Chapter 66: Invasion

Dustil couldn't help grinning like a fool when he saw Lady Versenne move towards him. She was smiling, too, a smile that shone brighter than the weak Sluis Van sun, filling his vision with light. He forgot everything else; the revelations of the morning, the frantic scrambles and his father's injuries were pushed away when she gripped his hands.

And he found himself unable to think of anything to say. Versenne had lost her jewels; should he mention something so obvious?

After a frantic second spent wracking his brains, Dustil came up with, "Are you all right? You're not hurt, are you?"

Lady Versenne smiled again, shook her head, and replied, "No, I'm not hurt. My ears are still ringing a little from the audio feedback in the Conclave chamber, but I'm fine otherwise. Some of the older House Heads did complain about being deafened."

"That wasn't my idea," Dustil blurted, afraid she would blame him. Quickly, Dustil gave credit where credit was due. "That was my fa - Nasi's idea."

"It was a good idea," Lady Versenne said, glancing at Father, who had corralled Captain Morin some distance away. Dustil gritted his teeth.

"I helped a little bit, too," Dustil added hastily, determined to grab some of her admiration for his own.

"I do not doubt your courage, Stiller," Lady Versenne murmured, giving his hands a gentle squeeze. "It was very brave of you to stay after bringing Captain Morin proof of this morning's doings. You did not have to."

"We couldn't just leave you in such a dangerous situation." I wouldn't. Dustil cleared his throat. "I'm uh, glad we could help."

Again he couldn't think of anything more to say, until his eyes fell on the blaster pistol tucked into her belt. Dustil blurted, "You know how to shoot?" before he could stop himself from stating the obvious.

For the first time, Dustil saw Lady Versenne grin. There was nothing demure about it. He'd thought her smiles amazing, but her grin downright astonished him.

"Yes, all potential Heirs are taught self-defense. I only resort to violence as a last resort." Versenne, too, seemed to run out of things to say.

So had he. Dustil groped for small talk as desperately as he had for answers to Ban's questions at the academy. That was when his father saved him. Again, Dustil tried not to think. With a mixture of chagrin, relief and annoyance, Dustil turned away from Versenne.

Father didn't look any better in the broad light of a Sluis Van day than he had inside the Conclave; his face was puffy and swollen from energy burns and his left eye was nearly shut. It was amazing that he could still stand.

"Come on, Stiller, Lady. We should go somewhere safer," Father called.

Dustil nodded, and reluctantly let go of Versenne's hands. To his surprise and pleasure, Versenne kept her grip on his left hand. Dustil could see the slight disapproval on Captain Morin's face over Father's shoulder, but since Versenne hadn't protested, the captain couldn't hardly do anything about it. But Dustil was still careful to hide his smirk.

It was hard to believe people had tried to kill them just this morning. It was hard to believe that, right now, he was sitting so close to Versenne that he could feel the heat of her skin where his thigh pressed against hers. It was even harder to believe that Versenne's father wasn't ordering his guards to throw him out the nearest airlock for daring to even look at his daughter.

Dustil wasn't able to keep the smile off his face, not even minding Father's amusement when their eyes met.

As the shuttle started to lift off, Dustil looked out through the port. The Conclave seemed quiet now, and the smoke of the earlier explosions were now dissipating. Past the round dome of the Conclave, however, scores of shuttles were still hovering over and around the Conglomerate building. The fighting still looked to be raging fierce there. And this was just the enemy activity in the capital - what was happening in Transients Dome and the other habitats?

A more interesting question almost stopped him in his tracks.

Why do you care?

The question filled his mind from one corner to another, so all encompassing that he only heard Versenne talking to Morin with half an ear. One part of his mind watched the others get stuffed into whatever available space there was in the small cabin; Versenne's personal guards watched the viewports, alert for danger. The rest of him focused on the question.

Why do I care?

The Sith philosophy was clear: you helped yourself, and yourself only. Everyone else became tools at best, enemies that threatened your position at worst, temporary allies to be turned on at the first opportunity. That was the Sith way.

So when did he start caring about the other people on Sluis Van? The ones he cared about - the ones still alive - were himself, and, Dustil reluctantly counted, his father. And now, Lady Versenne. When did that tiny horizon expand so far?

Dustil glanced at his father, who still looked like he'd come through a war. Father had looked like that because he had to get Dustil and Revan - and Morin - out of the trap, but Dustil had seen him look much worse when he'd come home from the wars. Wounded in the line of duty, defending faceless strangers who'd never met his father, and never would.

For the sake of those strangers, Father had hardly been home, and when he did come home, more often than not he was wounded badly.

And I hated him for it.

