Corporate Authority
CMDR/CAPT Krax Tarnisar/Spear/Wing IX/ISD Relentless
(miner49er@excite.com)

There was blood everywhere. It was the first thing the young man saw as he climbed out of his speeder. Smeared across the shattered doorway of his family's home. Splattered across the walkway and the shrubs that shielded the door. And then he saw the bodies. Or what was left of the bodies.
Reddish light from the setting sun filtered through Ullyr's tall trees, making it difficult to pick out details. But Krax Tarnisar knew what had happened, even as the first tears traced wet streaks down his cheeks. It had to have been the Wookies. Reaching back into the speeder, he picked up his blaster and walked slowly towards the house. Fearing what he would see, but at the same time knowing what would be there.
His scream came out as a low moan. Sitting bolt upright in his bed, Krax's breaths came in short gasps. Always it was like this after that dream. Eyes wide, staring into the blackness of his quarters. Filled with the images of his family's bodies. And finding his little sister thrown through that wall.
It took time for his fists to unclench. For his heart to stop racing. For him to remember where he was. Finally he sank back into his bed, feeling his sweat-soaked pillow and light blanket. Lying alone in his dark quarters aboard the ISD Relentless. A squadron commander and a frightened young man.
Like all Star Destroyers, Relentless ship time was Coruscant standard. Although it did allow for easy tactical coordination, it was also a link to a dream. Times that had passed and may never come again. For some, a constant reminder of what they had lost.
Vice Admiral Ricaud leaned back in his heavily-padded chair, looking with one eye out the wide viewport at the glittering gem-field of space. His other eye flickered between a small monitor and the tightly-dressed man sitting in front of his desk. With neatly-parted hair and nails that had seen hours in some salon or another, the civilian's cologne was like a third member at the meeting. In spite of this, his eyes were as hard as his Tyrdian crystal tie pin, and Ricaud understood the authority - no, the power - behind that slick part and glittering loafers. "Everything looks official."
"Of course it is." There was a hint of Corillian drawl behind the affected Coruscant accent, a bit of a roll where there should have been a clipping of the vowels. A peek at the man's roots, quickly hidden by those eyes. "The Grand Admiral himself has been briefed, and agrees on the necessity of this operation."
"Of course, Director. You misunderstand. I have no quibble with the mission. Only the timing." Ricaud switched off the monitor with a long finger and leaned forward. His Dark Jedi training allowed him to pick up just a quiver of power from the man across the desk, a quiver that was quickly suppressed. All the more reason to handle this one with the softest gloves. "You see, the Relentless has just returned from border duty. My fighter wing is well overdue for its scheduled overhaul. I must confer with my wing commander before we can assign an escort force."
"Very well." The visitor sighed, leaning back in his chair. "As your wing is the only one within the proper distance it will have to do. How soon will you know?"
Biting back a sharp remark, Ricaud settled for flexing his Dark Side muscles. Smiling with his eyes as he saw the sweat beading on his visitor's shining forehead. You may have your parlor tricks, he thought, but my power is greater. "Within the hour, I would expect. You will be called, Director, don't worry." With that, Ricaud looked away, dismissing the man as his eyes slid away. "Now you must excuse me. Major Zadash and I have much to discuss."
"But it's crazy, admiral! The Wing's only been back on board for a standard day!" Major Lohr Zadash paced in front of the wide desk, his boot heels clicking sharply on plain deck plate. "Hammer Squadron's in no condition for such a mission, and Dagger's down to twenty percent operational craft. I don't even want to talk about Sword, and Shield doesn't have the right fighter mix."
"What about Spear?"
Zadash stopped pacing, his narrow face a contrast of light and shadow in the dim blue-green light cast by his monitor. "They're in perhaps the best shape." He looked down, taking in numbers. "Two full flights, if you combine the missile boats into one and shift pilots to the TIE/Advanced. And they have less flight time on their frames right now."
"But?"
"Well, admiral, it's their experience level that I'm worried about. Captain Tarnisar hasn't been on board all that long, and some of his pilots have more simulator time than actual combat time."
"True. But the captain came to us from the Vindicator."
"I know." Like the others, Zadash had heard of that Star Destroyer's exploits. "But he's still something of an unknown quantity here."
