Battlefront II Read online

  Others would panic, or weep, or rail. But Iden had been raised to never, ever quit, and now, at this moment, she was grateful for her father’s implacability. The ship was careening and, as she could do nothing to stop it, she took a few seconds to observe.

  The prospect of her own violent and, possibly, painful and prolonged death was something that held little fear for her. But what she saw in those seconds struck terror down to her bones.

  It was the blue-green moon of Yavin. And it was completely intact.

  Not. Possible!

  She thought of the dreadful silence on the comm. And now that she knew, now that she had wrapped her brain around something that was not supposed to happen, that no one had ever imagined could happen, she recognized some of the pieces that she was trying so desperately to evade.

  They were of Imperial construction.

  Imperial.

  Pieces of the greatest battle station that—

  A single short, harsh, disbelieving gasp racked her slender frame. Then Iden Versio clenched her teeth against a second outburst. Pressed her lips together to seal it inside her.

  She was a Versio, and Versios did not panic.

  The destruction of the Death Star was the brutal and irrevocable truth that the impossible was now possible. Which meant she could survive this.

  And she was going to.

  Iden clawed her way back to control and assessed the situation with a bright, sharp, almost violent clarity.

  The impact of the debris strike had, fortunately, served not only to damage the wing but also to push her toward the moon, and without the pull of the Death Star to counter it, the gravity of Yavin’s small satellite was greedy. She couldn’t direct her trajectory, but she could manage it. Iden went on the offensive—a preferred tactic—but this time not against a rebel vessel. This time, her enemy was the debris that hurtled toward her.

  She spun toward the moon’s surface, targeting anything in her path and blasting it into rubble. This sort of thing was second nature, so she let part of her mind deal with how to manage the process of reentry, a controlled crash, and ejection.

  There would then be avoiding capture, stealing a vessel, and absconding with it, presuming she landed on Yavin’s moon in one piece.

  There it was again, that frisson of bestial, primitive panic, closing her throat. Iden swallowed hard even as cold sweat dewed her body—

  —beneath the uniform of an Imperial officer—

  —beneath the helm of a TIE fighter pilot—

  —and again took a deep, calming breath. The oxygen was finite, but it was better to use it now to help her focus than later as she panicked.

  Iden was, as far as she knew, the sole survivor out of over a million victims of this act of rebel terrorism. She had to survive, if only to honor those who hadn’t. Who hadn’t chased the foe in an impulsive act that ought to have been a mistake, but instead had gifted her with a chance to live.

  She would find a way back to Imperial space ready to continue the fight against the Rebel Alliance for as long as it took to eliminate every last one of the bastards.

  Her jaw set and her eyes narrowed with determination, Iden Versio braced herself for a bumpy landing.

  “She…she’s what?”

  Lieutenant Junior Grade Gideon Hask, twenty-seven, tall, elegant, the sole living member of a proud family of high-ranking Imperial officers, was usually poised and cool, just as he ought to be. Never sudden in his movements unless swift, decisive action was called for, his voice was well modulated and resonant. A voice, Gideon always thought privately, that was made for giving orders.

  But now that smooth voice betrayed harsh joy as it cracked on the last word.

  He had been summoned with no explanation to the Federal District of Coruscant’s Imperial City by Inspector General—no, Hask corrected himself, there had been a promotion in the last few days—Admiral Garrick Versio. The admiral was at this moment frowning ever so slightly in disapproval at Gideon’s lapse in professional demeanor. But for once, Gideon couldn’t care less.

  “I said,” Admiral Versio repeated with a slight hint of impatience, “Senior Lieutenant Versio is alive.”

  Gideon swayed, ever so slightly, and had to catch himself on a corner of the gleaming black desk behind which sat the admiral—and his best friend’s father.

  Iden’s alive.

  “How the hell—” At the admiral’s arched eyebrow, Gideon took a moment to recover. He released his grip on the desk and straightened, taking a deep breath. “How is that possible, sir? We were informed that everyone aboard the Death Star was killed.”

