concussions. Damage indicators lit up the control panels. Her port wing took a direct hit as a plasma projectile slammed into it, shearing it off. The impact exerted massive torque on her fighter, sending the ship into an uncontrolled corkscrewing trajectory. Alana grunted as she was slammed into the control boards. Something gave way in her chest and she tasted blood. No doubt the shooting pains that had exploded in her body were the result of broken ribs, possibly further internal energies. Stomping on the rudder pedal, she yawed her fighter around and slid past the coralskippers, hoping to regroup with the assault wave. To her shock, her sensor board was nearly bereft of allied signals in the vicinity. Maybe twenty fighters remained, and none of them were Vanguards. There was still at least forty Yuuzhan Vong craft and the Yanibar Guard survivors were fleeing in vain towards open space, where they would be slowly hunted down. She was all alone. Her wingman was dead. Her squadron commander was dead. By now, maybe even the flight controller on the Mace Windu was dead. It was her against the galaxy, or at least the five Yuuzhan Vong pilots gunning for her. Alana gasped as her fighter shook again, the impact tearing into her starfighter’s underbelly. She attempted to evade, but it was hopeless. With five fighters on her tail, she had seconds to live. Regrets flashed through her mind. Would her parents and sister ever get her letters to them, the ones she’d written before boarding her fighter? Would any of what she and the rest of the Yanibar Guard had done here matter? The emptiness of it all struck her as odd. A detached part of her mind wondered which would be worse, sudden incineration or explosive decompression and asphyxiation if she ejected. Then suddenly, her sensor board lit up with allied blue signals, a whole mass of them reverting from hyperspace near the rest of the pummeled Yanibar Guard Fleet over Rishi. Alana’s heart soared as she realized the rest of the Yanibar Guard Fleet had arrived and was inflicting terrible damage on the Yuuzhan Vong, even if it was too late for her and the rest of the doomed Assault Wave Cresh. Her fighting spirit rose again suddenly and she wondered if she might yet survive. A molten streak of lava narrowly shot past her cockpit and she rolled quickly, daring to hope that she might be spared if she could just keep fighting. She could spare no more attention for the newly-arrived ships if she wanted to survive. Another graze charred her lasers, rendering her completely defenseless. In a futile act of defiance, she punched her cockpit and ejected all her missile countermeasures, bright heat-generating decoys that confused targeting systems. They were completely useless against Yuuzhan Vong, but Alana felt like she had to do something besides outfly persistent five coralskippers. Then suddenly, a new voice crackled in her ear. “Vanguard Eight, Aayla Secura Control. Come to two-one-seven, mark five-seven and maintain course.” By reflex, Alana complied, swinging onto the new vector. Only belatedly did she realize the new heading would allow the coralskippers to catch up. She would be dead before she could even berate the flight controller for his immense stupidity. Then suddenly, streams of purple laser flashed around her, chewing through the Yuuzhan Vong coralskippers on her tail. Sparing a glance at the sensor board, she realized that she had been so distracted that she hadn’t seen the cruiser-carrier approach, its own squadrons of starfighters providing cover for the beleaguered remains of Assault Wave Cresh. Now combined with the remaining twentyish B-wings, the warship and its attendant fighters were turning the tables on the Yuuzhan Vong pursuit force. The Niman-class cruiser-carrier had never looked as good to Alana as its batteries opened fire on targets behind her. “Vanguard Eight, you look a bit cooked,” remarked Secura Control. “Come in for a landing, dorsal hangar bay. Loop in from behind, watch for friendly fire.” “Copy that, Secura,” Alana said, the words emerging from gritted teeth as each verb elicited agony from her broken ribs. Her wounded starfighter and its wounded pilot fled to the welcoming shelter of the cruiser-carrier’s bulk. She barely remembered a mess of a landing and being cut out of the cockpit by the hangar crew and medics. She barely remembered the ensuing surgery and the rest of the battle, which saw the Yanibar Guard Fleet battle the Yuuzhan Vong to a bloody stalemate over Rishi until a withdrawal was negotiated. But she did remember promising herself that when all this was over, she would pay off the heavy debt she had just incurred to the Aayla Secura. To the ship that had saved her life. When the opportunity to transfer from her frigate—destroyed in the battle anyway—to another ship, she took it and specifically sought out the Secura. The ship had been her savior in a dark time and now she sought to serve that legacy. “I remember that well,” Captain Zel said. “I remember seeing the resolute look on your face when you asked to be posted to this ship, and I always wondered why?” Commander Alana Darik gave her superior a quizzical look. “You review all personnel transfers?” He gave her a slight smile. “Just the officers,” he corrected mildly. “Isn’t that what section heads are for?” she asked. “Perhaps, but that has never been my philosophy,” the captain answered. “A captain is only as good as his crew and his ship. Crew, captain, ship—all must work together in triune harmony. A captain who can rely on his crew and his ship can stare into hell and smile.” “Did you ever have to do that, Captain?” Darik asked. “On more than one occasion,” he answered solemnly. “Oh come on, don’t keep her in suspense like that,” Chief Evins interjected. “Tell her about it.” “I could, but it wouldn’t be nearly as meaningful from my lips,” the captain replied cryptically. “Follow me.” The other three complied as the captain led them down from the bridge through meters of empty corridors. The lighting was subdued—with most of the ship powered down and deserted, there was no need for anything but the narrow cyan glowstrips that ran along the corners of the walls, floors, and ceilings. They walked in a hushed, reverential silence that seemed to befit the gloom, like mourners on their way to a wake. The Zelosian traced a course through the ship’s main corridors to the fore of the cruiser-carrier, where he stopped at a sizable blast door. A single command from the captain and it slid open noisily, the aged mechanism no doubt in need of maintenance that would never happen. Captain Zel wordlessly ushered them into the ship’s port forward turbolaser battery control room. There, outlined in silhouette against the faint glow from the internal lighting and the ship’s running lights that peeped through the viewport that dominated one side of the room, a single individual sat at the main gunner’s chair. Drawing closer, they soon saw that it was a dark-skinned female Zabrak judging by the cranial horns. She was also attired in a Yanibar Guard Fleet dress uniform and remained completely motionless even as they filed in. “Enjoying the view, Salyeh?” Captain Zel asked quietly. “Captain Zel,” she acknowledged in thickly-accented Basic as she rose to salute. “At ease,” he told her warmly. “I figured you might be here.” She finally turned to regard her superior. “It was practically my home for twenty years,” she said, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “And which incident were you recalling just now?” She looked startled, surprised by his deduction. “You always did know the thoughts of your crew,” she remarked ruefully, pausing to collect her thoughts. “I was thinking of Chistoba.” “Ah, yes,” the captain replied knowingly. “Alana just shared her recollection of Rishi with us on the bridge. Perhaps you could tell us about Chistoba? If it’s not too much trouble.” “Not at all,” she said. “I remember it like it was yesterday.” “Battle stations! This is not a drill! Repeat, all hands to battle stations!” A young, frightened Zabrak woman jolted from sleep at the sudden bark of the shipwide intercom. Having been harshly roused from her slumber after only an hour’s rest, she stumbled down from the bunk, disheveled, scrambling into her uniform as quickly as possible. Salyeh Gau had only been on the cruiser-carrier for three months, but she thought she had learned to deal with the sporadic alarms and drills. Apparently she was wrong. Alarm klaxons wailed as the ship’s lights switched to battle red. As she staggered out into the corridor and raced to her duty station, she saw none of the officers’ faces betrayed the relaxed mannerisms that had accompanied the last battle drill. Everyone seemed taut, alert, and the resulting surge of adrenaline coursing through her veins quickly cleared the last vestiges of drowsiness from her mind. The ship had just completed a geological survey of the Chistoba asteroid field, a fairly routine cruise, but one that had at least allowed them to leave the local sector around Yanibar and see other parts of the galaxy. While Salyeh had hoped they might make a layover at another world so she could enjoy her first shore world on a planet that wasn’t her native Iridonia or new homeworld of Yanibar, this new chain of events seemed to be much more alarming. A minute later, she had strapped on the safety vest that contained a locator beacon and a small field generator that would give her half an hour of breathable air and atmospheric containment if the ship’s hull was breached. The reinforced garment was also some protection against minor injuries and had pockets and straps for other survival gear. Normally, Salyeh thought the vest was stifling. Today, she was glad to have an additional something to armor herself with. She hastily slid into her seat at the forward control station of the fore topside port turbolaser, the last crewmember to arrive. Warrant Crewmember Japstan, the commander of this battery and its attendant four-man gunnery crew, of which Salyeh was the newest member, directed a steely gaze in her direction. “A bit faster next time, Basic Salyeh,” he told her. “Aye, sir,” she stammered quickly. Salyeh stole a glance at the sensor feed and was shocked at what she saw. Floating ahead of them in space was a sizable warship. Telemetry indicated it was an Assault Frigate Mark I, a heavily-armed ship 700 meters in length, fractionally larger than the Aayla Secura. Salyeh looked closer at the sensor readings and was surprised to see what transponder codes it was transmitting. “It’s a New Republic ship,” she realized aloud in surprise. “That it is,” Warrant Japstan answered grimly. “But unless you know of some new treaties, that doesn’t mean much to us right now.” The sensors suddenly showed that the New Republic assault frigate had raised its deflectors to combat status. In response, the space outside the transparisteel viewport flickered momentarily as the captain of the Aayla Secura ordered her main deflectors activated. “I wonder what they’re thinking,” Salyeh said, unable to maintain the vigilant, hawk-eyed silence of her fellow gunnery crew. “The captains, that is.” “No doubt whether or not to open fire and start blasting each other to atoms,” Warrant Japstan said. “Do you think they’re in communication?” Salyeh pressed. “Not my place,” Warrant