Nanth'ri Orbit, Nanth'ri System
Kurost Sector
"There's one more trick Dooku has up his sleeve," Calli said quietly as we turned into a disused engineering shaft.
"So serious," I mumbled.
"I am serious," she rebuked, "Dooku has a secret fleet operating out of deep space. Warships built by Kuat Drive Yards, at least a hundred of them, maybe twice as many. Enough firepower to subjugate entire worlds."
I wizened up, "Built by KDY? I can believe Kuat building ships as long as they get paid, but how did they keep a fleet of one– two hundred warships secret?"
"Because they look like bulk freighters," Calli paused as the maintenance shaft beeped, "Around a klick long, like A-class freighters on drive scopes. And up close… the gunports are concealed, and it's hard to differentiate durasteel armour from reinforced hulls. Other than that, nothing else is known about them."
The elevator shaft opened up, and we stepped through after a cursory look around. Soon enough, we were rumbling down to the hangar bays.
"If they're so secret, how did you find out?"
"They're not very secret among our privateer friends," was Calli's answer, "On the Nanth'ri Route, every other ship could be a pirate raider, and they'd know if there's a new tradefleet operating on their turf. All it took was one pirate flotilla to attack this fleet, and never return, for them to know it's trouble. They call it the Storm Fleet, because it comes and goes like one. Not long later, the Storm Fleet berthed at several neutral ports in the Nanth'ri Hook, and those neutral ports were suddenly Separatist-aligned. Most recently was Emberlene, and right after Emberlene went on a rampage across the Authala Sector, conquering at least a dozen worlds before taking their warfleet to Nanth'ri and beating the Republic back to Mimban."
"I didn't know you had privateer friends."
"We had privateer friends," Calli rolled her eyes, "The Confederacy didn't hide its less than savoury allies. After the Militia Act, the Pantoran finally put her foot down. Letters of marque and reprisal were withdrawn, and the Office of the General disavowed all piracy based in Separatist space. 'If you want to continue raiding Republic vessels, get yourself a commission in the Confederate Navy, and do it legally.' And now Celis Mott, one of the most infamous pirates in this region, is Commander Celis Mott. I found out from him."
"So I checked nearly every shipyard in the galaxy," she continued, "Not many could build even a hundred warships simultaneously, in a timely manner, and even less can design star destroyers that look like bulk freighters. Few fit the bill. Kuat, Rendili, and Fondor. Corellia, Sluis Van, Lianna maybe. But only Kuat had an order for that many freighters, apparently for a shipping corporation that–and I checked–doesn't actually exist."
"Alright, you got me," I said, "I'm going to assume the Storm Fleet is slave-rigged, or at least slaved by droids, because there's no other way to keep a fleet of that size operating out of deep space. But that also means they can be compromised with ECM. First, though, we need to find out where they are. How recent was 'recently'?"
"They're in the south, where you're headed," Calli watched the deck numbers ticking down intently, "That's the only reason I'm telling you. The Mistryl Shadow Guards of Emberlene can track it down, which is why we're going to be hiring a team, who'll rendezvous with you as soon as they have liberated Attahox. As for disabling the Storm Fleet, the Twenty-Eighth Mobile has enough Munificents to blackout a space station, given the right configurations."
"Understood–" the lift grinded to a halt, and the doors slid open to reveal an obscure corner of the hangar bay, "–But I have to lift the Siege of Sullust first."
Stepping out, the bustle of the hangar deck enveloped us. Droids, technicians, engineers, spacers, and even massive Vulture droids–that were much bigger than they seem–stomping across the bays. Invincible could deploy nearly five-hundred LACs at a moments notice, and to retain that operational efficiency required a colossal, constant effort.
Calli straightened her outfit and brushed a loose strand of hair out of her face, revealing the pale scar over her right eye–now almost pinkish under the flare of the hangar's prismatic floodlights.
"You didn't know."
The words spilled out from my mouth before I even knew what I was saying.
