Star Wars 1. I: the Raid on Dac

**Chapter I: the Raid on Dac**

I awoke to the cacophony of a Quarren orchestra, if such a term could be applied to such a crime against good sense, being pumped into my quarters through the intercom. In my haste to spare my newly awoken brain any more abuse, I flung myself out of my bed with exactly none of the grace expected of an Imperial officer, swinging desperately at the holographic button that would end this torture. My outstretched hand missed the button and I got a face full of Serennian carpet for my trouble.

I pushed myself to my knees and tried again. This time I found the button and, blessedly, the music stopped. I dropped back against my bunk, wondering why in the name of all that was good and holy in this universe that my usual wake-up call – a recording of waves crashing against a cliff face – had been replaced by this atrocity against common sense.

The intercom beeped, breaking my reverie. "Captain Phalox," came the heavily modulated voice, "we will be dropping out of hyperspace in thirty minutes."

"Acknowledged," I grated.

With all possibly of returning to sleep banished, I stood and stared into the mirror. I looked worse than I felt. Heaving a sigh, I turned and rifled through my closet for a clean uniform. There were twenty hangars in the closet, but only two bore uniforms. A more philosophical man would probably have seen some sort of subtle parallel between the emptiness of the closet and the state of the galaxy, but I wasn't about to indulge in such nonsense. Not when I had pressing business ahead of me.

Twenty two minutes later, I stepped onto the bridge. Lieutenant Tekkara offered a sharp salute, but everyone else continued what they were doing. Which was probably for the best – dropping out of hyperspace while your navigators are looking away from their consoles is a fantastic way to crash into a moon.

I nodded to the Zabrak lieutenant and settled myself into the captain's chair and ran my hand through my hair. It was time. "All hands to battle station." This mission was not about fighting, but it never hurt to be prepared.

The bridge erupted into a flurry of activity. The intercom blared out the call to battle stations, audible even through the three layers of durasteel that sealed the bridge off from the adjacent hallway.

"Assault Team reports green," Lieutenant Tekkara said. "Interceptor wing reports green. Bomber wing reports green. Starboard and port batteries report green." His voice trailed off for a moment. "All posts report green."

I nodded. "Ensign Leven."

"Dropping out of hyperspace in ten seconds, sir," the Ensign called back.

The starlines wavered for a moment and then collapsed to points as the _Herald _dropped out of hyperspace almost on top of a pair of Rebellion star cruisers, styled after the traditional Mon Calamari designs. The holographic display in the center of the bridge lit up, showing a half dozen New Republic warships scattered around the system. Sep Elopon, the gas giant that dominated the far end of the Mon Calamari system, was not nearly as isolated as Intelligence said it would be.  
"Launch all interceptors and bombers," I ordered. "Focus all batteries on the star cruiser off the starboard bow. Forward deflector shields to full."

The crew responded immediately. The hologram lit up with green and blue triangles as TIE interceptors and bombers launched from the port hangars. Imperial green lasers lit up the bridge even through the dimmed bridge viewports as they slammed into the star cruiser's side, burning through the thin armor and ravaging the ship. The star cruiser began to list to its port side as the ship struggled to minimize the damage from the _Herald_'s opening volley.

The second star cruiser opened fire, brilliant red lasers intermingling with the Imperial green lasers of the _Herald_. The forward deflector shields shrugged off the opening salvo, scattering the superheated plasma off in every direction. Flashes of orange erupted along the cruiser's topside as the bombers delivered their ordnance. Miniature green lasers flashed at irregular intervals as the TIE interceptors attacked the other cruiser's gun emplacements.

The first star cruiser finally managed to get its shields up, but only after the _Herald_'s forward batteries had all but turned the ship into scrap metal. Plumes of smoke were leaking out at four different points where fires had raged before the compartments were vented into space. The ship seemed to be doing its level best to disengage, but the injury to its port side had forced it to turn and cut across the path of the _Herald_. The nose of the maimed star cruiser had begun to obscure the second vessel, presenting its largely unscathed belly to the _Herald_.

"Direct all forward batteries to the aft section of the first cruiser," I said.

"Captain," Ensign Leven said, "two more cruisers have just dropped out of hyperspace. They are approximately half a million kilometers off the starboard bow. They will be in firing range in three minutes."