"Perhaps. But what choice do we have, major?" Ricaud's voice was a shade harsher than he might have liked, but the hour was almost up. "Wing IX got the mission, and Spear Squadron's the only one in any condition to carry it out. It's our duty to carry out that mission, major."
"I know." Zadash sat down heavily, dark circles showing plainly under his eyes. "Shall I brief him?"
Sleep had been hard in coming once the dream had paid its visit, and it showed in shadows under Krax's even brown eyes. But his uniform was sharply creased, and there was no shake in his body or voice as he came to attention in his commander's office. "Captain Tarnisar reporting as ordered, sir."
"At ease, captain. Please. Take a seat." Major Zadash sat as well, keying to life the wall monitor. "I'm afraid that your lads won't get much rest this time out."
"But, sir. I thought. . ."
"As did we all. But the needs of the fleet come first. The needs of the Empire. I'm afraid that the wing has been tasked with a bit of a special mission. Spear Squadron saw the least action in our last patrol…"
"Through no fault of our own, sir."
"I know that, captain." Zadash leaned back. Gods, but this one was prickly! "Someone always has to fly close escort. In any case, it also means that your squadron is the closest to full operational readiness. Which means you get the mission."
"I serve the Empire."
"As do we all. I'm afraid it's not much of a mission, captain. A bit of cover and escort duty." Gesturing to the map that had come up on the wall monitor, Zadash continued. "Some patrolling while a planet is evacuated and then covering the convoy as it pulls back into more secure space."
Krax felt the metal arms of the chain under his fingers. "So it's not a navy operation, sir?"
"No. Corporate Sector Authority has sent a man out to oversee this evacuation. He'll have overall command, although the military side of things will be strictly your responsibility."
A cold needle shot up Krax's spine, and he could feel small drops of sweat starting to bead just under his hairline. A brief image of the dream shot past his mind's eye. "Did you say CSA?"
"Yes." Zadash looked up, puzzled by the sudden change in his subordinate's voice. "Is that a problem?"
"Respectfully request that Spear be taken off this duty, sir."
"I'm afraid that's not possible, captain. The other squadrons are in no condition to undertake a mission like this. It falls to you, whatever your personal feelings."
"Of course, sir." Krax sat rigid in his chair, memories competing with the present and threatening to overwhelm him. CSA! He could still see those damned bastards and their pretty freighters pulling out of Ullyr's spaceport. Leaving the families - his family - to the Wookiees. But orders were orders. He'd work with this CSA bastard, even though the thought made his stomach fill with ice.
"Good. See to your squadron, captain. We'll have a full briefing with all your pilots in one hour. That should give your crews time to get your ships ready. Weapons load is at your discretion, but I'd suggest being ready for anything. This system is at the very edge of our space, and there are reports of pirate activity."
Spear's briefing was even shorter than that given to its commander. Krax kept his comments brief, letting Major Zadash do most of the talking. Not really trusting his own voice to disguise his feelings about the mission. The assembled pilots nodded from time to time, taking notes on hand-held computer pads that would later be linked to their fighters' computers.
"Is there any information about this pirate activity, sir?" Lieutenant Commander Argyle Ironfist looked up from his notes as he spoke. A tall man with animated features and an aggressive cast to his voice, Ironfist was also Flight 2's Flight Leader and one of the squadron's best pilots.
Major Zadash looked over at the neatly-dressed figure who had been standing quietly off to one side of the briefing podium. The CSA director seemed reluctant to take the question, looking down at well-groomed nails before bringing his gaze back to the assembled pilots. "Our reports indicate the presence of a couple of squadrons of older, hyperspace-capable fighters. Maybe a corvette or two. The attacks have been uncoordinated, but steady."
Clearing his throat, Krax locked eyes with the CSA man. "Doesn't sound like much of a threat."
"Perhaps not to a hotshot pilot. But our freighters are unescorted, or at best have a couple of gunboats along for support. It's not cost-effective to stay out there."
Zadash tapped the podium, taking control of the briefing. "We also have information that the New Republic has been scouting this system. The fleet doesn't have the time or resources at present to fortify Tenar V. As our comrades in CSA cannot go it alone, the decision to evacuate was made."
"We have two full flights ready to assist." Krax let his shoulders sag as he sank back into his chair. "I've shifted Flight 2's pilots into Flight 3's TIE/Advanced fighters to give us more capability. All pilots have been given their jump coordinates, and Spear stands ready to assist in the evacuation, sir."
