Star Wars: The Old Republic: Annihilation by Drew Karpyshyn
Ten meters above the ground the wires suddenly untangled, and the fabric canopy unfurled wide over him. It slowed his fall, but Theron was still coming in hard. He braced his legs together and flexed his knees as he hit the ground, absorbing the crushing landing with the big muscles of his lower body and core while simultaneously trying to roll with the impact. His teeth slammed together and he felt a sharp pain shooting through his ankles and all the way up to the crown of his head as his body crumpled from the force of the landing.
The roll wasn’t much better, as he came down on his already damaged shoulder, causing his arm to pop out of the socket. He would have cried out in pain if all the wind hadn’t been knocked from his body, leaving him gasping for breath.
He lay there for a few seconds, amazed that he was alive. He forced himself to his feet just as Gnost-Dural emerged from the darkness of the night to check on him. Seeing that the Jedi was limping badly after his six-story fall gave him a small bit of satisfaction.
“Guess we both had a rougher landing than expected,” Theron said, shouting to be heard above the wailing sirens that now filled the night.
“Let me help you,” Gnost-Dural said, noticing Theron’s left arm dangling uselessly at his side.
Theron nodded, then braced himself as the Jedi took hold of his arm by the wrist and elbow. With a quick twist and pull, he popped the shoulder back into the joint. Theron let out a loud scream. Fortunately the wailing sirens would drown out the sound so that it wouldn’t give away their position to any nearby Imperials.
“Emergency crews are responding to the blast,” Gnost-Dural said. “We need to get out of here. Can you walk?”
Theron nodded and the two men limped away into the shadows, leaning on each other for support.
CHAPTER 18
MINISTER DAVIDGE FOUND IT DIFFICULT to focus on his work. In part it was relocating to a temporary office on the west side of the Orbital Defense Command Center—an unavoidable circumstance considering that his old office and a dozen others on the eastern wing of the building had been reduced to rubble the night before last.
The extra guards posted outside his door—and inside his door, and following him even when he went home at night—didn’t help, though he understood the reason behind the extra security.
Most troubling of all, however, was the fact that he had personally been targeted for assassination. He’d always considered himself a mere cog in the Imperial machine—a key cog, to be sure, but not one who would ever garner that kind of attention. The Sith Lords and Grand Moffs were the face of the Empire; he was just the man who kept the shuttles running on time. He always believed he was protected by his anonymity; he wasn’t really part of the war—he was just an analyst crunching numbers.
That comforting illusion had been blown to pieces just as surely as everything in his office. While he might not bear any particular ill will to the enemies of the Empire, the attempt on his life made him understand that they hated and despised him. It was unsettling. Disturbing. And it made dealing with the entire unpleasant business extremely stressful.
He’d reviewed the latest report from the Imperial investigators multiple times; looking over the facts that had been gathered over the last thirty-six hours again and again as he tried to make sense of the whole affair … and prepared to give his own report to Darth Marr.
The communications room they had set up for him in his temporary office lacked the durasteel door of his original office; it was separated from the rest of the room by a simple sliding door. But it still gave him the privacy he needed. More important, it also had a black cipher to make sure nobody could listen in on his most sensitive communications.
He activated the cipher and waited for the holo of Darth Marr to materialize as he received and decoded the incoming call with his own cipher.
“I didn’t expect to have to wait a day and a half to get a status report from you, Minister Davidge,” Marr said to open their conversation.
“I didn’t want to contact you until I was certain the conversation would be secure,” he explained.
The cipher in his old office had been destroyed, and there was only one other on Ziost—an inactive spare that had been stored in the maximum-security underground vault beneath the ODCC. With everything else that was going on, it had taken some time before the engineers had hooked it up to the communications equipment in his new office.
“Cautious as ever,” Marr noted, though Davidge couldn’t tell if it was meant as a compliment, an insult, or simply an offhand remark.
“I have the details of the report, my Lord,” he said.
“I assumed as much when you called me.”
Realizing he was testing Marr’s patience, the minister dived right into it.
“None of the suspected terrorists were captured,” he said, opening with the bad news. “We believe there may have been as many as six involved, but our surveillance cams were only able to capture one of them.”
“I assume you have authorities looking for this person?”
“He—or possibly she—was covered head-to-toe in heavy clothing. Even the face was obscured by a hood and mask.”
“So we have no leads,” Marr said.
“We know the Ziost Liberation Front was behind it,” the minister told him. “They’ve claimed responsibility.”
“What about our security protocols? How did they fail so completely?”
“Actually, my Lord, they didn’t. The protocols were designed to keep enemy forces from taking control of the ODCC, not to prevent an attempted assassination. Even with all the damage, orbital defense systems were never compromised or in danger of being disrupted.”
“What of the cipher in your office. Was it compromised?”
“We recovered the cipher from the wreckage,” the minister told him. “The blast severely damaged it and triggered the core’s self-destruct sequence, but at least it’s accounted for.”