Dustil raised his eyes and looked around. Father sat next to him; across from Dustil sat Lord Vosaryk, who seemed oblivious to the fact that his daughter was holding Dustil's hand. But behind the lord were his retainers. For the first time, Dustil scrutinized them, and wondered if they had families, had sons or daughters, or brothers and sisters on Sluis Van, in Transients Dome or scattered across the other habitats.

The answer to that question took up so much of his attention that he didn't notice Father hadn't followed them into Lord Vosaryk's office until he had sat down on a couch near but not next to Revan. Lord Vosaryk's and Lady Versenne's bodyguards lined the walls, and it didn't seem prudent to draw their grim attention with questions. Father probably had to visit the 'fresher or something.

Versenne had to let go of Dustil's hand now, but not before he squeezed her fingers gently in encouragement, knowing the confrontations to come.

Lord Vosaryk's burly bodyguard walked up to them, holding out a familiar box. Dustil readily gave up his weapons, Revan doing likewise. Lord Vosaryk's bodyguard looked much less grim at their ready compliance, unbending so much as to nod his gratitude.

Revan frowned at the empty seat next to her. "Where'd your father go?"

Dustil wrenched his eyes from Versenne to glare at her. "I'm not his keeper," he snapped, unwilling to confess his unease to her.

Revan ignored him, her eyes unfocused. "He's somewhere nearby..."

"He probably just went to the 'fresher," Dustil said, but worry was starting to gnaw at him again. Was Father more injured than he'd let on? He could hear Revan sucking hard on a mint, grinding it to a powder.

Her usual fidgeting curtailed by her bandages, Revan made do by biting the loose flaps on the ends of her wrapped fingers. "I suppose I'd know if he were in danger this close."

"Shut up, they're talking," Dustil hissed.

"I want Hersig," Lord Vosaryk announced, cutting through the silence. They were the first words he'd uttered since leaving the shuttle.

"Yes, sir," Morin murmured. Well, what else could Morin say, in the face of the lord's quiet, seething fury? Dustil did not envy the captain's position. There was a quiet beep from the captain's comm; Morin, obviously expecting it, took the call. Morin's glance crossed the guards' eyes, making them straighten in understanding.

Lady Versenne, observing the byplay, said, "How very efficient, Captain. Perhaps I should've had you transferred to my service earlier."

The captain sketched a slight bow. "Lord, Lady. I've had my people observing all of Bospho's recent contacts since I replaced him. It seemed... prudent, after obtaining concrete proof."

Yeah, I'd shake out a dead man's boots, too, before I put them on.

"It had to be an inside job," Revan whispered. "All the strongest fortresses are taken by treachery, not force."

And you should know. Dustil glowered at her before turning back to watch Versenne.

It didn't take long for Hersig to be brought in, surrounded by guards; the same nondescript, unmemorable man Dustil had seen around Lord Vosaryk, and most recently at the Bazaar's End party. Dustil watched the man's expressions flicker through shock, anger, despair, resignation and defeat. Hersig's mouth twisted as though he wanted to curse or spit on the immaculate carpet. When his gaze fell on Dustil and Revan, the bitter venom in his eyes nearly made Dustil recoil.

Dustil controlled himself. Come on, Master Yuthura could've eaten this guy for lunch. You've got no excuse. Father wouldn't be intimidated. Speaking of Father... Dustil glanced at the door, wondering where Father could've went. Was it just delayed indigestion, or something more sinister?

Captain Morin nodded to the guards, who pushed Hersig down onto a chair and proceeded to festoon their prisoner in restraints until he looked like something ready to be embalmed. The captain then held up a strip of patches, which made Hersig hiss in despair and frustration.

"The medic would've noticed if you had an artificially induced anaphylax to truth serum on your monthly physical, I think." In a slow, sinister motion, Morin removed a patch and stuck it on Hersig's neck.

"Well?" Versenne said, after a few moments had gone by. Lord Vosaryk looked like he didn't trust himself to speak.

Morin peeled the patch off, to reveal no change on Hersig's skin. Quickly, he pressed a hypo to the same spot. Hersig glared at them all.

"Now, what is your name?" Morin asked in the first round of the questioning.

Dustil watched as the man unwillingly disgorged the standard replies to verify the serum's effectiveness. It was supposed to be better than the usual Sith torture chamber, but Dustil couldn't help wanting Hersig to suffer a bit more. A lot more. Lord Vosaryk and Versenne allowed the captain to conduct it all, doubtless using the time to regain their composure. Or maybe they just didn't want to muddle the interrogation.

Finally, the captain reached the pertinent part. Dustil leaned forward; next to him, a rustle of cloth indicated Revan had, too.

"When did you start working against House Vosaryk?"