She spun around to face me, scoffing, "How could I? Couldn't you tell? Operation Starlance doesn't exist. The Pantoran is telling us to dive feet first into Nine Hells, and didn't offer a way out. We're disposable. We were never meant to know–no one is. You heard Trench; not even our crews are to know, until it's too late to turn back. They know how suicidal this plan is. And I still can't see the point of it."
For a moment, I struck with a sense of deja vu. I had been in her exact position once, hadn't I? If there was one thing I learnt about Sev'rance Tann, it was that she considered promotions not as a reward for excellence, but as expectations of excellence. If she says you're due for a promotion, expect an undertaking to convince her. If she says you're promoted, expect an undertaking to prove you are worth the rank. The Battle of Teth felt like a lifetime ago.
And now Calli Trilm was learning the same thing I did.
I laughed.
Calli's lips thinned–the only sign of incense on an admirably controlled expression–and she crossed her arms, "Think this is funny, do you?"
I smiled shallowly, "Back on the Wheel, I told you what I did. Serving the Pantoran is a fast-track to the Admiralty. But maybe I forgot to mention that she demands an equal worth of results. Did I ever say how I leaped ahead of you, back then?"
Calli Trilm was shorter than me, but in all the years we've known each other, I've never had to make a conscious effort to look her in the eye. The same way, I suppose, that you'd never have to look down to watch a lioness stalking you.
"Escort Asajj Ventress to Teth," I continued without prompt, "Don't ask any questions. Next thing I know, I was fighting an entire Republic battlegroup led by a Jedi Master. Turns out Ventress had kidnapped Jabba the Hutt's only son. That's the thing with the Pantoran; she is demanding, but reliably demanding, and reliably rewarding. She made you an admiral, now she's telling us to earn our keep. None of that politicking stuff, you know well as I she's a Hutt in fine dining when it comes to politics."
"You don't seem concerned at all," Calli complained–she was too dignified to complain, but I could tell she was complaining– "Usually you'd be whining about how you're in over your head at this point. Most of the time you're awfully cautious, but this time you're overly careless."
I shrugged, "I can afford to be. The moment we enter enemy space, our closest known friendlies will be… only you and I. We won't be able to communicate with the Confederacy anymore, only each other. Am I wrong for trusting you to watch my back?"
Her eyes widened, then narrowed, "Awful lot of trust given I betrayed you."
It might have been my imagination, but I thought I saw a little colour come to her cheeks.
"You paid me back. I consider us even," I grinned, Trench's words echoing somewhere at the back of my mind, "Have I ever, ever, asked you outright to trust me?"
Calli's shoulders lifted as she ran through every time we spoke–then dropped with a sigh, "Never."
"And I won't now," I agreed, "Because I know you wouldn't ask me to trust you. That's the game, isn't it? Since the start. So let's only use that when it counts."
It was when she turned her back on me, but made no movement to leave, that I knew I had her.
"So quick to leave," I joked, "Am I so disappointing?"
Calli Trilm slowly turned around, a fire burning behind her eyes that wasn't there before, in the meeting or otherwise. I barely had enough time to take a half-step back before she was already on me, snagging my cheek with thumb and index and yanking me down to her level.
"Stop screwing with me. I was vocal enough with my opinion of you that you should already know what I think," she drily said, "I'm not as easy as that overgrown spider likes you to think."
My grin only grew, tugging against the pain, "I still prefer my validation straight from the horse's mouth."
"Oh, you'll get it," she hissed, releasing me–only to shove me back against the elevator doors, and punching in the control panel.
Not a moment later I found myself locked in a kiss, trapped between cold steel and an enticingly warm body. My eyes closed out of instinct, a hand naturally finding her hip. For the briefest second I thought of pushing her way, as this was hardly the place… but after all that has happened, I couldn't say returning to this brand of distraction wouldn't be enjoyable. Not like there was ever going to be a better time.
The elevator doors opened behind me, and we made no effort to not tumble back into the carriage. A hard landing later, and when she withdrew I felt the full weight of her on me, sharpened gaze digging into my face.
