فصل 36

Part Three

The Storm

Chapter Thirty-Six

The Outer Rim. The Kur Nebula.

The New Elite dropped out of hyperspace near a bright-green nebula that cast the ship’s bridge in a sickly, swamplike hue. Kassav hated the color. He was from Sriluur out in Hutt Space, a dry world where the only time you saw something green was when it was covered with mold. Green was unnatural, a bad shade, a bad omen.

Lot of those going around.

The ship’s bridge was silent—no music. Kassav didn’t feel like it. He stared down at what remained of his hand as the medical droid attended to it, sealing off the slashed-open flesh, patching it up as best it could. His options seemed to be to retain a claw with a few fingers still attached, or just lop off what was left and go for a prosthetic.

Either way, his blaster hand was never going to be the same. He’d have to learn to shoot with his left.

Marchion Ro, Kassav thought. Marchion blasted Ro.

“Did the Eye tell you when those Republic ships would show up?” Wet Bub said. “We’re bringing plenty of firepower—should be able to knock down anything they bring. Get rid of that flight recorder thing Marchion Ro told us about…and then it’s back to business!”

The Gungan grinned, his huge, idiotic teeth glowing like cave mushrooms in the weird light from the nebula.

“I’m sick of all this waiting around,” Bub went on. “We’re the Nihil.

We need to ride the storm!”

Kassav looked up from the wreckage of his favorite hand, scowling at his lieutenant. “Listen, you stupid cloaca. You’re gonna wait as long as I tell you to. And then you’ll do exactly what I tell you to.” Wet Bub held up his hands, his two perfectly fine hands, like he was rubbing it in, and backed away. “Right, boss,” he said.

Bub looked like a corpse. A moldy, three-weeks-dead corpse.

Kassav glanced around the bridge, at the rest of his crew. Everyone did. That blasted nebula.

Outside the bridge viewport, he saw the rest of his Tempest dropping in, as ordered. About a hundred ships, mostly small—

Strikeships and Cloudships—with a scattering of larger vessels. Assault craft, modified freighters, that kind of thing.

His people, all loyal to him and him alone. They were all Nihil, sure, but these crews didn’t take orders from Pan Eyta or Lourna Dee…and definitely not Marchion Ro.

Kassav considered his fleet, casting his eyes from one ship to the next. Basically his entire Tempest, barring a few of his people off on jobs. Might not be the prettiest in the galaxy, but it was powerful. It could cause some real damage. Pan Eyta chose stuck-up thinkers for his crews. Lourna Dee picked liars and sneaks. Kassav…now, he had always chosen warriors. He thought if it came to it, his Tempest could probably take Pan Eyta’s and Lourna Dee’s groups combined.

Warriors, every one of them, and they all believed the same thing, a lesson Kassav had learned by the time he could walk: When you’re in a battle, you never stop fighting. Win or die.

In fact, looking at his Tempest swarming around the New Elite, the idea occurred to him, and not for the first time: Did he really need the Nihil at all? Why not just take his people and go? Head across the Rim, find somewhere else to work. The Paths were useful, but he didn’t need them, and he sure as hell didn’t need Marchion Ro. It was a big galaxy. He could start a new Nihil; he’d learned all the techniques—no reason he couldn’t use them somewhere else.

But none of this blasted storm business. He was sick of it. Maybe something to do with…fire. That could work. Sparks on the bottom, then flames, blaze, inferno…yeah, that could work just fine. And him at the top, as the sun. Kassav, a big, powerful star around which all else revolved.

Perfect. It would work like a charm. There were always people looking for something to belong to, a way to get ahead—and the Republic was rich, fat—ready for plucking. The Jedi investigators Marchion was so scared of were looking for the Nihil, not him specifically. Yeah, maybe they knew his name, his ship, after Eriadu… but he could change both. If Marchion Ro and the other Tempest Runners loved the organization so much, let them take the heat and figure out how to deal with everyone who wanted the Nihil gone.

In fact, why the hell was he waiting around for those Republic ships with that stupid flight recorder? Better if they kept it, and used it to track down Marchion and the rest of the Nihil. It would solve two problems at once. He had his entire Tempest assembled right here. He could give the order to leave right now.

Kassav waved the medical droid back. He reached for the communications controls on his command chair, a little awkwardly with his bad hand, and began to key in the code for a fleet-wide transmission.

Goodbye storm, hello fire, he thought.

Dellex, over at the monitoring station, spoke.

“Ships dropping out of hyperspace, Kassav.”

He looked at her, his eyes narrowed.

“The Republic transports?”

She leaned forward, as if she couldn’t believe what the screens were telling her.

“It might be the Republic, but it’s not just a few ships,” she said, and looked back up at him, her organic eye gone wide.

“It’s…a battle fleet.”

Admiral Kronara stood on the bridge of the Third Horizon, analyzing the tactical display, focusing on the rapidly updating data about the enemy forces provided by his ship’s sensors. It looked like his coalition was about to face the full Nihil fleet—and this didn’t seem like a force of disorganized marauders, either. Dozens of ships of all sizes, from fighters all the way up to a central flagship, some kind of custom-built thing about the size of a standard corvette. Scans were already building a picture of its military capabilities, which seemed fairly significant. It was no pushover. None of the ships out there seemed to be, in fact. Every single one was armed, with everything from laser cannons to magnetic mines.