Hersig's unwilling lips puffed out, and his face began to sheen with sweat as the serum induced pain. "Five years ago," he finally spat. He even had the gall to rattle off the exact date and time.

Morin glanced aside at his notes. "The explosion that knocked out the information network - that was your doing, then."

"No. I had nothing to do with it." The serum forced Hersig to add, "But it was my idea."

"Why? For what purpose?"

"To fiddle with the records, of course." After prodding by both the drug and Morin, Hersig elaborated, "I had to make sure the main base was in a building purchased by an unremarkable company, and funds funneled through dummy corporations. Certain files and identity records had to be altered. We couldn't risk anyone finding discrepancies in a plan that would take years to bring to fruition."

"And what was this 'plan'?" Morin pressed.

"I don't know everything." Hersig glowered. "I only helped with the logistics."

"Who did you help?"

"Dask."

Morin gritted his teeth at these unhelpful answers. Dustil wondered if the captain was starting to share his belief in more rigorous and painful interrogation techniques.

Morin assumed an expression of patience. "Dask? Who is this Dask?"

"My liason with Sayir."

"Was he the one in charge of those odd soldiers who disguised themselves as police? The ones sent to capture the offworlders?" Morin leaned towards the prisoner.

"How the hell should I know?" Hersig curled his lip and sneered.

Morin tried a different tack. "Were you the one who killed the prisoner in the sickbay?"

The pause this time was very long as Hersig fought the drug; beads of sweat dripped down his forehead, and he bit his thin lips hard enough to draw blood. But the drug was relentless, and finally Hersig's will broke.

"Yes! I did it!" Hersig gasped in an explosive exhalation.

Hersig seemed to know he was beaten, and the rest of his responses were given in a dull monotone.

"So you confess to killing the prisoner. You were the one who destroyed the evidence, as well, weren't you? Did you act alone in this particular incident?"

Hersig managed a scowl. "Yes. The damned incompetent fool. I was the only one who could silence him." He shivered a little in his bonds. "Dask was most displeased."

Dustil guessed that the sergeant's death had been much more merciful than it would've been.

Morin consulted his datapad. "So, five years ago you helped Dask establish his base here, and set up an extensive network of information gathering. But who did this Dask work for?"

"I don't know. Sayir, I assume," was the listless answer.

You assume wrong, Dustil thought.

"Then I suppose everything you've done from that moment on, you've done for him," Lord Vosaryk said, his voice dangerously calm. His eyes looked bright and feverish.

Hersig glanced at his employer, then away. "Yes," he said.

"Family, Hersig," Lord Vosaryk continued. "My father himself decreed that you were to be taken in, raised here with us, given all the comforts and education we could afford. Why betray us?"

Hersig's lips twisted. "Because I would never inherit. All that honor, weath, responsibility will go to your daughter. Why shouldn't I get some small portion of it? Why work so hard? For what?"

"Is... is that why?" Lord Vosaryk looked stunned. "Then..."

"The attempted assassinations, Bospho's death, the disruptions, the tampering of records..." Morin said slowly. "These were your doing as well."

The twisted smile on Hersig's face seemed to confirm it. "Dask wanted the House in disarray, too distracted with its own affairs to interfere with his plans. I saw no reason not to further my own ambitions while following his orders," he added without prompting.

"So the purpose behind these... maneuvers was to weaken and divide House Vosaryk," Morin speculated. "Undermining our alliances, making us expend our energies and resources on the wrong targets, pinning our attentions on House Khyrohn..." Morin glanced at his lord, and went on, "Leaving Sayir in a much stronger position to take us over."

To Dustil's surprise, Versenne nodded, bleak understanding in her face. Of course, she'd know how House wars were conducted. That was how the Sith operated, too. The more subtle kind of Sith, anyway. Dustil tried to banish the sound of Ban's voice as she lectured.

"Find the weak spot. Remember it - and at the right time and place - exploit it."

Hersig had known just where and how to sink the knife in - right into Lord Vosaryk's prejudices. Growing surmise dawned in the eyes of Lord Vosaryk and his daughter.

"Mother..." Versenne had gone white. She seemed to have come to the logical conclusion. Hersig flinched.

So had Lord Vosaryk.

"My lord, please, calm yourself!" Morin barely managed to stop Lord Vosaryk's enraged lunge at Hersig. Guards peeled off from their positions at the walls to restrain him. Hersig seemed more alarmed at his lord's loss of control than he had at his capture. Lord Vosaryk was speechless with fury, unable to utter even a sound.

Dustil tensed, wondering just whom he should be knocking down.

Revan restrained him. "Don't interfere. It's family business now."

"Lord Vosaryk, please..." Morin was coaxing his boss back to his chair; the lord looked angry enough to bite Hersig's head off from twenty meters away. Vosaryk's breathing was heavy and loud in the silence.