"Now, really?" I gasped, "Somebody could be listening."
"I wouldn't have chosen this place if somebody was," she looked amused, "I'm the one here who captains a Providence, not you. I think I know what I'm doing."
In more ways than one wordlessly passed between us. The elevator doors slid shut, and the noise died. The deck panel remained untouched, forgotten, and without orders the cab was eerily silent. Suffocating. With a brisk tug, a storm of grey, radiation bleached hair fell around me, blocking out the rest of the world until it was only the two of us.
"Nobody's listening," Calli whispered.
"One for the road then?" I suggested.
The next gasp wasn't one of disagreement.
⁂
Sullust Approach, Sullust System
Brema Sector
General Horn Ambigene was the quintessential Separatist.
Tall, slender, but with broad shoulders that gave a sense of reliable stability. His arms were thin, but well-muscled and worn by the passing of time and hardship. Stark white hair gave a sense of his age, along with the crinkles in his eyes, but otherwise Horn Ambigene was perhaps just another old man, earning his place at the flag of the Fourth Fleet Group by experience if nothing else.
In any other military, that would be enough. But a military headed by Sev'rance Tann? Experience had to be backed up by talent, and skill. Simply serving a desk job for decades wasn't enough to warrant one of four highest positions in the largest military in the galaxy.
If not for one thing.
Horn Ambigene was not just simply a Separatist. He was the first Separatist. He was a Separatist before Separatism was even coined as an ideology. He has been fighting the Galactic Republic for decades, before Sev'rance Tann was even born, perhaps, and definitely before Dooku turned to the dark side. In fact, when Count Dooku created the Separatist Alliance, Horn Ambigene was one of the first supporters he sought after.
Because Horn Ambigene offered something the Separatist Alliance desperately needed; experience in fighting a war. He was made the Commander of Organic Training, and personally created the core of what became the Confederacy's citizen soldiery. It would not be untruthful to say the Militia Act that reformed the Confederate Armed Forces was built on the back of Horn Ambigene's lifework.
The so-called First General of the Confederacy was well-aware of his own reputation, and had the pride to match.
"I expect Sullust to be devoid of Loyalist forces by the time I arrive, Rear Admiral," General Ambigene barked, "Your own reputation precedes you, and I am aware of your impressive history against Jedi commanders. Can you assure me General Alrix will be just another tally to your track record?"
Every sentence came out of his mouth like an order, and I could already tell what sort of person he was. General Tann and Admiral Trench–they let their presence do the talking. Shouting was beneath them, and they expressed anger in the form of quiet dismissal, followed by administrative punishment. They were career officers, and wielded authority with easy familiarity.
General Ambigene, by contrast, was a drill sergeant, a squad commander. His authority was enforced–usually with volume–likely borne from a lifetime of organising militias and training soldiers. It was not an unwelcome thing, in many cases. People like Trench and Tann went to the academies of some form, and emerged ready to command, bearing the certain expectations that came with it. Horn Ambigene learned how to command by commanding, and behind all that hard-ass exterior, he knew firsthand the limitations of expectations.
Whatever orders he gave would be much more realistic than General Tann's. There would be no 'let's raid the Core Worlds via a hyperlane that doesn't fucking exist' and there definitely would be no 'hold off the entire Republic Navy for two months, with no fleet and no resources except what you can procure out of thin fucking air.'
Sure, I could tough out some barking, if it meant reasonable orders.
"I can't promise anything, General," I replied coolly, "I can only judge my opponent after facing them."
General Ambigene grasped his chin, thinking. It was a good sign. At this point I'd usually hear something along the lines of 'you've done it before, why can't you do it again?' There was nothing wrong with data-driven assumptions, especially when looking at my admittedly outlying record, but fighting battles was… well, holistic in every sense of the word.
