Sublight Drive (Star Wars)

Chapter 42

Onderon, Japrael System

Japrael Sector

There was a sight, from a hill not far from a small monastery, overlooking a forested valley. It was the sight of the magnificent Kira Fortress, melded into the side of a three-spire mountain, aglow with the golden lights from thousands of tall arches sculpted into the stone that served as windows and the hundreds of balconies that sprang from them. It was the sight of rolling waves of dull steel, crashing against the walls like a seaweed-thick tide against an immovable rock.

I could feel my bones rattle as the hills erupted with the fury of a thousand cannons, self-propelled mass drivers hammering against thick energy shields. On the valley floor, tens of thousands of soldiers clashed underneath the smoke of roaring starships, turrets meting out volley after volley of turbolaser bolts as they circled around the Fortress.

And the mountain responded in kind. It reaped slaughter; with the roiling mass of bodies all in one place, the defenders needed to expend no effort to kill. Shells and bolts shot out in hails, cleaving through ranks of men like hammer and chisel on porcelain. The mountainside glittered as hidden casemates roared out a blistering, creeping barrage that painted the land with mud and blood and swept entire battalions back to their siege trenches.

Skreevs and rupings duelled each other in the air, clawing and biting for superiority until their torn carcasses rained down from above, many times their screaming riders falling alongside, or even worse, still chained to their saddles. Aurek-class interceptors swooped down from above, strafing the battlefield, usually too swift to be caught by enemy warbeasts. But every so often, a Kiran drexl would pounce from behind the walls, stinger-tipped tail striking out with the speed of a viper–and spear an unsuspecting starfighter straight through, before dashing its mangled remains against the ground and retreating back behind the shields.

It was only the rare occasion, as both sides were holding back their drexls for the opportune moment. Such massive beasts could turn the tide of battle on their own, and even warships like Amanoa’s Wrath recoiled whenever there was a sign of a drexl sallying out.

“It’s going to take another month to grind down those shields,” General Tandin grumbled, his polished armour gleaming, “If you could bring your damn warships here, Bonteri…”

I didn’t want to answer him, not while I was forced to watch his ‘solution’ to the time-consuming siege; to brute force the mountain redoubt and take out the shield generators through sheer manpower. The result? Onderonians dying in droves, noble banners toppling under artillery fire, warbeasts screaming in agony as they ripped each other apart, and inches of land gained. It was one thing to preside over a space battle, and watch exploding starships from hundreds of klicks away, the death count nothing more than a rising number of the stats repeater.

It was another to witness gore flying through the air, hear the sound of human torture, and smell death rising from corpse-filled trenches, and fetid pools of coagulated gore. Flies swarmed raw chunks of day-old meat. Sand, dust, and blood. Few could imagine the sight of their admixture.

I could now. And I could retch.

“There’s a Republic diplomatic fleet in orbit,” I swallowed, “My warships aren’t going anywhere. Believe me, if I could, my first choice would be to blast this accursed mountain from the sky.”

I fruitlessly called Verala again, hoping for an answer that wouldn’t come.

General Tandin side-eyed me, “You need to have more faith.”

“I dislike loose ends,” I told him, “If she’s caught up in this because of me…”

Vaguely gesturing towards the siege, I grimaced at the mere thought of it. Not just her, but everybody here. ‘It shouldn’t have come to this’ was at the forefront of my mind. This could have been avoided. Should have been avoided. Something, somewhere, went terribly wrong. And I needed to figure out what that catalyst was, so that I didn’t have to watch a disaster of this magnitude happen again.

“General!” an orderly galloped into the camp atop a striped dalgo, “A Dor-Drel host was spotted crossing the eastern ridges.”

Enemy reinforcements, aiming to lift the siege. We didn’t know how much of the highland clans had already allied with the Kirans, and we didn’t want to wait around to find out. For all we knew, a host of hundreds of thousands was already marching. Kira Fortress had to fall by then. If it didn’t the possibility of this internal dispute becoming an actual civil war would suddenly become very real. The only reason we could keep this lowkey was because only the Royal Army’s standing forces had been redirected here. If the noble banners had to be martialled… the cat would be well out of the bag.

Maybe not a cat. A pritarr, more like.

“We must take Kira Fortress by tonight,” Tandin crossed his arms, “Have all our troops retreat to the hills.”

“Retreat, sir?” the orderly pronounced the word like it was a curse.

“I didn't know the Army accepted men short of hearing.”

“My apologies, General. Right away!”

Faded standards were raised, a horn bellowed across the hills, and the disorganised mass of soldiers reeled like a retreating gale, peeling off the walls and siege engines and making back to the trenches. As if awaiting for precisely this moment, a clarion call resounded across the battlefield, rising in pitch until the hairs on the back of my neck rose with it. Fortress Kira’s stone gates swung open, and a torrent of armoured heavy cavalry thundered out to run down the flight. Killing lances lowered and levelled. The Kiran cavalry spread out into a thin line, and a furious wavefront of lightning blue destruction rippled out from their lines. The rearmost line of the standing army was scythed down like sheared wheat.