"Good." The CSA man turned away from the assembled pilots. "Then let's get this show on the road. Time is money, gentlemen, and I have a schedule to keep."
"I don't trust that one," Ironfist muttered as he got to his feet. "Too slick by far. Not a warrior."
"Never met a CSA puke who was." Lieutenant Owen grinned at his Flight Leader, slipping his data pad into a baggy flight suit pocket. "But there's power behind them. A different kind of war, sir."
"Not honorable, though." Ironfist nodded towards Krax, who still sat staring at the briefing map. "And I'd say our commander agrees."
"Switch to tactical sensors." Following his own order, Krax cycled his missile boat's sensor suit to short range and for the first time examined their target.
Tenar V, the fifth of seven planets in a system on the very edge of Emperor's Hammer territory, wasn't much to look at. A blue and red ball partly masked by swirling gray-white clouds, it was a class three mining and agricultural outpost. Maybe with some long-term prospects, but in the short run an expendable asset. Krax was no expert in planetary ecology. But from what he could see, life on Tenar V would be hard but possible. The kind of place that attracted people who wanted to start over.
"Not much to look at, is it?" Sub-Lieutenant Weasel's voice cut into Krax's thoughts. The other member of his flight, Weasel was new to the squadron and looking to make his mark.
"Maybe not from here, One-Two." Krax keyed off his com and spoke into his helmet. "But I'd wager it looks a lot different from the ground."
"Attention Spear." It was the slick voice of the CSA officer. His shuttle had beaten Spear to the planet by a good half hour. "Bring your fighters down. Coordinates are being relayed."
"Roger. Estimate planetside in five minutes." Krax switched to squadron internal and relayed the command. "Keep it tight, people. No telling what we'll find once we touch down."
The spaceport was like any other located on the edge of 'civilized' space. A cluster of hardstands for the bigger ships surrounded by open pads for less important traffic. A customs and control building, prefabricated as usual out of some glittering alloy that ruined any skyline that the native planet might have to offer. Krax took it all in as he swung his missile boat in low, ignoring the controller's orders and selecting his own landing site. As one, Spear Squadron followed his lead, the bigger missile boats coming in first. Once they were safely on the ground, Flight 3's TIE Advanced fighters glided in, skids deploying smoothly from their rounded bellies. And before Krax even had his flight helmet off, the CSA official was storming across the landing pad. "Why did you ignore my man's orders?"
"Operational security." Krax tucked his helmet under his arm, turning away from the enraged bureaucrat and walking towards Ironfist's landing fighter. "Your frequencies can be monitored. Sir."
"What did that one want?" Ironfist spoke around his helmet visor, nodding towards the CSA man who was stalking over and wiping at a thin coating of dust that the fighters had flung on his clothes.
"Just some shit about landing patterns." Krax sighed. "Quite frankly, Argyle, I could care less. Let's just get this one over with and get back to the Relentless."
"Agreed, sir."
"Our freighters will be arriving soon. See that your pilots are ready."
"Of course. But what facilities can we count on?"
"What?" The CSA man stopped in mid-stride, turning back to the lean captain. "What's that you said?"
"Facilities." Krax spoke slowly, as if to a child. "Ground crews. A place my boys can eat."
"Oh. That. Well, you can use the customs station. I suppose there must be something there. Just be quick about it. We've a schedule to keep."
"Not much, is it?" Lieutenant Owen waved towards the cantina with one hand, the other filled with a pastry-wrapped meat pie that he was chewing on as he spoke.
"Maybe not to us, Lieutenant." Argyle Ironfist spoke slowly, seeing something of his own home world as he looked around. "But to these people it's home."
"Sorry, sir."
"That's the sad part of Imperial politics, Owen. It always ends up uprooting someone's dreams."
"Is that what's bugging the boss?"
"I'd guess so. You heard about Ullyr?"
"Of course. We all did at the Academy."
"Well, he was there. And he saw them pulling out. I don't think he likes this mission one bit, lieutenant. Not one little bit." Ironfist leaned back in a chair that was starting to show spots of rust through chipping chrome plating. "And I can't say I do, either."
Krax stood at the bar, oblivious of the conversation of his pilots at the nearby table. A glass sat at his elbow, covered with diamond drops of condensation. Through the big window he could see lackadaisical Corporate maintenance teams going over his fighters. Each with an eye on the sky for the arriving freighters. As soon as those big barges arrived he would lose those teams. Leaving his pilots to finish whatever work had been started.