Japstan said sternly, then his voice softened for a moment. “Though I wouldn’t bet against Captain Zel in a staring contest if that’s what they’re up to. Now pipe down. I want firing solutions on that frigate for all tactical contingencies.” Salyeh and her partner raced to comply with the order, punching in targeting coordinates and synchronizing them with the ship’s preplanned firing patterns. The two were in charge of interpreting the sensor data and providing aiming points and volley cycles to Warrant Japstan, who would aim and fire the actual turbolaser turret. The fourth person, Junior Crewmember Astaralukas, oversaw the ponderous weapon’s status and monitored its energy levels and heat. Normally, the firing solutions would be computed pre-battle based on the opposition they expected to face, but a New Republic assault frigate was not one that had been previously planned for, so now the Secura’s crew would have to compute them on the fly. She had been trained to do so, in fact trained to run every position in the battery if needed, but never had she done so on the verge of combat before. Plotting furiously, Salyeh broke into a sweat as she raced to assemble the targeting data that would be crucial to the Secura should it be forced into a fight against the larger ship. She desperately hoped for more time to complete the calculations. Most of all, she hoped to avoid disappointing Warrant Japstan, the rest of her crewmates, and the Aayla Secura herself. Finally, after a minute of constant back-and-forth between the powerful targeting computers of the Aayla Secura, the sensor feeds, and Salyeh, she was finished. “Full firing solutions ready,” she said. It was an expansive task, covering a wide variety of scenarios that the turbolasers might be employed in, anything from a focused bombardment on a particular system like communications or the shield generators to warning shots to anti-starfighter duty, yet Salyeh had managed to collate the necessary information by forcing herself to first breathe and second, remember what her training had taught her. Designations for the respective firing patterns slid into place, assigned and coordinated by the gunnery officers on the bridge. Despite her heart racing far beyond its normal rate, she had accomplished her first task as a gunnery targeter. “Stand by,” Warrant Japstan’s steely voice told her. Fingers clenching the console in front of her with white-knuckled tension, Salyeh kept her gaze locked on the sensor board showing the assault frigate as if her eyes were weapons batteries also, alert for any sudden change in its posture. Several agonizingly long seconds of silence, punctuated by the occasional chirp from the computer boards followed. Salyeh maintained her gaze, wondering if one day she would have the calm intensity of Warrant Japstan. “Port batteries, prepare to target communications arrays. Starboard batteries, aim for their engines,” the curt voice of the chief weapons officer cut through the microphone. “Barrage pattern Aurek Three.” Salyeh’s fingers flew across the boards as if they had a mind of their own, transmitting the necessary firing points and synchronizing them with the barrage pattern that had been called. While the computers could do a lot of this aiming work for her, it still fell to her to coordinate the aimpoints with the barrage pattern. She blinked, astonished at herself. The work had been done without even consciously thinking about it, the orders carried out by pure reflex. “The New Republic frigate has targeting locks on us,” called out her partner, who oversaw threats and target status, with some measure of alarm inflected in his voice. “Stand by,” Warrant Japstan’s even tones returned. “Gunners, power up your weapons,” crackled the intercom again. “Train batteries.” The walls throbbed as energy flowed into the turbolaser cannons. The massive weapons were now ready to fire at a single button press from Warrant Japstan. The imposing turret swiveled slightly as it lined up on the targeting vectors she had provided. The warrant was controlling its motion, carefully aligning the aim. Across distances of hundreds of kilometers, even a fraction of degree in error would result in drastically inaccurate aim, making Salyeh’s assignment even more vital. Telemetry from the other stations was being fed to her station as well, overlaying her screen with missile tracks and status indicators. “Their weapons are now ready also,” the threat monitor informed them. “Detecting starfighter launches.” “Forward laser batteries, shift to anti-starfighter duty, pattern Besh Nine,” the chief weapons officer called over the intercom. “Main guns, maintain your assignments.” As one of the largest weapons on the Aayla Secura, the turbolaser station Salyeh sat inside definitely fell within the “main gun” classification. Salyeh sat forward, anticipating the order to fire and the sudden thunderous response of the turbolasers to the command, but no such order was forthcoming. Instead, they sat and waited, the two warships hanging in space and facing off, neither willing to show their rear and risk a disabling shot to the engines by turning and running. The weapons station warbled with the tones of a clean lock. “Sir, I have lock,” she reported anxiously. “Steady as she goes,” Warrant Japstan said, his voice as steely as ever, but Salyeh noted his hands were also clutching the armrests of his hair with white-knuckled tension. “Hold,” the chief weapons officer said at last. “All batteries hold.” Salyeh exhaled nervously. She had been anticipating a completely different answer. The tension in the room was almost palpable, each crewmember mirroring her in a laser-like focus on their control screens and boards, ready to spring into battle on a moment’s notice. “Stand by,” Warrant Japstan uttered through gritted teeth. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Salyeh noted that the assault frigate was receding. Her velocity sensors showed that both ships were using their reverse thrusters to back away from each other slowly, like two combatants drawn to a boundary line only to decide that the standoff would not be resolved through combat. “All batteries stand by. Maintain readiness for action,” the chief weapons officer ordered. The tense battle-ready status was maintained for another three hours, long after the Aayla Secura had jumped to hyperspace, en route to a secret isolated deep space rally point. By then, the sweat and body odor from the nervous gunnery crew had fouled the entire chamber, but judging by Warrant Japstan, there could be no relaxation until the battle stations were stood down. So the rest of the gunnery crew emulated him, maintaining their focus on the weapons station as long as needed. Eventually, the battle stations were stood down, the alert status rescinded to hazard stations, permitting Salyeh and one other crewmember to return to offduty status. She breathed a sigh of relief, relieved that whatever interactions had transpired between the two respective captains hadn’t escalated to hostilities despite how close it had been. For Salyeh Gau, Chistoba had thankfully not been her baptism of fire. It had been close enough for her liking. She had had an epiphany about the dangers of space, about the need to rely on the ship and its captain. Chistoba was the day when the crew and the Aayla Secura herself became family to Salyeh Gau. “What happened at Chistoba anyway?” Commander Darik asked, looking to the captain for explanation. The Zelosian shrugged. “Not much more than Salyeh told you. It was a standoff. They were convinced that we were some kind of rogue military force or mercenary ship—true from a certain point of view—and they were tasked with eliminating pirates and other scum in that sector. Their captain was a stubborn Mon Cal who wasn’t easily persuaded.” “How did you do it?” the doctor asked. “I took my fingers off the trigger first,” the captain said. “I told him I wouldn’t fire first and that we were leaving, with no intention of causing them trouble. I also said we were on a surveying expedition from a distant power in the Unknown Regions.” A small smile tugged at the corner of the captain’s mouth. “I implied that opening fire at our first contact wouldn’t serve them well in future negotiations concerning a possible alliance with the New Republic and that I could summon additional reinforcements if they persisted in opening hostilities.” Commander Darik’s jaw dropped. “You lied.” “Lied?” the captain replied with some measure of indignation. “I did no such thing. If they had opened fire on us, that would have weighed strongly into any negotiations Yanibar had with the New Republic. And I could have summoned reinforcements, though who knows how long they would have taken to arrive, if at all.” “Bluffed, then,” the commander corrected. “And it worked,” Chief Evins pointed out. “Like the gunner’s story recalled, I wouldn’t bet against Captain Zel in a staring contest.” They were silent for a moment. “How about you, Doctor?” Chief Evins broke in. “Save for me and the captain, you’ve been here the longest. What memories do you have?” The doctor pursed her lips together, contemplating. “Possibly the Cosnollian Comet incident,” she said. “I don’t remember all the details, but the records are in the infirmary.” “Lead on,” Captain Zel said. A few minutes later, Doctor Tenelly was seated in the infirmary at the master medical console. The room still contained its usual furnishings though the lighting was subdued. The numerous shelves and cabinets that lined the walls were full of medical supplies, while rows of instruments sat in sterilized chambers. Instruments and monitors were neatly stored along one wall opposite rows of beds. However, while ordinarily nurses and medics and orderlies would be cleaning, organizing, and calibrating equipment, today the room was silent. Even the usual whirring and chirping of a dozen medical instruments was missing as the machinery was all powered down except for the master console. “Ah, here it is. The Cosnollian Comet, a very cold, very large comet that orbits an empty system known as M8891-315. Normally it has a fairly predictable orbit but when we came out of hyperspace to survey the system, something—probably an asteroid or rogue moon—had altered its orbit. We were totally unprepared.” Doctor Tenelly had just finished reading over the morning’s report from the last watch on duty in the infirmary. So far, nothing unusual aside from a broken-down medical droid. She lifted her cup of caf for a fresh sip when suddenly the ship lurched violently, sending the hot liquid splashing down her uniform blouse and throwing her to the floor painfully. All around her, equipment crashed in a noisy cacophony as it was forcefully hurled out of place. Whatever was belaboring the ship continued to hurl her around for several seconds, nearly crushing her between her chair and her desk. Finally, after another half-dozen bruising shakes that tossed her around helplessly, it stopped. She raised herself up on her arms, looking around as the lights flickered and went out. Alarms wailed throughout the ship. Pain from the impact and the steaming caf shot through her mind, but years of training forced her through proper procedure for an emergency like this even as the glowing red bars of illumination that were activated