In the minister’s mind, this was the best news of all. Had they been unable to find the cipher in the debris and ashes, they would have had to change the cipher codes. Recalling all the capital ships equipped with a black cipher to be reprogrammed and synchronized would have reduced Imperial efficiency by almost a full percent for the quarter—a loss ratio the minister didn’t even like to contemplate.
“So what is your recommendation going forward?” Marr wanted to know.
“The overall impact of this terrorist attack on the Imperial war effort is negligible,” the minister assured him. “Resources and personnel amount to a loss ratio of less than a one-thousandth of one percent. I’ve already requisitioned troops to replace those who died during the attack, and repairs on the damaged section of the ODCC are under way.”
“So you propose we should simply continue on exactly as before?”
“I’ve ordered security for all the Imperial ministers to be increased,” Davidge admitted. “Again, the overall impact on the Empire is almost too small to calculate. Even at my highest estimates—”
Marr held up a hand to cut him off.
“Spare me the specifics. There’s no need to justify your personal protection detail. The Dark Council is well aware of the value you and the other ministers contribute to the Empire.”
The compliment should have made Davidge feel good. Instead, it only reinforced his recent epiphany that he was not an anonymous bean-counter. The implications of the Dark Council understanding his importance to the Empire were even more terrifying than the attempt on his life. The Sith Lords didn’t ignore things of value. They fought to control them … or destroy them if they belonged to someone else.
“Thank you, my Lord. It’s good to know I’m appreciated.”
“I think this attack should signal a shift in our policy,” Marr told him.
“What sort of change?”
“When this war began, we were the aggressors. Now we keep giving ground to the Republic.”
“It’s not a matter of choice, my Lord. It’s a question of resource
“Retreat makes us look weak. Vulnerable,” Marr continued, as if he hadn’t heard Davidge. “It emboldens groups like the ZLF. Makes them dare to plot the assassination of top Imperial officials.”
“This was one incident, my Lord. But overall we have not seen a statistically relevant increase in anti-Imperial activities.”
“You understand numbers, Minister. I understand the minds of our followers and our enemies. This attack heralds a shift in attitude that we cannot ignore.
“We need to push forward on several fronts. Reclaim some of the worlds we have lost to the Republic. Attack new worlds that have never before trembled before the might of Imperial power.”
Davidge groaned inside. There was no point in arguing with Marr’s orders, but the minister knew launching new campaigns of conquest against the Republic would increase the quarter’s loss ratio.
“I am sending a list of possible targets for analysis. Find where we can reap the most reward for our efforts,” Marr told him.
“Of course, my Lord,” Davidge replied. “You know what is best for the Empire.”
“I recommend we use Moff Nezzor,” Marr said. “You don’t seem to have him doing anything vital at the moment.”
That’s because he’s an unprofessional, bloodthirsty sociopath with no regard for the lives of the enemy or his own soldiers.
“I will be sure to choose targets from your list that will take best advantage of Moff Nezzor’s unique talents,” Davidge said aloud, though the idea caused bile to bubble up in his throat.
“I know you will,” Marr told him. “That’s why I find you so useful.”
“The first stage of the plan was a complete success,” Jace told the three fellow conspirators who had gathered in his office for the debriefing. “I think we should celebrate with a drink!”
“I agree,” the Director said. “Master Gnost-Dural—we have some Dorin pleech.”
“A gracious offer, but I will decline.”
“Suit yourself,” the Director said with a shrug. “Theron, what’s your preference?”
“I don’t have any kri’gee here in the office,” Jace said with a smile. “But I’ve got some of that Corellian Reserve I told you about.”
“Sounds good,” Theron replied.
It had been five days since he and Gnost-Dural had leapt off the edge of the exploding ODCC building. They’d spent the first three of those days waiting on Ziost after local authorities closed all the spaceports and temporarily barred any civilian ships from landing on or leaving the planet.
Not that Theron had minded at the time. He spent the days convalescing while Gnost-Dural made some discreet inquiries into the Imperial investigations. Fortunately, the ZLF had been all too happy to claim responsibility for the attack. Even though they’d actually had nothing to do with it, its members were eager to take the credit for striking a blow against the hated Empire.
With the Imperials focused on hunting down the ZLF members responsible, it was simple enough for Theron and Gnost-Dural to leave once the spaceports reopened.
Bad luck for any members who get caught, though, Theron had thought at the time. But the fate of a small group of radical anti-Imperials on Ziost wasn’t something he could afford to worry about.
After leaving Ziost, they’d returned directly to Coruscant to deliver the cipher core to Jace, who had promptly turned it over to the Director and SIS. Now, two days later, Theron and his partner were in the Supreme Commander’s office, being waited on by two of the most important men in the Republic.
“We’ve already intercepted several key Imperial transmissions,” the Director said, bringing Theron’s drink over to him once Jace was done pouring it. “It appears they’re ramping up their military presence in several contested sectors.”