He could feel the bartender's eyes on him, but didn't meet the man's hard gaze. He'd seen that look before. They were the eyes of someone who hated the uniform and never even saw the man inside. Not uncommon on the border reaches of space. And perhaps even more understandable here.
"Need another?"
"No." Krax looked down at his half-full glass. "This should do fine." He smiled then, just a thin grin. "Nice place you got here."
A big man with straight teeth, the bartender laughed softly. "Thanks for the lie, flyboy. But it ain't nothing special."
"Sure it is. It's got booze. What more could a pilot ask for?"
"Lota good it does me now. With those CSA bastards pulling up stakes like this. You don't look CSA to me."
"No. Imperial Navy."
"So what are you doing with those slick-hair bastards?"
"Orders." Krax sighed and took a deep drink, emptying the glass in a single swallow. "Maybe I will have another."
The first freighter came in low and fast, like a bird of prey sweeping in on its first kill of the day. Not the half-assed run of some heavy-handed farm boy just out of CSA merchant marine school. No, Krax thought as he drained his fourth drink. That was the approach of the best. The freighter was one of the big modular types. Configured for equipment and not people.
By now the bartender had dropped some of his professional reserve. "Looks like they sent the prime team this time."
"How so?"
"Simple. CSA doesn't waste jump time. That baby's here for the refining machinery." He jabbed towards the window with a thick thumb. "Be more like it for the generators and such."
"What about the families?"
"You don't get it, do you?" The bartender leaned across the scratched plasticine bar, a grin of secrets splitting his heavy face. "They ain't taking the families. Heard it myself just the other day from…"
Krax's hand shot out, fingers locking around the bartender's thick throat. Squeezing without the slightest hint of releasing. "What did you say?"
Coughing for air, the bartender's eyes pleaded. When Krax released his grip, the man coughed and spluttered for a few seconds before finding his voice. "Easy there, friend. Not my doing. One of their mid-level planners was in here a couple a nights back. And she was lower than a Jawa's balls in the bottom of a hole, let me tell you. Well, after she'd had a few she started talking. Seems that her bosses are getting all jumpy about this place. Too hard to defend, you see. And with you Navy boys stretched so thin…I guess they decided to cut their losses. Taking all their equipment and leaving the cheap stuff behind. 'Expendables' she called 'em. When I asked what that meant, she said the colonists."
Krax didn't see the bartender anymore. Instead he was seeing other freighters. Lifting off from a forest world covered by blasters in the hands of CSA security forces. Keeping the colonists at bay. "What about you?"
"Me? Hell, laddie. You see any slick hair here? Any tailored Corellian jackets?" With a glint in his eye, the bartender massaged his bruised throat with a thick hand. "I stay because I buried my wife here. Got no other place to go, you see."
"What if you did?"
"They don't haul bartenders on those expensive ships, son."
Watching the big man walk away, Krax looked down at the dregs in his glass. Although he could taste the liquor on his tongue, he didn't remember drinking. He just kept hearing the word 'expendables' over and over again in his mind.
"Sir? Are you all right?" Lieutenant Commander Ironfist walked over from his table, leaving Owen to watch the loading of the freighter. Another was coming in to land, and a third could be seen as a metallic glint in a bright blue sky dotted with a scattering of clouds.
Without looking up, Krax repeated what the bartender had revealed. "So we're just here to baby-sit an abandonment," he finished, deciding that he didn't need another drink. "Leaving these people to whatever fate holds."
"There's no honor in that." Ironfist's face set in a hard mask as he looked out towards the freighters.
"No, my friend. There surely is not. And I value my honor highly. That was one of the things Captain Grissin taught me. Him and the Vendaryans of Gamma Squadron."
"So this is where you've been hiding." The CSA man's voice boomed from the doorway, the rolling Corellian vowels accented by anger. "Come on and be quick about it! Your work is about to start."
Slowly, carefully, Krax set his empty glass down on the bar. It shook slightly in his grip. He felt Ironfist's hand on his shoulder and ignored the unspoken warning. "Watch your tongue, you Corellian bastard."