I honestly didn't know why I do so well against Jedi. The thing about Jedi Generals is that I can always rely on their tactics being simplistic, but somehow effective. Even Plo Koon's revolving spearhead only appeared complicated, when the idea behind it was as primitive as charge forward. Doing something unconventional always seems to push them off-balance, despite the preconception that Jedi cannot be pushed off-balance.
Try as I might, I cannot wrap my head around the Force. Oh, it sounds simple enough, but I–and every other bloody person in this galaxy–could only try comprehending it as we might comprehend the four-dimensional space. What the fuck is the Force? How the hell does it work? Why does it sometimes make the Jedi omnipotent, and other times have no outward effect at all?
Therefore, I can only form my own subjective conclusions against an opponent–Jedi or otherwise–by standing across them on the field, and observing how they make their moves. I'd ignore the Force as one might ignore unpredictable weather. If it strikes, when it strikes, I'd know I couldn't have done anything about it. Until then, I'd proceed as I always have.
"Very well," General Ambigene finally decided, somehow still barking, "I trust that you will do your utmost regardless."
I stood a little straighter, "As I will always, General."
General Ambigene lifted the corner of his lip, "Remember, Rear Admiral; provocate, but do not attack. We need the Republic to make the first major move. Unless General Alrix decides otherwise, you will only advance once the Supreme Commander announces the commencement of Operation Storm-Door. At the same time, my forces will surround the Seswenna Sector, and I hope to see both Eriadu and Sullust firmly in Separatist control before we proceed north. We will teach the Republic the strength of our resolve."
"Very good, General–" we shared a salute, "–I shall we see you at Yag'Dhul."
The last thing I saw before the connection cut was a savage grin, bearing all teeth.
"Contacts on scopes," Tuff alarmed.
I snapped towards the nearest repeater; 110 warships clustered around Sullust's southern hyperspace jumpzone, and another 74 warships even further ahead, camping out behind a distant asteroid cluster. I transferred those coordinates to the system chart, identifying the cluster as the Sululluub Field.
"That must be Ventress," I said aloud.
"We are in a poor position to support them," Tuff inserted, "Sululluub's orbit is in the third orbital position, compared to Sullust's fourth. The enemy's position is well-placed, blocking the Rimward egress while simultaneously blocking Commander Ventress' fleet from escaping the star system."
Well placed indeed, and I had to struggle to comprehend how Ventress even got herself in that position. See, the Sululluub Field was an asteroid belt that orbited the sun, except it was closer to the sun than Sullust itself.
"Can we plot a vector towards Ventress without the risk of interception?" I asked Stelle.
The droid shook his head, "We can plot a vector following a prograde orbit in relation to the system primary, we still need to return on a retrograde to make the final leg, at which the enemy fleet can intercept us."
The problem was that Ventress had taken a position shadowing Sullust. Which was sensible, as she needed to keep a constant eye on the planet and her opponent, but the negative side effect I was now facing was that it would always put Sullust between her and any reinforcements coming from the south. Which is to say; we had an enemy fleet in between us, and that wasn't going to change unless Ventress decides to offset her orbital position by a few million klicks.
"Ventress can see us, right?" I wondered, "Can we communicate with her?"
"If we can see her, then she can see us," Stelle confirmed, "But communication is unlikely so long as the enemy is between us."
"We outnumber the Republic three to one," Tuff interjected, "The quickest way to rendezvous with Commander Ventress is to go through the enemy."
I reviewed the latest fleet status reports, fighting a brief internal battle over whether I should just take the tactical droid's advice to engage immediately, or prioritise seeking regrouping with Ventress first. The central concern was that the 28th Mobile Fleet's primary objective was to carry out Operation Starlance, and that meant preserving our most crucial elements; namely Commander Jorm's 286th Auxiliary Division, consisting of five lumbering mobile shipyards.
We couldn't risk getting caught in a battle now.
"Get me a tightbeam to Commodore Greyshade," I ordered.
Diedrich Greyshade was the commander of the 283rd Battle Division–or '3rd Battle Division for short–with a sum total of seventy-five assorted warships. Only twenty-four of those were capital ships, but it should be enough to dissuade Alrix from fighting.