General Tandin sniffed in disdain, and raised his hand. A second horn bellowed, and with practised discipline the disorganised mess of soldiers condensed into near-perfect squares of pike and shot at the drop of a dime. The Kiran cavalry didn’t slow, bone-shaking trot quickening into a furious gallop that churned the earth into a red slush as they rumbled down the hillside.

In response, the unbroken squares of pike and laser lances inched forward, three rows deep from every second man, guided by veterans walking on the outside like sheep dogs. In a blink of an eye, the enemy cavalry was upon them, steed and men alike thirsting for blood.

Two-thousand lances cracked and roared, enveloping the valley in blue light. Birds scattered from every direction, and thin white smoke covered the line and hung like fog as the men stooped instantly to reload, revealing the second rows taking their place and firing. For thirty long seconds, the entire valley was consumed by a blinding hail of laserfire from both sides. From my vantage point, far enough away from the eye-watering light, I could see the damage. The first ranks of dalgo-mounted cavalry topped like bowling pins, bones splintering and steel twisting, trampled and crushed underhoof by those after them.

Half the Royal Army’s frontline seemed to slump or sag against their fellows, shields and long pikes or laser lances dropped to the dirt as men collapsed. And then heavy armour and momentum met the sharp end of the pike.

There was no sense of impact, no thunderous crash. The heavy horse melted into the squares and crumpled like wet paper. Three rows of sharpened iron pierced and repelled the first, throwing back gnashing and snapping dalgos with stab wounds to chests and knees.

Others advanced behind them more cautiously, batting at the pikes and riding between the gaps of the squares. Another volley of laserfire roared out, and then the squares clamped shut on the cavalry like the jaws of a warbeast. Momentum turned from ally to foe as the Kiran cavalry found themselves trapped with nowhere to go but the killing point of an Izizian pike. The lances fired again.

I closed my eyes as screams mixed with the terrible cacophony of hoofbeats, bent steel, and shattering spears. What remained of the Kirans had submerged in dying comrades and chaos, many surrounded on all sides by heavy infantry, while most pushed uselessly against a wall of death. Finally, the horn blew, and the sortie turned tail and ran.

⁂

This is all that woman’s fault!

Saw went white as another rumbling fist of thunder smashed into the fortress’ shields, warped blue sky rippling out with tongues of crimson fire. The entire mountain shuddered under the Royal Army’s relentless assault, fiery braziers flickering and eyes jerked anxiously as overhead rock groaned. Dust sifted down, crackling and popping in fire pits and powdering hair, following each destructive bellow. Again, and again, and again.

Even with the fires, a thick, heavy fug settled. And with the rising smoke blotting out the sky, it seemed downright nocturnal.

“Saw!” Hutch roared over the howling siege, “This is not what we planned!”

The battle seemed so far away. The chamber the Kirans had given them faced east, sheltered against the mountain and on the opposite side of the siege lines. But there were no siege lines in the sky, and the mountain fortress found itself in the eye of a maelstrom of warbeasts, swooping in and out of the shields as the Space Force viciously clawed and bit their way to the generators, all while the ominous thumping of the Royal Army’s massive laser siege ram pounded away at the main gates.

The only way it could get any worse was if those Separatist warships appeared over them–but they weren’t, for some reason. Saw opted to count his blessings, however little he had.

“There was no way any of us could have known the Royal Army already knew about the Kirans!” Saw hissed, “If we did, we would have never come here!”

“That isn’t what I’m talking about!” Hutch seized his collar and dragged him closer, “I’m talking about joining the Kirans! I didn’t say anything when you made us follow the damn Beast-Lord, but I know I’m not the only one who joined Steela because she wanted to bring Dendup back! He’s our rightful king!”

Saw could feel over a hundred piercing stares digging into his skin like billhooks. The Kirans allowed them to stay, but nothing more. And now they were all in this room, still dirty with sweat and grime, waiting for the Royal Army to chop off their heads–if the castle didn’t collapse on their heads first.

He grabbed Hutch’s arm and dragged him out onto the balcony, away from the eyes. The shields seemed close enough to touch, beyond the safety of the stone, as it warped and billowed like storm-tossed waters. Streaking shells pounded the world around them–the thin filament the only object between them and a fiery death. Saw counted to five, then forced it out of his mind.

“I needed to keep us alive!” Saw insisted, “Kira Fortress was the only immediate place of safety–”

“We had the Nest!” Hutch shook his shoulder, and it took every fibre in Saw’s body to not instinctively throw him off, “We could have just continued making our way to the highlands, and disappear into the hills before the Royal Army could catch us!”

“You don’t understand!” Saw shouted in frustration, “The Royal Army was already on our tail! They already knew our every move!”

That made Hutch interrupt himself, pale eyes blinking in surprise– “You… are you serious?”

“There was a spy in our ranks, reporting everything back to Iziz,” he explained as calmly as he could in the middle of a raging battlefield.

“How?” Hutch whispered, “How did you know?”

Steela and Dono invited them in, he wanted to say. But he couldn’t. Hutch was right; the vast majority of them joined Steela because they wanted Dendup back. Saw, on the other hand, didn’t care. He didn’t care who sat on the Onderonian throne as long as they were Onderonian, not some Separatist puppet. Or Republic puppet, for that matter. He knew they only trusted him, followed him, because he was Steela’s brother.

