The characters that have appeared in previous Star Wars novels are property of Lucasfilm, Ltd. Captain Amaryl Assay, Admiral Tesh Dorass, First Officer Azzeh, and the name of Tycho's droid belong to the author. Any other characters presented here that have never been seen in a Star Wars novel are property of Iris Bailey. Do not repost anywhere without the permission of the author!
Heblon stepped past his two stormtroopers and down into the detention cell. He stood for a few moments and studied the Rebel who lay sleeping on the bunk.
For the last twenty-four hours he had patiently tended the man, checking his breathing, keeping the bandages wet with the healing bacta, and keeping him sedated. Now the time had come to wake him, and Heblon wasn’t looking forward to it. There was something about the young pilot that made him uncomfortable.
Maybe it’s the way that he looks at me...almost as if he can see right through me.
He shook his head, unsure of the real answer to his feelings of discomfort. There was something else. Not necessarily about the man himself, but the way his words and actions made Heblon reconsider his own.
The Lieutenant was not from the same mold as Turpa and many of the other officers in Imperial service. He did not enjoy inflicting pain as they did. As the commander of his own squad of stormtroopers, however, he did not have the luxury of rethinking his actions. But he was appalled by what he had seen the Admiral do to Antilles.
Before he had given his life over to the Empire, Heblon had been a doctor in a community in a far corner of the galaxy. When that settlement had disbanded, he had roamed for a while before being accepted at the Imperial Academy on Carida. He had hoped to become a medic or doctor on a capital ship, but that had not been an option, and he had been coerced into accepting a commission. From that time on, he had never gone back to medicine.
Until now. And it looked like he was going to be playing doctor for the next few days, keeping Antilles alive so that Tchlinda and Turpa could have their fun, then kill him.
He knelt by the bunk and reached out to wake Wedge. "Antilles." He shook the man’s shoulder. "Antilles. Wake up!"
"Huh? What?" Wedge opened his eyes and looked groggily up at Heblon. "Oh. It’s you." He rolled over and tried to haul himself upright, then had to close his eyes and lie back down. He rubbed his hands over his face, then tried to open his eyes against the glare of the cell’s glow panels
Heblon lifted Wedge’s chin, checking the partially healed cut over his right eye, then the eye itself. "How do you feel?"
"Like a Death Star fell on me."
"You look like it. How’s the eyesight?"
Wedge blinked and looked around the room. "A little blurry, but it’ll do." He met Heblon’s frowning gaze squarely. "I could target with it."
"You need to remember something, Antilles." The Lieutenant ran a hand across the pilot’s ribs and stomach. "You are the target here. How’s the gut?"
"It’s not hurting like it did, so I guess it’s okay. I ought to be in good shape for my afternoon beating."
"Good. That was the idea."
Wedge rubbed the back of his neck. "I’ve got one hell of a hangover though. How much of that stuff did you shoot into me?"
"Maximum dose, every four hours for the last day or so. You slept like a baby. And I didn’t have to listen to you thanking me all over the place."
"Oh." Wedge shifted uncomfortably. "That explains why I need to use the ‘fresher so badly."
"Be my guest." Heblon stepped forward and offered his hand to help him stand. "Take it slow."
Wedge stood and waited until the cell stopped spinning, then followed the wall across to the refresher unit. "If I’ve been out for so long, I guess that means I’ll be getting to meet this Moff Tchlinda soon," he said over his shoulder.
"That’s right."
"Is this Moff as much fun as your Admiral?"
"Even more so."
"Great. Got any idea why this particular Moff is so unhappy with me? I mean, I haven’t got a clue who he is." Having finished, he returned to the bunk, a little more steady on his feet this time.
"That’s between you and the Moff. I am sure she has wonderful plans for you. You’ll find out soon enough."
"She? He’s a she?
Heblon nodded.
"I think I’m in more trouble than I thought. Mind if I ask where we are?"
"We’re in station keeping orbit around Arramsetti III. On the backside of nowhere."