"My mother... she was always kind to you, Hersig," Versenne said in a small, shaking voice that made Dustil long to go and comfort her.

Hersig's smile faltered, bitter triumph turning to... what? Shame? Pain? Dustil stared at him, silently urging the man to explain himself; he hoped the man was at least sorry.

"I didn't want to do it." Hersig looked away. "I wanted... so much. I - wanted."

Versenne stared at him, her mother's murderer, as if searching his face for meaning, anything that would explain why he'd done what he'd done. Then she squared her shoulders, turning her back on Hersig, and faced her father.

"Father, I... I think you know what to do," Versenne said, her face nearly crumpling with pain. "You must step down as House Head, Da."

Dustil was mystified by this reaction, and by the expression on her face, so was Revan.

The rage on Lord Vosaryk's face faded, to be replaced by bafflement. He stared at his daughter for several long minutes, and it seemed to Dustil that the tension in the room, already high, ratcheted up several more notches.

Lord Vosaryk shook his head slowly. "No... no. You're too young, Senni. You're not prepared for this. I can't simply hand the responsibility of House Head to you at this critical juncture."

Dustil heard Revan suck in her breath. If it came to a fight between the House Head and the Heir, it would be a loss for both sides regardless of who won; House Vosaryk would rip itself apart. The guards at the walls started eyeing each other nervously, while Morin sized up Lord Vosaryk's bodyguard. Dustil tensed again; if it came to a brawl here he knew which side he'd be on.

"The Sluissi will know of your culpability - and not just the Sluissi - the other Houses, as well," Versenne said. "They will know that Hersig could not have acted alone in these acts of sabotage against House Khyrohn - and in conspiring against the government. They will not believe you had no knowledge of this invasion, and they will not believe you did not pave the way for it."

"Da," Versenne said, looking as though she were holding back tears through sheer force of will, "what you've done isn't honor, it's treason." Lord Vosaryk flinched. "The only way for us to salvage what's left of our honor would be to turn Hersig over to the Sluissi - and if you relinquish control of our House. If you do not, the Sluissi will destroy us and erase the very name of Vosaryk from the records. Our name, our people, our accomplishments - our dreams - will never have been.

"The choice is yours, Da. The fate of our House lies in your hands."

The wrinkles on Lord Vosaryk's lined face deepened with pain, and he closed his eyes; maybe he wished this wasn't happening. Vosaryk stood like a statue before opening his eyes; he looked around at his retainers, at his daughter, at Morin, and it was clear the decision weighed heavily on him.

With shaking hands, Lord Vosaryk reached up to his high collar and drew out a thick, heavy gold chain; Dustil saw a large medallion bearing the House seal. Vosaryk pulled it over his head, his eyes full of confusion, bewilderment and pain, moving as though he were in a bad dream. Everyone in the room seemed to be holding their breaths, including Dustil.

Versenne took the necklace with hands that shook as much as her father's, the medallion Dustil assumed proclaimed the bearer to be the Head of House Vosaryk, and pulled it on. Dustil let out the breath he'd been holding, and the tension in the room no longer choked him.

"You made the right choice, Da," Versenne said, "and I know how painful it was for you to make it."

"You were right, Senni," Lord Vosaryk finally managed to choke out. He glanced at Hersig. "This disaster wasn't the work of just one man - some of the blame is mine." Vosaryk drew himself up, gathering the tattered remnants of his dignity. "I will go down to our offices on the planet and sequester myself there, and get my affairs in order."

Versenne took her father's bodyguard aside, and Dustil just managed to overhear her saying, "Please, don't let Da do anything... anything foolish." The large man's impassive face cracked a little, and he nodded.

Morin detailed two of his guards to escort the former Head of House Vosaryk; the lord made no protest as he gathered his bodyguard and the rest of his entourage and swept out the door. The absence of Lord Vosaryk's force of personality created a vacuum; the room seemed larger and emptier now that he'd left. Dustil hadn't even noticed the ship captains come in earlier; now they were in a supportive huddle around Versenne.

"There's probably supposed to be a ceremony for the transfer of power," Dustil heard Revan whisper, "but under the circumstances -"

"It'll probably be postponed for a while," Dustil finished for her.

Dustil almost jumped a meter into the air when a shadow fell across him and heard his father say, "So, what happened? I thought old man Vosaryk would be here for sure."

"Where have you been?" Dustil hissed. "He got thrown out - Lady Versenne's in charge now. You missed all the excitement."

Revan put in her own two credits. "What happened? You look upset."

"With this disguise, I always look upset," Father said; Dustil rolled his eyes at him. "Anyway, are you trying to tell me the girl just staged a coup?"