Saw gritted his teeth. They were all nothing, weren’t they? Dendup, Rash, Kira. This little rebellion of theirs. Nothing at all, in the face of something as vast and incomprehensible as the galaxy. Under Ramsis Dendup, they thought they could continue to ignore it forever, and live peacefully in their own untouched corner of the universe. But the galaxy was here now–it came to them, and it wasn’t going to leave. Not even the Kirans were a worthy enough foe to require warships.

They were insignificant.

But that didn’t mean they had to stop fighting. That’s what fighting was for.

And Saw knew that the fighters followed not him, but his sister. He can’t let their faith in her die because she allowed a spy into their ranks. There were people with them in that safehouse, but they didn't know the truth either. Only he did.

“I found her out, at the ruins when the Beast-Lord interrupted me,” Saw straightened his back, “She escaped. And now the Royal Army is here.”

“Who was it!?”

I can’t say the name. Saw kept his lips sealed, and that only incensed Hutch even more.

“Is that why you accepted the Beast-Lord’s offer so quickly!?” he demanded, “Without asking any of us? Because you already knew we had been sniffed out!?”

Saw breathed in, and made his decision; “No. I don’t care who lives in that damned Palace. I only care that the Separatists and their puppets are not. Dendup, Kira, they’re all the same to me. But unlike Dendup, Kira had more guns. I saw my chance, I took it.”

For a brief moment, he saw confusion on Hutch’s face, and then a rictus of rage. And then there was a blaster barrel to his gut and a finger on the trigger.

“Then you aren’t fighting for the same reason as us,” Hutch snarled.

Saw allowed himself to be socked across the face, allowed himself to be thrown back into the hall, and allowed the rebels–Steela’s rebels–crowd around him in confusion, suspicion. Some rushed out to help him up, but Hutch dissuaded them with a furious wave of his blaster.

“Does Steela know!?”

Saw spat, “How could she? If she isn’t already dead, then she must be thinking we’re already in the safety of the Nest.”

“Steela trusted you! We trusted you!” Hutch roared, “You betrayed us all, led us here. And now we’re all dead men!”

–A thunderclap, and for a split second Saw believed it was his own heartbeat. A gust of hot air flooded in from the balcony, accompanied by a cry–shrill, bloodcurdling, and utterly otherworldly. Saw could count the number of times he heard that noise on one hand, but he couldn’t mistake it for anything else.

Skreev. Dxunian raptor.

“Now, I wouldn’t say dead men,” a mirthful, and deplorably familiar voice pointed out.

⁂

“Brooding does not suit you, Bonteri,” General Tandin said gruffly, “Out with it.”

A carpet of bodies spanned the entire valley, so thick that I could barely make out the earth underneath, red with blood and churned into a slick crimson mud. I breathed in–bodies from both sides laid face down in the dirt, and those facing up stared blankly into the rose-coloured sky with empty eyes. Wandering dalgos grazed on the corpses–some still with saddles, others with limp bodies still tied up in the reins–munching on flesh as loitering soldiers stabbed the dead. The Royal Army had withdrawn, but everybody knew there was going to be another assault in a few hours.

Another assault. More blood. That stench was going to linger for months to come, I thought.

I shook my head, “Just wondering what I could have done to avoid this outcome.”

“What you could have done?” Tandin raised a thick white eyebrow, “The answer is nothing at all. You did not have the information available to you. You could have never known.”

“I should’ve had all the information available to me,” I gritted my teeth, “I should’ve known something was up the moment you let me have my way so easily.”

“And then what?” Tandin countered, “Would the droids have remained in the city, increasing tensions with the Republic, while embittering Iziz even more?”

“If that would have led to a more preferable outcome, yes.”

“You do not know if it would,” Akenathen Tandin chuckled deeply, mockingly, “The rebels could have been emboldened. The droids, the Republic. What if they ended up remaining in the city, and continued striking droid patrols during the summit? There would have been less bloodshed, indeed, but would that have been preferable to this?”

I rubbed my face, wiping away the oppressive humidity, “No. It would have not.”

“How far do you want to go back?” the General continued, “Blame the Royal Court, perhaps? It was their eagerness to introduce Onderon to the galactic stage that piloted the invitation to the Republic and Confederacy. I did not want this outcome either, Bonteri. Consider that the King would have my head should we fail here.”

“Then what?” I spun around, furious despite myself, “Should I just accept that there were no good outcomes, that despite any choice I could have made, there would have never been a peaceful solution?”

General Akenathen Tandin met my gaze with a silent rage that made me feel like a child, “Do you think I did not ask myself that question every night following the Officer’s Coup? I know what it feels like to be helpless, Bonteri, and allow me to impart on you the wisdom you taught me the day my men turned their spears on me; men are unpredictable.”

“I know that!”

“Yet you do not consider it when making your decisions,” the General rebuked, “And neither did I, then. People are not puppets on a Malgan theatre play, Bonteri, and nobody is omnipresent! You convince yourself you know this, yet you expect everyone to play the roles you made for them. There will always inevitably be facts unknown to you, or third parties waiting for an opportunity to intervene. The larger and stricter you craft your plan, your strategy–the harder it will crumble when something inevitably slips.”

