Remnant: Force Heretic I (20 page)

Pain stabbed through him, as though someone had rammed a force pike into his side. The memories fled as his insides exploded with fire. His back arched, his mouth opened wide to scream out his protest at the terrible agony flaring through him. He bucked and writhed to try to reposition himself in such a manner that the pain might stop, but nothing seemed to help. Nothing, that is, except for the voice calling out to him. It wasn’t necessarily what the voice said, either, just the distraction it offered.

But then the pain closed in again, accompanied now by images of the Yuuzhan Vong’s weapons flashing murderously around his ship, and the brilliant, almost blinding explosion of TIE fighters against the night sky.

Eventually these horrific images dissolved back into the blackness, leaving just the scattered pinpoint lights of the galaxy shining against the infinite darkness of space. The sight was one he had seen many times before, and one he’d thought he could never get tired of. He had always believed the idea of a galactic empire to be slightly ludicrous, since so much of it was empty space. The planets, moons, and asteroids comprising such an empire were just handfuls of sand thrown into a vast ocean of nothingness. No emperor could rule such an ocean, no matter how many of those grains of sand he might call his own. Such vastness defied capture by any means.

And yet this time, he sensed a difference. The gulfs didn’t seem so empty anymore. There was
something
—something he couldn’t find words to describe. A web,
perhaps, stretching from system to system. A halo. A current running deeper than what lay visible on the surface. A
truth
, maybe?

Whatever it was, it made it seem as if the galaxy itself was
alive.

Then even that began to fade as darkness crept in at the edges of his vision, taking the pain away along with everything else that had ever been him. Part of him fought it, as was his nature, but another part was happy to let it go. He had fought so hard and for so long against death that he had, perhaps, not spent enough time really living. He had no family apart from the navy; he had no home beyond the bridge of
Chimaera.
What was the point of living when he had nothing to live
for
?

The darkness opened up beneath him and he fell into it like a stone sinking into the depths of an impossibly deep sea. He could feel fluid all around him, and in his lungs; and yet, strangely, he wasn’t drowning.

Bacta
, he managed to think.
They’ve got me in a bacta tank.

Then that voice again, calling to him.

Gilad Pellaeon
, it said.
Admiral, can you hear me
?

He struggled to reply, fighting the darkness that pulled him down like thick tangles of seaweed. All he could manage was a single, choked syllable:

“I—”

Is that you, Admiral? Can you talk to me
?

“I-I’m here.”

With every word, the darkness receded just a little bit more. And as it ebbed, the pain returned.

“It … hurts.”

I know
, said the voice.

“Where—?” He wanted to ask where he was, but it didn’t seem as appropriate as, “—are you?”

I have installed a neural shunt into your inner ear
, the voice explained.
My voice is coming to you directly through your auditory nerve. Please forgive the intrusion, but we had to take drastic steps to keep you alive.

“Who—are you?”

My name is Tekli, Admiral. I am a healer.

Agony ripped through him like a solar flare, burning every nerve fiber to cinders. Or so it felt.

“Are you healing me,” he gasped, “or killing me?”

The pain is unavoidable. The only way to avoid it now would be for you to die. But you must stay with your body, no matter what it’s telling you.

“I—can’t—”

Yes you can, Admiral. We need you. If you die now, many others will follow. I’m not about to let that happen.

He wasn’t used to being spoken to that way, as though by an insistent schoolteacher. “
You’re
not—?”

I’m sorry. There are times when we all must endure the hurt in order to survive. Yours is now. The Force requires it.

Realization came to him then.
The Force.
This Tekli was a Jedi! But what was a Jedi doing in the Empire? And where—?

Another memory came to him. He had spoken to the Skywalkers in Bastion shortly before trying to break out of the gas giant’s mass shadow. He remembered they had shown him some new tactics they believed would help in his fight against the Yuuzhan Vong. This Tekli, she must have come with them.

But what was he doing here with her?
Superior
was destroyed. He recalled ordering the evacuation of the dying hulk as it plunged into the gas giant. How had
Chimaera
avoided the same fate? If he had been injured and his crew had evacuated him to safety while they died, he
couldn’t live with himself. A good captain went down with the ship. He should be dead.