Wedge gave a low whistle. "You can say that again." He sat back down on the bunk just as another stormtrooper walked in carrying his duffel bag.
"Here’s his gear, sir."
The trooper dropped the bag on the bunk. As Wedge reached for it, Heblon’s blaster cleared leather. It came up and pointed directly at Wedge’s chest. "Not so fast." He pulled Wedge’s vibroblade from the pouch and held it up for him to see. "We didn’t quite get everything the first time."
Wedge looked at the weapon, then at Heblon. He shrugged and gave the bigger man a half smile. "I figured it was worth a try."
"Don’t touch the bag." He pointed at the duffel bag with the barrel of the blaster. "Check the stuff out, eight two five."
"Yessir." The trooper began pawing through the contents of Wedge’s bag, carefully checking through everything. He came up with Wedge’s service blaster and a comlink that had been tucked in one of the pilot’s dress boots. "That’s all, sir. Just a couple of changes of clothes, his military ID, and these." He handed the blaster and comlink to Heblon.
"Alright. That’ll be all."
"Yessir." The guard stepped outside the cell, standing at attention in the passage. The other stormtrooper stood across from him, his perfect mirror image.
"Okay, hotshot." Heblon moved to stand over by the door, his blaster still aimed in Wedge’s general direction. "Pick up some clean clothes and move it."
"Where am I going?"
"To take a shower. The Admiral wants you to be presentable when you meet the Moff."
Wedge stood and picked up a clean outfit. Heblon walked over and took the flightsuit from him. "Not that one." Tossing it aside, he picked up Wedge’s formal dress uniform and boots and handed them to him. "This."
"By all means. Anything to make a good impression," Wedge said sarcastically. He picked up his shaving gear, and started for the door. As he drew even with Heblon, he looked up at him. "By the way, thanks for taking care of me."
Leaving Heblon shaking his head, Wedge walked on out the door. His stormtrooper guard fell in beside him and led him down the corridor.
Heblon was glad that he was alone in the cell so no one could see the smile that had crept onto his face with the young man’s good-natured parting shot.
Damn you, Antilles. I don’t need to start liking you.
* * * * * * *
The Lambda class shuttle Darkstar circled the area once and then slowly descended towards the private landing platform on the roof of Moff Tchlinda’s palace. It landed with a loud hiss of venting steam and a bone rattling rumble of repulsorlift engines. There was a hydraulic groan as its wings folded and retracted. Night had begun to settle on Arramsetti III, and a chill wind blew the steam away.
The boarding ramp lowered and a shaft of light cut into the darkness. Osiel Turpa was the first down the ramp. Immaculately outfitted in his black full dress uniform, with gleaming black boots, and a single silver medal gleaming at his throat, he was the perfect image of an Imperial Admiral. He was followed by his two aides and several other members of his staff. Their prisoner was next down the ramp, followed closely by his escort of twelve stormtroopers and Lieutenant Heblon.
Turpa crossed the platform, descended the steps to the right, and headed for the rooftop entrance to the palace. The door rose as he approached and he entered the building, his officers and escort entering after him.
Once within the colossal building, his group descended several flights of stone steps and headed for the main reception area. In the long corridor leading to the grand hall, a pair of Heblon’s stormtroopers stopped every five meters or so and stood at attention. By the time they reached the end of the hallway, only two troopers remained to guard their prisoner, as well as Lieutenant Heblon.
Ornately carved double doors were guarded by two of Tchlinda’s own stormtroopers. They stepped aside to permit the Admiral entry to the room.
Turpa opened both doors wide and stepped into a large gala reception, an aide at each elbow. He stood to his full height, his back straight and strong. He knew that he was an imposing figure and wanted to make sure that no one missed his entrance. He smiled at the reaction of the people in the room.
Women at the party drew back, murmuring in appreciation. Several of the ladies smiled tentatively at him, and were rewarded with a nod of faint recognition. The men who met his gaze as it swept across the room gave a half bow as a sign of respect.