“You slipped!” I accused.

“I took that opportunity to consolidate royal influence,” he agreed, “And yet I did not expect the Kirans to overreact. I expected them to do anything other than spark another war so hastily. But men are unpredictable, and I prepared for the worst. How do you think the standing army was able to respond so quickly?”

“Don’t treat me like the green-faced child I was a decade ago,” I scoffed, and for a moment I could only marvel that I could speak to the Lord General like this without repercussions, “I know how the world works. The world is unreliable, and fickle. Always prepare for the worst. That’s what I do, General.”

In both lives, there had always been people above me, standing over me, demanding things of me. But now I was that person, with all the shiny effects that came with it and a fist that commanded hundreds of warships and thousands of soldiers. There was one fact; I made it. I stood near the top of the ladder, and I could count the rungs above me with a single hand. And yet, I never felt less in control. Like this rank was just another face I could wear that didn’t actually change anything.

“Of everybody who acted against me in the Officer’s Coup,” General Tandin sucked in through his nose, “You were the one I overlooked. And with the curse of foresight, I see now you were the most dangerous. I knew the ringleaders–Jamiro, Tiree, and the rest–but you and Mishar were the disease who spread through our ranks. You wear a different face for every person you talk to, convincing them to do your bidding. And somewhere along the way, you tricked yourself into thinking that was how the world worked.”

What the fuck are you talking about?

“Forget it,” I snorted, looking away, “You’ve gone senile.”

“Listen to me, Bonteri,” Tandin snarled, and I forced myself to listen, because Tandin was built like a bear with tree trunks for limbs and a grip that could probably crush my skull like a melon, “The only thing I know about you is that in the end, you will always prioritise yourself over everybody else. You think only yourself is real, and the world around you is inhabited by characters who you must cajole and influence to get what you want. It has worked for you so far, but it won’t work forever, and this situation proves it. What do you think Verala Mishar is doing right now?”

“Finding a way to return and report back to me–”

The General set his jaw, and I immediately knew that was the wrong answer.

“What were her original orders?” he asked with a cool calm.

“To compromise the rebel forces,” I answered, “But communications were cut, to which I could only assume meant she had been compromised.”

“But you think she is alive.”

“...Yes,” I confirmed, admittedly hesitantly, “She still has her raptor with her.”

Tandin narrowed his eyes, “Then have you considered that she may still be trying to carry out her original orders?”

“Why would she?”

“Because she’s Onderonian, and Onderonians don’t leave matters half-finished.”

“Speak for yourself.”

The General blew out a heated breath, “In the purple king’s name, Bonteri, when was the last time someone did anything for you without direct orders?”

The last time– I could name a few instances of my droids doing so, but I had a feeling ‘programmed habit’ wasn’t the sort of answer Tandin was looking for. I thought back on the past year, climbing ranks, giving orders, doing my damnedest to survive the war… and realised there was not a single instance I ever trusted someone enough to do something without strict orders. Except, wasn’t that my job? To give orders?

“Your obsessive need for control is going to fail you one day,” Tandin told me, “You treat people like droids, when they aren’t. You project your worldview on the rest of us; that we only do things that are self-beneficial, without considering that not everybody thinks like that. I agree, Bonteri, that if you were Mishar’s place, you would have returned in order to risk your skin any more than you must. But I doubt Mishar thinks that way.”

This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

I was quiet for a long while, the sight of mud and dirt and shifting blocks of soldiers blurring before my eyes until the squares looked like a particularly bloody chessboard. Then, I made my decision, and lifted my comlink to my lips. If Verala was still out there, so was her skreev.

The General lightly brushed his moustache, “If Mishar is alive, and isn’t here, where is she?”

She would have tailed the rebels. To Kira Fortress.

“Get a Clazca wing ready for flight, Vander,” I ordered, “We’re going on a raid.”

As I turned to leave, Akenathen Tandin called out one last time; “You don’t need to be in control of everyone and everything, boy. This may sound absurd coming from me, but you need to trust those who serve under you. That’s what they’re there for. You’re not the only one trying the best you can.”

Why is fighting an interstellar war easier than this? I decided on a suitable answer; because Onderonians are far less rational than the galactic standard. I supposed that was the reason why I found the galaxy far more pleasant than this hellhole. People like Sev’rance Tann, Calli Trilm, Simon Greyshade–they always wanted what was best for themselves. It was rational, it was simple. When I asked for something, they would follow through so long as they had something to gain from it as well. But Onderon? Everybody here is a fucking madman.

“Attack when I give the signal,” I ignored him, “Find her or not, we’ll take the Fortress tonight.”

⁂

Saw cursed, and saw an Alvera didn’t look a hair different from the day she slipped from his fingers, alone on the balcony. The only sign a raptor was ever present were the scuffed claw marks dug into the masonry, and the ringing in his ears.

“Who in the name of the Four Moons are you?” Hutch demanded, whirling his blaster around.

Kriff! If she speaks, this is all going to be for nothing! Saw eyed Hutch’s unguarded rear, and resisted the instinct to jump the man from behind. He still had his own blaster, tucked in behind his back, and wondered if he had enough time to draw it before somebody else shot him first. From the looks around him–he was already a dead man walking.