on backup power only slowly came to life. “Infirmary, report,” she said, wincing at the pain in her ankle. A quick feel around the injured limb told her she’d probably twisted it, but the infirmary was in a central and thus relatively sheltered location. No doubt there were worse casualties elsewhere and she needed to know what resources she would have available to treat them. A chorus of replies told her that eight of the on-duty staff had escaped with minor injuries, while another two were more seriously injured. The medical comm board, which still ran on backup power, began lighting up as different sections of the ship began calling in. To her horror, nearly all of them were glowing, indicating casualties across the entire vessel. “Stand by to receive casualties,” she said as she staggered to her feet. “Get all the medical droids on now.” “How many?” asked one of her aides. “At least nine hundred,” she replied bluntly, knowing that the ship only had a complement of eleven hundred beings total.” She was overshooting, she hoped, but giving them a stark overestimate would properly motivate her staff and help them understand the graveness of their danger. The infirmary, with a capacity of only eighty beds, wasn’t nearly large enough, so Doctor Tenelly soon appropriated a number of other compartments as triage centers as the wounded inevitably poured in, staggering in or being helped by their buddies. It didn’t take long for them to learn that the ship’s chief medical officer, Commander Bastana, had been killed, leaving Tenelly as the next in line. The emergency power wasn’t enough to maintain the temperature and it soon plummeted to below zero degrees. The medics were soon exhausted trying to perform delicate operations in freezing temperatures with portable lighting rigged overhead for surgery, knowing that exposure would soon take its toll on the crew, particularly the severely wounded. She had thrown every fiber of her being into trying to save as many possible, ignoring her own pain and discomfort and any other concerns, but it just wasn’t possible. The ship’s morgue was already filled by the time a battered-looking Captain Zel ventured down to the infirmary where Doctor Tenelly was feverishly clamping a severed artery and learned that she was in charge. Out of respect, he waited until she was finished stemming the bleeding and closed up the wound to where her aides could handle the rest before intercepting her. “Lieutenant, what’s your status?” he asked calmly. “Very busy, Captain,” she said hurriedly as she moved over to the sanitation station, stripped off her gloves and began washing up as thoroughly and yet efficiently as possible. “I understand,” he replied with the same quiet firmness. “Details.” She sighed and turned to face him. “I’ve got 119 bodies in the morgue. We’re almost double-stacking them at this point. Another 350 crewmembers—give or take—are seriously injured to where they need to be monitored. Lots of trauma injuries, the rest are exposure. I lost a dozen bacta tanks from whatever that was and the rest are full. I’m short-handed and a quarter of my staff are seriously injured, dead, or missing. We’re treating as many patients and saving as many lives as possible, sir.” “I understand,” Captain Zel answered. “Thank you. We still have crew unaccounted for, so expect more casualties to trickle in throughout the next sixteen hours, most likely with injuries from trauma, oxygen deprivation, and exposure.” “What the kriff happened, Captain?” she asked. “It felt like we came out of hyperspace early.” “We did,” he replied grimly. “We struck a comet. It hit us from below, tore through the launch bay and battered the rest of the ship. We’re trying to get power and long-range communications back online.” “We can’t call for help?” the doctor asked incredulously. “Our backup transceiver doesn’t have the power to signal a distress call ten thousand light years back to Yanibar and keep the air purified. It’s struggling to do just the latter as it is,” the captain told her. “Keep me apprised.” “Aye, captain,” she said disconsolately. “Oh, and Lieutenant, one more thing,” Captain Zel added. “Prioritize any engineers and technicians who can possibly return to duty.” Doctor Tenelly’s eyes flashed angrily. “There is a clear procedure for triage, Captain,” she said. “And it goes by severity of injury and likelihood to recover. Not by occupation, sir.” “I am ordering you to disregard that procedure,” the captain answered, his voice brooking no refusal. However, the doctor stood her ground, even though the lanky Zelosian dwarfed her physically and outranked her by at least three pay grades. “If I was just Lieutenant Tenelly, I might carry out that order blindly, sir,” she responded defiantly. “But right now, I’m acting chief medical officer on this ship and that makes me Doctor Tenelly. And I have final say on how casualties are treated as per Yanibar Guard Fleet regulations.” The captain took a step closer and even in the gloomy lighting, Tenelly could see the scrapes and grime on his face, the haggard, worn appearance of the captain only a handful of hours after the catastrophic impact. “You may be correct, Doctor, and in ordinary circumstances I would not infringe upon your authority, but these are not ordinary circumstances,” he told her with deliberate quiescence. She crossed her arms and glared obstinately at him. “If now you’re going to ask me, the answer is no,” she said. “I will not risk the lives of other crewmembers to follow your priority list, sir. You are not qualified to make that judgment.” Now a fire had been ignited in the captain’s eyes. “You will follow orders, Doctor,” he informed her, undoubtedly furious at the insolence being shown by a significantly junior officer. “Or I will relieve you from your duties and find myself a medical officer who knows what the chain of command means!” “I have three hundred wounded to treat. I don’t have time for this, sir,” she snapped as she started to turn away. “And I have a ship’s crew of eleven hundred to save,” the captain countered. “Right now, I need every available engineer and technician who is conscious and has at least one working arm to help with repairs, or we will all die. My orders stand.” Real anger had seeped into his voice and she knew he wasn’t making idle threats. What little she had seen of the captain was normally a soft-spoken, amiable individual, but today, it was like he was a different person. Doctor Tenelly turned back to regard the captain sadly. “Is that going to be a problem, Doctor?” he demanded. “No, sir,” she answered flatly. “Your orders will be carried out, under extreme protest which I will note in my log.” He nodded ingratiatingly in reply. “If we survive, I’ll make sure your report is noted and passed on to the appropriate authorities. If you can, Doctor, I suggest you not waste more time judging me if you want to make sure that happens.” “Of course, sir,” she said quietly as he turned to leave. “I’d hate to interrupt you condemning more of your own crew to death in other parts of the ship.” From the way the captain’s fists suddenly clenched, she knew her biting remark had scored him deeply, but to his credit, he did not rebuke her for her extremely insubordinate reply nor did he respond in any way. Instead, he stormed out of the infirmary, livid at the insolent medical officer and her high-minded ethics in a time where extreme pragmatism was necessary. Eighteen hours later, she was summoned to the mess hall, navigating through the wrecked corridors via portable lamps that the marine contingent had placed. It was even colder outside than in the infirmary and she shivered, knowing that her uniform and doctor’s coat weren’t nearly insulating enough. Bringing an aide and medical kit along, she found the captain helping Chief Evins in, supporting the man as he hobbled over to a table and sat down. “It’s a clean break,” the captain said, his every word throwing up clouds of vapor due to the chill in the room. “I need you to treat it and then give him as strong of a painkiller as you can while leaving him ambulatory and thinking straight.” Tenelly deftly set the broken bone and splinted it as best as she could, treating the wound in under ten minutes, while also noting that he had other lesser injuries that the captain had neglected to mention. As soon as her aide administered the analgesic, the captain slapped the engineer on the shoulder. “All right, back to work, Chief,” The engineer stood and attempted to put weight on his leg, grimacing. “Aye, captain—ooh,” he managed. The captain offered him a metal rod as a prop. “It’s the best we can do, but I need you down on the lower decks,” he said. The doctor was utterly shocked. “You can’t order him back to work, sir,” she exclaimed. “I haven’t treated his broken ribs yet or his other injuries yet.” “And you won’t have time to right now,” the captain said flatly. “Chief, I’ll meet you down there.” “Captain, I must protest,” she insisted. “This man is not fit for duty.” “Thank you, Doctor,” the captain said. “You did an excellent job treating his broken leg. I trust your other patients are receiving a similar quality of care.” As exhausted as she was, she knew a cue to leave when she got one, but Tenelly was beyond caring. At this point, his rank was almost meaningless in such dire straits. “Are you even listening to me, sir?” she asked. The captain glanced in her direction as if noticing her for the first time. “Dismissed, Doctor,” he replied. “Captain, I—,” “DISMISSED!” he roared, his face now mere centimeters from hers. She shrank back, intimidated by the sudden outburst and beat a hasty retreat back to the infirmary as he stalked off in the other direction. Tears sprang to her eyes while a virulent hatred of Destra Starkellos Zel burned inside her. She did not see him for another fifteen hours, during which another seven crewmembers died and another twenty-nine made their way to the infirmary or another makeshift treatment center. By this time, she had been on duty for nearly fifty hours and only pure grit and caf pills kept her on her feet. Finally, the major surgeries were largely over—those that could be saved by such a procedure had been saved—but the battle continued for the most grievously injured, many of whom could have benefited from more timely treatment. She cursed the captain’s directive bitterly as it forced her to administer aid to lesser wounded while leaving gunners and pilots and staff officers and marines lingering closer to death. Shivering from the cold, she rummaged through the flotsam that had once been a storeroom, searching for more containers of sterile instruments. The room’s contents had been strewn around haphazardly by the impact. The glowlamp in her hand failed to illuminate the object of her search and she cursed again. Just then, she tripped over something and fell to the ground, bashing her knee. Painfully, she started to rise, knowing it was probably bruised and would only worsen, along with her now thoroughly swollen and throbbing ankle. A hand reached down to help her up. She took it without looking and gingerly rose to her feet. “Are you okay, Doctor?” she heard the voice of Captain Zel ask gently. She immediately backed away as she saw it was him. “Lieutenant Tenelly reporting for duty, sir,” she said stiffly, coming to attention. “It’s