I nodded. "Lieutenant Tekkara, instruct all squadrons to return by way of the starboard hangars. Ensign Leven, begin calculating a jump to hyperspace. Helm, bring the ship around thirty degrees to port and bring the nose up fifteen degrees."

As the orders went out, the first star cruiser's engines erupted into a cloud of viridian and a large section of the ship's belly sloughed off under the intense bombardment of the forward batteries. A string of secondary explosions split the ship in half lengthwise, hurling thousand kilo chunks of metal in every direction. The tell-tale flash of vermillion marked the death of at least one TIE interceptor pilot to this sudden eruption.

But it was the second star cruiser that fared the worst. When the first vessel's engines went, the force generated pushed the aft end of the vessel down. The secondary explosions that followed took the path of least resistance, with the bulk of the fragments coming from the fragmented dorsal section of the ship. These fragments pelted the second star cruiser, passing clean through the damaged deflector shields and reducing the star cruiser's bridge to little more than burned-out wiring and twisted metal.

The image of the second star cruiser wavered with the tell-tale pseudomotion of a jump to hyperspace. But without its navigation computers, the course plotted was unstable. Instead of jumping out of the star system, the ship listed to port and careened into the planet's moon at nearly two thirds the speed of light, forming spider webs in the celestial ice ball that were visible from a hundred thousand kilometers.

Red lights flashed across the bow of the _Herald_ as the Mon Calamari reinforcements sought to join battle. The incoming fire was inefficient; of perhaps a hundred laser bursts, less than a dozen struck the _Herald_'s deflector shields. The ship captains were allowing their emotions to cloud their judgement, needlessly squandering energy in some vain attempt to secure retribution of the three thousand souls that had gone down with the first two vessels.

I cast my gaze in the direction of Dac, little more than a blue dot in the distance, and silently lamented the failure of my mission. There would be no establishing a presence here in the Mon Calamari system after this operation. I could only hope that the Republic would misread my intentions as little more than harassment.

"All TIE interceptors and bombers are aboard," Lieutenant Tekkara said. "All assets stowed and ready for the jump to hyperspace."

"Course plotted and engines spooled," Ensign Leven reported. "We await your word, captain."

I pressed a button and the hologram flickered and died. "Jump."

The pinpricks of stars bled and turned into starlines as the _Herald_'s hyperdrive bent the laws of physics and catapulted the _Herald _forward at seventy five times the speed of light. It would be another four jumps, and a grand total of seven days, before the _Herald_ returned to Alkasinn space. I had exactly that long to figure out a way to salvage this operation.


	2. II: Repairs and Recriminations

**Chapter II: Repairs and Recriminations**

Repair drones flitted over the _Herald_'s hull, replacing the half damaged armor segments that marked the death throes of two Mon Calamari star cruisers. The crew had been granted shore leave while the vessel underwent these entirely unnecessary repairs. The ploy was as insulting as it was obvious: the Alkasinn clearly feared that I would skulk away from this court martial aboard my ship. Or maybe they were more concerned that I'd override the system's safety restrictions and turn the ship's guns on the station.

That was more plausible. Not even a star destroyer could stand up to the combined fire of the two dozen warships currently docked, but the _Herald_ wouldn't need long to expose the habitable sections – including the Alkasinn barracks – to hard vacuum. Maybe I could then round off the bout of insubordination by ramming the vessel into Alkas. Not that it'd do much good against the aquatic inhabitants of that planet.

My thoughts of spiteful vengeance were cut short by a beep from my comm link. I resisted the urge to stomp the fragile bits of metal and electronics into a bit of modern art and keyed the comm on.

"Captain Cail Phalox," came a voice that crossed the boundary between formal and pretentious, "the assembled council of your peers is prepared to receive you."

"Acknowledged," I said, the lame response sounding meek even before I finished. But an imperial officer had to learn to pick his battles, lest he wind up being charged with exploring hyperspace routes in the Unknown Regions.

I keyed the comm off and allowed my gaze to flit over the _Herald_ again. She was an ugly ship, cobbled together from components of two _Imperial-II_ class star destroyers, the burnt-out husk of one of their predecessors, and a fair bit of _Executor_-class star battlecruiser hardware. But for all her aesthetic failings, she was still my ship. And I wasn't about to let a bunch of plankton-eaters take her away from me.

I turned and strode down the empty hall. There was no one present – why I chose this particular viewport in the first place – but I kept the measured pace of an imperial officer. The Alkasinn could try to take my ship, but they weren't going to take my dignity.