In any case, he wasn’t getting out of Kira Fortress alive. That was fine with him. But the rebellion must. At any cost.

I need to stop her from speaking. How?

“You’re the defector from the safehouse,” someone recognised.

Stang. Stang stang stang!

Hutch lowered his blaster by an inch, “You’re one of us…?”

Alvera tilted her head, meeting Saw’s desperate eyes. She grinned.

“I’m sure there’s someone here who could vouch for me,” she continued, holding his gaze, “Remember old me, guys? The ex-guardsman? Well, I decided that the moment you people joined the Kirans there was no way you’re escaping the headsman. Too high profile, you get me?”

At the mention of the headsman, Hutch whirled around again, as if he had forgotten Saw’s presence. The blaster, however, was still aimed squarely at Alvera. Hutch isn’t professional, he reminded himself, just some thug from the lower city. Hutch and his gang weren’t there when Alvera joined them; he was still suspicious of her.

“Well, you’re right about that,” Saw slowly straightened his knees, carefully eyeing the trigger arm that was following his every move, “Can’t say it was the smartest decision to return.”

“Oh, not really,” Alvera agreed casually, “But I got in touch with some of my old pals. There’s no way for the Kirans, but you dumbasses? When the Royal Army breaks down the doors, you drop your blasters and none of you will die.”

“...Really?” a meek, but cautiously hopeful voice piped up.

Saw couldn’t tell where it came from, but right then he could’ve both killed and kissed her. What in the Demon Moon is she playing at? What’s her end goal? Alvera grinned at him again, as if saying ‘if I wanted you all dead, I could’ve had the Royal Army drop on you in those ruins like a sack of bricks.’ He wanted to call out her bluff, except he didn’t know if she was bluffing in the first place.

“You went back to the Army?” Hutch narrowed his eyes, “Why didn’t they kill you?”

Alvera shrugged, “Friends are friends, right? That isn’t important. I already secured my way out, but what about all of you?”

Saw bit his lips. If she wasn’t lying… then they had to accept. That’s what Steela would do. Take a blow to their pride, but the rebellion will still live on. Better to be a coward with a pulse than a martyr in a grave. He knew he wasn’t the only one thinking that. These people weren’t hardened freedom fighters. They were believers in a cause, yes, but most were simply wronged civilians, many of whom had never held a blaster before and held a rightful fear of death in their souls. It was people like Hutch–street thugs who grew up with scepticism close to their chest–who needed more convincing. But even thugs treasured their lives. Even more than normal people, actually.

They just needed a little push. Well, he rolled his shoulders, considering the circumstances, I doubt she’s lying. And if she is for any reason, we’re all dead either way.

In a single action, Saw whipped out his blaster and pointed it directly at Hutch’s skull; “Don’t you damn dare do it, Hutch.”

Hutch stilled, murder in his voice, “What in Prael’s name are you doing?”

Saw flipped the safety with an audible click, “Alvera is a traitor! The moment we were in trouble, she fled back to save her own hide! If you join her, you’re no kriffing better.”

He could feel the room turning against him. He could hear the whirr of energy packs as blasters were held up and aimed at him. His eyes darted to his peripherals–Hutch’s goons. The moment I shoot him they’ll shoot me. Or maybe they’ll shoot me first.

“Accept the traitor’s offer and you’re a traitor too,” Saw scathed, “Steela trusted all of you, and this is how you repay her? Turn your back on the mission the moment things get rough?”

“You turned your back on us first!” Hutch shouted, arm shaking, “And now you’re threatening us for trying to live? What would Steela say about this!?”

That’s right, he thought, you all already hate me. Hate me more. I want to fight, and you hate me, so you want to live. We all shout at each other some, I lose my focus, you disarm me, and we all walk away alive. In chains, but alive.

“Steela–” Saw choked, pretending that Hutch’s words had struck a chord, “Don’t– is Steela even alive?”

Saw got ready to lower his blaster in ‘surprise.’ Come on, Hutch, disarm me! He could see the bastard tensing himself up to strike–knock it out of his hands, then tackle him to the ground. For a moment, Saw was ready to believe everything was going to work out, and no triggers were going to have to be pulled.

“Steela–?” and then his blood ran cold when he heard Alvera echo the name– “Why wouldn’t she be alive?”

Hutch froze–damn it!–and tilted his head to face her, “Steela’s alive? How do you know?”

Saw’s finger was quivering.

Alvera shrugged, “I made her–”

The shot rang out with a hum, crackle, and bang, the blaster’s discharge blindingly bright and searing into all of their dark-adjusted eyes. Saw squinted, still seeing red, and found Alvera’s body slumped against a column, eyes still wide in surprise, smoke rising from a hole in her chest.

And then the blaster was knocked out of his hand, and he was tackled onto the ground.

“You kriffing bastard, what did you do!?” Hutch roared in his ear, “I’m going to put a bolt in your kriffing head–!”

“Don’t!” another person screamed, “He shot her! We need him alive! He shot her! We need him to convince the Army we didn’t kill her!”

“Why the hell did you do it, Saw!?” Hutch roared again.