"Admiral?" Diedrich's voice rang out.
"Battle stations. I want the Third in a starboard echelon weighted towards the tail and ranged… two-hundred thousand klicks off Aurora's starboard bow," I commanded, "We're going to be rendezvousing with Commander Ventress, and that means strolling right past the enemy. If Alrix presses, you decline. If she presses harder, the Fourth will assist you. Prioritise the safety of the Sixth above all else."
"Orders received."
I turned back to Stelle– "Now get me Vinoc."
"Sir?"
"Battle stations. I want the Fourth in portside echelon weighted towards the head and ranged two-hundred thousand klicks off Aurora's starboard quarter," I commanded, "Mirror the Third on our transverse plane at all times. If Alrix attacks, prioritise the safety of the Sixth above all else."
"Understood."
The 28th Mobile had been divided into seven subformations; the Third and Fourth were Battle Divisions, and the Sixth was Commander Jorm's Auxiliary Division, flagged by Aurora II, a massive mothership that was large enough to fit the original fuel tanker Aurora in its spacious hangars. It really couldn't be stressed enough that if Operation Starlance was to go ahead in any capacity, the 6th Auxiliary Division had to stay intact.
The Fleet proceeded on a vaguely orbital vector spinning prograde with Sullust's star, skirting outside of the enemy's operational perimeter. I had still half the mind to engage directly, if not for the confirmation that General Alrix had defeated a force over three times the size of her own before. Until I find out exactly how she did that, it was in my best interest to stay wary.
"I want the Third and Fourth Battle Divisions tracking their every move," I told Tuff, "And get the Second Strike Division to create a picket line on our portside, just in case."
I tracked our progress, the formations of the 28th Mobile Fleet unfolding out like the petals of a blooming flower. Battlecruiser Kronprinz taking point and leading her fellow Tionese warships at the point, like black sihouettes against the harsh solar flares–but from the Republic's perspective, their chrome armour must be gleaming like newborn stars as they reflected unfiltered sunlight. To our rear, Vinoc led our Ringo Vindan and Metalornian battleships from his flagship Crying Sun. The brutal form of star dreadnought Olympus Mons lurked in the far rear, her bristling array of weaponry tracking the yet-stationary contacts of our foes.
They weren't stationary for long.
"Enemy drive cones detected!" the sensor droid alarmed as the previously dead contacts on the tactical holo burst into life, the ever-distinctive drive profiles of Star Destroyers leaping into action.
"Should we enter battle stations, sir?" the tactical droid might as well be raising an eyebrow, if he had eyebrows.
"Alrix is sitting on a hyperlane egress," I thought outloud, "If her intention is to intercept hostile forces, she will. If her intention is to blockade and besiege Sullust, however, then she cannot risk leaving the jumpzone. However, considering she had not yet engaged Ventress' inferior flotilla, she must be prioritising the blockade over us. Her forces are alert, but have they left the jumpzone?"
"Enemy contacts are turning to face us," Stelle reported, "We can assume they are fixing our velocities and are plotting vectors to intercept."
"But if they were intent on intercepting us, they would have left the jumpzone already," I finished, turning to Tuff, "What do you think?"
The tactical droid stared at the tactical holo, running through his calculations.
"A sound conclusion," Tuff finally decided, "Refer to Battle Registry Log Two-Four-Three; First Battle of Christophsis. Alliance Directorate Fleet under Admiral Trench upheld standing orders to enforce blockade over Christophsis over engaging approaching Republic Taskforce. This was not the tactically preferable action, if not for strategic concerns relevant to the world in question."
"You think General Alrix is in Admiral Trench's position?"
"Affirmative."
I leaned back, observing the contacts on the display. Tuff was right–they weren't moving. There was a certain trick to blockading jumpzones. Since their primary objective was to intercept blockade runners, the most effective blockades were a layered defence, focusing on maximising angles of fire. A simple line abreast, while covering a much wider area, was too easily run since there was only one layer to overcome. Jumpzones were not a wide area. The end result was that a blockade looked like a haphazard strew of ships placed seemingly randomly–until you were trying to run the blockade and realise every ship somehow had an angle of attack on you.
