"Chaos and disorder, and many ships blown to pieces by flying debris," Lecersen replied.

Daala opened her mouth to dismiss the idea-she preferred order to chaos, and her own ships could be jeopardized-and then she understood. Quickly, she gave orders to Lecersen and Vansyn-Trevin had perished along with his flagship-and they began to shift the area of battle so that Jag's ships were between them and the soon-to-be-destroyed moon.

Lecersen had been right. It was not the most usual of tactics, but it certainly produced a great deal of chaos, disorder, and ships blown to pieces by flying debris. Daala used the confusion to send her ships in to pick off the ships that were already damaged. Jag's people would have the chance to surrender and either join her or be kept civilly as prisoners of war, but she had a feeling that few would take such an easy way out.

The casualty reports were coming in-from her own ships and from those of Lecersen, Vansyn, and Trevin. It was worse than she had thought. The multiple "surprises" Jag had thrown her way had done just what he had intended: keep her and her people off-guard. Trevin's entire contingent was nearly gone. Vansyn's had taken a beating, and her own ships were reduced significantly. Many of them were so crippled they couldn't even make the jump to hypers.p.a.ce-the Chimaera among them. Repairs could be effected, but that would take time, and that was one thing they didn't have.

And she had heard nothing back from the other Moffs she had contacted.

She went over the list of ships, noting those that were wrecked hulks, those with minor damage, and those still in fighting form. Her eye fell on one of Lecersen's ships, and she pressed her lips together as an idea came to her. It might not work-but it was certainly worth a try.

"Contact Lecersen right away. I have a rather unusual use for his Interdictor-cla.s.s cruiser."

As Jag strode onto the Bloodfin bridge, both Ashik and Vitor Reige snapped salutes. Jag returned them, smiled and nodded at Ashik, then offered Reige his hand. The dark-haired admiral grasped it firmly, his sharp blue eyes meeting Jag's evenly.

"Welcome aboard, Head of State. Your ... charge has preceded you. She is currently in our brig."

Jag nodded; it was to be expected. Vitor Reige had been Gilad Pellaeon's protege, and while he had been apprised of the current unique situation with Tahiri, it was no surprise that he had put the "prisoner" somewhere he deemed safe until Jag had arrived.

"You may release her back into my custody, Admiral. Thank you for your very timely rescue. What's our status?"

"We are continuing to rescue the crew of the Pellaeon," Reige said. "I've prepared a damage report for you. We-"

"Sir!" came a startled yelp. A young, red-haired human, presumably Reige's aide, was pointing at the viewport. "The pieces of the moon-they're moving!"

"Of course they're moving, they ..." Reige fell silent, staring.

The pieces of Boreleo weren't moving. They were being moved.

Jag, Ashik, and Reige all stepped closer to the viewport, almost unaware of what they were doing. Jag watched, disbelieving, as an Interdictor-cla.s.s cruiser used its gravity-well projector to pull pieces of the shattered moon into various positions.

"That ship belongs to Lecersen, not Daala," said Ashik.

"And he's moving what's left of Boreleo into a blockade," snapped Jag. "He's going to barricade himself and some others inside."

"We hid inside the moon, now they're going to," Tahiri said. "That sounds like something Daala would do."

"Not if I can help it," Jag said, grimly. "Admiral, you now have one target above all others. Stop that Interceptor!"

Daala watched, relief battling worry as the Kagcatcher's crew positioned the four gravity wells to draw pieces of a dead moon into a shield. They would be protected, but they would also be trapped, and as soon as Jag caught on to what they would doing, he would target the Kagcatcher. The savior ship would likely become a metal coffin, and the rest of her fleet would be bombarded, unless she surrendered.

But there had been no alternative. This at least would buy her some time and, if her Moffs did decide to stay loyal to her, could be the thing that saved them. The Chimaera, Lecersen's Empire Maker, and Vansyn's Wyvard, along with a not-insignificant number of the original fleet, were cl.u.s.tered together. Daala watched as the chunks of moon were slowly but inexorably maneuvered into position about them. They were not puzzle pieces, not quite, but the Kagcatcher was doing an admirable job of closing the cracks.

Outside the growing sh.e.l.l of a broken moon, Daala caught glimpses of the battle that still raged outside. Now and then, a few of her fleet's starfighters zipped through what openings there were. At first, they were followed by Jag's fighters, but those were easily picked off, and soon stopped coming altogether.

