She knew better than to argue with the droid. It meant well, but healing was a luxury. The only permanent solution was to finish her mission and get as far away from Alphabet Squadron and New Republic Intelligence and Caern Adan as possible. Escape the people who knew the truth, and the people who would judge her if they knew.
“What do you want to talk about?” she asked.
“I’d like to return to the topic of Nacronis,” the droid replied. “Specifically, I’d like to talk about the story you concocted, and some of the details you decided upon. I don’t know if you’re aware, but you—”
The sound of a fist rapping on metal interrupted the conversation. Quell jerked up, ready to spring to a stand. The droid descended toward the control pit, depressing a toggle and activating the tram’s intercom system. A woman’s voice came through, low and lightly accented: “Gravas here. I’m looking for Yrica Quell.”
“We’re in the middle of a session,” the droid said. “Can we alert you when we’re done?”
“Mister Adan’s very busy,” the intercom replied. “So’s the general. They’re ready for her now.” The language was civil, if not entirely courteous. The tone left no room for interpretation.
The droid acquiesced without further argument. “Car doors unlocked.” Quell rose, swaying on the balls of her feet, and turned away from the cab. The synthesized, masculine voice of the droid called out to her, “You will return tomorrow?”
“If I can,” she said. Which was true, and vague enough to bind her to nothing.
* * *
—
“We can seize the capital,” General Syndulla said. The green-skinned woman raised her chin, her head-tails bouncing as her eyes swept the room. “The only questions are: How long will it take? and How much will it cost?”
They’d requisitioned the Lodestar’s tactical center for the briefing. It was less formal than the ready rooms, and with the battleship parked planetside there were no crew members making use of the transparent screens protruding like crystalline stalagmites from every surface. Instead, Quell, Caern Adan, and Syndulla stood at one end of a holographic display table, surrounded by flat images of urban topography and Imperial bunkers and planetary shield maps. Wyl Lark, Chass na Chadic, and Nath Tensent sat at the table’s other end, eyes on the general or roaming the room. Kairos paced, moving from one screen to the next, studying the data.
Quell could’ve scolded her, but she’d accepted months earlier that Kairos was a woman of unusual habits. Besides, she was still shaking off the session with her therapist.
“Alphabet Squadron,” Syndulla continued, “has been instrumental in the progress we’ve made in Cerberon so far. With Vanguard Squadron on special assignment in the Bormea sector, Alphabet, Meteor, and Hail are all we’ve got for the remainder of the campaign. However—” She looked among the pilots, even locking her eyes with Kairos’s visor. “—I haven’t forgotten Shadow Wing. I know you haven’t, either. Officer Adan has shared the suspected sightings list with me, and I agree there is a danger.”
Quell caught Adan’s glance in her direction. He stood to one side holding a datapad, his antenna-stalks nestled in his coiled black hair, and looked simultaneously bemused and smug.
“Do we know what they’re doing?” Tensent asked. He started to raise his boots to the tabletop, then appeared to think better of it. “Grandmother’s dead. Did they find an Imp battle group still active?”
Adan tapped a key, summoning an array of images in orbit around the central holoprojector: the faces of men and women Quell knew as Shadow Wing’s squadron commanders; an Imperial Star Destroyer; a pair of cruiser-carriers. Quell forced herself not to look away, instead staring past the azure light. “We have several theories,” Adan said. “We don’t think the unit’s been absorbed into a larger armada, which means we can assume that they’re rebuilding. Leadership would be easier to determine if we knew who survived Pandem Nai, but you’ve already seen Quell’s roster of likely candidates.”
“Until we have a better sense of their activities, my best guess is Major Rassus.” Quell reached out to touch one of the holographic images and a middle-aged man with a sour expression bloomed. “Competent, obedient, and never extraordinary enough to draw attention or threaten anyone’s sense of ambition. Most likely he’s following Grandmother’s last orders and keeping the squadron leaders pointed in one direction.”
General Syndulla leaned against the table one-handed, studying the images and expelling a sigh. “Regardless of who’s in charge, the threat remains. The last time the 204th followed the orders of a dead leader, millions died on Nacronis.”
Again, Quell saw Adan glance her way. She expected him to twist the knife, to mock her with a comment about Operation Cinder only she would understand. Instead he looked back to the pilots and said, “Quell and I have proposed a plan to General Syndulla that addresses both problems—the situation on Troithe and the threat of the 204th. General, we don’t mean to waste your time but if you could sum up the strategic situation?”
Syndulla swept away the holograms and turned to the screens. “Governor Hastemoor remains secure in his residence, with surviving infantry, cavalry, and air force close at hand throughout the capital and neighboring sectors. The system’s space force has been virtually eliminated, but otherwise significant military assets remain to our foe. Meanwhile, the shield generators protecting the region are fully operational. Even if there weren’t millions of civilians still living in the area, a bombing campaign wouldn’t do much good.
“Ordinarily, then, we would take the enemy sectors surrounding the capital one by one, closing the noose over a period of months. By the end, only the capital sector itself would remain unsecured and the governor would find himself under siege. We might not be able to starve him out, but we could come blasted close.” She scrolled through maps as she spoke, and Quell watched countless skyscrapers, skyways, gardens, and industrial districts blur together—thousands of kilometers reduced to the stroke of a finger. “This strategy would minimize allied casualties. It would give the enemy nowhere to run. It would mean that once we took the capital, Troithe would be won.”
It wasn’t truly that simple, even in the best-case scenario. Troithe wasn’t Ryloth or Abednedo—it wasn’t a world that had been straining under the Imperial yoke long before Endor. Quell had seen Adan’s New Republic Intelligence analysts discussing the likelihood of loyalist guerrillas holding out for years, no matter what the outcome of the war.
General Syndulla knew it, too. One battle at a time, Quell thought.