You’re not dead, Admiral.
Tekli’s voice was compassionate but firm.
Like I said, I’m not going to let that happen. You and
Chimaera
are both banged around a little, but recoverable. Just hang in there a little longer, okay?

He gritted his teeth and resigned himself to living a little longer yet. After all, what choice did he have?

When Jacen felt some of the tension ease in the tiny Chadra-Fan healer, he leaned forward expectantly.

“He fights with us now,” she said, her soft voice barely audible over the mechanical buzzing of the droids assisting her. “He no longer works against us.”

“You’re sure he will live?” he asked, needing something more definite before he would allow himself to feel relief.

She craned her neck to look up at Jacen, something approximating annoyance in her dark eyes.

“Yes,” she said simply. “But not if I continue to be interrupted. I need to concentrate to help him.”

Her head dropped, and she fell silent again to devote her attention fully to healing the Grand Admiral of the Imperial Navy. Jacen felt subtle movements in the Force around her. He backed away in order to avoid disrupting her concentration further. The Chadra-Fan were renowned for their short attention spans as it was, without his interference making matters worse.

He stayed close enough to lend her a hand if needed—shoring up her relatively weak Force sensitivity with his own—but he did keep to the rear of the small medical bay, just to stay out of Tekli’s fur.

Pellaeon had been removed from the bacta tank and now lay on his back on the room’s operating table, attended
by the frigate’s 2-1B medical droid as well as Tekli. His numerous wounds stood out starkly in the harsh white light. Jacen could see far more than he actually needed to know that the man before him had come extremely close to death. His hips and abdomen had been half impaled, half crushed upon a control console when
Chimaera
’s bridge had been rammed by an enemy fighter. One of his junior officers had pulled him from the wreckage and into a medical frigate with survivors of
Superior.
Under cover of wreckage from the dying Star Destroyer, the frigate had managed to slip away relatively unharmed—although not before a dozen TIE fighters had sacrificed themselves to ensure the Grand Admiral’s escape. The commander of the shuttle who had brought him to Yaga Minor didn’t doubt that it was worth it.

For a while, though, it had seemed a meaningless sacrifice, for Pellaeon had very nearly died anyway. Sizing up the situation in Yaga Minor with admirable speed, the shuttle’s commander had contacted Captain Yage rather than his direct superior in the navy. Yage had ordered the shuttle to dock with
Widowmaker
immediately to transfer the patient. Tekli and Jacen, weighed down by the healer’s equipment, had stayed with the Imperial commander while
Jade Shadow
withdrew to a discreet distance. As soon as Pellaeon had arrived, wrapped tightly in a life-preserving cocoon, the Chadra-Fan had gone to work.

Jacen marveled how close it had been. First, the shock of removing the ageing admiral from the cocoon had stopped his heart. Then his body had failed to respond to bacta when they had finally gotten him into the tank. Tekli had ordered him to be removed so they could go to work directly on his more serious injuries, such as the ragged gashes and splintered bones of his abdomen and
upper legs. Dripping blood and fluid, the old man on the operating table had seemed to deflate under the bright lights, losing substance with every second, until, finally, he began to respond to Tekli’s treatment.

The pilot of the shuttle who had brought the admiral from Bastion had stayed with him throughout. A lean young man by the name of Vitor Reige, he looked exhausted and drawn. His left arm was clearly injured, but he refused to have any treatment until Pellaeon was stable, insisting that all attention be focused upon the admiral.

After a few minutes, when it was clear that Pellaeon’s condition was going to continue to improve, the pilot exhaled heavily, gratefully, as if he had been holding his breath the entire time he’d been standing there.

He looked over to Jacen. “He told me to find you,” he said. “Before he passed out the last time, he insisted I should find you Jedi, if you had come here.”

Jacen frowned. “Because he thought we could save him?”