Dustil was about to set his father straight when alarms began to sound. Father stiffened in his seat, eyes wide and staring, his face pale. The blood froze in Dustil's veins; those alarms sounded familiar.

"That's the invasion imminent alert," Father muttered. "Some unknown force must've gotten past the sensor forts." He tensed like a fell cat about to pounce, his eyes unfocused and his hands curled into tight fists; Dustil wondered what Father saw. Old memories - old failures?

Suddenly Father looked up and exchanged a meaningful glance at Dar Ges, standing near Versenne like everyone else. Dustil was baffled by the interchange; it was nothing like as friendly as it was before.

Lady Versenne was the first to recover. "Captain, take Hersig to the brig downside." She looked at the two guards Morin gestured forward to take charge of the prisoner in the eye. "I'm holding you both personally responsible for his safety." The two guards saluted; one sedated Hersig before they hauled him roughly away.

"I - we - need to get to Ops," Lady Versenne said. She moved towards the door.

Captain Morin moved like a snake to block her way. "Lady, it's not safe to remain here! We must get you downside to the safe -"

"Safe house?" Versenne finished. She didn't look angry, but the firm line of her mouth indicated her determination. "Captain, if we lose the skies, we lose everything. I won't be safe on the planet for long."

The captain looked like he wanted to disagree; Dustil almost felt sorry for him.

Versenne put a hand on Morin's arm. "The SVN will be busy fighting the invaders. We must guard their backs from Sayir."

Morin took a deep breath, then nodded, still looking very unhappy. No one needed to point out that, with Lord Vosaryk ousted, the only leadership left was Versenne. The captain bowed, deeper than usual.

Dustil swallowed; this Versenne wasn't the lady who'd danced with him. This Versenne was now Lady Vosaryk, all business. The change made Dustil a little uncomfortable, seeing how responsibility had settled like a palpable weight on her slim shoulders.

Ges moved up past the other captains, catching up to Versenne in a few long strides.

"Lady Ver - Lady Vosaryk, my friend Nasi here used to be in the wars," Ges said, gesturing at Father.

Dustil raised his eyebrows; after all the secrecy and concerns about hiding their true identities, Father was now breaking cover? Revan looked as surprised as he felt. Guess Father didn't tell you, did he? Bet that's got your panties in a bunch.

Versenne turned her head to acknowledge Ges's words, but didn't slacken her pace.

"I see." Versenne turned to glance at Father, who contrived to look soldierly and experienced. "What were your experiences, Nasi?"

"I fought in the Mandalorian Wars and the, uh, recent Jedi Civil War, Lady," Father replied. "I participated in many engagements."

"It is true that, while we employ many former soldiers, not many were on the command track. Most were technical."

Dustil was impressed by her sure confidence; she seemed to know everyone who worked on the shipyard, and what their capabilities were. But she looked unconvinced of Father's expertise, and without solid proof, Dustil couldn't blame her for her skepticism.

"As much as I am grateful to you and Captain Kera'al - and Stiller, of course - I hesitate to place you, a near-stranger, in charge of the shipyard's defense. Even on Captain Ges's good word."

That didn't seem to daunt Father. "I understand, Lady, but I was thinking more of an, uh, advisory role."

"Captain Morin, what do you think of this idea?" Versenne asked. They had all crowded into a transport tube, guards and all. There didn't seem to be enough air to breathe, much less talk.

Morin frowned at Father. "I conducted the usual background check, of course, and he does have a great deal of experience." Father ducked his head in ironic acknowledgement. "I suppose at this late stage you've proven you're not an agent of House Sayir. I suspect we'll need all the help we can get."

As long as we keep an eye on him was unspoken.

Ges shot Father a See, I did it, we're even nod. The undercurrents in their exchanges puzzled Dustil; there had only been a shared camaraderie and affection when they'd met Ges, and now... well, there wasn't. Beside him, Dustil could see Revan was just as baffled. But there was no time nor space to talk to Father, because they had reached Operations.

The room they entered was more like a vast, circular cave. A transparisteel window stretched across and took up at least a quarter of the wall space. No, it wasn't a window, but a huge viewscreen. Parts of it changed to show the immediate space outside the shipyard, some showing empty space. Many simply showed static. Controls and consoles faced the huge screen in a semicircle, marching in ranks to the other walls. Sentients moved like agitated molecules between them, and the dull roar of their many conversations broke over Dustil like a wave.

An old iron-haired human turned and walked over to Versenne; his face was calm and impassive, but Dustil could feel the worry and relief radiating from him.

"Lady Ver- " the old man began, then when his eyes went to the medallion resting on her chest switched smoothly to "Lady Vosaryk, might I ask what has happened to Lord Vosaryk?"