  A mere three days after the inconceivable disaster, the destruction of the mightiest weapon the galaxy had ever known, the Empire was still reeling. No one admitted it, of course. And it was easy to take all that disbelief and shock and grief like a piece of clay and mold it into hatred and cold fury. Revenge—no, nothing as petty as that; justice for the deaths of hundreds of thousands—was the focus now. The dead were to be avenged and honored, not grieved.

  Except…Gideon had grieved for Iden, privately, and on his own time. He had encountered the Versio family when he had been sent to Vardos to attend the Future Imperial Leaders Military Preparatory School. Vardos was an illustrious and staunchly Imperial world located in the Jinata system. The system had been praised throughout the Empire for its efficient control of its worlds. Garrick Versio himself had been the one to bring the planet into the Empire when he had been a young man. He had done so successfully and without violence, and the population loved both him and the Empire. In many aspects, Vardos was Versio.

  Gideon, a native of Kuat, had been orphaned at age ten when a rebel infiltrator had detonated a bomb at the planet’s shipyards. His parents had died in the blast. Gideon had grieved when he’d lost them, too—also privately, and on his own time, alone in his room in the now too-large house on Kuat, during the handful of days it took for his legal guardian to arrange for his enrollment in the school.

  The guardian had deemed the school an adequate substitute for parents. It was not, of course, but over time Gideon had learned to appreciate that it had forced him to mature, taught him invaluable skills. And…it had connected him with Iden. Though she was several years behind him, he’d been tapped to keep an eye on her while he was at Future Imperial Leaders, and had come to respect her. She was definitely a Versio, fiercely determined and excelling even at a young age. Later, they’d found themselves at the Coruscant Imperial Academy at the same time—and this time, Iden was the one keeping Gideon on his toes.

  This shared history made them less than friends—because, as the school’s headmaster, the Aqualish Gleb, had instilled in them, young Imperials did not make “friends,” they made “allies”—but more than colleagues. Gideon and Iden had an intense but respectful and strangely amiable sense of competition. She had consistently bested him, but that didn’t lessen the amount of regard he had for her. Her excellence only spurred him to his own. Like the pair of siblings they were not, they jostled for recognition. It had smarted when she received the coveted appointment to the Death Star while he, five years older and more experienced, had to be content with the TIE squadron aboard the Advance.

  Until just this moment, Gideon had viewed that appointment as Iden’s death sentence. He was both unable and unwilling to share his torment with anyone; nearly everyone he knew had lost friends or family on the Death Star, and no one seemed to be as devastated as he. Gideon had wrestled with the enormity of the hole Iden Versio had left behind in his universe. To have lost the only regular presence in his life for over a decade, and in such a manner, had shattered him more than he could have anticipated.

  And now this revelation had restored him with the same unexpected force. Iden was alive. That suppressed joy made it all right that Admiral Versio sighed heavily and said, an edge to his deep, rumbling voice, “Of course everyone who was physically on the station died in that tragic event. But Lord Vader, Lieutenant Versio, and a handf
ul of others were not on the station. She was in her TIE at the time.”

  Carefully, Gideon said, “Then there is one thing to be grateful for, in the midst of this tragedy.”

  “I have to admit I myself was very pleased to hear the news.”

  The confession surprised Gideon—it was definitely out of character. But he did not acknowledge it, instead asking, “What happened?”

  “According to her report, Lieutenant Versio’s TIE fighter was damaged in the explosion. She maneuvered it to a crash landing on the surface of Yavin’s fourth moon, ejecting safely before impact. She eluded detection and relieved the rebels of one of their hyperspace-capable vessels. When she reached Imperial space, she immediately identified herself. She’s been fully debriefed and is recovering on Hosnian Prime.”

  Gideon was smiling by the time the admiral had finished, but then, catching himself, he forced his face to return to a carefully neutral expression. Of course that’s what Iden would do.

  “Quite impressive, and a testament to your training, sir,” he said.