over, Doctor,” he told her softly. “We were able to send a distress call which was picked up by a smuggler ship belonging to a man named Talon Karrde. I negotiated use of his ship’s communication facilities and his silence in exchange for what I’m sure will be a hefty price.” “You would risk exposure like that?” she blurted out in surprise before she could stop herself. “I did take precautions,” he clarified. “But yes. I was able to reach a YGI front corporation and inform them of our predicament. They know our coordinates and say they will take care of our current situation and Karrde. By my estimates, help will be here within another three days.” “Congratulations, sir,” she said deadpan, recalling her earlier fury at him. “You saved the ship.” “I want you to understand something, Doctor,” he said kindly. “I think very highly of your skills and your potential as an officer.” “Thank you, sir,” she said flatly, still at attention, not believing a word of it. “I expect nothing less than that you will report my gross breach of casualty treatment and security protocols. Sending an open distress signal alone is a court martial offense.” A muscle twitched in Tenelly’s face as she contemplated seeing Captain Zel’s career utterly ruined. “I want you to know that every choice I made was for the sake of the ship. The Aayla Secura is my responsibility and if I can save her and as many of her crew as possible without directly compromising Yanibar, I’ll do so. The orders I gave you were so that the whole ship could be saved. I don’t expect you to understand that right now—I just ask that you consider it.” “Captain, permission to speak freely?” she asked through gritted teeth. “Go ahead,” he said. “I don’t agree with your decision. I might not agree with it a month or even a year from now, but I would respect it and you significantly more if you hadn’t barged into my infirmary and barked out orders like I was completely incompetent.” “If that was the impression I gave, then I failed,” he told her. “If I didn’t think you were competent, I wouldn’t have given the orders to you directly. I would have issued them to the whole infirmary staff. Everything I have heard from the rest of the staff and injured and seen myself is that you are a model medical officer—caring, extremely skilled, highly intelligent, and committed to your position. When we return to Yanibar, I will be submitting a commendation on your record.” “You don’t need to flatter me,” she returned. “Nor would I want to,” he said. “I expect my career in the Yanibar Guard Fleet to be over very shortly, but there’s no reason for yours to end. You are a promising officer and you had every right to stand up to me in the infirmary and again in the mess hall. If I was in your place I might have done the same thing. I think the lesson we both should walk away from this with is that we both needed to respect the other and trust each other more often. I hope you and your next captain are able to build that rapport and understand when the other’s judgment is better, even if it goes against your own feelings.” Tenelly was a loss for words at his frank admission. “I . . . agree, sir,” she said. “Thank you.” “No, thank you,” he told her. “I needed someone reminding me very bluntly of the consequences of my choices and you did so. It was your words that prompted me to send an open distress signal. Too many lives were at stake.” “I didn’t know that,’ she answered quietly. “Get some food and rest, Doctor,” the captain told her quietly. “You can’t keep working after fifty hours of nonstop effort.” She blinked in surprise, wondering how he knew how long she had been awake and laboring. The captain gave her a small smile. “Don’t make me make that an order,” he told her warmly. “Excellent work, Doctor. I know I can count on you to do the right thing and that is a valuable attribute.” She’d gritted her teeth, saluted him, and left. As much as she despised the circumstances in which the lesson had been learned, the ordeal had taught her that the ship and the fleet were paramount above all else. The Aayla Secura wasn’t just an assemblage of engines and hull, it was life for its occupants, and that life had to be maintained, sometimes through desperate measures. “I almost was thrown in prison for that one,” Captain Zel recalled wistfully. “I lost many a friend in the upper echelons of the Fleet when we got back.” “And yet you retained your rank?” Commander Darik asked. “My argument was that having the smugglers find the derelict wreckage of our ship would do more to compromise the security of the Yanibar Guard than if we submitted a distress signal that got us rescued,” Captain Zel said. “Without communications, it could have been months before a YGF or YGI ship found the wreckage. I am still out of favor with the admiralty—let’s just say I was passed over for commodore three times.” “The fact that you were one of the heroes of the Battle of Yanibar probably saved you from further punishment,” Chief Evins offered. “You were in service during the Battle of Yanibar?” Salyeh asked. “Forgive my forwardness, but you don’t look it.” “Thank you,” the captain answered graciously. “It is true, I was there—out of the entire crew, I think myself and the chief here are the last of that vintage still in uniform. There might have been more, but the Zann Consortium’s attack on Yanibar took a heavy toll.” “And I almost didn’t make it,” the chief said. “Come with me to the engine room and I’ll show you young’uns how close I was to death.” The party filed down the dimly-lit corridors down to the deserted starboard engine control room. As with the other rooms they had been in, it was deserted. The consoles were mostly powered down and the usual thrumming sound of the engines was absent. The dark red paint on the walls was peeling, a sign of their age and many years of exposure to the incessant vibration and temperature emanating from the engines. Pipes and conduits were nested together in shielded bulkheads lacing the walls and ceilings of the room and the space seemed more confined, as if every single cubic centimeter was valuable. “It was this door,” Chief Evins pointed out, slapping a hefty blast door that led out to the starboard wing sections containing some of the ship’s weapons and store rooms. “This is an emergency blast door, designed to seal off in case of a hull breach. It’s the deepest door of its kind this side of the launch bay. And thirty years ago, it was nearly the death of me.” “All hands, this is the captain. Emergency evacuation of starboard wing decks. Repeat, evacuate all starboard wing compartments immediately!” The intercom crackled with the urgent announcement, but Junior Crewmember Asdux Evins ignored it temporarily, focused on splicing a fused power coupling with only the dim light of the emergency glowpanels and the glow from his plasma torch to guide him. The ship shook constantly, jolted and battered by a rain of weapons fire from pursuing Zann Consortium ships. Other crewmembers frantically ran past him, spurred to their hasty retreat by the blaring intercom relaying the captain’s orders. “Evins, we gotta go!” his partner, a red-skinned Zabrak named Duskil urged him. Normally, Duskil was a much cheerier individual, a good-natured individual who always seemed to be smiling and was known for his grandiose storytelling. He had made an excellent companion for the affable Evins, who was fond of practical jokes and similar antics . However, the dire situation they were in had banished all mirth from their faces. Another trio of gunners ran past them, two of them half-dragging their wounded comrade. “Labranc and his team are still farther wingward,” Evins replied, focusing on his work. “If I can get this splice done, we can use the wing starboard thrusters again, and that will help get us out of here.” The cruiser-carrier, as large and mighty as it was, shuddered violently as some malevolent weapon burrowed deep into its superstructure and exploded. Evins was thrown forward, thankfully bashing his forehead against the conduit and not into the white-hot plasma torch. “You okay?” Duskil asked, checking him for serious injury. “You’re bleeding.” “It’s just a scratch,” Evins answered evasively. “Let me finish this.” A second later, the job was finished. The engineer powered off the plasma torch started to close up the coupling’s housing, but Duskil was physically tugging on his arm now. “We gotta go, now!” the Zabrak told him, frantic. “Don’t make me drag you!” “Has Labranc left yet?” Evins asked impatiently. “Doesn’t matter,” Duskil said. “Captain said evacuate two minutes ago. Let’s go!” “All right, fine,” Evins answered grumpily, gathering up his kit. “See if you can get Lebranc on the comlink, tell him to get out of there also.” “I’ll try,” Duskil promised as the two men began jogging down the one-hundred meter corridor back towards the cruiser-carrier’s core. They were fifty meters from the core when they heard a sudden lurching and scraping sound, followed by a thunderous boom that threatened to tear the entire ship apart. They had hit something, something huge and they were far too close to the impact zone. Both men were thrown to the deck, but when they landed, suddenly they were floating as artificial gravity was blown out. The air was filled with the horrific sound of screeching twisting metal, accompanied by a tremendous undertone of wind blowing away from them. Metal, plastic, and composite shards filled the air, whizzing dangerously close. Evins grabbed at a doorframe desperately, while Duskil was not so fortunate, bouncing around limply, careening from wall to ceiling to floor to back again. Evins tried to scream his name, but couldn’t make himself heard over the sound of rushing air. His safety vest popped on, protecting him in a force field that would contain a few minutes of air, a sign that its pressure sensor had detected a catastrophic pressure loss, and he saw the same reassuring flicker surround Duskil. The Zabrak was desperately reaching out for him and Evins stretched back, trying to reach him. A thunderous current of air buffeted at him, rushing past him and threatening to tear him off the doorframe and out into what Evins knew instinctively was a hull breach that would suck him into space. Evins’ fingers managed to find better purchase on the door frame even as the air currents continued to pummel him and he was able to pivot around to reach the rungs planted on the ceiling in case of just such an emergency. However, Duskil was farther behind, still straining to reach him. Evins stretched out his hand, trying to grab his comrade, but the air was merciless. More threatening was the fact that Evins knew the emergency bulkhead doors would be slamming shut farther down the corridor, sealing off the rest of the ship from a catastrophic atmosphere loss. Time slowed down as Evins turned back to Duskil. “Grab my hand!” Evins tried to shout against the howling wind, but it was to no avail. Then, amidst the flying dust and debris and darkness, he saw the bloodstain spreading from Duskil’s midsection where he’d been wounded, badly, apparently. The blood was spurting out in round-shaped droplets in the zero-g environment, indicating arterial bleeding. Evins stretched out one more time to reach his comrade, but he couldn’t reach Duskil without letting go, and to