The man’s expression became instantly pinched, as if he was offended by the very notion. “He wanted you to know that we were grateful,” he said stiffly. “If anyone should bear a grudge against the Empire, it would be you. But you helped us, and he appreciated that. We all did. I wouldn’t be here now if you hadn’t risked your own lives to show us how to fight those …”

He fell quiet, biting down on the words. The memories of the recent battle were obviously still vivid in his mind.

Sensing the man’s embarrassment, Jacen quietly changed the subject by pointing to the arm that Reige was cradling. “You really should get that looked at,” he said. Before the pilot could voice the same objections that he had earlier, Jacen quickly added, “He’s going to be okay. Really. Tekli will take care of him.”

Vitor Reige nodded his appreciation. “You saved my life, as well as the life of the admiral. I shall forever be in your debt for that.”

Jacen wanted to say that he didn’t believe in debt, that people should just do what they thought was right regardless of obligation, but at that moment Tekli stepped back from the table and approached the two of them.

“I have done all that needs to be done,” she said, her thin shoulders shrugging. “The rest is up to him, now, and how he responds to the bacta.”

Jacen watched as the medical droids maneuvered Pellaeon back into the tank. The Grand Admiral twitched as if in a dream as the powerful healing fluids went to work, then settled down into the tank’s warm embrace. Convinced there was nothing more that could be done at the moment, Tekli gathered her equipment to leave. Helping her carry her tools, Jacen led her from the infirmary, leaving the droid to tend to Reige. Immediately outside the medical bay they found Captain Yage pacing back and forth in front of the doors. She came to a halt the moment the door slid open and Jacen and Tekli stepped out.

Her anxious gaze fell upon Jacen, who nodded in response to her unvoiced question.

“He’ll live,” he said.

Like a balloon releasing its air, the tension seemed to evaporate from the captain, dissolving her concerned expression. “I didn’t think it could be done,” she said, dropping her stare to the Chadra-Fan standing silently and respectfully beside Jacen. “I’m sorry for doubting you. I offer the appreciation of all my people for saving the admiral’s life.”

The Chadra-Fan bowed her head. “I did not do it alone,” she said. “Your admiral’s determination to stay
alive had a lot to do with it. With the will to live, anything is possible.”

“And Gilad Pellaeon certainly has that,” Yage said.

The fur around Tekli’s mouth parted as she smiled at the captain. “He still has some recuperating to do,” she said, “but he should be out of the bacta tank in about six standard days.”

Yage’s expression turned from relief to concern again. “Six days? That’s too long!”

“Why?” Jacen asked.

“As far as the Moffs know,” she explained, “Gilad died in Bastion. Flennic has had time to put himself in power, assuming control of
Stalwart
and the rest of the fleet. I wouldn’t put it beyond him to do anything to avoid having to relinquish that power, now he’s got it. While Gilad is weak, he is vulnerable, and we can’t keep the secret of his survival to ourselves forever. Word is already spreading that one more shuttle made it out of Bastion before the battle’s end. It won’t be much longer before people know who was on that shuttle and where it docked.”

“What will happen when they find out?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. That’ll be up to Moff Flennic and his underlings.” Her comlink bleeped. Listening to the short message, she nodded and answered that she would be there immediately. “I guess we won’t have to wait long to find out. We’ve just received a recall order.”

“Can’t you disobey it?” asked Jacen.

“If we do, then we’re going to have to have a
very
good reason.”

“Perhaps you should let me talk to them,” he said. “Maybe we can work something out.”

The captain stared at him for a moment in obvious discomfort and embarrassment. Jacen understood exactly
what she was thinking. Here was Yage, a captain of many years’ experience from a diametrically opposed military force, and he was expecting her to hand over to him the explanation of why she intended to defy a direct order. But he could see how tempted she was. A Jedi Knight had saved the admiral; perhaps another would take this difficult choice away from her. At the very least, it might absolve her of a wrong decision.

Jacen carefully neglected to mention that his experience with Imperials was virtually nonexistent.

After a few moments’ consideration she raised her voice to address the empty corridor: “I don’t suppose anyone has any better ideas?”