I rounded a corner and found a pair of gangly Alkasinn guardsmen doing their best to look menacing as they stood on guard duty. Whatever image they were attempting to convey, it failed. There was simply no way to wear what amounted to a fish bowl on your head and come off as imposing or threatening. But these two must have been trained well enough, for they opened the doors without being prompted or facilitating the petty tyranny so common amongst door guards.

The room inside was dark. There was a single light on, and this light shone a beam directly downward – onto a stool. It would seem that, even in what was supposed to be a somber and serious setting, the Alkasinn were prone to high drama. I declined the offered seat and instead opted to assume a semi-formal posture, my hands behind my back. An imperial officer stood in the presence of his accusers – he did not sit meekly so that others might talk down to him.

"Captain Cail Phalox, you stand accused of dereliction of duty." This one did not identify himself, but the tell-tale reverberation in his voice strongly suggested he was speaking through a fish bowl. Alkasinn, then. "You were tasked with establishing a permanent presence on one of the moons of the planet Sep Elopon. You return to us without having accomplished this task. This council, comprised of your peers, will hear your justifications."

The lights came up abruptly, leaving stars in my eyes. I resisted the urge to rub them and instead cast my gaze around the room as if I were not temporarily blinded. From what I could see, none of those in attendance were even able to breathe the atmosphere of this station, let alone claim to be my peer. There were certainly no dull gray imperial officer uniforms present.

That was a card I was going to play. "I was assigned my current mission by Moff Sirrael four months ago. The Moff ordered that I support the Alkasinn Hegemony's operations against the Mon Calamari system with the intent of destroying the ship-building facilities in orbit around Dac." Naturally, I did not acknowledge the fact that I was supposed to buy Alkasinn cannon fodder with this mission. "With Moff Sirrael's death on Bonadan, responsibility for the operation passed to the late Marshal Ves'ilu, who was killed while on Bothawui. The responsibility for this operation then fell to his successor, Marshal Ves'tar. Thus, by chance rather than by careful consideration, command fell to an officer who had not been briefed on the mission parameters."

My sight recovered, I pointed out the fish bowl on the council in question. "It was Marshal Ves'tar who insisted that I abandon my previous plan to scout the system with Imperial Intelligence assets prior to jumping into the system, virtually on top of the system's largest planet – a planet that, with thirty two moons, would certainly have some sort of Mon Calamari presence. As a man who obeys the chain of command, I followed the marshal's orders, jumped into the system, and directly into the gun sights of two Mon Calamari star cruisers. I dispatched these two vessels, but was forced to withdraw when more star cruisers began to arrive. Had I been given the opportunity to scout the system, such a mistake – a mistake that ended the operation before it began – would never have happened."

"You were given every opportunity to succeed," Marshal Ves'tar interjected, his proverbial hackles up. "Instead of standing and fighting, you fled."

I fixed the up-jumped plebeian with the same half-amused look that Grand Moff Tarkin had been so fond of. "If I remained in-system to engage those two star cruisers, I may have won. Or one of them may have rammed the _Herald _at a time when the Grand Admiral is busy procuring every capital warship that he can buy, capture, or steal. Or a half dozen additional star cruisers might have jumped into the fray and prevented any withdrawal. Given the conditions in-system, the sensible choice was to withdraw, not squander our military assets. It was those absurd last stands that betrayed the Empire during and after Yavin."

The marshal, of course, didn't stop there. "That was a rather lengthy way of acknowledging your flight from battle." The fish bowl pivoted to face another. "Arbiter, this convocation is concluded."

The second fish bowl spoke. "Captain Cail Phalox. This court martial finds you in violation of standing orders and hereby places you under arrest. In recognition of your service to our allies, you are temporarily released on your own recognizance. The exact terms of your termination from Alkasinn service shall be forwarded to you at some date. Your vessel is hereby impounded and you are barred from leaving Alkasinn space." The bowl bobbed up and down in a poor imitation of a nod. "You are dismissed."

Though I had anticipated it, there was still something troubling in the verdict. I was going to lose the _Herald_, and possibly my commission, over a mission that could not have succeeded. And with the Grand Admiral half a galaxy away, there was no higher authority to appeal the decision to. I merely nodded my acceptance of the verdict, pivoted on a heel, and strode out of the room with all the dignity I could muster.