"Chief Jopeth, my father recognizes that he is no longer capable of carrying out his duties," Versenne said. "He has ceded the responsibility to me. For now, we have much more pressing matters to attend to."

The chief's only reaction was the lifting of his gray brows, but Dustil could see questions crowding in his eyes.

"What's our status?" Versenne asked.

"We are currently in evacuation mode, Lady. All nonessential personnel, clients and vendors are in the process of being ferried down to the planet. All critical areas are in lockdown."

"Ah, yes, most of our facilities in the domes are still being used by guests who came to attend the Bazaar and Bazaar's End." Versenne nodded.

Dustil looked at the viewports, where the immediate space around the yard seemed to be full of ships of all shapes and sizes heading for the planet. Other habitats had smaller flocks of escaping vessels.

"And the status of the invasion?"

"We have had various garbled and incomplete reports." Jopeth consulted the stack of datapads in his hands. "But it would save time if I just showed you."

Dustil looked at the only clear area behind the consoles, near the door. He heard Father mutter, "Huh. Well I'll be damned - that's an old Inexpugnable bridge." A large holo sprang into life from the empty spot.

"From what I can piece together from those reports, an extremely large-scale electromagnetic pulse emanating from some sort of platform took out the sensors of the outermost sentry forts. All outbound and inbound interstellar communications have been disrupted."

A ring of green dots in the holo blinked to red then to gray.

"The enemy took advantage of the information blackout and the resulting chaos, and began invading along the commercial corridors. The SVN has mobilized at the mouths, but they're too busy with that to help us with the situation in the capital. We're on our own if Sayir has ships behind the lines and decides to mobilize them against us. The planetary defenses are now online."

"What of our own ships, Chief?" Versenne asked as she peered at the holo.

"All wings onboard have assumed a screening position around the shipyard, and so have all the fighters from all the cargo freighters. We'll be ready for them if any enemy ships slip past the SVN."

The representation of the shipyard became covered by squadrons of fighter icons. The chief looked pleased with himself. Dustil began to relax. Maybe they'd live through this after all.

"Chief!" cried one of the crew, making Dustil jump. The burly old man swung towards the consoles. "Several squadrons of fighters incoming, approaching the shipyard."

"On what vector? Did they slip through the SVN?" the chief asked.

"Negative, sir, they're coming from the habitats." The crewman looked down at his screen. "They're comming us."

Lady Versenne nodded at the crewman. "Put them through."

The holo in the pit opened up several squares, showing several sentients in fighter suits, all with different House insignias on their collars.

"Lady Ve - ah, Lady Vosaryk," one of the older captains said, saluting, and stumbling over her name when he saw the necklace; he tried to recover his aplomb. "Where is Lord Vosaryk? Our Houses have bid us to tell him that we have not forgotten our old alliances, but..." His voice trailed off.

"My Father is... indisposed at the moment," Versenne said. "But please, do not let that keep you from your duty."

"Excuse me, Lady, I must confer with the others."

The screen blanked out, showing the House insignia. Lady Versenne gave it a worried glance. "Do you think they will help us, Captain?"

Morin snorted. "Do they have a choice, Lady? Our shipyard is the largest, with the most resources and weapons - they need us to protect their precious stations. Who else can they turn to? Besides, it's about time they remembered their contracts - the stipulations are very clear."

The fighter captain reappeared in the holo. "I beg your pardon, Lady, for the delay. Our House Heads have made it clear to us that we will stand with you and we will fight with you. We place ourselves at your command."

Versenne ignored Morin's knowing look, instead giving the captains a regal nod. "House Vosaryk appreciates your offer, and we would be honored. We gladly welcome your assistance."

Once the communications were cut, however, Morin turned to Versenne. "Are you certain they can be trusted, Lady?"

Versenne smiled. It was grim, but it was a smile. "I think the other Houses have seen the face of the future, Captain. and they want no part in it. The fright they took this morning must have galvanized them into remembering the old alliances. In a way, the attempted ransom attempt at the Conclave was a blessing. They can be trusted to cover themselves. Assign them a place in the screen, Chief."

The chief took that as his cue to send flight instructions to their new helpers, and soon more fighter icons circled around the shipyard in the holo.

Dustil watched the activity in the room begin to dwindle from a frantic roar to a more subdued businesslike hum. Every now and then, someone would raise their head from their work and glance at Versenne, standing tall and visible at the control station, and look away, relieved.

"She knows everyone would panic if she didn't show up here and keep it together," Father murmured. "As long as she stands there looking cool and calm, the entire crew will stand fast. Everyone will."