I needed to protect Steela, Saw thought numbly, feeling his cheek blister and tear as it was pressed against the rough stone floor. Did you? Another part of him asked mockingly. Did you pull the trigger, or did you panic?

At his lack of audible answer, Saw felt his skull slammed against the ground, and didn’t feel anything else.

⁂

I poked my head over the edge to watch Olko Baz’s ruping, Watchwing, struggle against the thin air as she climbed up to their drexls’ cruising altitude. The sky was a bleeding red, now, as the sun touched the horizon, as if mirrored against the earth. Half a dozen warbeasts and over a hundred Beast Rider Commandos lumbered through the sky, each wingstroke punching holes in the clouds, mist curling at the fingertips. They were flying high to avoid detection, but would drop closer to the mountain.

As soon as Watchwing was roughly level with Vander’s warbeast, Olko tossed a lasso onto one of its wing spines, before leaping across. Almost immediately, Watchwing dove back into the clouds. In fluid, practiced motions, the Beast Rider climbed his way onto the warbeast’s back, almost floating as he skipped from one handhold to the next.

“See anything?” Vander hollered loudly, offering a hand to the Beast Rider.

Olko took it, “No raptor. But I saw raptor prey.”

“So there’s a raptor,” I breathed out, igniting the hope in my chest, “Where?”

The Warlord raised a fist and made a series of gestures, before wordlessly taking the reins and whipping them. Vander’s warbeast released a guttural roar, and tensed beneath us. Vander and I shared a look, before diving for its back and holding onto the spines for dear life–right before the monster tucked in its wings and dove. And then it was as if my face was being torn off my skull, plunging through the atmosphere. Despite that, Olko Baz continued standing, reins wrapped around his arms as he controlled the warbeast’s descent. Around us, Clazca warriors whooped and hyped themselves as we forged through the clouds.

With a stomach-churning wrench, the warbeasts levelled, wings unfurling into their impressive width, skimming right along the underside of cloud cover. In the distance, Kira Fortress looked like a bonfire the size of a mountain, the forests around it lit with firefly-like campfires and rising smoke columns. Artillery boomed like distant thunder.

The fires faded as we continued circling around to the eastern face of the mountain, dropping altitude until we were in its shadow and completely hidden from Kira Fortress’ watchtowers. With a gentleness unbefitting of a drexl, the warbeast lightly touched down in a river-carved valley, followed by the rest of the wing.

“You could've asked first,” Vander huffed, “Asshole.”

Olko ignored him, pointing into the valley, “Look.”

My neck hurts. I rolled my head, hearing the bones pop, before staring down the length of the dried up stream; and just as reported, just under two dozen dalgos and pritarrs. Some with saddles, others without. All gored and bloodied. No human bodies. Watchwing was hunched over a carcass further uphill, cheerfully filling its stomach with free dinner.

They weren’t eaten, only mauled. And only one animal on Onderon hunted for sport… besides the fact that it wasn’t native to Onderon.

“Which way was it going?” I asked the expert.

“Uphill,” Olko answered easily.

Vander’s face scrunched up in confusion and curiosity, “How do you know?”

“Bodies facing uphill,” the Beast Rider said in a tone that suggested we were all idiots, “They were running away.”

“...In hindsight, that should’ve been obvious,” Vander admitted.

It could’ve only been a Dxunian raptor, and not any but Verala’s. Because these corpses were recent, and this close to the Fortress, and to the siege, even the most insane skreevs would’ve had the instinct to stay clear–if there even were any still-wild skreevs in Kiran airspace. But something didn’t sit right with me; this looked more like the work of a lone raptor, rather than a mounted one. Because I doubted Verala would’ve chosen the ‘guns blazing’ approach to what should have been a stealth mission.

We continued up the slope, massive, heavy warbeasts tearing up the ground as they laboured against the gradient, all the way until we reached a ridge with the eastern face of the Fortress right in front of us. And on that ridge was a single raptor, striped with maroon and red as freshly wetted blood. At its clawed feet laid the missing scouts that it had run down. Red Galia released a low croon that bounced off the ravine walls and echoed across the mountain. As we approached, the only indication we had passed through the castle’s ray shields was the electric tingle rushing over our bare skin.

That hope was replaced with a horrible feeling stirring in my gut.

Olko Baz said exactly what I was thinking; “Raptors do not act like that.”

I climbed up to my feet and slid down the warbeast’s wing, making the rest of the trek on foot until I was practically right next to Red Galia. I gingerly sidestepped the bodies, trying my best to ignore her wet claws as I cautiously brushed my fingers against her scales. Galia crooned lowly again, which I took as a sign that she wouldn’t use my arm as a chew toy.

Which was a problem, but Galia was the single meanest monster I knew, and the only person she doesn’t try to eat on first instinct was her rider. I sensed the rest of the wing catch up to us; over a hundred hardened killers hesitantly approaching a tame raptor as if that terrified them more than the six gargantuan drexls towering over us would’ve been funny, if it wasn’t for the fact that a tame raptor terrified me just as much.

“Where is she?” I whispered, now rubbing Galia’s scale with as little fear as I could, “Where is Verala?”