But however impressive Turpa’s entrance had been, it was nothing compared to the effect of his prisoner’s appearance. Flanked by two armed stormtroopers, and followed by Lieutenant Heblon, General Wedge Antilles was escorted into the room. His hands were bound in front of him and he was a striking contrast to Turpa’s black uniform with his white dress jacket.
Wedge had the slim, lithe body of a fighter pilot, and he moved with a loose, easy grace acquired through years of space travel. His disheveled hair and intelligent brown eyes gave his face a somewhat handsome if boyish countenance. Because of his size and appearance, many potential opponents often made the mistake of underestimating him.
Wedge’s dress uniform consisted of a black turtleneck tunic, black trousers, high black boots, and a white jacket fastened at the waist with a gray belt. There was a slash of red running up the left hem of his jacket that continued up and over his left shoulder and down the middle of his back. It held his rather impressive collection of medals and battle ribbons. Also embroidered on it, at the shoulder, were the two Death Stars and the Star of Coruscant. The crests of the New Republic and Rogue Squadron stood side by side over his heart, with his rank insignia in gold just above them.
The wind on the roof had tousled his hair, and he reached up with both his bound hands to brush it out of his eyes. Most of the conversation in the room had stopped, and several of the women stared openly at him. He smiled and sketched a polite bow. "Ladies."
"Quiet, you." The stormtrooper beside him cuffed him on the shoulder. The women giggled and whispered to one another.
Turpa turned towards Wedge, towering menacingly over him. He gave the shorter man a sharp poke in the chest to emphasize each word. "I’d be very careful if I were you, General." His hand dropped to his side and he peered down at Wedge. "You’re no longer on Coruscant. I doubt that any of these people consider you much of a hero. You owe a debt here, and you may rest assured it will be paid."
"Sorry. I was just being polite." He smiled innocently at Turpa, but Wedge harbored no illusions about his situation. He never had. He knew that there was a very real possibility that he wouldn’t survive whatever these people had planned for him. The odds were definitely not in his favor. But that didn’t matter, since the Corellian in conflict with the soldier at the core of him had no respect for those odds anyway.
Turpa’s face reddened, and he moved menacingly toward the pilot. But he was brought up short by a velvety voice from somewhere in the crowd behind him.
"Really, Osiel," the voice purred. "That is no way to behave in front of my guests. You forget yourself."
For a fleeting instant, Wedge saw real fear in Turpa’s eyes. Then it was gone. The Admiral turned towards the source of the voice, and Wedge had his first real look at her. Standing several centimeters shorter than Wedge, the woman had an elegant figure that was enhanced by the low cut, softly draped blue gown that she wore. Her shoulder length brown hair cascaded around her as she moved, and her complexion was pale and creamy, accentuated with eyes a startling amber color. She was an absolutely stunning and intense woman.
The crowd parted as she descended from her dais situated at the center of the room. They acknowledged her with brief bows and curtsies as she swept by, her dress rustling as she walked. From the reaction of the people in the room, Wedge knew she had to be Moff Tchlinda. She was not at all what Wedge had expected. He was prepared for someone much more...Imperial. Tall, cold, radiating evil. Although Tchlinda was not obviously any of those things, he could still see an echo of the same cruelty in her eyes that he had seen and experienced in Turpa.
Though he was surprised by her appearance, he tried to keep his expression neutral.
Stopping directly in front of him, Moff Tchlinda examined him from head to toe. She studied him closely, her eyes taking in each detail. She hesitated briefly at the images of the two Death Stars, then continued until she found her look being met evenly by Wedge’s nonchalant, brown-eyed gaze.
She spoke to the Admiral without removing her eyes from Wedge. "Osiel, where are your manners? Please introduce us."
"As you wish, your Excellency." He bowed formally to her and moved between her and Wedge. "Lady Lathel Tchlinda, I present General Wedge Antilles of the Rebel Alliance, Commander of Rogue Squadron. It was General Antilles who killed your sons during the Rebels' cowardly attack on our beloved Emperor at Endor."