let go would assure his death. A piece of shrapnel nicked his arm, sending a few round droplets flying out into the airstream as well, reminding him of his own peril. Duskil kept trying to stagger or float forward, but with nothing to grip and weakened from the belly wound, he couldn’t reach the ceiling rungs. A flurry of sparks illuminated the fear in his eyes as he tried desperately to grab something and reach Evins. Evins thrust out his arm as far as he could reach, but at least a meter separated them. Duskil’s eyes were wide with terror and pain and Evins couldn’t help but keep his own gaze locked on that of his companion. And then suddenly, the pain and fear disappeared from Duskil’s face. Evins couldn’t hear what he said, but he could read his lips well enough to read the one word that Duskil spoke. “Go.” Evins shook his head furiously and stretched out even farther, but still too much distance separated them. “Duskil!” he shouted, even though he knew he couldn’t be heard. “Go,” Duskil said again. There was no panic or fear in his mannerisms now. He seemed calm, resigned, at peace. In stark contrast, Evins’ face was all but contorted as he desperately begged Duskil to make one last effort. There might have been tears streaking off his face, or it might have been blood from a shrapnel cut. He didn’t know and didn’t care. Stubborn determination and grit kept him there, refusing to leave his fellow crewbeing behind. “I won’t leave you!” he screamed hoarsely. Duskil seemed to take that as a signal. He mouthed one last word. “Saiyana.” It was the name of the woman he had married not six months ago, and a brief memory of the wedding and the festivities flashed into Evins’ mind for a split second, but Duskil’s next action quickly focused his attention back on his partner. Bouncing into the floor, Duskil grimaced involuntarily with the pain, then pushed off. Away from Evins. He gave one last wave goodbye, and then he was gone, carried away beyond any help or chance Evins could give him. “Nooooooo!” Evins screamed, but it was too late. With nothing else he could do for Duskil, he pulled himself along the rungs as fast as he could, racing to beat the ship’s self-preservation routines that would cut him off forever. He made it back through the inner starboard engine room door just seconds before it sealed, gasping for breath and sobbing. It was in this catatonic state that the engineer was hauled away bodily by the other personnel there and into an escape pod to flee the doomed cruiser-carrier. It wasn’t until later, after the battle, after the hulk of the Aayla Secura had been salvaged, that Evins found out that Captain Zel had intentionally sideswiped the enemy flagship to prevent it from destroying more of the Yanibar Guard Fleet. It wasn’t until later that he learned that Duskil’s and Labranc’s bodies had never been found, but that they were dead, sucked into the void of space or killed by the collision. It wasn’t until later that he had the courage to tell Saiyana Duskil the details of her husband had died, with her name uttered with his dying breath. It wasn’t until later that he understood that the Aayla Secura was not just a place of service, but a place of sacrifice. “That was another action that nearly cost me my career,” Captain Zel recalled solemnly. “I disobeyed a direct order to withdraw immediately. The ship was crippled and losing speed. If the Yanibar Guard Fleet had tried to save the Secura, it would have lost more ships against the larger Zannist fleet. Causing that collision forestalled any kind of rescue operation and damaged their flagship severely to where some of the escape pods were able to survive.” “You did it for the sake of the ship and the sake of the fleet,” Chief Evins added. “But it took a long time for me to understand why you did it, why Duskil did it.” Doctor Tenelly was staring at one of the walls, obviously lost in thought. “It was for the greater good,” she said. “That’s what happened over Yanibar. That’s what happened with the comet.” “Which is not to say the choices were easy,” Captain Zel answered, a troubled look evident on his face. “We lost many crewmembers at Yanibar and many more with the comet incident. I knew that not everybody would make it out of that wing when I ordered the collision. I knew that not everybody would survive the escape pod flight after that.” “And you gave the order anyway,” Commander Darik said. “How?” Captain Zel was silent for a moment, pondering her inquiry. It was far from the first time he had asked himself that very same question. He shook his head in a motion so subtle it was almost imperceptible as if to clear his thoughts. “I knew that I had no other choice, that some would have to be sacrificed for the good of the many. It is and always has been the greatest burden of command.” The others stood in hushed awe at the gravity of his answer until Darik broke the silence. “How did you learn that, sir?” That question gave him pause as well. “I don’t know,” he said. “I know it stemmed from my sense of responsibility, of duty, but while the Yanibar Guard Fleet regularly examines and reviews its officers to ensure they can make such a decision, it’s not something that can merely be conveyed on an intellectual level by training. A captain has to know deep within himself that he is making the only choice available and then somehow, live with the consequences. My duty, first and foremost, is to Yanibar and then this ship.” “I guess it’s something I always knew I would have to deal with, but never had to experience first-hand as a commanding officer,” Darik answered quietly. “Then consider yourself fortunate,” Captain Zel said. “I hope you never have to.” “Has anyone ever messed up that decision? Chose wrong?” Salyeh asked. “I can answer that,” a gruff baritone voice answered from behind them. They all whirled around to see a brawny Human man standing in the doorway behind them, only his silhouette visible through the dim lighting. Captain Zel stiffened as he recognized the voice and the speaker. “I told you never to come back to this ship again,” he said coldly. “I remember,” the other returned evenly. “But even if you don’t care to remember, she’s as much a part of me as she is for you. Had to pay my respects to the old girl, wouldn’t have felt right otherwise.” “You dishonored this ship and this service with your actions,” the captain told him. “Don’t try to pay your respect now.” Evins and Salyeh, who both knew the man, were equally grim as they faced the new arrival, while Tenelly and Darik were puzzled by the sudden hostility evoked by the stranger’s appearance. “Didn’t think you would’ve forgiven me after all these years,” the stranger answered languidly, but with a measure of sadness injected into his voice. “She really is your first love.” “Excuse me,” Darik interrupted. “Just who are you and what are you doing on this ship?” The stranger chuckled. “I like her, Destra,” he said. “She’s got spirit.” “I asked you some questions,” she answered firmly. The stranger stepped fully into the room, revealing that he was middle-aged and a civilian, judging by his attire, but his close-cropped hair seemed more reminiscent of someone who spent a lot of time wearing a helmet, or at least did at one point. “Aertijn Tamble, formerly of the Yanibar Guard Marines,” he said affably. “It’s been a long time.” “Not nearly long enough,” Captain Zel answered icily. “And who let you onboard?” Darik asked, maintaining her official composure. “I have some friends who work for Kraechar Arms,” Tamble answered. “Obtaining a boarding pass wasn’t that difficult. I figured you would be here, Captain.” “Would somebody like to explain what’s going on here?” Doctor Tenelly asked. “Where is your ship, Tamble?” Zel asked. “Launch bay. Where else?” the ex-marine asked, as if surprised by the question. “Then we will escort you there so you can disembark immediately,” the captain stated. Tamble started to protest, but Captain Zel held up a hand to curtail him. “Last I checked, I was still captain of this ship and that is well within my authority to do.” Tamble managed a baleful smirk. “Right as always, Captain,” he replied with mock cheer as they started heading towards the launch bay. “So, Destra, are you going to answer her question?” he asked after several minutes of silence. “Are you going to tell her about the one person who wouldn’t make the altruistic sacrifice for the greater good?” “I would hate to sully this ship’s good name with that particular account,” the captain answered stiffly. “Of course,” Tamble answered, rolling his eyes. “Still living your idealistic dream, I see. You should have been a Jedi, Captain. I bet you’d fit right in.” “And you should have been a Kowakian monkey-lizard,” Chief Evins told Tamble. “You’re just like them.” Darik started in surprise at the chief’s acerbic remarks. Though gregarious, the engineer was generally known for his good nature. “All you’re doing is provoking her curiosity,” Tamble remarked knowingly. “If you won’t tell her, should I?” “Since we won’t get any rest from you otherwise,” Captain Zel grumbled. “Tell her if you wish, then get off my ship.” “Aye, Captain,” Tamble answered sardonically. “Like I said, it was a long time ago. We were one of the first expeditions to leave Yanibar after the Battle of Yanibar. I’d had my baptism of fire in the ground fighting there and was glad to leave Yanibar for a bit. Too many memories, too many buried comrades. Too many statues in the Hall of Remembrance. At the time, I was a major in the marines, the executive officer for the battalion stationed on the Secura. We ended up heading to a world called Ta’antos, a pretty miserable colony world that made Yanibar look like Zeltros. Yanibar had been in negotiations to establish mining operations in the foothills outside one of their cities, which would get us resources we needed to rebuild from all the destruction and would give them some much-needed credits. There were rumors of mineral strikes, so a civilian assaying team accompanied us, met up with some of their geologists, and spent days combing the wildlands outside the city for ore strikes. For security, we always had one company of marines down on the surface with them and an additional twenty or so marines stationed in their quarters in the central city area. Unfortunately for us, there were multiple settlements in the area and they didn’t much like each other, always fighting over resources. It had taken some YGI diplomats several months just to get them to sit down at the table. It’s a lot easier to do business if the blasters aren’t always being waved around. Now, as executive officer, I wasn’t required to go dirtside, but that’s part of the fun of traveling offworld. Still, we had to observe a lot of rules. No leaving the compound in groups of smaller than four, constant perimeter guards, regular check-ins with the Secura. You could feel the tension simmering in that dusty hellhole of a town and whether or not people looked happy to see you depended on where they were from. Being out in the badlands with the geological team was a lot better. Fewer people, but they were generally nicer and were happy we were there. Scenery was pretty nice, if you like desert vistas, and it made for good camping. Then, of course, there was Yoshirel. She was one of the local geologists, one of the