There was potential here for a battle the likes of which he, a ranking military commander in the Republic, hadn’t seen in decades. That was the problem with how good Chancellor Soh was at her job. The Hutts were quiet, the Mandalorians hadn’t kicked up any trouble since before he was born, and the largest engagement most of his people ever got to handle was on the level of a skirmish. There wasn’t even a standing Republic fleet—just the odd Emissary-class cruiser like the Third Horizon, and various smaller support and tactical ships.

By and large, sectors and planets handled their own security. On the rare occurrence of a more serious threat, the Republic Defense Coalition treaties could be activated. Prosperous worlds like Chandrila and Alderaan were called upon to supply ships and personnel under the command of Republic military officers, which were returned to their homeworlds once the crisis was complete. That’s what had happened here. On the chancellor’s orders, Kronara put out the call, and he’d managed to assemble a good-sized task force. Most of the treaty worlds had been more than happy to contribute matériel—all wanted a chance to strike back against these Nihil, the criminals that had crippled the galaxy.

Under his direct command, Kronara had the Third Horizon, with its Longbeams and a fairly robust complement of Incom Z-28

Skywings—in fact, his hangars comprised most of the small division of attack craft under direct Republic control. Beyond that, RDC member worlds had contributed five Pacifier-class sector patrol cruisers, each with a crew of a hundred, as well as their own Longbeam and Skywing squadrons. And…another group was on the way. Not a signatory to the RDC treaty, and not necessarily the people he would have invited along, but also not the sort of people you could easily refuse. Especially considering the tragedy visited upon them by the Emergences.

Another ship was visible on his display, outside his command authority but certainly an ally: the Ataraxia, the one large starship under direct control of the Jedi Order. It was a beautiful ship, designed to subtly evoke the Order’s symbol with its hull and sweeping, curved wings accented in white and gold. While the Ataraxia would be permanently stationed at the new Starlight Beacon station once it opened, today it had come to offer support to the RDC task force. The ship was lightly armed, but it could carry a large number of Vectors, and on this day its hangars were full. Before the ship arrived, Kronara hadn’t been certain the Jedi would participate at all, despite Chancellor Soh’s request. The Jedi were linked to the Republic in many ways, but they could and did go their own way whenever they thought it was appropriate. Whatever their reasoning, he was glad the Order was here. Jedi tended to come in handy.

Admiral Kronara would never wish for war, but he would take any opportunity he got to assemble a coalition task force and get real-time combat and coordination training. Even better, there was no moral ambiguity about the situation. These Nihil were clearly on the wrong side of history. A fully justified military action against a significant force? A chance to make the galaxy safer? Yes. He’d take it.

He refocused on the display, thinking through the tactics he was about to employ. His forces were in green, in disciplined, uniform rows. The Nihil were a swirling, chaotic blob of red. A lot of ships out there.

Made it difficult to predict how things might go. Kronara had studied the few bits of intelligence available on the Nihil, gathered by security forces from various Outer Rim worlds. By reputation, they were a pretty savage bunch. More troubling—reports suggested they could almost appear and disappear at will. He didn’t know what that meant, but it suggested they could have some very unique tactics to deploy.

Well, let them. He had some tactics of his own.

He looked again at his own small fleet on the display. Not exactly an armada, but plenty of force, all things considered.

If the Nihil wanted a fight, they’d get one.

Admiral Kronara keyed his comlink, calling over to the Ataraxia in order to coordinate his initial moves with its commander, Master Jora Malli. He knew her decently well—she had a strong military mind, as much as any Jedi could, and was slated to run Starlight Beacon’s Jedi temple once the station became operational. But since that had not yet come to pass, she was here, in command of the Order’s response to the Nihil.

“Master Malli,” he said, “we’re going to attempt to contact the Nihil command ship. Occlusion from the nebula means there aren’t many spots to jump to hyperspace, and we’ve blocked most of them off. The majority of the Nihil ships don’t look big enough to have onboard navicomps that can calculate another way out in any reasonable amount of time. They’ll have to either talk or fight—they can’t just run.

If they do decide to light things up, you’ll be ready to go?”

“Of course, Admiral,” came the smooth voice of Jora Malli. “I think I’ll take a Vector out myself, if it comes to that. I have Avar Kriss here on the Ataraxia—she can help link the Jedi together, as she did in the Hetzal system.”

“Fantastic,” the admiral said, and he meant it. The Jedi were always impressive, but what he’d seen in Hetzal during the Legacy Run disaster was remarkable. If Avar Kriss could apply that skill set to an actual battle, it could bring a decisive advantage.

Admiral Kronara clasped his hands at the small of his back. He gave the tactical display one last look, then gave the order.

“Open a comm channel,” he said. “We’ll see if these criminals want to talk.”

“They’re trying to talk to us,” Dellex said.

“Don’t answer,” Kassav snapped.