"What was that? I don't think I heard you correctly. Captain." The last word was a sneer. "You will address me as 'Director,' and then only…"
"Sir." One of the freighter captains stood in the doorway, a stocky man with the blunt hands of one who maintains his own ship. "We need you down at Bay 3. Seems there's some trouble."
"Right." Turning his glare back to Krax, the CSA officer smiled thinly. "You'll be joining us directly, captain. Your assistance may be needed. And do make sure that at least some of your pilots are sober."
"Useless key-punching…" Ironfist finished the thought by slamming his fist against the hard bar top. "What do we do, sir?"
"Go see what the fuss is about." But Krax already knew what it was about. The locals had seen the freighters land, and knew that they wouldn't be lifting off with them. Most likely in spite of what they'd been told.
The sun baked down on Bay 3, glinting off the chipped hull of a container transport and dappling the skin of an assembled crowd. Krax guessed that there were about twenty men and women present, most with the tanned faces and dark hands of farmers. Their rage could be felt at fifty meters. The CSA man stood on the back of a hover loader, waving his arms and keeping an eye on the four mercenaries he'd brought along for his personal security. "There's no need to worry," he shouted again. "We just need to get the heavy equipment off first. Then we'll be back for you."
"That's true, then?" One of the older farmers seemed to be speaking for the group, his weathered face telling the tale of the struggle it had been to make Tenar V habitable.
"Of course it is! We had some trouble getting transports arranged, that's all."
Knowing he should just hold his tongue, but feeling something inside him snapping, Krax bulled his way through the throng. Any grumbling stopped when they saw his uniform. Or looked into his dark eyes. In his mind he could see those red walls, and knew that he had no real choice. Orders or no. "He's lying," he shouted. "They won't come back for you!"
"That's enough out of you, captain." Motioning towards his guards, the CSA man looked back to the crowd. "This pilot's drunk and causing trouble."
A low laugh rumbled from Ironfist's throat as he eased past his commander. "Let me see to these lads, sir." The big pilot moved with a grace that surprised those who didn't know him, and he easily reached the mercenaries before they could ready their blasters. Within seconds the four were crumpled on the hot pad, bruises already welling darkly on their throats and jaws. Brushing a bit of dust off his flight suit, Ironfist eased back to his commander's side, eyes watching the crowd for any hidden security people.
"You move an inch, and I'll decorate your freighter with your guts." Krax felt the cool plastic of the blaster's grips in his hand before he was even aware that he'd drawn it. "At this range it's an easy shot, you bastard."
"How do you know what they'll do?" The older farmer looked at the young pilot, doubt mixing with fear in his eyes.
"I'm from Ullyr. They did the same damned thing there. Left whole families to be torn apart by Wookiees when they pulled their equipment out. Said the same things, too."
"I'll have you up on charges."
"Do your worst, you bastard. But I won't have these people on my conscience." Without turning his head, Krax called back to Ironfist. "How's it look to you?"
"If he moves, sir, he's mine. His toy warriors won't be bothering us for another hour or two, I'd say. Seems they fell down and hurt their little heads."
"Good. Owen. Get the rest of the squadron together. I want them in the air and in a slow cover pattern. Anything tries to lift off without my say-so, blast it out of the sky." The younger officer saluted and turned towards the waiting fighters, giving one of the unconscious mercenaries a vicious kick on his way past.
"You've no authority."
"Wrong." Krax smiled, shifting his blaster just a hair. "This is my authority. That and my squadron. You can try your garbage later, but not now. And not on these people."
Clearing his throat, the freighter captain spoke up. "It weren't my idea, sir. Not by a long shot."
"You'd say that now." Shifting, Krax spoke to his tall flight leader. "Argyle. Is Owen ready?"
"Yes." Ironfist's reply was punctuated by the whine of starfighter drives coming on-line. "He's got Weasel and Pirat airborne now."
"Good." Again Krax turned to the freighter captain. "Can your ships carry people?"
"Sure. No reason why not. It won't be comfortable, but it's better than being left here."
"Now just stand easy, you corporate bastard." Krax flexed his finger and a blaster bolt shattered one of the lifter's arms just to the right of the corporate man's head. "And if you try those parlor tricks of yours the next one will take your head off. Remember that."
"Sir." It was one of the colonists. A woman this time, with a child hiding behind her. "They told us there was no danger."
"If that was true, they wouldn't be trying to sneak out like this. You ever seen a corporate goon turn his back on a profit? No, I'd guess there's real danger here. From either those pirates or the New Republic."