few educated people on that planet. Smart, attractive, and friendly—that was Yoshirel. Damned cute smile, too, that could just about melt a man if she turned it on you. She was fascinated by us and I took every opportunity to spend time with her. Before I knew it, I was falling for her, even though we weren’t going to be there longer than a month. We’d been on Ta’antos for three weeks without too much incident when it happened. I’d just headed into town to rotate back to the ship, but I could feel something was wrong as soon I arrived. Some of our boys in the town had gotten into a cantina fight and busted up some locals pretty bad. Lotta angry glares from the civs as they watched the shuttle with me and our four brawlers take off, even though the appropriate apologies and compensation had been paid. I’d only been back on the Secura for a couple days when the call came.” “Major Tamble, report to ops,” the comlink crackled. “Hmm?” Tamble shook his head to clear it. He’d been lost in thought, daydreaming about Yoshirel in his bunk, thinking about how he’d ask her to come to Yanibar with him. He couldn’t just leave her settled down on this dirtball. He’d take her with him and they could start a new life on Yanibar. He couldn’t wait to hold her in his arms and hear her delighted acceptance of his offer to leave Ta’antos. He’d whirl her around and kiss her like he’d always wanted to. “Major Tamble, report to ops immediately!” the comlink demanded. Something in the sternness of that command snapped Tamble out of his trance. “On my way,” he replied. He leapt out of his bunk, slid into his boots and hastily made his way to the operations center near the main launch bay. Several other officers were already standing there, including the battalion commander, Colonel Phivenyne. Tamble threw a crisp salute. “Situation, sir?” he asked. The colonel looked grim. “Locals started picking a fight, Major. Compound in the town is besieged and rumor has it that they’re sending convoys out to hit the geological team. We need to get some relief down there and pull our boys out.” “What about the mining survey?” Tamble asked. The colonel grunted disparagingly. “I think our chances of that got vaped when they started shooting, Major,” he said. “The whole town’s stirred up and recon is showing lots of activity in the other nearby settlements. I doubt we’ll be coming back here once all our people are back onboard. Could be a civil war on our hands. The important thing is that we evac our people now.” “Casualties, sir?” “We haven’t lost anyone yet, but three wounded in the town. They’re holding off the mob—for now. Their side hasn’t been so fortunate, but the bodies are the only thing keeping them from storming the compound now. They don’t have our firepower or training, just a mob with weapons.” “Then we should head down and take them out, then finish our work with the mining team, sir,” Tamble suggested. “This can still work.” Colonel Phivenyne shot him a stern look. “Sorry, Major, but this deal is done. We’re not intervening in a civil war between these settlements—it’s not our place to take sides in a fight that was just waiting to break out. I’m sending you down with the infantry squads from 1, 3, and 4 Companies and one commando squad in our shuttles to evacuate the compound. We’ll put the rest of the commandos, a couple Harassers, and a Challenger down outside the town for fire support. Once the town is evacuated, you’ll link up with the vehicle force and connect with the survey team, get them out of there. It’ll probably take two more shuttle trips, so you’ll need to hold until relieved. I’d send in the droids, but they’re indiscriminate and we can’t risk civilian casualties.” “What about the survey team? They’ll be vulnerable while we evacuate the town,” Major Tamble pointed out concernedly. “Captain Zel will send a squadron of Sabres and his Valkyries to protect them,” Colonel Phivenyne assured him. “You’ll have the B-wings as limited air cover for the town, but don’t expect too much. I won’t order strafing runs on civilians and they’re not good at hitting small groups of militants.” “We could really use our Stiletto gunships here, sir,” Major Tamble said. “If I could find a way to get them down from space, I’d do it, but we don’t have the transports to ferry them from orbit and back up,” the colonel answered. “We work with what we have. You have your orders, Major. Get to it. I’ll coordinate from here with both forces.” Tamble clenched his jaw at the thought of leaving the survey team and Yoshirel vulnerable for hours, but he nodded stiffly. “Aye, sir.” He and the assigned infantry quickly mustered in the adjacent armory, strapping into their combat gear. The infantry and commandos pulled on their full-body powered armor, complete with personalized shielding, while Tamble made do with an armored chestplate and some lighter guards for his thighs, knees, and forearms. A sophisticated helmet and datapad allowed him to immediately link up with the other marines and the Secura’s fliers, while an S-2C carbine strapped to his back gave him some protection. Still, compared to the comprehensive protection afforded for the infantry and commandos, he was practically naked. “Note to self: propose to command that marine officers not go into battle with light armor only,” Tamble muttered to himself. “Point out that not only does it make getting shot more painful, but that it also increases the likelihood of being shot in the first place.” Within minutes, the four Javelin shuttles roared out of the hangar bay, heading for the surface, followed by the larger Discblade freighter with their combat vehicles. He sat apart from the three squads of fully-geared marines tightly packed inside the shuttle, listening to the feeds and monitoring the tactical data being piped into his datapad. “This is Ursk Two, we’re taking fire. Estimate probably sixty or seventy hostiles with vehicles, closing on our position.” Tamble stiffened. Ursk Two was the designation of the 2 Company commander out with the survey team. He tapped into a helmet feed from one of their heavily-armored infantry soldiers. The marine in question was lying prone, peering down their sights at a motley armada of vehicles plowing through the desert foothills towards their position, dust clouds billowing behind them. Blaster bolts erupted from the militant convoy, kicking up dirt and rock shards. “Take cover!” a squad leader shouted. “Ursk Two to Home Base, permission to engage,” his earpiece comlink buzzed as the company commander signaled him. “Granted,” Tamble replied instantly. “Defend yourselves and the survey team as needed, weapons free.” “Affirmative,” Ursk Two answered. “Weapons free!” Immediately, the marine through whose helmet Tamble was observing sighted in and opened fire. A fusillade of purple blaster bolts exploded from the defensive position the marines had undertaken in the hills back at the militants. Two of the speeders exploded, either from anti-vehicle weapons or lucky blaster rifle hits. The rest scattered behind rocks and returned fire, advancing slowly under a withering barrage. Tamble saw the marine’s shield spark from grazes, then flicker as it took a direct hit. The marine quickly scrambled back behind better cover as blaster bolts lanced dangerously close to her. “Home Base, this is Rider One,” Tamble said. “Ursk Two is under fire, request permission to divert some assets to assist.” “Negative, Rider One,” Colonel Phivenyne replied. “Let the fliers do their job. Proceed to evacuate the compound.” Tamble gritted his teeth again. The survey team was in danger. The tactical feed from the town also showed a renewed assault on their position, but they were holding their own just fine. His reinforcement group was only five minutes out and however malicious the mob might be, they were no match for an additional seventy marines with air support. Even a smaller number would likely do, and the number of militants attacking was far less and worse equipped than the force assaulting the full company of marines out in the badlands. Inhaling deeply, Tamble weighed his options. He had some measure of operational discretion, but he had been given direct orders by Colonel Phivenyne. While the starfighters could likely take some pressure off of 2 Company, they would be useless against a close-in engagement. An additional twenty-four marines and their heavily-armed shuttle would have a major influence on the situation in the badlands, doubling the number of armored infantry on hand. It could even prevent casualties—particularly among the survey team. Particularly Yoshirel. Tamble tried to force her from his mind, but he couldn’t. As strong as his sense of duty was, he couldn’t bring himself to not intervene in a more desperate conflict zone where civilians, including his . . . whatever she was, were in danger. He knew what he had to do. All he had to do was make his choice and accept the consequences. “Joker Three, this is Rider One,” Tamble addressed the pilot. “Divert to assist Ursk Two. Captain Vistna, you have the lead of the compound rescue mission. Get in, get our people, and get out.” “What the hell are you doing, Rider One?” Colonel Phivenyne demanded angrily. “Exercising operational discretion, Home Base,” Tamble replied stiffly. “This is outside the bounds of your discretion!” Phivenyne snapped. “You are countermanding my orders.” “That will be up to a review board to decide, Home Base,” Tamble responded. “Rider One out.” “What happened on Ta’antos?” Darik asked. “You can find the full account of the skirmish in the logs, I’m sure,” Tamble replied dismissively. “It was a glorious victory to be sure.” There was a biting edge in his words, something that approached contempt for the events of that day. “We virtually wiped out the militant force,” he said. “Captain Vistna was able to punch into the town and evacuate our people. However, the militants there stepped up the assault, knowing that we were badly outnumbered, and he was a bit more . . . indiscriminate in his use of firepower. Approximately one hundred sixty armed militants were killed . . . and thirty-odd civilians. We lost two of our people also. Out in the badlands, the arrival of Joker Three swung the battle heavily in our favor. We got the entire survey team and all of 2 Company out of there after virtually obliterating the convoy sent to attack us. There were things I did—things I ordered—that at one point I never thought I was capable of. All those high-minded ideals about war go away real fast when the shooting starts.” He grimaced. “It was an unfair fight, Commander,” he continued. “We were fighting people who believed we were intruders trying to take sides in a conflict that had been going on for years, who just wanted us gone. And for not taking sides in a civil war, we killed over three hundred of them in one day. Completely tipped the balance of power in their petty squabble. I remember seeing the shocked looks on the civilian survey team’s faces when they saw the carnage, just before we lifted off.” “It was self-defense,” Darik replied, confused. “Yes, yes it was,” Tamble answered sardonically. “It was the most justified killing of three hundred idiots with blasters that I’ve ever seen. Why don’t we all go and find their families and tell them that. Maybe that will make them feel better?” “What