The name all but sparked a dormant fire in the raptor’s eyes. Red Galia screeched, snapped at me, snapped at the fortress’ glittering lights and balconies, and burst off from the ledge, knocking the bodies into the ravine. She dove, then glided, until she reached a single colonnaded balcony which had been shuttered by wooden screens. Galia roared, lightly clawing at the screens, as if trying to not damage something, before returning to us.

“Your best warriors, Olko?” I asked blankly.

“Pokk and Foth,” he offered two names.

I activated my comlink; “General?”

“You’re in position, Bonteri?”

“We could use that distraction.”

And just like that, the entire valley erupted in fire. Distant, intermittent artillery escalated into a furious crescendo of fire and screaming death as stars rose and fell and smashed into the ray shields. Hundreds of warbeasts took to the night sky, making a beeline for the shield generator–and the Fortress responded, already waiting and ready. A rumbling march of tens of thousands of soldiers and groaning of siege engines shooked the earth, soone followed with the whining hum of cannons and mass drivers pumping lead and lightning into the valley.

“Foth?” I turned around.

“Foth Shemar,” a gruff brute of a man nodded.

“Foth Shemar,” I repeated, “Take your Commandos and destroy the shield generator. Pokk?”

“Present,” a much thinner man raised his hand.

“Open the gates from the inside,” I then addressed Olko himself, “Warlord, find the Beast-Lord Kira and take his head.”

Olko Baz grinned savagely, “Always wanted to be a king slayer.”

“Can I borrow a carbine?” I asked, and Vander shoved one into my hands, “–You’re with me, by the way.”

“Figured,” Vander was the picture of seriousness, now, and his men were already prepping rappels and double-checking their gear.

“The rest of you,” I addressed the remaining two warbeast captains, whose men were rolling shoulders and cracking fists and going through the many rituals of courage, “Kill anything and anyone that tries to stop us.”

The Clazca riders saluted and climbed aboard their drexls, immediately leaping off the ridge without waiting for the go ahead. Soon enough, mad laughter, cries of alarm, and drexl roars rose over the rooftops of Kira Fortress.

“Alright boys,” Vander announced, “Here we go!”

Thump, thump, thump. The rappel launchers bursted off with a rippling puff of smoke, shooting across the ravine and drilling deep into the stone wall on the other side, right over the balcony Galia had indicated. Silently, the best of the Space Force zipped over to the other side one by one, with their Captain in the lead. Just as I was about to follow suit, however, Galia nudged me with her snout, lowering herself slightly.

Okay, now this is really freaking me out. I climbed onto her saddle, carefully, as if a single wrong move would have me thrown off the cliff–which I still wasn’t completely certain wouldn’t happen. Without warning, Galia leapt into the ravine, wings out and catching the healthy gust wind blowing sideways.

By the time I was ferried across, Vander’s squad had already burst through the screen, carbine blasters up and screaming “hands where I can see them!” and “drop all your weapons and nobody dies!” I followed them through, hefting up my borrowed carbine too, with more effort than I expected to expend.

“Wait, don’t shoot!” a man quickly ran to meet us, hands raised, “We’re unarmed!”

He was tall, grimy, with these pale eyes that wouldn’t be remiss to shooting a man in the head. The entire room was filled with wide-eyed men and women, and even some with faces too youthful for comfort, huddled against the walls. It stank. Not only of dirt and wood and forest, but also of blood. For a brief moment, I had thought we had gotten the wrong room, and had accidentally stumbled on a group of refugees…

Until I saw the pile of weapons heaped onto the centre of the room. They had prepared in advance. I should’ve been relieved that my job turned out to be so easy, but for some reason I couldn’t shake off the feeling that something was very wrong.

“Who’re you!?” Vander demanded sharply, with none of the humour that usually defined his character.

“We’re the… the rebels!” just uttering the word ‘rebel’ seemed to pain the man, “My name’s Hutch. We want to surrender. We were promised our lives.”

The man–Hutch–saw something behind me, and swallowed thickly. Slowly, measuredly so as to not spook anyone, he reached behind him and pulled out a hidden blaster by its barrel, before holding it out and dropping it on the pile. It took me a moment to understand the reason why–Red Galia was sticking her massive head through the balcony, in an image ripped straight from one of those old fantasy books where the dragon peered in through a tower window.

The only thing missing was the licks of flame escaping her jaws. Alas, she was not a dragon.

“You were promised?” Vander slowly moved forward, aim jumping from person to person, “Promised by who?”

“By Alvera!” someone else shouted a name none of us recognised, but Galia clearly did.

The skreev released an ear-piercing screech, and the entire room recoiled even further as the huge beast tried to claw its oversized body into the room, ripping out chunks of stone from the doorframe. The confusion that lingered between Vander and I snapped into realisation–

“Alvera– you mean Verala!?” I demanded, “Where is she!?”

The rebels looked at each other nervously–even more nervously than they did looking at a raging Dxunian raptor. That uneasiness in my gut climbed into dread.

“Where is she!?” Vander repeated, with a roar that would put a warbeast to shame.

The crowd parted, and two women emerged from the throng, holding between them an unmoving red-haired body, and gently setting it down in front of us. The body–Verala–looked just as I had remembered. Coveralls, and blazing red hair that matched her raptor’s scales. There was just one problem; she wasn’t moving.