There was a collective gasp from the room, and Turpa’s cold smile turned to Wedge. "General Antilles, it is my honor to present Her Excellency, Moff Lathel Tchlinda, Commander of the Imperial forces in the Arramsetti Sector."
"General Antilles. I have been looking forward to this for a very long time." Her open handed slap landed solidly on Wedge’s left cheek, leaving a red imprint of her hand.
Whatever reaction she and Turpa had expected from him, it definitely wasn’t the one they got. He made a split second decision to keep them off guard. Without hesitating, he took the hand she’d slapped him with in his bound hands, bowed to her briefly, then kissed her hand. "Lady Tchlinda, you have my deepest sympathy for the pain caused by the loss of your sons. I owe you that much. But that is all I owe you." He straightened up and continued to meet her gaze as he released her hand.
She stared at him incredulously for a long moment, then laughed out loud. It was a laugh that did not express any amusement but the bitter cruelty that he had noted earlier. If he wasn’t sure before, this all but confirmed it.
I am in real trouble.
"I see now why you’ve been such a thorn in the Empire’s side. You are utterly fearless." She moved closer to him and lightly touched the cheek she had just struck. "And, I must admit, I never expected you to be quite so charming. Come, let us go in and have dinner." She reached to take his arm and he held up his bound hands, shrugging apologetically.
"Lieutenant?" She motioned to Heblon, who stood behind Wedge. "Remove these binders."
Turpa stepped in front of Heblon before he could reach the pilot. "Your Excellency, that may not be a wise idea. He has already resisted..."
"Osiel, if these two armed stormtroopers are not enough to stop General Antilles should he decide to cause trouble, then I doubt very seriously that the binders will be much of a deterrent. Proceed, Lieutenant."
Heblon grabbed Wedge’s shoulders and turned him roughly around to face him. He poked Wedge in the chest with a finger, speaking in low tones. "Okay, flyboy. Remember that target we talked about." Heblon’s voice was deadly serious.
"I will." Wedge rubbed his wrists, and nodded his understanding of the hidden warning. He turned back to Moff Tchlinda and offered her his arm. She took it, and they walked into the dining room together.
Turpa stalked after them, pure rage flowing from him. Heblon and his two men followed.
* * * * * * *
When the Rogue Squadron briefing began, there were two extra pilots in the room. Tycho had known that Wes and Hobbie would be joining them, because Nawara had received their transfer orders not a half-hour before and had notified him by comlink. He didn’t know how they had convinced Admiral Ackbar to transfer them, but he was pretty sure that he was better off not knowing.
Tycho stood and straightened the front of his black flightsuit. Although most of the pilots in the squadron wore the typical New Republic orange, he had always worn black. It dated back to his days at the Imperial Academy, where he had graduated as a TIE pilot. But it also served to remind him of what he had nearly become before the destruction of his home planet had forced him to defect to the Rebellion.
The only real change he had made to his flightsuit was the addition of New Republic battle tabs, including a rather large ribbon representing the part he played in the taking of Coruscant. It was only one mission of many that he had undertaken to atone for his time with the Empire. He shook his head to steer clear of those thoughts and turned his attention to the pilots in front of him.
"Alright, everybody, if you could settle down, we’ll get started."
Everyone took his or her seats with hardly any commotion. The squadron was unusually quiet, and that concerned Tycho a bit.
"Since our last meeting, I’ve spoken with Admiral Ackbar and this is where we stand. I have orders releasing all of us from our previous assignments, including new Rogues Wes and Hobbie. As yet, we don’t know the location of General Antilles, but have narrowed the ambush point down to an area of space approximately three hours out of Thyferra in the outer reaches of the Llessgha System."
He signaled to Nawara and the lights in the room dimmed. Just in front and to the right of where Tycho stood, a holoprojection of the Llessgha System sprang up. It was an ordinary system, containing three planets, all of them gaseous in nature, with one very average white star at its center.