Theron took a sip of his drink before speaking, savoring the warm, sweet liquid as it traced its way down his throat.
“If SIS is careful, we could use the intel to our advantage without the Empire ever suspecting we’re listening in on their encrypted messages.”
“Sounds risky,” Jace warned. “We’re closer to stopping the Ascendant Spear than we’ve ever been. I’m not going to let it slip through our fingers because we got greedy.”
“SIS knows how to be discreet,” the Director assured him. “Give the analytics team access to those transmissions. Let us run our scenarios. I’m sure we’ll find something we can exploit without tipping anyone off.”
Jace was still reluctant.
“What do you think, Master Gnost-Dural?”
“A tool is of no use if you never pick it up,” the Jedi told him.
Master Zho couldn’t have said it better himself, Theron thought, raising a glass to his dearly departed friend before taking another sip of the delicious brandy.
“I promise we won’t act on anything without your approval,” the Director added.
“Looks like I’m outnumbered,” Jace said with a smile. “Just be careful. And don’t forget what we’re really looking for.
“We’ve moved into phase two of our plan,” he declared. “We monitor the Imperial transmissions and wait for the Spear to send word that it’s coming into port.”
He turned to Theron. “Once it’s docked, you slip on board, slice into the Spear’s systems, program a dormant virus to disrupt the ship’s hyperdrive and defenses, and get off the ship before it returns to duty.”
“Sounds easy when you say it,” Theron said.
“Can’t be any harder than stealing the cipher,” the Director noted.
“Once everything’s in place, we track the Spear’s movements and set an ambush,” Jace continued. “Hit her with everything we’ve got. During the battle, we send a signal to activate the dormant virus and we take Darth Karrid and her ship down.”
“SIS is still trying to pull together the necessary resources,” the Director cautioned.
“The Spear will dock at a military space station, not some civilian spaceport. We’ll need an Imperial military shuttle, proper IDs, uniforms, clearance papers … it’s proving more difficult than we thought.”
“Perhaps Theron’s contact can help us again,” Gnost-Dural suggested.
“The Old Tion Brotherhood has been smuggling contraband onto Imperial space stations for years,” Theron agreed. “They know every trick in the book to get past security.”
“Getting Teff’ith to set up a meeting on Ziost is one thing,” the Director cautioned. “But I don’t like you bringing her into an active role in this mission.”
“Why not?” Jace wanted to know. “Can’t we trust her?”
“Yes,” Theron said, even as the Director answered, “No.”
Jace looked back and forth between them, but neither man was willing to back down.
“I’ve got this covered,” Theron assured the Supreme Commander. “Compared to getting the cipher, this job’s a piece of cake.”
“You had help getting the cipher,” the Director reminded him.
“I’m willing to accompany Theron again when he goes to meet his contact,” Gnost-Dural offered.
Before Theron could object, Jace spoke up.
“Then it’s settled. We let Theron and Master Gnost-Dural reach out to this Teff’ith person.”
“I’ll have SIS keep working on getting what we need,” the Director said. “Just in case Theron’s contact doesn’t pan out.”
“Let’s take the Prosperity again,” Theron said to the Jedi, ignoring the Director’s lack of confidence. “Might as well travel in comfort.”
“We can leave tomorrow,” the Jedi agreed.
The Supreme Commander raised his glass in the air.
“To the Republic!”
Theron and the Director echoed his toast, and all three men downed what was left in their glasses.
With the meeting over Theron, Gnost-Dural, and the Director left Jace’s office. The young woman behind the reception desk nodde
“Uh, you two go on ahead,” the Director whispered. “I need to schedule some other appointments with the Supreme Commander.”
Maybe she’s not going to be his third wife after all, Theron thought as he and Gnost-Dural continued down the hall.
“Theron,” the Jedi said once they were out of earshot of the others. “I have a message for you. From Grand Master Satele Shan.”
“Oh?” Theron said, trying to appear nonchalant. Once again he wondered if the Jedi knew about their relationship.
“She wishes to speak with you tonight. In her private chambers.”
“Did she say why?”
“No. She only asked that you not mention this to the Supreme Commander.”
Great, Theron thought. Mom and Dad are fighting. Isn’t it fun being part of a family?
“Not sure if I’ll have time,” Theron said. “Some things I need to take care of before we leave tomorrow.”
“I understand,” Gnost-Dural said. “But if you change your mind, Grand Master Shan will be expecting you.”
CHAPTER 19
THE LAST TIME THERON HAD SPOKEN with Satele had been on Tython. That meeting had been his idea; he’d snuck into her private quarters to tell her about Ngani Zho’s death. Zho had been her Master and her mentor, and she deserved to hear the news in person, not over a holo or in some report.
At the time, he’d pretended not to know she was his mother, and she made no mention of recognizing him as her son. But he had the sense they both knew the truth, though neither was willing to acknowledge it. This time would be different, Theron decided. He was tired of playing games.