“I wasn’t going to,” she snapped back. “But we need to do something. All this space dust from the nebula means we can’t just jump from anywhere without blowing up. The Republic ships are blocking the closest clear access point to the hyperlane. We could get out with a Path, but the Eye didn’t give us one.”

“We gotta attack, right?” said Gravhan, at the gunner’s station.

“Battle fleet or not, if we don’t kill these guys, no more Nihil.” “Just give me a second to think, will you?” Kassav snapped.

He turned to Dellex.

“Is there another one? An open spot to get to hyperspace without a Path, I mean.”

The woman consulted her screens.

“Yeah. Not super close, but if we go for it full throttle, we can probably get there before the Republic ships catch us.”

“Okay,” Kassav said. “Give the order. All ships, head for that other exit point. From there, scatter, and wait until they hear from me before they do anything. Anything, you got it? No raids, no nothing. Just lie low until I give the word.”

Gravhan spoke up. “I don’t want to question you, boss, but—”

“Then don’t,” Kassav said, giving him a dark look.

His hand hurt. His head hurt. Everything hurt. He just wanted something good to happen. Gravhan didn’t seem to get that, though.

He swallowed. His throat felt dry as dust.

“Thing is, Kassav, Marchion Ro told me, Wet Bub, and Dellex about the orders he gave you, and he said that if you didn’t do what he wanted, then—”

“Then what? What do you think you’re going to do?” Kassav roared, pulling his blaster with his left hand and pointing it at his supposedly loyal Storm. Now Marchion Ro was telling his people what to do? Giving them instructions behind his back?

Wet Bub and Dellex drew their own weapons—well, Dellex just

powered up her shoulder cannon, but he saw it light up and heard the little hum. The other Nihil on the bridge froze, unsure of what to do, waiting to see how it would all play out.

“We’re supposed to kill you,” Wet Bub said. “That’s what the Eye told us to do, if you didn’t do what he said. He said what you did at Eriadu put everyone in danger, and this is the only way to keep us all safe. Only way to make things good again.”

What I did at Eriadu, you traitorous lizard? What I did? Like you weren’t standing right there next to me, helping me run the whole job, Kassav thought.

He could maybe have taken all three…but not with his bad hand.

He kept his blaster aimed at Gravhan and spoke, snarling out the words.

“You think Marchion Ro knew we’d end up with a Republic battle fleet on us? Look, this is one of two things—either he knew, and he sent us out here to die, or he didn’t, in which case he’d want us to get out of here to live to fight another day. Whichever it is, we need to go.

We can find another way to deal with the stupid flight recorder.” He saw his three Storms considering these possibilities.

“Wet Bub, get on the comm. Try to raise the Eye. Tell him what’s happening, and ask him for a Path out of here.”

The Gungan gave it a second or two, then holstered his blaster and turned to the communications console.

“Dellex, you give the order to the rest of the fleet. Tell them to run, get to the other transfer point as fast as they can. Gravhan, get back to the weapons grid, just in case these Republic bastards decide to start shooting.”

“No answer from Marchion Ro,” Wet Bub said. “But the Republic

Cruiser is hailing us again.”

Kassav gave his lieutenants a knowing look.

You see? that look conveyed. We’re on our own out here.

Without another word, they put away their weapons and followed his orders.

He felt the New Elite’s engines kick into a higher gear as it prepared for its run to escape the trap he was increasingly sure Marchion Ro had led them into.

“Ugh,” Dellex said, her voice uncharacteristically subdued.

“What now?” he asked.

“Another fleet just dropped in. From the other hyperspace transfer point. We’re boxed in, Kassav.”

“Tell me it’s Nihil,” he said. “Tell me it’s Pan Eyta’s Tempest.” “It’s not. The ships all register as being from Eriadu.”

“That’s where we messed up the extortion job,” Wet Bub said.

“Where that moon got obliterated.”

An entirely unnecessary clarification. Everyone on that bridge knew exactly what they had done at Eriadu.

What they might not know, though, was the reputation of the people who lived there. Kassav did. He had looked them up after his little visit to their system. What he’d learned had made him curse for a minute straight. Turned out that the Nihil weren’t the only predators in the galaxy.

Eriadu was one of those warrior planets. A whole culture steeped in ideals of revenge and justice and blood and honor, easily slighted, always having duels and poisoning each other and whatever.

But for the moment, it seemed like they had stopped squabbling long enough to come together to hunt him.

“Guess we’re not running after all,” Kassav said. “Tell every ship.

Time to fight. Let’s kill ‘em all.”

Everyone on the bridge turned back to their stations, getting ready for battle. They seemed excited, even his idiot lieutenants, who should probably know better.

Kassav tapped a control on his command chair, and the music started. More wreckpunk, throbbing and pulsing and clanging. He set the volume to full.

“For the Nihil!” Kassav shouted, painfully closing his maimed hand into a fist and holding it above his head.

“For the storm!” came the answering cry, anticipatory and eager.

Kassav looked at his crew, his eyes flitting from face to face.

In the green light of the Kur Nebula, still pouring through the bridge viewports, they all looked like corpses, three days dead.

For the Nihil, Kassav thought. For the storm.