It was the freighter captain who solved the puzzle. "It'd be pirates, captain. We've been taking losses for over two local months now. Steady losses, not just a freighter here and there. And these pirates, they've got X-Wings and corvettes. Not old junk Z-95s."
"Nice of you to mention that in your briefing." Krax looked at the CSA official, who glared back. "I'll bet you neglected to tell Admiral Ricaud about that little detail."
"That charlatan had no need to know."
"Wrong again, you bastard. I'd be doing you a favor if I killed you now. Know what happens to idiots who cross a Sith lord?" Krax grinned as the CSA director blanched and grew white. "And our commodore is known for his temper."
"Sir!" Ironfist's voice boomed across the field. "I'm getting a report from Owen. He says there are unidentified ships coming out of hyperspace close by. Looks like two squadrons of X-Wings and four corvettes."
Krax turned towards the freighter captain, his mind working. "How soon can you be ready to lift off?"
"Depends on the cargo."
"What about you people?"
"Sir." The older woman spoke again, her eyes wet and shining. "We have our lives here."
"I know. And we'll buy you what time we can." Krax turned away, unwilling to show the tears that were gathering in the corners of his eyes. "Argyle. Put that one to sleep and then get to your ship. We need to buy these people some time."
"What about the equipment?" The freighter captain winced as he heard Ironfist's hand crack against the CSA man's jaw.
"You worry about getting these people to safety. With as much of their lives as they can gather in twenty minutes. You try lifting off without them, I'll blast you to scrap myself."
"You got it." A wide grin split the captain's face. "My boys can help out. We've got some droids, too." Turning to the woman, he bowed his head for a moment. "Just tell us what you folks need, and we'll get it done for you."
As they jogged towards their waiting fighters, Ironfist turned his head towards Krax. "Sir, I wanted you to know something. I've seen that old man before."
"Where?"
"On Hero's Wall at the Carrida Academy."
"Really?" Krax tried to think what that might mean, but there was no time. They reached their fighters and scrambled into the close cockpits.
"There will be repercussions." Pirat's voice was dispassionate over the com system as he adjusted his position in the loose wedge formation.
Krax frowned behind his flight helmet. "Perhaps, lieutenant. But nothing compared to living with the guilt of leaving those people behind. I couldn't live with myself if that happened."
"What about those pirates?" Weasel's voice showed little tension, and Krax was pleased at the young pilot's performance so far. There had been little chance before for him to test the character of his newest pilot, and so far he wasn't having any regrets.
"What does it look like, Argyle?"
"They're still shaking themselves into attack formation, sir." Ironfist, Pirat, and Owen were operating about two kilometers ahead of the two missile boats of Flight 1. Acting as a recon screen to conceal the heavy punch of Spear Squadron. "Doesn't look like they expected to see us here."
"Most likely not. Judging from that cheap bastard down there, they were probably expecting a handful of assault gunboats two months overdue for an overhaul." Krax shifted, touching a button on his com panel. "I just sent a situation report to Relentless, for what good it'll do."
"Your orders?" Ironfist's voice was calm.
"Engage the fighters first, Three-One. Take out their leaders and then fall in to cover us. One-Two, you take the two corvettes at point zero-two. I'll take the ones at one point five."
"We have Y-Wings coming out of hyperspace behind the X-Wings. Looks like a strike force."
"Right." Krax diverted some power from his engines to his single cannon, boosting its charge rate. In the same motion he shut down his tractor beam's charging system. A fight like this was more likely to call for speed instead of the beam weapon. "Stick with the fighters, Three. We'll engage the bombers."
"We're starting to get some missile locks, One-One. Looks like these boys mean business."
"Roger that, Three-One. Stay sharp up there." Bringing his missile boat to full acceleration, Krax kept a finger poised over his booster button. Watching as missiles jumped with yellow-red flashes from the launching racks of Flight Three's two TIE/Advanced fighters. The moment the missiles were away, Owen and Ironfist broke in opposite directions, hoping to throw off the tracking systems of the incoming fighters.
"Looks to be two waves of bombers, One-One. Three in each."
"Right, One-Two. You take the first wave. I'm going in." Krax smiled as he heard the click of Weasel linking his launchers come clearly over the open com channel. Spear's newest pilot was learning fast.