happened to Yoshirel?” Doctor Tenelly pressed. “Given the circumstances, we offered the civilian geologists asylum on Yanibar. If we’d left them there, they probably would have been hunted by either side for collaboration or trying to not settle everything by fighting. Yoshirel came with us . . . but it wasn’t the same between us.” Tamble shook his head, biting back the wave of emotion. “On that day she stepped onto the Secura, she told me she saw a side of me that she’d never seen before, that she never wanted to see. She told me I was a killing machine—that she couldn’t touch my hand from all the blood that was on it.” “He conveniently forgets the part where he disobeyed orders to pursue a personal agenda on top of his insubordination, which resulted in the deaths of two Yanibar Guard Marines,” Captain Zel put in drily. “Forget it?” Tamble snorted. “I just told them about it, Captain. What makes you think I forgot about it? My superior denounced me, my love renounced me, and once the news went public on Yanibar, the media excoriated me. I was lucky to not be exiled—instead, it was a dishonorable ejection from the marines and with my amazing public image, I wasn’t the most sought-after prospect for employment. I almost took my own life.” “And yet here you are,” Captain Zel answered. “Still spouting off your story to anyone who will listen.” “Isn’t that what you and your little group of friends were doing?” the ex-marine growled. “Or is that only reserved for those with fancy uniforms?” “On this ship, it’s reserved for those who haven’t dishonored their uniforms and their service,” Captain Zel said. “You made your choice, Tamble. Don’t come crying to us because you have to live with it.” “I never asked for your pity, Captain,” Tamble shot back. “I never asked for your pity. I moved on with my life. I’m a farmer now and I’m content with that.” “I’m happy for you,” Zel answered deadpan. “Why are you here anyway?” “Wasn’t to seek you out,” Tamble assured him. “I wanted to show my two sons the ship that carried their mother to safety twenty-eight years ago. They needed to see the place where everything in both of our lives was changed forever, on the Aayla Secura. This ship where the biggest transition of our lives occurred and I wanted them to see that. They and Yoshirel are waiting for me back in the launch bay—only came over here because I heard voices.” “Then I suggest you get back to them,” Zel told him. Tamble nodded curtly and stopped to go, but he stopped midstride to throw one last parting remark over his shoulder at the assembled group of naval officers. “Captain, I know you can’t stand the sight of me, especially on your ship, but I don’t think it’s just because of what I’ve done. I think that I scare you. I remind you of the potential for someone as devoted to Yanibar and the Guard and all its ideals and rules to realize that sometimes the universe isn’t so simple. I scare you because I knew the protocol and understood that it was wrong, that it was better to abandon it. I scare you because I can live with myself even after rejecting that strict adherence to the regulations.” “Are you done, Mister Tamble?” Captain Zel asked stiffly. “Almost,” Tamble said. “One last thing, Captain. Yoshirel didn’t speak to me for five years after I was court-martialed and those were the five worst years of my life. No friends. No steady work. No purpose in life. I was incredibly drunk when I somehow called her and begged her forgiveness. And you know what? Even in my sorry state, she forgave me and that helped me to forgive the Yanibar Guard. To find peace with myself and my circumstances and others. To start a new life without regrets. That’s the power of forgiveness. One day, I hope you’ll find that too.” With that, the brawny ex-marine turned and left, leaving the naval officers there in quiet silence. Only several minutes later did Chief Evins break the silence. “I think that’s the most talkative marine I’ve ever met,” he remarked jocularly. “He’s not a marine,” Captain Zel countered. “What is he?” Commander Darik asked. The captain was slow to respond, his countenance pensive as he considered the query. “He’s a man who’s a lot more honest with himself than a lot of others I know,” Captain Zel answered at last. “He’s a man who can accept the consequences of his terrible decisions.” “But still a disgrace to the service, to the ideals we value,” Salyeh interjected. “Absolutely,” Captain Zel agreed. “He’s not worthy of being in the Yanibar Guard. His choices twenty-eight years ago made that evident.” “But he’s okay with it,” Doctor Tenelly pointed out. “Yes, and he was right about one other thing,” Captain Zel added. “That does scare me.” There was another uncomfortable silence as each officer contemplated Tamble’s account. Finally, Chief Evins broke the morose mood hanging over the group. “What about you, Captain?” he asked. “You’re the only one who hasn’t told a story. What’s your most memorable experience on the Secura?” “I suppose I might as well share,” the captain assented. “But not here. In the memorial room.” They walked through the hundreds of meters of corridors to the ship’s memorial room near the fore of the cruiser-carrier. Like the rest of the ship, the lighting was dimmed—but that was the normal state for the memorial room. Burgundy glowpanels recessed into the floor along the walls cast subdued hues upwards. A large viewport dominated the forward end of the room to reveal a scenic vista of starscape as they entered through the lone door at the end of the room. Despite being large enough to house fifty people comfortably, the subdued lighting and the fact that the chairs in the room were arranged around circular tables gave it a cozier feel. Yet there was still an air of formality about it. Projected onto the walls were glowing green ethereal lines of text that the five officers knew were the names of every crewmember of the Aayla Secura who had died in service. Chief Evins knew exactly where Duskil’s and Labranc’s names were among the myriad lines. As a veteran of the two largest battles in the history of the Yanibar Guard, the glowing lines extended almost all the way up into the ceiling. The raised dais at the front of the room featured one more table with six chairs unto itself. Behind it was a large bronzium statue of the ship’s namesake, a female Twi’lek Jedi Knight who fought and died during the Clone Wars. Every ship in the Yanibar Guard larger than a freighter had one of these rooms, a shrine to honor the fallen and celebrate the times shared together. It was in this intimate space that promotion ceremonies, funerals, and other matters dealing with the passing of time were performed. Now it was fitting that in this final voyage of the aged cruiser-carrier, that some of its crew should gather here to bid their own farewells to the ship they had known for so long. The officers by wordless agreement moved to the head of the room to sit at the elevated table. Captain Zel bent down behind the statue to open a hidden locker, retrieving a bottle of wine, while Chief Evins located six glasses from a cabinet and placed them on the table. As was the custom, the sixth glass was for the missing comrade that was no longer with them. “This is from the exact same vintage used to dedicate this ship, forty-one years ago,” Captain Zel informed them. “It’s the farewell bottle. There’s one more bottle back there for the formal decommissioning ceremony, but I saved this one for a more private farewell. Chief, if you’ll do the honors." The engineer nodded and unsealed the wine, pouring as they sat around the table to listen to the captain share his own story. “We’ve heard stories of terrible hardships, of battles fought, of tension between two armed powers,” the captain said slowly. “And they all stick in my mind, but they’re not the most memorable. Here’s what I remember.” “We shouldn’t stay long, Captain. There could still be afterquakes,” his executive officer, Commander Sarstrom advised. “I’m aware of the risk, Commander,” Captain Zel said as he surveyed the landscape. What he saw was a nightmarish scene of utter devastation. Collapsed structures and the accompanying debris were everywhere. The air had a pallid haze to it as smoke from a dozen smoldering fires mingled with the stench of decay. For kilometers around, the captain saw nothing but the ruins of a town almost completely obliterated by a groundquake they never saw coming. Stagnant water from rains and broken water lines had turned the ground into soggy mud while the very ground seemed to have been pressed and folded by the immense tectonic forces. The captain stood on the muddy lower bank looking at what had once been the upper half of a road—now raised a meter higher by a shift in the ground. The duracrete had been split in half and forced upward in an astonishing display of the groundquake’s fury. Only a few structures were still standing and those that were had suffered heavy damage. Further out, the survivors—about half of the settlements original inhabitants—were attempting to set up a temporary camp. Captain Zel looked up in the sky to see two Javelin shuttles buzzing overhead, ferrying supplies and personnel down to the camp. After having received the colony’s distress call three days ago, the Aayla Secura had received permission to assist in the disaster relief at the devastated colony world and its Balosar inhabitants. Now dozens of personnel from the cruiser-carrier orbiting the planet were down on the surface, distributing water and food, setting up temporary medical and housing facilities. Medical teams were treating the sick and injured. Logistical officers were arranging supply caches. Marines were conducting rescue and reconnaissance operations to check on isolated farms. Captain Zel glanced back towards what had been the town’s water purification center where a team of engineers were erecting wells and purification devices. Pride swelled within him at the work that his people were doing. He’d come down personally to see the scene firsthand and while the destruction had shocked him, the relief they were bringing to an otherwise isolated settlement was rewarding. He only wished they could do more—and while the Yanibar Guard was sending a Shii-cho-class transport with more supplies, it wouldn’t be here for another two weeks. Then, mixed in with the stiff breeze, he thought he heard something, a moan, perhaps? “Did you hear that, Commander?” he asked. “Sir?” his executive officer responded, obviously having not heard it. “I thought I heard something,” the captain remarked, walking to where he thought he had heard the noise. There it was again, a faint squeaking sound coming from one of the ruined houses. The captain strode forward urgently through the piles of detritus, following the sound. “I think there’s someone trapped in here,” he exclaimed. “Call for backup.” “ETA twenty minutes, sir,” the commander replied after a minute. “We’re spread pretty thin.” Four marines had been with the captain, but after seeing the plight of the some of other parts of the settlement, he had detailed them to help with the rescue efforts. “We may not have that kind of time. Help me with this.” Kneeling down beside a collapsed wall, the captain peered down into where the aboveground portions of the building had collapsed into the basement when the groundquake