Tycho pointed to a certain area and it expanded to show a sector of space that was entirely featureless. "It is an area of space with no moons or planets for several light years. The perfect spot for an ambush. Two hours after this meeting ends, most of you, including Captain Ven in our assigned Lambda shuttle, Stardust, will be heading for these coordinates and will commence a search of the area. Major Janson will be in command."
There were several groans throughout the group, but whether it was about searching in the middle of nowhere or the fact that Wes had been put in charge, he wasn’t sure.
"I know it doesn’t sound like much, but it’s all we have for the moment. We’re looking for any kind of clue to what happened to Wedge and where they went after they ambushed him. While you are making your search, I will be heading straight through to Thyferra with Corran, Mirax, and Ajene to meet up with Bror Jace and see what we can find at that end."
The holoprojector shut down and the glow panels in the room returned to normal illumination. "Now, with the return of Hobbie and Wes, I’ve had to juggle some of the call signs and flight assignments. For this mission and any others concerning the search for General Antilles, we will have the following numbers: I will be Rogue Lead and will be in command of One Flight as well as the squadron as a whole. Rekdon Pinkar, you will remain Rogue Two and will be my wingman. Arata Voran and Varnestra, you are Three and Four and round out the Flight."
Each pilot nodded an acknowledgement of his or her assignment.
"Gavin, you are Rogue Six with Rehm Shra as your wingman, Rogue Five. You’ll be in charge of Two Flight. Myn Donos and Inyri Forge, Seven and Eight, will remain wingmates and join Gavin’s Flight."
Gavin gave one of his rare smiles since Asyr had been killed. Tycho was glad he had put him in charge of Two Flight. Perhaps some responsibility was just what the young man needed to help him move on.
"Corran, you and Ooryl are still Nine and Ten, together as always. Corran will be in charge of Three Flight. Hobbie, you’re Eleven and Wes, Twelve. I’ve paired you two together because no one else wanted you."
There were some chuckles from the back row, but Wes’ glare quieted them.
"Although Wes will be in charge of the entire group in my absence, I have left Captain Horn in charge of Three Flight. I hope that is alright with both of you." Both pilots nodded. "Does anyone have any questions?"
No one did.
"Ok. As of now, you are all under the usual security restrictions. Get all your affairs in order and pack what you’ll need. We have no idea how long this will take. We will be basing our operations from Thyferra. Your coordinates and search grids have been downloaded to your datapads. Study them before we leave. Dismissed."
Corran and Mirax remained behind after the others had filed out of the room.
"Do you think searching deep space is really going to help find Wedge?" Corran asked.
"I doubt it, but unless you have some way of pulling his location out of thin air, I don’t see any other way of going about it."
"That’s what I thought. I hope Bror has something for us."
"So do I, Corran. So do I."
* * * * * * *
The Moff’s party hadn’t ended until well after midnight. After the guests had departed, Wedge’s wrists had been bound again and he’d been escorted upstairs to what he discovered were Moff Tchlinda’s chambers. After shoving him into the room, the two stormtroopers remained on guard outside the door, leaving Wedge alone with her.
She sat at an elaborately decorated dressing table, brushing her hair with her back to the entrance. When the door closed behind Wedge, she turned to look at him. She had changed from the elegant dress she’d worn earlier to an enticingly low cut nightgown of diaphanous silk. It left almost nothing to the imagination.
And although the picture she presented was an extremely agreeable one, Wedge tried to keep his mind on the present. Over a long career of surviving whatever his enemies threw at him, he’d developed a number of instincts that warned him of impending danger. As he stood staring at her, every single one of those alarms was sounding at full volume.
"Ah, General." Her smile was dazzling as she stood and moved over to sit on the bed. "Come. Sit and we’ll...talk." She patted the bed next to her.
Wedge shook his head and remained close to the door. "Thank you, your Excellency, but I’d rather stand. If you don’t mind."
"Don’t tell me that you’re shy about being in a lady’s bedroom. Don’t be afraid. I won’t bite. Unless, of course, you’d like me to."
