Star Wars: Heir to the Sith (Part 1) (#Wattys2018 shortlist)

Chapter 48: "Strive."

"He is about to strike anyway!" Ella shouted. "Would you have us sit down and die?"

From outside, a new siren sounded. It was high-pitched and menacing. Lance stared at her. "You've got your rising," he said. "I just hope you don't regret the damn cost."

"Of course I'll regret it," she shot back. "But I'd regret doing nothing a hell of a lot more. Now come on. Let's get our hostage."

They ran back to the top of the stairs where their followers waited. A young Farsalt bureaucrat, with his blaster held over his chest and a cladding of armour covering his torso, shot her a smile.

"We're behind you princess. No matter the cost. It's the only way."

She nodded. "Has the ion team got through?"

"I watched them from a window," another man said. "I think they made it."

"It'll be less than five minutes before its charged," she observed. "We–"

The sound of marching from below silenced her. Across the hall, Captain Alian, escorted by two dozen stormtroopers, walked with his pistol held out before him.

"Tell the Onslaught to shuttle in reinforcements," he proclaimed. "We'll take the main hangar and gather there. Then we'll purge the palace from one end to the other. And where is my visitor?"

"He's conducting an investigation of his own, sir."

"Well, that's his problem then. He'll have to fend for himself . . ." the voices faded as they passed behind a column.

Ella ducked from view.

"The main hangar. That's where he's going. Quickly, we can intercept them before they get there. Pass the word though: I want Captain Alian alive."

She led them past the armoury, trailing the imperials route on the floor below. Alain and his men would have to pass through an open air courtyard before getting to the hangar, and that would provide Ella and her team a perfect place to fire down on them from above.

Running, she was sure to overtake them, and when they reached the balconies that ran alongside the courtyard, she slowed down and pointed her followers into positions that would allow them to cover all angles in the courtyard below. Men moved off to the left and right, others stayed back to cover the doorway below.

Ella did a quick head count. There were more than twenty of them. That surely had to be more than enough?

Captain Alian and his twenty four stormtroopers marched into the courtyard. Ella had taken up her position nearest the hangar, so she could look him straight in the eye. In her right hand she held a single concussion grenade.

When he was half way across, she stood.

"Stop!" she yelled.

Alain stopped. He raised his blaster, and found twenty more aimed at him and his men.

"Don't be foolish, Captain," Ella said. "You can't escape from this. Tell your men to drop their weapons."

Alain smiled.

"No," he said. "I won't." He looked at her carefully. "For a mad girl who imagines herself a Jedi, you surprise me." He grinned. "Or are you not mad at all? Do I in fact have the honour of addressing princess Ella Malquet, who only minutes ago instructed the people of this planet to rise?"

Ella didn't answer. She found the initiative slipping away.

"For someone so very, very young, you have a lot of blood on your hands," Alain said. "I suppose you think you can capture me, and then barter me for Sarn's mercy? It won't happen. The Commodore would not yield, even though I've been his captain for years aboard the Assassin. But . . . let me offer you something. King Garrand and Queen Myr are being delivered to the Onslaught at this very moment. Once there, they will be taken to Jahannam."

Lance Dare gave a gasp of surprise.

"They are one of the Elder Houses!" he said. "Farsalt's royalty is one of the oldest bloodlines in the galaxy–"

"Indeed. As too was Alderaan's, yet that failed to protect them or their people from Tarkin's displeasure. I somehow feel that the lessons your parents will learn toiling in the mines of Jahannam will be more fitting than a quick death however. You know what they say about those who labour there? No doubt they will be dead within a year, covered in fungal sores and mutated into grotesque caricatures of human beings. Or if they survive, perhaps they will be sold for entertainment." He smiled tauntingly. "It is rumoured that in some parts of the galaxy, where civilisation is somewhat less refined, such creatures are displayed as freak shows, for the amusement of despots and tyrants and the vicious rich. Perhaps I should send you there, Ella Malquet. How the galaxy would shiver at the fate of one so young being subjected to such degradation."

Ella took a breath.

"I will give you a sporting chance," Alain said. "We enter the hangar, without a shot being fired, and you can happily carry on in your uprising. As an incentive, your parents will be kept as political prisoners, and nothing more."

Seconds passed.

"Well? What's it to be?"

Ella drew breath to answer, when a shot rang out from off to her left.

The trooper next to Alian was struck in the neck, and fell, a yellow eruption of flame blossoming over his helm.

And then there was only the sound of shooting.

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