By this time, Father was leaning against an unoccupied console, his face streaked with dried blood and gray with exhaustion. Now that the excitement was over, even Dustil was feeling tired. Versenne, on the other hand, looked fresh from the boardroom.

As though summoned by his thoughts, Versenne turned her attention from the holo to Dustil, her eyes sweeping over Revan and Father behind him. She murmured to Bekim, who'd followed quietly in his chair, and a few minutes later, a gleaming medical droid entered. Father had his injuries seen to and bandaged properly, and some seats were made for them by pushing empty chairs together.

Father scratched his forehead, trying to get at an itch under the bandage, and munched a savory from a plate Bekim had placed near them. He looked a lot better now that his blackened eye was fixed and the burns were removed. "Looks like it'll take several hours or more before anything significant will happen. All the action's at the front." He shrugged. "I expected as much."

Dustil sat next to him. "Is there anything we can do to help?"

"No." Father shook his head. "One ship more or less won't really matter. Might even make things worse. No, anything we can do will be done here." He gestured at the holo.

"Like what?"

Father made a vague wave. "Oh, I dunno, we'll see. Something'll come up. Something always does." He glanced at the group clustered at the main console, then leaned towards Dustil and Revan. "Look, we need to talk about our options."

"Do we have any?" Dustil asked, jerking his chin at the screens of data listing the enemy ships clashing with the SVN.

"Sure we do." Father sighed and ran a hand through his increasingly tousled hair. "There are always choices if you know where to look." He took a deep breath. "But look, you don't have to stay here. The Sith'll be too busy with the SVN to notice one small freighter." Father leaned towards Dustil, his voice dropping to a whisper. "You can take the Hawk and leave. She can outrun anything the Sith have."

"What's with this 'you' stuff?" Dustil muttered. "Forget it. I'm not going."

"This isn't your fight, dammit."

Dustil gave this the scornful sneer it deserved. "It's not yours either, remember? You're retired."

Father grinned. "Old habits die hard." He sobered. "I can't leave these people when I know I can help them. If I turn my back on them now, I'll never be able to look myself in the face again." He glanced at Revan.

"There was never any doubt, was there." Revan smiled.

This is crazy. She's crazy - so is Father - it's gotta be catching. And now I'm crazy, too!

Live, boy, and fight again another day, whispered Ban. Or maybe it was the voice of Jorak Uln. Leave the weaklings to die or be ruled by their betters. That is the Sith way. And it's even what your dear old man wants you to do.

Run, little boy! Run! The demented cackle echoed in Dustil's mind.

Dustil squared his jaw. I'm not a little boy anymore. He folded his arms and directed a mulish glare at his father. "I'm staying."

Father glared back, but the frustration was tempered a little with pride.

"Uh... so, how're we supposed to be able to help, anyway?" Dustil asked, knowing the question undermined the confidence with which he'd spoken. "Just... just how bad is it gonna be?"

"The defenses around Sluis Van look pretty substantial," Father replied, "when we flew past them a few days ago."

A few days ago? It felt more like a million days ago.

"The outer ring is what's been compromised," Father continued, "but the Sluissi still have two more rings to fall back on. Here, we're protected by the innermost string of orbital weapons platforms. The only problem I can see is that some of the stations and the other shipyards are outside of the area they cover. But it looks like all the habitats are inside."

That was not exactly a relief. Was the Vosaryk shipyard inside or outside the defenses? Too late to get cold feet now.

"Anyway, we'll have to see what happens," Father answered, sipping at a cup of hot caffa.

Dustil directed a suspicious glance at his father. "There's something you're not telling us, isn't there?" he started to ask, but Father choked on his caffa, and Dustil had to pound on his back.

"Silam?!" Father choked out, jumping up to confront a short sentient who'd just walked into the room. The Sullustan halted, startled by Father's outburst. "Silam, what the hell're you doing here?"

"Er," the Sullustan stammered. "Er, Silam not know you." He looked around, trying to find an escape.

"Oh, uh... yeah. Uh... someone named Tav Tagar told me about you," Father mumbled.

The Sullustan relaxed a little. "Oh, Tav Tagar friend of Silam."

"Uh, so what're you doing here, Silam? I thought you were still with House Boro, um, last time I looked." Father looked very guilty.

The Sullustan looked ready to spit. "House Boro fire Silam! They say, was spy in House Boro, they look but not find spy, they say spy leave from Silam's garage! Like Silam look like Silam strong enough to catch spy! Silam no catch spy, so Silam fired."

"Oh, I'm very sorry to hear that," Father said. The guilty look on his face deepened until he looked very hangdog.

Dustil traded a puzzled look with Revan. She shrugged and shook her head when he mouthed, "What's going on?" at her.

