The Bacta War (13 page)

Part of what made the choice so difficult were the changes he had undergone since Alderaan’s death. Had he made his Return immediately after leaving the Imperial Navy, he would have encoded a poem on a datacard and set it adrift in a device that would have broadcast it over and over again. The comfrequency traffic that his R2 unit scrolled across his main screen showed thousands of others had thought of the very same thing.

It hurt deep down knowing that the man he had become would not have been a suitable match for Nyiestra. The life they had planned together would have been possible in a bygone age, but only if they refused to look at what the Empire was doing within the galaxy. Wrapped up in its cocoon of pacifism, Alderaan had seemed insulated from things going on in the galaxy.
It was as if when we disarmed we set ourselves above and beyond the petty concerns of the galaxy, and we thought doing so would keep us safe
.

Bail Organa and his daughter, Leia, had seen the folly of that idea, but Alderaan had been slow to awaken to their call. Many people clung to their pacifism as if it would save them from anything the Empire could do. They had felt that the only way the Empire would win was if it could force them to abandon pacifism. Being sacrificed to preserve their beliefs
was not too great a price to pay—an attitude especially easy to hold when no one believed the Empire could or
would
destroy a planet.

Tycho had long since seen the error of that philosophy.
Pacifism for the sake of pacifism is the height of arrogant selfishness when that belief prevents you from acting to save others from harm
. While he had no more love for war than any other Alderaanian, he had chosen to go into the military to be in a position to influence and change the military.
And when it became necessary to destroy it, I became a Rebel
.

In the Rebellion, he had seen and done things that Nyiestra could not have understood. He knew she would have done all she could have to support him and comfort him and help him deal with everything, but the fundamental changes in him meant that they would no longer have been suited to each other. At the most basic level, he accepted as true a concept that Nyiestra would have resisted with every neuron in her brain: There are some people who are so evil and capable of creating such misery, that killing them is the only way they can be dealt with. Grand Moff Tarkin, the Emperor, Darth Vader, Warlord Zsinj, Ysanne Isard, General Derricote, and Kirtan Loor were all beyond reasoned arguments designed to make them repent and abandon their evil ways.

The same events and experiences that would have sundered him and Nyiestra bound him and Winter. In many ways, his relationship with her astounded him because it was so wholly different from the one he had enjoyed with Nyiestra. Whereas they had done everything they could to minimize their time apart, he and Winter simply sought to make the most they could of the time they had together. Both of them had duties that kept them occupied and apart—and would continue to do so more often than not for the foreseeable future—yet the fact that each knew the other was out there somehow staunched what would otherwise have been a hideous emotional wound. He knew both of them—and probably everyone else from Alderaan that had been left alone—feared getting too close to someone in anticipation of losing them again. Despite that fear, they had grown close and provided an incredible amount of support for each other.

Ultimately, it had been Winter who suggested to him the perfect gift to memorialize Nyiestra, a woman she had never met or known.

Tycho found and purchased a perfect crystal sphere onto which had been acid etched the continents of Alderaan. Into the heart of this idealized version of the world he had called his own, he had Nyiestra’s hologram imbedded. From within the depths of the world she had loved, Nyiestra smiled out at him, forever preserved, unchanging, and beautiful.

He keyed the comm unit and flicked on his IFF transponder. “I am Tycho Celchu, son of Alderaan, now orphan of the galaxy. I have come to this place of my birth to pay homage to who I was and those I knew. And those I loved and love still. It is my wish that when life abandons me, I am returned here to be among you, so that for eternity we may be together as we should have been in life.”

He punched a button on his console, opening and purging the storage compartment in the X-wing’s belly. Under the control of the R2 unit, the memorial capsule’s compressed air jets pushed it forward till it emerged from beneath the nose of the snubfighter. A lump rose to his throat as the black oval capsule slowly began its trip into the swirl of stone that once had been Alderaan.