"Now what, Admiral?" asked Remal.

"Now," Daala said, "we wait."

"We could finish them off, sir," Ashik said. "Simply start hammering away at the pieces of the moon. They are completely trapped and helpless."

"Trapped, yes, helpless, no," Tahiri said. Jag had brought her up to speed as soon as she'd rejoined him. "I'm certain Daala has sent out a call for reinforcements. Getelles told us that this was just the gathering of her local resources. They could be here at any minute."

"At any minute, or not at all. We can do the same," Jag said. "Daala and I are facing a similar problem: Will those we've asked to come to our aid actually do so? I'm sure that once word gets out about the situation here, my Imperial ships are going to be needed just about anywhere in the galaxy but here." He rubbed his eyes.

Reige's aide said something to him. The admiral nodded and turned to Jag. "Your friend Moff Getelles wishes to speak with you."

"Patch him through," Jag said.

"Our plan worked admirably, I think," said Getelles's image on the screen. He was beaming, though he looked weary and worn.

"I do, too," Jag said. "I must confess, that is the first time I have ever willingly worked with someone whose first announcement of said plan was to stun me with a blaster."

"You must admit," said Getelles, chuckling a little, "that it fooled Daala completely."

"It certainly fooled me," Tahiri, standing beside Jag, said. "Good thing Jag came out of it before I came in."

Jag had awoken shortly after Getelles had completed his message to Daala. Getelles had been smart: he'd put his blaster on the table and his hands in the air as soon as Jag began to emit m.u.f.fled grunts.

"I submit myself to your justice, Head of State Fel, but please hear me out first!"

Jag had grabbed the blaster and pointed it at Getelles. Tahiri, having heard the sound of the blaster-the room was not soundproof, as Getelles had misinformed Daala-had rushed in, lightsaber at the ready.

"Let him finish," Jag had instructed his bodyguard. "This should be good."

Actually, it was. "Daala plans to have you a.s.sa.s.sinated," Getelles had said. "And now you are. My cover will work if your people will play along with it. I'll tell you where she'll be in twelve hours. You show up, and I'll cast my lot in with you, for the same terms we discussed before."

"One more thing you should know that ought to solidify this deal," Jag said. "I do have a recording of you talking to Daala. I have another one of her talking to another Moff-Porrak Vansyn. It seems she hasn't really forgiven or forgotten you, Tol. Once her position was secure, she had planned to turn on you and give all your holdings to Vansyn."

It was amusing, Jag thought, to recall exactly the precise shade of purple-red Getelles had turned.

Jag had played the recording, lest Getelles think he was bluffing. Upon hearing it, and the contempt in Daala's voice as she spoke of him, Getelles had indeed become wholeheartedly an ally-as he had proved early in the battle.

"Now, I think, it's time to settle up."

Jag looked at him curiously. "What do you mean?"

"Well, sir, you must be aware that the sample of the rejuvenation serum I, er, accepted from you was a fake. You agreed to give me back the stolen sample as part of our bargain."

"Oh, I don't think so."

Getelles's smile faltered. "You said you would return the sample!"

"You asked for the vial on the table. This vial, right here, I believe were your exact words. I gave you that vial, right there."

The smile was now entirely gone. "I thought better of you, Jagged Fel. That sort of trick is beneath you!"

"And the development of this kind of illegal drug is beneath you, sir," said Jag, not bothering to hide his disgust. "I will keep to my end of the bargain. I will not charge you for experimenting with this sort of thing, nor will I hold any past crimes or offenses against you. By allying with me, you have helped keep the galaxy stable, and I think you have earned forgiveness with that action. But know that I will send someone to investigate the laboratories that created this serum, and everything pertaining to this experiment will be destroyed at that time if you haven't done so already. You walk out of this with your holdings, your reputation-such as it is-intact, your liberty, and your head. I think that should be sufficient. Do you agree?"

The anger had pa.s.sed, and now Getelles looked merely resigned. "Yes, sir," he said, saluting. "The laboratories will be dismantled and the research destroyed upon my return to Antemeridias."

"I'm glad we understand each other. I do appreciate what you've done for me." Jag clicked off the comm, then withdrew a small vial from his pocket and regarded it thoughtfully.