"Any Spear fighters. This is Hauler One. I'm lifting off now with a full load. Two's almost ready, and Three will follow in five mikes."
Behind his flight helmet, Krax grinned. "Roger that, Hauler One. We've got Y-Wings inbound. Keep your shields up."
Ionized particles glowed with a sudden white heat as Krax's finger stabbed down, activating the boosters on his missile boat. He watched as his target display rolled over, showing his closing rate with the incoming Y-Wings. Linking his concussion missile launcher tubes, he waited for the target grid to go red on the lead bomber before squeezing the trigger.

"So. You willingly disobeyed the orders of our friend from the CSA?" Vice Admiral Ricaud leaned back in his office chair, eyes focused on a point beyond the young officer locked at attention exactly one meter in front of his desk. He could feel the CSA director behind him, and had to suppress a smile at the memory of the amount of cosmetic crème the man had used to cover the bruises on his jaw.
"Yes, sir."
"And why is that? Do you think you have a better sense of business than they do?"
"No, sir. With all due respect, it wasn't that."
"Then what, pray?"
"Honor, sir. It was a question of honor. My honor as an Imperial Navy officer."
"Oh? And how did this come about?"
"Sir, I don't think that one made it clear to you. They were planning to leave those people on Tenar V. It would have been a bloodbath."
Hearing a sharp intake of breath behind him, Ricaud waved the excited bureaucrat to silence. "You'll have your moment. Now, how do you know this?"
"Sir, before we engaged the corvettes, one of my pilots from Flight 3 got close enough to scan them." Krax closed his eyes for a moment, remembering Owen's blazing run through the pirate formation. He'd drained his own guns so that he could get the most speed out of his damaged TIE Advanced. A medal recommendation was waiting on Krax's data terminal. Provided that he was still in a position to make such recommendations. "Two of the four corvettes were carrying troops. The other two were fitted for planetary bombardment. And the freighter captain told me that he had orders to haul out all the defensive systems. Along with the refining equipment and all other expensive devices. There were no evacuation plans for the colonists." Krax cut his words short, feeling the heat rising to his high cheekbones. His fingers trembled along the seams of his dress trousers.
"Is this true?"
"There was no reason to tell your pup the details."
"And me?"
"It's all need to know. Surely you understand that."
Ricaud dropped his voice a full octave. "I find your lack of intellect…disturbing, director." Krax had only heard the late Lord Vadar in holocasts, but the similarity was shocking.
"I…" Whatever the corporate director was going to say was lost in a sudden fit of gasping. His face began to go pale, and his fingers scrabbled at his neck.
"I don't like being lied to, director. Especially not by some two-pit parlor charlatan who thinks he's at one with the Dark Side." Ricaud's voice was even, as if he were dictating notes into a recorder and not talking to a man who was being choked to death. "You see, honor has a place in the Imperial Navy. Had I known the truth about your little operation, you wouldn't have gotten a single Tyderian Shuttle from the Relentless, let alone a squadron. You may rest assured that the Grand Admiral himself will know the extent of your treachery. He has a soft spot for retired Stormtroopers. Had you done your homework, you would have seen that the first settlers to Tenar V were members of the Hammer's Fist who were too old or crippled to continue on active service."
Krax watched as the CSA man's face went from pale to blue, and his struggles increased. Sinking to his knees, his fingernails drew blood from his own throat as he fought to free himself from something he couldn't fight. Finally he slumped to the floor, feet kicking in anguish.
Ricaud let him suffer for a moment longer, and then released his hold. "I'll not kill you, though you richly deserve it. Guards! Hold this one over for the Inquisitor. I'm sure they will find a suitable punishment."
Once the gasping director had been hauled away, assisted by a few judicious kicks from the white-armored Stormtroopers, Ricaud turned his attention to his young squadron commander. "You took quite a risk, captain."
"There wasn't any real choice, sir."
"I see." Ricaud sat for a time. "How is your squadron?"
"Intact, sir. Two fighters took serious damage, but were able to hyperspace away. Lieutenant Owen and Sub-Lieutenant Weasel are both recovering from their wounds nicely."
"Good. See to your men, captain." Ricaud spun his chair back to the wide viewport, leaving Krax to make a quiet exit. His face split into a smile once he reached the off-white corridor. For once, at least, corporate authority had been forced to yield to honor.

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