Tycho cleared his throat. “These gifts are but insufficient tokens of the love for you all that still burns within me.” He hesitated for a second, then deviated from the formula he was supposed to speak to do his Return correctly. “This fighter is another. It bears the colors of the Alderaanian Guard and transmits their code. It is my pledge to you—not of vengeance but of vigilance. I hope you rest well knowing you will rest alone, because it is my life’s work to see to it that no one else suffers as you have. I won’t rest until this quest is complete.”

He hit another button, closing the cargo compartment. The capsule continued drifting away, and he was tempted for a moment to blast it to bits with his lasers. He had no doubt that amid the debris, ships waited and searched for things to recover. The individuals who had located and brought in the
Another Chance
had been on a salvage mission of sorts, and
countless were the stories of treasures rescued from the ruin of Alderaan.

Many of those treasures were shown to be forgeries, created and planted by confidence tricksters to prey on the Alderaanian community. Even nastier than they were the people claimed to have been from Alderaan—all rescued by miracle or coincidence—and who subsequently sought to insinuate themselves with families who had survived but had lost relatives. Because of the nature of the Imperial economy, a considerable portion of the wealth of Alderaan had survived the planet’s destruction, making the survivors quite prosperous and, therefore, targets of opportunity for criminals.

He watched the capsule until it vanished into the swirl of debris. “Rest easy. I miss you all.” He punched up the power on his IFF beacon and pulsed its transmission out in one grand confirmation of his vow, then shut it down, turned the X-wing around, and started the long trek back to Yag’Dhul and the war against Ysanne Isard.

12

Fliry Vorru fought the sense of nakedness that his abbreviated clothing inspired in him and braced himself for Ysanne Isard’s tirade. “Yes, the diversion of the convoy has been confirmed by a number of sources. It is not the utter disaster you have made it out to be since Antilles is not holding on to our tankers, but is returning them.”

“Returning them so we can refill them and he can take them again.” Her diaphanous red gown swirled around her like a tornado. “You should have anticipated this sort of strike and taken steps to prevent it.”

Vorru waved her suggestion away. “I
did
anticipate it and chose to ignore it. The amount of bacta taken was insignificant in comparison to both our supply and the demand for it. In fact, the loss of that bacta has provided me an excuse for hiking prices yet again, increasing our profits. I calculate our losses at between seventeen and thirty billion credits—an amount I will recoup by the end of the month.”

“Bah! We lost more than just money when Antilles hit our convoy. We lost prestige and respect.” She pointed a hand toward the sky. “We have people out there laughing at us because a dozen aging snubfighters were able to pirate bacta from us.”

Vorru let his voice sink into a bass growl as he began to pace through her roomy office. “What we
lost
was insignificant and provides us an opportunity to cut Antilles off from his base of support. He stole the bacta and made a present of it to many of the worlds it was meant for anyway.”

“My point exactly. He has earned their goodwill.”

“But that will fade to bitterness when he cannot repeat his gesture.” Vorru’s splayed out fingers closed into a fist. “First, we will cut allotments to worlds to cover our losses. Second, we will delay shipments to worlds that accepted bacta from Antilles; and third, we will demand payment from those worlds as if the delivery had been made by Antilles on our behalf. Delinquent accounts will receive no more service from us.”

Molten fury flowed through Isard’s left eye. “You’re giving me bookkeeping. I want blood.”

Of course you do
. Vorru’s features sharpened. While Isard had been on Imperial Center—even hidden away after the Rebel conquest—her connection to that center of power had anchored her. She had been patient and prepared to be subtle. Here, on Thyferra, where the omnipresence of plant life and the languid lifestyle of the human masters of the planet made it the antithesis of Imperial Center, Isard seemed prepared to indulge her more
primal
urges.

“Please, Madam Director, reflect for a moment on how our current position mirrors that of the Empire prior to the death of our beloved Emperor. The Rebel attacks are tiny and really insignificant in every way,
except
as strikes against our prestige and image. You yourself have often said that destroying the Rebellion must come before the rebuilding of the Empire, and in this you have correctly focused on the core of the problem. This problem we face still because Antilles opposes us and must be destroyed.”