"What's in there that he wanted so badly, anyway?" Tahiri asked.

Jag smiled. "Something to make a family very happy" was all he said.

JEDI TEMPLE, CORUSCANT.

"HOW UTTERLY SATISFYING," GRAND LORD VOL SAID. "SOON OUR domination of this world will be compete-and from here, nothing is barred to us."

He and High Lord Ivaar Workan walked along the Great Hall of the Jedi Temple.

"I had hoped to have a map of the Temple complete upon your arrival," Workan said, "but we ran into a few difficulties."

"It seems you have run into several," said Lord Vol. Slightly stooped with age, he came only to Workan's shoulder. "But no doubt now that I am here, everything will get straightened out. You had quite the task ahead of you. Perhaps I should have come at the beginning of our infiltration."

The full, imposing, ancient beauty of the Temple had pleased Grand Lord Vol. Vol had to admit that he was glad they could occupy this ancient site of Jedi strength rather than being forced to destroy it. He thought bitterly of Tahv, the exquisite City of Gla.s.s, which now lay in melted ruins, and he regretted how harshly he had spoken with Workan before arriving on Coruscant. It was indeed a mammoth task Workan had been set, and all things considered he had done a good job.

"No, my lord," said Workan, uncertain if the comment was a peace offering. "You always choose wisely. Despite the setbacks"-he spread his arms-"here we are, in the very heart of the Jedi Temple. Soon our domination of this world will be complete. And from here, nothing is barred to us." He hesitated. "My lord, what is the word from Kesh? How fares our home?"

"Tahv has been abandoned," Vol said solemnly. "Too little remained to safely continue inhabiting there. We have not lost faith in you and this endeavor, though. And it seems that faith was justified. From the ashes of a blasted city, here I stand, victory a few hours away. In attempting to crush us, Abeloth has only made us stronger. She has delivered this place into our hands while she scuttles furtively about the galaxy, no doubt tackling worlds unable to offer true resistance to salve her ego while we grow strong."

He turned to the younger man and placed a hand on his shoulders. "High Lord Workan, you have done exceptionally well here. I will remember your fidelity and efforts."

Workan bowed deeply, his worries clearly a.s.suaged. "I am honored. All is done for the glory of the Lost Tribe, for the Sith, and for you."

And Vol thought he actually believed that. He had chosen well in promoting this human, despite the "setbacks."

"Tell me everything about Rokari Kem," he said, as they walked.

So Workan did. He spoke of her history, her struggle to win freedom for the Jessar, her persona of a loving, gentle woman who desired no power for herself. "And yet, she is nothing like that," he finished. "She is ambitious, and arrogant, and greedy."

"Have you determined if she knows who we are?"

"No," Workan said. "But I have watched as she sways more and more of our allies by the day. My lord, I say to you truly-she is all that stands in our way. Once she is eliminated, we can openly claim this world, if you so deem. Let the galaxy know that the Sith-the true Sith-have awoken from their slumber and are poised to rule this galaxy, as is our rightful destiny."

"Perhaps," mused Vol. "Although there is strength in secrecy, as well. You have not tipped your hand?"

"No, my lord," Workan a.s.sured him. "No one, except perhaps Roki Kem, suspects a thing. Not even our imprisoned Jedi."

Vol eyed him, frowning slightly. This was the trouble with the young, he had found: their arrogance and enthusiasm sometimes were their undoing. Vol had lived long enough to appreciate patience.

"It is no ordinary Jedi you hold," he reminded Workan. "It is Princess Leia Organa Solo, who once helped topple an Empire."

Workan smirked. "She is sulking in a prison cell, my lord. There are no other Jedi here to rescue her. Even her husband has forsaken her. He has taken their adopted daughter offworld."

"I would not be so sure of that. But that is among the lesser of our worries," Vol added, lifting a hand as Workan started to protest. "It is well you have done nothing to jeopardize our secrecy. We should use the ignorance of Coruscant to our benefit as long as we can. I will deal with this Roki Kem. You are absolutely sure she is not a Force-user?"

Workan bridled slightly. "As I told you before, no one has been able to sense a thing. Apparently all her power comes from her ability to make people adore her while she selfishly grabs power for herself."