  “Not all that impressive,” Versio demurred. “Lieutenant Versio reported that there was a lot of celebrating going on.” The admiral’s voice dripped with contempt. “There’s not too much honor in eliminating a handful of drunken guards.”

  Although he’d known Admiral Versio his whole life, Gideon had never seen him effusive about anything except the glory of the Empire, so he shrugged off the older man’s downplaying of the scenario. The rebels, with their shocking, sickening victory, had suddenly proved themselves a force to be reckoned with. Gideon couldn’t imagine they would drop their guard and drink at their posts at any time, even when they’d struck a major blow against their enemies. He knew that Versio knew this, too, and that the admiral was simply being…well…the admiral.

  He had mentioned that Iden was “recovering,” which meant she’d suffered injury.

  A thought occurred to Gideon. He hesitated, but had to ask. “Does…has her mother…”

  “Zeehay Versio has been informed.” The clipped tone of the words was a warning, one Gideon knew to heed.

  The Versios had divorced when Iden was five, and Gideon had never met her mother. Iden didn’t talk about her much, though Gideon knew they stayed in touch. The last time Iden had mentioned her, Gideon recalled, his friend had let slip that Zeehay was unwell, but had said nothing about her since. Zeehay was a premier artist at the Coalition for Progress and, until her recent illness at least, traveled to various worlds, designing inspirational Imperial posters tailored to appeal to each culture. There was no one Gideon admired more than the man he stood before at this moment, but he couldn’t fathom what it must have been like to be married to him, especially given Zeehay’s artistic nature.

  Iden had gotten her mother’s coloring—warm, light-brown skin and black hair—and curiosity, but her strong jaw and strong personality had come straight from her father.

  “Thank you for letting me know, sir,” Gideon said. “But…I’m fairly sure you didn’t request me from the Advance just to tell me Lieutenant Versio is all right.”

  “No, I didn’t, but we will discuss that here in my office tomorrow at oh nine hundred. Lieutenant Versio and two others will be joining us. I’ve had quarters prepared for you at the Diplomat. Please head there directly and speak with no one. You’re dismissed, Lieutenant.”

  Usually, Gideon would salute and depart, but there was something else he had to ask. “Sir? Would it be possible for me to talk to Iden?”

  Versio’s gray eyebrows lifted. “I said, she will be joining us tomorrow morning.”

  “I know, sir, but…if it’s permitted, I’d like to speak to her.”

  Versio analyzed him for a moment, then nodded. “Very well, I’ll send you the coordinates. You may contact her once you reach your quarters.”

  Gideon didn’t need to ask. He knew the conversation would be monitored.

  Everything was monitored when it came to dealing with Garrick Versio.

  —

  Under ordinary circumstances, Gideon would have been assigned visiting officers’ quarters at the barracks, but it was clear that whatever the admiral wanted to discuss with him and his daughter, it was top secret—as were the identities of the two others.

  He certainly didn’t mind the change of venue, relaxing in the comfort of the VIP shuttle that ferried him to one of the highest levels of the city-world, 5120, a short distance from Versio’s office at the Imperial Security Bureau headquarters in the Federal District.

  The lift opened onto a floor with a single entrance. Clearly at some point in the hotel’s illustrious past, others had appreciated the value of near-total privacy. A guard stood beside the door, rigidly at attention.

  “Your identification, sir,” the man said briskly. Bemused, Gideon handed him his code cylinder. The guard scanned it with a small, handheld device, then stepped up and pressed his palm against a square reader affixed to the door. It hissed open onto cool darkness.

  “Welcome, Lieutenant Hask. I’ll be outside,” he said. “Com me if there’s anything you require.”

  “Thank you,” Gideon replied, and stepped inside. The enormous suite lit up to welcome him. It was luxurious but also austere. The far end of the room was composed entirely of reinforced glass. Gideon knew the topmost level of the hotel was above the planet’s cloud layer, but this floor was located beneath it, revealing the bustle of Coruscant outside.