On the flip side, that loose, spread-out formation made a terrible order of battle.
As long as the enemy fleet remained in that blockade formation, they weren't going to attack.
That internal battle came back again. If they weren't going to attack, why shouldn't I? I could leave the Auxiliary Division with a rearguard and take two-hundred warships and crush them right here and now. Unfortunately, General Ambigene was strict on the matter; no offensive actions until the Supreme Commander gives the go ahead.
"Very well," I waved away the tactical holo, "Continue at speed."
There was a window in the couple hour transit in which the Republic could still attempt to intercept, but General Alrix was seemingly content to sit and watch. So that's what happened; two fleets with all scopes and sensors and weapon arrays aimed and primed at each other, but nobody made the first move. My own hands were bound by, well, larger strategic concerns as Tuff would put it, but I wonder what Rees Alrix's hands were bound by.
I don't believe she's the type to follow orders in the face of prime opportunity. To pull something off like the Hundred Days Offensive… opportunity for offence was everything to be seized. I slumped in my chair.
Which can only mean one thing. She believes she can still defeat me. Which means she knows something I don't. Reinforcements are already enroute, most likely.
"We have confirmation from the central database," Tuff reached forward to tap the display in front of me, "Taskforce Conciliator, flagged by star cruiser Resilient, Venator-class."
"Anything on the Resilient in particular?"
"It's the personal flagship of Republic Admiral Cede Wieler," Tuff said, "Except Admiral Wieler was reported killed in action at the Battle of Medth, at the hands of Commander Asajj Ventress."
"Resilient indeed," I muttered, "Get me a detailed report of everything we know about them, down to the fuel reserves if we can."
"By your command."
"Can we reach Ventress now?"
By now we were directly perpendicular to Taskforce Conciliator's position, relative to the hyperlane egress. The window for interception was quickly closing, and the enemy still wasn't moving.
"Patching a line to star dreadnought Dark Rival," Stelle announced, finger hovering over her console as she glanced for confirmation,
I nodded, stood up, and cleared my throat. The last time I spoke to Ventress was at Teth, at which I was glad to see her leave soon after on that junker following the dicey skirmish over the planet. This time, however, our positions were flipped. Somewhere within me, I wondered what she had been doing the entire time? Surely Dooku's personal assassin has more 'important' things to do other than lead a failing defence of the Rimma Trade Route?
A hologram fizzled into view before me, and as it coalesced so did the pale, bald form of Asajj Ventress. Her slitted eyes were as menacing as ever, and with the hems of her hooded cloak and black dress ebbing at her feet–at the edge of the holoprojector's frame–she was as very much a malevolent wraith as I last remembered.
"Bonteri," she hissed, "I hate to say it, but you are a welcome presence."
I stared at her blankly, "At least use the rank, Commander."
"...Fine. Rear Admiral."
I beamed, "Submit a report on the integrity and battleworthiness of all your vessels as soon as able, Commander. We'll work from there."
"Report?" Ventress nearly snarled, "With your forces here, we can overwhelm and crush that Alrix!"
I raised two fists, miming invisible handcuffs as I tried to pull them apart, "My hands are tied, I'm afraid. There will be no attacking anyone until the Supreme Commander gives the go-ahead. I will be transmitting some files I'd advise you to glance over. Is Dark Rival your fleet's flagship?"
"Our command centre is aboard the Chakdrukke."
I leaned away, whispering to Tuff, "Which one is that?"
"The Inexpugnable-class battleship, sir."
"Never heard of that class," I mumbled before quickly returning my attention to Ventress, "Very well, I'll see you aboard."
She was still staring daggers at me when I closed the connection.
Rubbing my cheek, I stood up and snatched the purple cape off the backrest, "Prep a shuttle, and tell Jorm to start repairing Ventress' ships."