"That is a good skill in and of itself," said Vol. "Don't dismiss it. Nonetheless, politically powerful as she may be, she cannot stand up to me." It was not arrogance. It was a simple truth. "There is a second wave of Sith, awaiting my instructions. They are poised either for attack or for continued infiltration, depending on what I deem is wisest once Kem is eliminated. Which," he added, "I shall do tonight. The Tribe has waited five thousand years for this moment; I am anxious to experience it."

"As my lord wishes," said Workan, and bowed.

He did not bother to cloak his excitement and pride, and Vol would not chastise him for it. Let him, and the other Sith, the humans operating in public and the Keshiri operating behind the scenes in secret, who had earned this, enjoy themselves before the hard work of ruling the galaxy began.

Workan decided to start celebrating a bit early. He opened a bottle of burtalle, sent to him by the ugly Sull.u.s.tan senator Wuul in what was a clear attempt to curry favor. The two had clashed more than once, but Workan recognized a being determined to hang on to what he had, and so rather enjoyed the sparring. Particularly if an apology gift was as delicious as this beverage, which deserved opening a second bottle, and perhaps a third.

So it was that when the vidcall came at an obscene hour in the morning, he awoke slightly bleary and disoriented. Workan knew who it had to be, but as he sat up in bed wincing, his head throbbing and his mouth flimsi-dry, he thought that Grand Lord Vol could have waited until a more respectable hour to announce the Sith victory.

He threw on a robe and stumbled to a chair, pressing the activation b.u.t.ton.

And grew, quite suddenly, stone-cold sober.

It was not Lord Vol. It was Roki Kem.

The large green eyes were crinkled in a smile that was languid but had nothing of kindness about it. Roki lifted a three-fingered hand and gave him a little wave.

"Good morning, Senator," she said in her melodious voice.

Had Vol not struck? Had she been alerted to the attempt? His danger sense was screaming in the back of his mind. Something had gone very, very wrong.

"It would be a better morning had I been permitted to awaken at my usual hour," he said. He kept his voice pleasant, but allowed a tinge of annoyance and confusion to creep into it.

"I'm so sorry," she said, her voice sounding genuinely apologetic. "But I stumbled across something I think belongs to you, and wanted to make sure you knew it had been found."

She held up Lord Vol's head.

The Grand Lord of the Lost Tribe had died in terror, or torment-perhaps both-it would seem, if the wide, staring eyes and gaping mouth were any indication. Unable to help himself, Workan recoiled in horror. Raw, pure terror shot through him.

"Who-who are you?" he stammered.

Roki's smile deepened, its sweetness obscenely at odds with the severed head she continued to hold up. "Who I am is unimportant. It's who I will be that should concern you. Who you will help me become."

She waited, enjoying playing him, enjoying his terror. Workan swallowed, reaching out in the Force to press calm upon his trembling body. Regaining a measure of the control that had enabled him to climb to the position of High Lord, he asked, "And who is that?"

Her smile widened, and her blue face shone with happiness. "The Beloved Queen of the Stars," Roki murmured.

He had recovered sufficiently to let out a snort at that. "What kind of t.i.tle is that? You're insane!"

She shook her head, long, flowing, blue-green tresses waving gently with the movement. "Oh, no, Workan. I just see farther than you. My vision," she said, almost purring the words, "is vast. You will meet me ... tomorrow. Yes?"

"... Y-yes."

This could, thought Workan, work to his advantage. With Grand Lord Vol dead, he was, effectively, the highest-ranking Sith not only on Coruscant, but in the entire Lost Tribe. It was not official, of course. But it did not have to be. He was in charge of the single most vital mission the Sith had ever embarked upon. In the absence of a Grand Lord, no one would question his stepping into the role. At least temporarily. And as Workan had cause to know, temporary, with the right machinations, could be anything but.

Workan did not know how Roki Kem had managed to defeat an unmatched Force-user such as Grand Lord Vol, and he could hardly ask her. He could only a.s.sume one of two things: either the Grand Lord had made a grave mistake that Roki could exploit, or else she was some kind of powerful Force-user herself. If the first, then she was merely arrogant. If the second ... well, there was an old Lost Tribe saying: "The shadow of another keeps the sun from scorching." While it would have been immensely gratifying to have achieved adulation and fame, there was much to be said for lurking in the shadows and letting someone else be the target.