I began to wander aimlessly through the station's hallways as my thoughts turned towards trying to determine how to salvage this mission. I had been given a capital ship because a frigate couldn't possibly accomplish it, but it seemed like I was going to have to improvise even more than I had thus far. That probably meant some sort of sabotage. This probably meant smuggling a bomb onto a shipyard, or stealing one from a military storage bay, and wiring a timer mechanism to it.

The initial stages of a plan were forming in my mind when I caught sight of a trio of stormtroopers approaching. _This_ was an unanticipated turn of events. Had some Moff or other caught wind of the situation and sent stormtroopers to quietly resolve the situation?

"Cail Phalox," the foremost stormtrooper said, "as per Imperial regulations, conviction by an allied court of a capital offense mandates imprisonment. As the Alkasinn have apparently forgotten this, you will be detained aboard the nearest imperial vessel." He gestured sharply with his blaster rifle. "This way."

It was a flimsy excuse at best, but maybe they'd have the decency to shoot me before tossing me out an airlock. But fighting three stormtroopers wasn't an option, so I shrugged and followed orders. If nothing else, the last paragraph of my dossier would remark that no resistance was given. That wasn't much, but it was all I had going for me.

A few minutes later, we passed a viewport and caught sight of the port side of the _Herald_. A flicker of hope ignited; if these stormtroopers were from my ship, perhaps they weren't here to kill me. Or perhaps the Zabrak had finally mustered up the courage to acquire the post of brevet captain. Tekkara never struck me as overly ambitious, but I suspect the Emperor never thought his apprentice was overly ambitious, either.

We passed through the first half of the airlock and dull gray doors slammed shut behind us. The quiet hiss of pressure being equalized – in this case decreasing, since the fish evolved under far greater pressures than humans did – and suddenly I was aboard my ship for the last time. The interior airlock doors swung open and I was unsurprised to find Lieutenant Tekkara there.

"Captain," he said with the hint of a smirk. "It would seem we've suffered damage to our communications network during routine repairs – a drone arc welded an entire circuit board to a metal plate. We'll be unable to contact the Alkasinn any time soon."

I quirked an eyebrow at him. Was this some sort of bait and switch?

"None of them tried to stop us," a stormtrooper said from behind me. "Guess they forgot their own ruling, hey?"

"Couldn't let the captain back aboard his ship," another said. "He might do something crazy, like blow up half their fleet before they get their heads out of their bowls and shoot back."

"Enough," the senior stormtrooper barked.

I turned my attention back to Tekkara. "What's the plan, lieutenant?"

The Zabrak's face screwed up in confusion. "The plan is… to get you out of here, sir."

"What?"

"An Imperial star destroyer captain outranks a foreign marshal every day of the week," the Zabrak said rather matter-of-factly.

"Violating the legal ruling of an allied state without prior consultation with the Imperial Advocacy Corps is a violation of protocol," the senior stormtrooper added, not very helpfully. "Fortunately for you, captain, our combat medic is a certified legal advocate and member of the IAC. Meaning we've consulted with the IAC, so no protocol has been violated."

The significance of what was happening finally dawned on me. I nodded my understanding. "It's past time we got on with the mission."

Several minutes later, I returned to my customary chair, Lieutenant Tekkara at my side, and Sergeant Jorien Torren, Certified Imperial Advocate, on the helm feeding a string of legalese to Alkasinn mission control. Ensign Leven was busy falsifying reports to the Alkasinn mechanics, who were now trying to decipher why armor replacements had somehow shorted out the hyperdrive. Commander Virile, the stormtrooper who had "arrested" me, was similarly conjuring up all sorts of error reports to pass up the chain to the Alkasinn mechanics.

It was almost disconcerting to watch how clearly the three men navigated the minefield and so easily ran circles around the fish bureaucrats. Either these fish were even dumber than they looked or the Imperial bureaucracy had conditioned these men to fight red tape with red tape. Either way, it was working.

"Lieutenant Tekkara." I gestured towards the navigation computer. "We're not coupled to the station. Turn the starboard docking thrusters on at low power."

The lieutenant's eyebrows rose. "That will crash us into the station."

"At a trivial speed." I gestured towards the navigation computer. "It lends credence to the commander's navigational error reports. And it will prompt panic, not suspicion, when you then plot a course to Zygerria."

Understanding dawned on the Zabrak's face. "Right away, captain."

Ten minutes and one damaged docking tube later, the _Herald_ jumped


End file.