"No. It’s not a question of fear."
"Love, then? You have a sweetheart that you’ve pledged yourself to, and you do not want to betray her."
His thoughts turned briefly to Ajene, but he tried to push them aside. "There would be no betrayal...if we just talk." His mind reeled as he tried to imagine where Tchlinda was going with this whole seduction scene.
She stood and moved over to him, the silk of her nightgown spread out behind her like the tail of a comet. "General, what is the real reason that you will not remain here with me?" She moved around him lazily, running her hand along the small of his back, then playing with the gray belt at his waist. She reached up and brushed some stray hair from his eyes.
"Well, you are an Imperial Moff." He looked at her steadily. "I make it a rule never to go to bed with someone who intends to kill me, and that makes life less complicated. Not to mention longer"
"Ah. But..." She moved closer to him, lifting his bound hands, then slipping them over her head so that his arms encircled her. "Rules are made to be broken, and sometimes complications can be quite pleasant."
She put her lips to his and kissed him provocatively, insinuating all sorts of interesting possibilities. She stopped after a long moment when he refused to respond.
"Really, General. You disappoint me. I would have thought you’d be a bit more...responsive." She slipped a hand inside his jacket, caressing his chest. He winced slightly as she reached his bruised ribs. Her hand dipped further still, making him extremely uncomfortable and his cheeks burn despite his best efforts.
He shook his head in an attempt to clear his mind. "Sorry, but I haven’t had quite enough to drink to make you desirable. And it would be wrong of me to take advantage of you while you’re in such an obvious state of grief." He met her withering look as her hand retreated and she freed herself from his arms.
"Very well. If that is the way you want it." She reached out and caressed his face with one hand. "But it is a pity. It could have been very interesting."
"I’ll bet," he replied sarcastically.
She slipped her hand from his cheek, her nails scrapping his skin as she did so. "Guards!" The door opened and the two stormtroopers entered. "Take General Antilles to his room. His interrogation will begin in the morning."
"Yes, your Excellency. Move it, you!" The trooper jabbed Wedge in the ribs with his blaster rifle, shoving him out the door. Wedge clutched his side, but he welcomed the pain as it returned him to reality. A reality that Moff Tchlinda seemed to be living outside of.
* * * * * * *
After the door closed behind Antilles and his guards, a dark figure moved toward Tchlinda from the next room.
"You see, my dear? I told you that your offer would be wasted on him. He suffers from an unfortunate case of moral decency. Besides, I doubt that you would find him very satisfying." The man walked up to her and put his arms around her. "You need someone with stronger passions. More varied experiences. Don’t waste your time with his...kind."
She reached up and removed the silver medal from his black uniform, tossing it onto the dressing table, before beginning to unbutton his black jacket. "I suppose you’re right, Osiel. But it’s a pity that now I’ll never know. Still, there will be the pleasures of making him pay for his crimes against the Empire and the death of my family. And that will satisfy me very much."
"Assuming that the New Republic does not find out where he is and send a fleet in to destroy us."
She fixed him with a hard stare. "You have assured me that you took proper precautions when you captured him. Your report stated that you made sure to collect all debris from the area and that you jammed all transmissions. There is no way for the New Republic to trace Antilles here. Unless you have something you wish to tell me, Osiel?"
"No, of course not. The mission was completed to your specifications. But the Rebels are notoriously lucky. Should they stumble across..."
"Osiel, I have waited six very long years for just the right moment to put this plan into motion. Waiting until General Antilles was alone, vulnerable, in a position where we could capture him without the knowledge or interference from his friends. Now that that time has come, I will see him die. The Rebel Alliance cannot steal that moment of revenge from me as Antilles stole my sons. This I swear. And once I kill Antilles, Imperial Command will finally see that I am worthy of my status. They will give me a position of power, and you, Osiel, will follow me to greater heights as we crush the heart of this rebellion once and for all!"
Copyright June 13, 2001 by Susan Hill.
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