Silam didn't seem to notice. "Is okay." He shrugged. "House Vosaryk hiring, hired Silam first go. Silam work on starships soon!"

"Well, congratulations, Silam. I'll, uh, I'll be sure to tell Tav the good news. But why're you in here now? I thought you would've been evacuated down to the planet."

Silam put down his toolbox and waved his arms enthusiastically. If he was worried about the invasion, there was no sign of it. "Silam not believe it, but Silam's new tibanna gas propulsion system online here! Silam need to be here to keep it running smooth!" The Sullustan chortled at his good fortune.

"Really? What's it running?"

"The shipyard train system. Is independent power source for when if shipyard power out." Silam straightened his harness and picked up his tool box. "Silam must go now. Busy busy."

Dustil watched the Sullustan waddle away. "Interesting people you meet, Father. Or should I say, Tav Tagar?" he commented. "Wonder why you never mentioned him."

Father coughed. "There wasn't any time. And besides, none of it was relevant to our mission."

"Was he the one who gave you the hickey?" Revan asked.

"No!" Father spluttered.

Revan smiled. "It's all right, I thought he was quite cute." Father gave this comment the dubious look it deserved.

"So what's this tibanna gas system he talked about?" Dustil asked to chase out the horrific mental images. "It sounds really dangerous."

Father looked relieved at the change of subject. "I guess it works just like it sounds. As power sources go, it does seem to be on the volatile side, but I suppose if it's contained it does the job. One battery would be enough to power a train for quite a few years. Maybe even a century."

"How is the battle going?" Dustil heard Versenne ask, now that her own House had been set in order.

According to his chrono, it had taken several hours for her to tie up loose ends, but to Dustil, they had passed like years. The rest, at least, had given his father new energy, and he was now scanning the data in the 'wishing well' holo, as Father called it, with renewed interest.

"The SVN seems to be holding its own, Lady," the chief replied.

Dustil pointed to a dull brown area in the holo. "Why aren't they coming through there?"

"Asteroid field, remember? We took the ship out there to try out the new cannons," Father answered. "It's much too dense - not to mention dangerous - for ships larger than a fighter to get through. And it'd take fighters too longer to get through to mount any kind of a real surprise attack."

Lady Versenne put in, "We have ore and mineral processing stations inside the asteroid field, as well, who will alert us if any invaders attempt to come through that way."

"Have you evacuated those stations yet, Lady?" Revan asked. "If those asteroids contain any volatile chemicals, it might be dangerous for them if any stray shots come their way."

Smiling, Versenne replied, "The station personnel have long since been evacuated, but there are still small, independent claims scattered deep inside who work the trace amounts of precious gems and rare metals. Those intrepid miners are much too stubborn to abandon their stakes. We have no authority to move them forcibly, and dangerous, besides. They have their own defenses."

Father grunted. "I've met independent miners before; they're a breed of rough, tough sentients. You wouldn't be able to pry them out against their will with a capital ship tractor beam. I almost feel sorry for any stray fighters who manage to stumble into them."

In the wishing well, green and red emblems clashed. To Dustil's inexperienced eyes, it looked like a stalemate. In their own space, the SVN was vastly more knowledgeable and informed, experienced with working as a unit than the Sith, even with the latter's jamming. The Sith fleet was more numerous, but even their numbers were slowly being whittled down. The whispered conversations between Revan and his father said as much. With the planet's resources backing them, the SVN could fight longer, and would eventually overcome the Sith, who had to be at the end of their supply line. Only the sheer surprise of their attack had enabled them to get this far.

So why aren't they retreating?

"Lady! Lady Versenne!" A crewman's frantic cry made Dustil jerk.

Versenne did not waste time correcting the crewman's address. "What is it, Jor?" she asked, her query simultaneous with the chief's.

"It's the planetary orbitals, Lady, Chief," the crewman said, his eyes bulging with disbelief. "They're realigning!"

"Did the invaders break through somewhere?" the chief muttered.

Dustil's eyes went to the wishing well, frantically searching for the breach.

"That's just it, Lady - they're not orienting on any invaders - they're aiming at the habitats!"

"No," Versenne breathed as she stared at the holo.

"There are thousands of sentients still on those habitats," Revan choked out. Father's only response was a harsh intake of breath.

This was the Sith fleet's golden pazaak card, finally placed on the table. This was why they hadn't retreated. Somehow, the Sith or Sayir had managed to slice into the orbitals' control systems, using them as a last ditch resort to force the SVN to surrender or split their attentions. Thousands of hostages - and the Sith would have to destroy some of them to make an example.

Thousands of those sentients were going to die.

And there was nothing they could do.

With thanks to Prisoner 24601 for beta reading and giving me valuable feedback.