  The only splashes of color in the otherwise stark black-and-white room were in the artworks. Recruitment posters from years past had been carefully framed, and Gideon found himself looking at images of proud young men and women, stormtroopers, and Imperial officers set against the stylized backgrounds of various worlds. Gideon was not an art aficionado, but he spared a moment to wonder if this was Zeehay Versio’s work. The young girl gazing up raptly at the stars in one painting certainly looked like Iden.

  His bag slung over his shoulder, Gideon walked through the main room with its black-and-white couches, chairs, and table, and selected a room at random. He whistled softly as the door slid open. The room was, by military standards, enormous.

  “Nice,” he murmured, “very nice.” He dropped the bag on the neatly made bed and headed for the holoprojector perched on the small table. He entered the coordinates and waited for what seemed like forever but was in reality only a few seconds.

  She appeared before him, miniature and gray-blue, but even in holographic form it was easy to see that her face was swollen and there was the ghost of a bruise on her temple.

  Her eyes widened. “Gideon!”

  She always called him by his first name, except under professional circumstances. That wasn’t true with anyone else, not even her father. And Gideon had long since gotten used to being called Hask by everyone else. His first name was theirs, between them.

  “Iden!” He found himself grinning. “I never thought…I just heard. I’m…I’m so glad to see you.”

  She smiled weakly. “I’m glad to be seen.”

  “Are you all right?”

  She sobered. “A bit battered and bruised, but the bacta tank fixed the worst of it. I’m trying to get a little rest, but honestly, I can’t sleep.”

  It hung between them; the thing they couldn’t talk about, probably shouldn’t talk about…but needed to.

  Gideon waited patiently. Iden had been closer to it all than he had. She was sitting up in a medcenter bed, propped up against the pillows, and was obviously holding the holoprojector in front of her in her hands. She looked away for a moment, then back at him.

  “Over a million people. So fast. Gone, just like that.”

  He nodded mutely and tried to reach for the positive. “But you’re not gone. You’re lucky to be alive.”

  She started to give him one of her wry smiles, then winced a little; the gesture clearly hurt. “Sure.”

  “Don’t do that,” Gideon snapped. “You are. And I’m glad, and your parents are, too. I saw the admiral toda
y, and he even said so.” A slight exaggeration, but true as far as it went.

  Iden brushed it off. “I mean…think about who we lost. The repercussions are going to be pretty horrifying. Some of the Empire’s top people were on that station. Grand Moff Tarkin. Colonel Yularen. So many good men and women. The Empire would have been better off if others had made it instead of me. I’m just a TIE pilot.”

  Iden sighed and rubbed at one of her eyes with the heel of her hand. “At least Lord Vader survived.”

  “Well, you did, too, and I’m glad. I know you, Iden. You’ll work to make sure your survival means something.”

  He leaned forward, folding his arms on the small table. “So. Tell me what happened. How you got out.”

  —

  Light-years away, still in a medcenter bed, bone-weary and sick with guilty grief, Iden permitted herself to be distracted. She told him about the crash, how she’d been injured but had been able to fashion a splint out of debris. How she’d walked several klicks through the thick, unnervingly green press of the jungle. She’d eluded detection, save for a single rebel, but she had dispatched him before he could raise the alarm. Then she’d slipped into a cargo ship and headed for the nearest Imperial system.

  “Not too exciting,” she said. “First aid, walking, taking a ship, and recovering here. No space battles.”

  Don’t boast, her father had told her. Accomplish. Then let others notice and react appropriately.

  “Nope. Nothing remarkable. Just sneaking onto a major rebel base and stealing a vessel right underneath their noses,” Gideon pointed out. “And,” he added, somewhat more somberly, “surviving the Death Star.”

  Iden felt herself retreating inward. She didn’t want to see it, to think about it, because she didn’t want to lose control. Senior Lieutenant Iden Versio couldn’t afford to do that, not in front of anyone—even Gideon.

  “Did you hear how the rebels did it?” Gideon asked. He was usually good at reading her, but Iden knew from experience that it was difficult to see expressions and body language on a hologram. She resigned herself to a discussion.