Vorru opened his hands and spread them. “Our problems in dealing with him are significant at this point. We do not know where he is, so mounting a strike against him is impossible.”

Isard folded her arms over her chest. “We will begin operations to locate him.”

“Of course. I have already begun to spread word through the various smuggling networks and criminal organizations offering a substantial reward for reports on his operations. They will bear fruit soon, I am certain.” Vorru allowed himself a smile. “Until then, by manipulating the price and supply of bacta to punish those who deal with him, we can vilify him and cut him off from his bases of support. To wage his little war against us, he needs supplies and allies. If Antilles were not who he is, we would consider him of no more importance than a pirate.”

Isard raised a clenched fist. “I would still take steps to crush him. I will have my ships fly cover missions for our convoys.”

Vorru hissed as if he’d been stung. “Be careful, Madam Director.”

“You caution me? Don’t overstep your bounds, Vorru, or you will be dealt with.”

“I recall the fate of Kirtan Loor, Madam Director, and I have no desire to be trapped in the belly of the
Lusankya.
” Vorru raised his open hands. “I merely wish to point out that if we accept full responsibility for the protection of our convoys, then Antilles will be our problem alone. This means our resources will be spread too far and will be too diluted to deal with him and his people.”

Isard’s chin came up. “You have an alternate proposal?”

“Certainly. We require the customers to protect our deliveries to their worlds, otherwise we deem their worlds too dangerous for shipments. We bring our convoys to certain destinations and demand our customers meet us and complete their journeys by themselves. If Antilles and his people hit them after the tankers leave our protection, they will anger a neutral party to their dispute. The Rogues will fight people other than our pilots, saving us personnel and equipment, both of which we no longer have in an unlimited supply.”

Isard’s right eyebrow arched. “This would also save us on shipping costs, increasing our profits yet again.”

“True. It also allows us to prepare an ambush for the Rogues at a time and place of our choosing. Mind you, this
will be later as opposed to sooner because we need time to let Antilles’s actions utterly destroy his reputation. We want him to be cut off, with nowhere to hide, when we move to eliminate him.”

Isard pursed her lips as she considered what he said, giving him more of a visual indicator of her mood than he had ever seen before. “The steps you are taking have merit, though the delay they necessitate annoys me. Finding myself impatient is also annoying. Antilles has managed to survive and even prosper during the time I should have dealt with him. Horn escaped from the
Lusankya
. Both of them, and their companions, have chosen to oppose me directly and openly, which has robbed me of the detachment I had when dealing with the Rebel opposition to the Emperor.”

Vorru inclined his head slightly, impressed by her self-analysis.
She is loath to entertain fantasies about herself or her situation, no matter how inviting they might, in fact, seem. She has not lost her mind … yet. Whether or not she will is another thing
.

Isard stared off over Vorru’s head. “The flaw Rogue Squadron has, a flaw the Rebellion has, is the fact that they have been able to overcome all the challenges thrown at them. Not since the days of Derra IV and Hoth have they known defeat. They are accustomed to winning, and this self-pride can be used against them.” She nodded once, then focused on him. “Carry on, Vorru, continue your scheming. I will let them become accustomed to dealing with you and your methods, so when I strike, the surprise alone will be enough to kill them.”

Wedge stood up behind his desk as Booster Terrik’s bulky form filled the doorway to the station manager’s office. “I appreciate your coming here so quickly, Booster. I know you wanted to spend some time with Mirax before she heads out.”

The older man shrugged. “She’s helping prep this Horn for his part in the mission. There’s only so much of him I can
take.” Booster plopped himself down in a steel-frame canvas chair. “I think she took up with him to annoy me.”

Wedge laughed and sat back down. “I’m sure it
does
seem like that, but I think there’s a lot more there.”

“CorSec has always wanted to steal our women.”

Wedge arched an eyebrow in Booster’s direction. “You can impart whatever motives you want to Corran, but you know your daughter better than that, my friend.”