And then I saw the charred hole in her clothes, and her closed, peaceful eyes. And that fiery red hair of hers turned into pale blood before my eyes, spilling out and spreading across the stone floor. I couldn’t differentiate Galia’s piercing cry from the thundering artillery or clangour of battle that was spreading through the halls of Kira Fortress like a rampant inferno. My chest constricted, the dread curling into a snake constricting around my heart.

Verala wasn’t moving.

She was dead.

I killed her.

I tore my eyes away from her hair, but the red glare didn’t leave my eyes. The blaster carbine suddenly seemed much lighter in my hands.

“She told you that?” I asked thinly, “She promised your lives and you killed her?”

God damn you, Verala. Why couldn’t you just have returned? You think I would have faulted you for anything? You didn’t have to do any of this.

“We didn’t,” Hutch said slowly, “He did.”

A man was shoved out in front. Tall, with short cropped hair, sharp eyes and a ragged goatee. A nasty purple bruise covered half his face, littered with tiny cuts and blisters. It was obvious the rebels had already punished him for what he did–but that wasn’t enough for me.

“Why did you do it?” I asked with a calm I did not feel.

“Rain…” Vander looked at me with a warning in his eyes.

“Why?” I repeated, ignoring him.

“Is… is my sister alive?” the man slurred his words.

“Your sister?”

“Steela… Steela. She was in the city… Jedi.”

I snarled, finger curling around the trigger–until Vander forcefully pushed my carbine down.

“Verala promised their lives,” the Captain insisted.

“And it cost her–!”

“Her life,” Vander finished, “She didn’t have to do it, but she did it anyway. We won’t know her reasons, but her death must count for something.”

“They could be lying,” I tried to convince him, but more myself.

“We aren’t!” Hutch restrained a growl, “We were going to accept! Demon Moon take my soul if I’m lying–take all our souls. That’s why Saw killed her!”

I shouldn’t have let her leave the city. That bastard Tandin said I should’ve trusted her… Verala clearly knew what outcome I wanted; that must’ve been the reason she tried to reason with the rebels. But what good is it if you end up dead in the process?

“You’re going to die,” I told the man, “But as much as I want to shoot you–”

“Rain,” Vander reminded.

I spat, “I don’t know why you’re arguing with me on this. You were her friend too.”

“And I continued being her friend after your left us here to chase your war,” he said tersely, “And yet, the moment you came back, she jumped at the chance to help you out. You think she had to do this?”

“No she didn’t!” I nearly raised my blaster again, “And if I knew what she was up to, she never would’ve!”

“Well guess what? If we knew what you were up to, we would have never let you leave a year ago!” Vander half-laughed, half-cried out, “But we didn’t know everything! And you don’t know everything! You were stupid! She was stupid! People are stupid! We make decisions others don’t understand! You made a decision we didn’t understand, but we trusted you, and we allowed you to leave!”

He jabbed a finger into my chest, and it felt like I was just run through with a pike.

“She was waiting for you when you came back! If you had died out there… we wouldn’t even have a body to bury in the Hall of Spirits,” Vander pointed at Verala’s peaceful form, “You think I don’t know how you feel right now? Get over yourself, Rain. You did the same to us. At least extend the same trust we gave you, to her. We don’t know her reasons, but at least she died an Onderonian.”

If you had died out here, Vander’s eyes seem to continue, you would have just been another body in space. And for an Onderonian, there was perhaps no bleaker fate. But I’m not an Onderonian, am I? Not truly.

The clamour had stopped now, and Kira Fortress was silent as a mausoleum. No artillery, no warbeasts, no fighting. It was as if time had stopped, and the world was held in stasis. Vander’s guardsmen were still aiming their carbines at the rebels, stoically still under their helmets. But I could feel their agreement hanging in the air. They were all probably people I knew, that I ate and worked with for a decade. And they all probably felt just as betrayed when I left Onderon to fight a personal war against destiny.

I bit my lip.

“As much as I want to shoot you,” I repeated slowly, “I won’t. Because Verala will kill me in the next life over it. So I’m going to tell you what’s going to happen. You’re going to be beheaded in Yolahn Square, before all of Iziz. That’ll appease the Council of Lords. And then everyone in this room is going to be banished from Onderon. Forever.”

“...My sister–”

“Steela Gerrera is alive.”

The man slumped, his bloodied face breaking into a miniscule, but satisfied, smile. And I suddenly had the urge to shoot him again.

I tore my attention away before I changed my mind, “Everyone got that?”

“We’re going to die out there,” Hutch mumbled.

I could have laughed. That’s right. Onderonians in space? Talk about fish out of water. But no, I had no intention of letting them all die.

“You’ll be fine,” I snapped, picking up Verala’s body and holding it up the Galia.

The skreev crooned, nudging her rider’s corpse as if expecting her to wake up. When Verala didn’t, Galia gently scooped her into her mouth without biting, and disappeared out balcony. It was only a few seconds before the raptor disappeared into the horizon.

“The skreev’s going to eat her,” Vander mumbled, but he didn’t argue.

“Then she would have died an Onderonian,” I replied, “Now leave the room. We’re going out through the front door, and leave this accursed place behind us.”