had started. Now he distinctly heard the whimpering that had first caught his ear. “Under here,” he said to Sarstrom. “Help me lift these beams. Careful, though, we don’t want to trigger another collapse.” Working together, the two men began pulling away the rubble piece by piece. Finally, a small hole was exposed into the remnants of the basement. Retrieving his glowrod, Captain Zel peered into the inky blackness. He could see water dripping from a broken pipe into a stagnant pool down, could see pieces of ceramic and household assortments half-submerged in the fetid water—then there! “There’s a survivor in here,” the captain said. “She’s small, just a child.” His glowrod illuminated a forlorn-looking Balosar whimpering up at him, both hands clutching her leg where a metal beam had pinned it. “She’s hurt!” the captain exclaimed. “We have to get her out.” “Maybe we should wait for the marine team. They have the equipment to do it safely,” the executive officer said. As if to punctuate his words, the wreckage around them creaked ominously, shifting slightly as if on the verge of collapsing further into the ruined basement. In that instant, Captain Zel knew they didn’t have that kind of time. “There’s a beam trapping her down there. I’m going down there to get her out,” Captain Zel said. “Help me clear a wider space so I can squeeze into the basement.” “Captain, what about the—?” “I’m doing it,” Zel overruled him. “You don’t have to help me, but I’m going to get her out. Save any objections for your report.” “Aye, sir,” Commander Sorstrom answered. Lugging several more beams out of the way, the two officers managed to clear a wider hole, large enough for Captain Zel to squeeze down into the basement. Carefully, he lowered himself into the murky darkness into the hole which had been created when the house had shifted off its foundations and then had been widened by the two officerse. There was a faint splash as his sturdy boots hit the pool of murky water. Treading carefully to avoid stepping in a pothole or sharp piece of debris, the captain slowly made his way over to the Balosar girl. She was haggard, weak, and dirty, having no doubt been trapped in the stinking water since the groundquake three days ago with her leg pinned down. Possibly her parents were dead also. Pity welled up within the captain for this poor girl, as well as admiration for surviving alone and in distress for this long. “Hello there,” he called to her. “What’s your name?” “Zisa,” she answered. “All right Zisa, I’m Zel,” he answered comfortingly. “We’re going to get you out. Does your leg hurt?” She nodded, obviously in pain. “Okay, we’ll make it better in just a second,” he assured her. He squatted down and tried to lift the beam, but it was a sturdy structural piece nearly half a meter across and wouldn’t budge. “Progress, Captain?” Sorstrom asked. “It’s too heavy!” Zel gasped as he strained to lift it unsuccessfully. “Let me help,” Sorstrom said, scrambling down into the basement. “All right Zisa,” Captain Zel told her. “If we lift this, can you crawl out?” She nodded faintly. “Together then,” he said to Sorstrom. Simultaneously, the two heaved upwards, grunting with exertion. Slowly, the beam inched upwards, giving Zisa enough room to wiggle free. They quickly set it back down, but even that slight upheaval sent a shudder through the house that was all too reminiscent of a death groan. “Not good,” Sorstrom remarked succinctly. “Take Zisa and get out,” Zel ordered quickly, but it was too late. The wall collapsed in front of them, sending two heavy beams slamming down to cut off their escape route. “Help is on the way,” Sorstrom reminded him. The destroyed house shifted dangerously again, sending fragments down to splash into the water. “We can’t chance it,” Zel said. “This house is in its death throes, and if we’re not careful, we’ll be with it.” “What do you have in mind?” Sorstrom asked. “Simple plan,” Zel answered. “I lift one of those beams long enough for you and Zisa to crawl out.” “The angle won’t let you get out if you do,” Sorstrom argued. “I’m not leaving you, Captain.” “Help is on the way, Commander,” Zel said. “But if it doesn’t get here, you and Zisa should at least get out. Don’t do it for me, do it for her.” “Then let me stay,” Sorstrom insisted. Zel shook his head. “It doesn’t work that way. I’m the captain. My prerogative.” Commander Sorstrom gave him one last regretful look as if he was about to continue the argument, but the stubborn insistence on Captain Zel’s face forestalled him from further protests. “Zisa, I want you to go with my friend,” Captain Zel told her. “I know your leg hurts, but we need to get you out of this house.” “Okay,” she said weakly. Zel stepped over to the beam and wedged it under his shoulders as he squatted down to make maximum use of his strength. “Get ready,” he said to the other two. “And . . . go!” He thrust himself upward, eyes closed and teeth clenched from the massive effort required to shove the beam far enough so that Sorstrom and Zisa could dart through the gap and clamber upward to safety. The effort required induced actual physical pain in Zel, arcing down his shoulders and back but he persevered through it, knowing that others’ lives were at stake. First Zisa hobbled past, with Sorstrom pushing her upward as best as he could without putting pressure on her injured limb. Then the commander was past and they were safe. Zel lowered the beam and stepped back. Sweat was pouring down his body from his exertion and his limbs were trembling. He was now alone in the darkness, surrounded by tons of debris that could collapse and kill him at any time. “Captain?” Sorstrom called. “I’m fine,” he shouted back as he panted for breath. “Just a little winded. Remind me to spend more time in the ship’s gym when this is over.” A spasm of pain ran down his wrenched back and he gasped with agony. “After I make a trip to the chiropractor,” he bit out. “Are you hurt?” Sorstrom asked anxiously. “No, just old,” Zel answered facetiously. “Help’s coming, sir. Is there anything I can do to help?” “Don’t try shifting the debris, you could just bring it down,” Zel warned him. “Unless you’re really impatient to sit in that captain’s chair.” “That’s not funny, sir,” Sorstrom answered. “For the moment, I’m fine,” Zel assured him. “There’s nothing you can do right now, and unless you have a technological marvel that can, I don’t know, transport me out of here in some kind of energy stream, you shouldn’t try.” “Sir, I don’t know how you can be so calm in all this,” Sorstrom told him. “I’m not calm, Sorstrom. I’m accomplished. Satisfied. You and Zisa are safe. That’s all that matters at the moment. This is the most satisfied I’ve felt in many years.” “Sir, I could try—,” “Give it a rest, Sorstrom. Unless you can slip some caf down here, just let it be.” “When we get back, I’m going to suggest that there be a new regulation forbidding the captain from undertaking risky offworld missions,” Commander Sorstrom commented drily. “I can’t believe I let you talk me into leaving you down there.” “One way or another, it’ll just be a few minutes,” Captain Zel remarked with dark humor. Fortunately, it was only a few minutes, as the Secura’s resident Force-user, a Zeison Sha skilled in telekinesis, responded quickly and used his skills to lift the beams out of the way long enough for Captain Zel to scramble out of the basement. As soon as he was clear, Zisa leapt onto him and hugged him as tight as she could. “Zel, you made it!” she said. “Yes, yes I did,” he said, surprised at her impulsive gesture. “And so did you. You’re a tough little girl.” He ruffled her purple hair affectionately, careful to avoid brushing her sensitive antennaepalps. “Here,” he said, peeling off one of his captain’s rank badges and handing it to her. “A small token for the toughest girl I’ve ever met. Now let’s get your leg looked at.” Captain Zel insisted on carrying Zisa to the medical tent himself despite his back and made sure she was well taken care of. Once her broken leg was treated, he let her follow him around when he was in the refugee camp as long as her remaining relative—an aunt—was okay with it. Soon, the officer who limped around with a wrenched back had a little Balosar girl hobbling around after him with her leg in a cast to match his own gimp. And when it came time for the Aayla Secura to depart, the officer knew he would always leave a part of his heart there on that ruined world with the tough little Balosar survivor Zisa. But he had left, because it was his duty to carry on the living legacy of the Aayla Secura, to carry the ideals it represented into other parts of space. The Secura was not just his command, it was his calling. “That was my proudest moment in the Yanibar Guard,” he said. “Prouder than when I got my captaincy. Or when they salvaged and re-launched the ship after the Battle of Yanibar. The Aayla Secura has seen many voyages, but on that one, she was there to help people in need that didn’t require killing or fighting. Moments like that are why I joined the Yanibar Guard. They remind me that the things we hold dear are worth sacrificing for, are worth defending and dying for.” “To the good ship Aayla Secura,” Chief Evins declared, hoisting his glass for a toast. “A devoted friend through many years and many star systems.” “To its crew,” Doctor Tenelly added. “And its mission,” Senior Crewmember Salyeh put in. “And the captain,” Commander Darisk said as she lifted her own glass in turn. “To the Yanibar Guard and its ideals that call us to something beyond ourselves, to be a force for good in the galaxy,” Captain Zel concluded. “May its legacy continue as long as the stars burn.” The five glasses clinked together and they each drank. “I’m going to miss her,” Zel said as he returned his glass to the table. “It’s going to be strange without her.” “I know how you feel,” Chief Evins answered. “A lot of things are changing, especially in the fleet.” “Too many,” Zel said. “That’s why the Secura’s retirement will also be my own. It’s time to pass this role onto the next generation.” “Same with me,” Chief Evins said. “It wouldn’t feel right, going into deep space again without the Aayla Secura and her captain.” “That’s not to discourage the rest of you,” Captain Zel said. “There’s probably places in the fleet for you all—maybe on those new Remembrance-class cruisers.” “I too, feel that my service in the fleet ends with the Secura,” Doctor Tenelly said. “It has been long enough and I have other enterprises to look to.” She smiled coyly before adding, “And a fiancé.” “For me, I still have more to do in the fleet,” Salyeh remarked. “To pass on what I have learned. To teach juniors right out of the academy how to shoot straight. To continue the living legacy of this ship and this fleet.” “As do I,” Darik responded. “But I’ll always remember my time on the Aayla Secura.” “We all will,” Captain Zel assured her. “No matter how long or how short, for better or for worse.” He raised his glass aloft again for one last toast. “The final voyage of the cruiser-carrier Aayla Secura and its crew marks the end of thirty-eight years of exceptional service and valor. Though our paths part ways here, may the memories and companions we made here forever live with us and be honored by our deeds.”
|
![[RDF Data]](/fct/images/sw-rdf-blue.png)