Sublight Drive (Star Wars)

Chapter 22

Metalorn Approach, Metalorn System

Talcene Sector

“Did you know some people are calling my modified Order Four the Battle Hydra?” I asked Stelle, while eyeing the Republic fleet jumping into the system.

“It’s fitting, sir,” Stelle replied offhandedly, laser-focused on the system chart.

“Maybe I should call this one the Hragscythe, then,” I said lightly, “Do you know how an Onderonian hragscythe hunts, Stelle?”

“No sir,” the droid humoured me, “Have you seen one?”

“I wish I hadn’t,” I confessed, “But when you chance the forests, you don’t get to wish. Hragscythes are the apex predators of Onderon-not even drexls dare to get close to them. But sometimes the younger, bolder drexls do, usually on their first crossing. They’ve yet to know the dangers, you see?”

“They don’t survive,” Stelle guessed.

“They never do. Hragscythes have a particular way of making sure the only place its prey ends up is in one of its three mouths,” I stood up, leaning forward to peer out the bridge of star destroyer Castigation, “Deploy our pickets in forward positions. Commence identification procedures.”

“Roger roger.”

“All units, execute Standard Battle Order Four,” I continued, “Take stations relative to fleet flagship Castigation. Queen of Beauty, station yourself at the lower portside corner. Battlecruiser Nine-Nine-Oh, station yourself to the upper starboard corner.”

With three droid control ships in the rear churning out vectors and coordinates for the fleet by the microseconds, the apparent free-for-all the Republic must be seeing right now actually concealed an intricate dance of transitory pathings as ships of every size and make scrambled to reach their positions.

Yet, there wasn’t a single collision or even near-miss. No ship had to jostle or bull another for their spot. There weren't any complaints-as there surely would’ve been from organic commanders-for the more ‘leading’ or ‘principal’ stations. I didn’t have to wait for any laggard vessels.

The last ship smoothly slid into its assigned station with brisk, droid efficiency-and what was once a chaotic melee suddenly transformed into a perfect rectangle in the middle of space. With Queen of Beauty and Battlecruiser 990MT as the cornerstones of the formation, the auxiliary Lucrehulks can ensure that the battle line will never distort unless intended.

“Wasn’t the plan for Order Five?” Stelle asked.

“It still is,” I answered, “But acting too early is inadvisable. What’s the slowest ship in the formation?”

Stelle checked his datapad- “Recusant-class star destroyer, Destroyer Two-One-Five-Five. Half-built primaries. Haven’t even gotten its transponder yet.”

I took a deep breath-our best speed is that of our slowest element- “Have Castigation bring her long axis onto the enemy’s intercept vector.”

Flicking a switch as the entire rectangle was translated down and starboard, and a familiar nest of holographic readouts sprung up around me. A cascade of confirmations ran down the repeaters. All ships report green. Distance some 130,000 klicks, bearing effectively double triple-zero. Looks like the enemy commander had predicted a trap, and had set their extraction point further away than standard in case of a minefield.

I produced a datachip containing the tractor presets for the Tann Railgun, and plugged it into the console.

“Queen of Beauty, Battlecruiser Nine-Nine-Oh, execute these set-ups promptly.”

“Castigation,” TJ-912 responded, “This will not only be wildly inaccurate, but diverting this much power to our tractors will immobilise our ships temporarily.”

“Your concern is noted, Queen,” I said tightly, “Now carry out the plans. I want a spread of fragmentation missiles bearing three-twenty to triple-zero mark three-fifty to oh-seven-zero relative. Battlecruiser, fire a spread bearing oh-four-zero to triple-zero mark oh-one-zero to two-eighty relative. Expend all of your frag missiles. Use langrage if you must.”

“… By your command,” a flash of frustration crossed TJ-912’s voice.

“Roger roger.”

I rubbed another datachip between my fingers, this one containing the override codes for every ship in the White Hand.

Within fifteen minutes, Queen and Battlecruiser were rattling off a vertical, fan-shaped fusillade of missiles at impossible speeds. Since they were moving too fast for their proximity sensors to set off, they had cleverly been set to detonate once crossing a set distance threshold. Old fashioned fragmentation peppered the flanks of the enemy fleet as dense metal flechettes ripped their way through the thin shields of screening frigates.

Tractors were normally used to move objects by ‘grabbing’ an object with a gravitic bubble, but apparently that was too inefficient when dealing with hundreds of missiles that had to be fired off in quick succession. The Tann Railgun instead uses gravitics to ‘compress’ and ‘expand’ space forward and aft of the projectile respectively, allowing the object to surf the resulting ‘wave.’

Apparently, by doing this the projectile could theoretically exceed the speed of light given enough time. Unfortunately, the space manipulation begins dropping off the moment it leaves the tractors’ ranges.

Maybe once this war is over, someone could align a bunch of Providences stern to bow and create a maglev-gravlev?-racetrack to find out if we could actually exceed lightspeed without hyperspace. In the name of science, obviously.

But I wasn’t a physicist. All I’m concerned about is whether it can ruin someone's day.

It did wonderfully. I observed the tactical holo carefully, watching how the enemy fleet expediently morphed their formation to avoid the missiles. With Queen and Battlecruiser creating an artificial border to the battlefield, the Republic was forced to tighten their battle line into a squashed cone shape.

“Their commander knows about the Railgun,” I commented, “Do you think it's because they’ve seen it before, or because the Republic High Command has already cooked up tactics against it?”

“We’ll know once the ID is completed, sir,” Stelle replied.

“Castigation, we have depleted our missile stores,” TJ-912 reported, “Confirm switch to langrage shot?”

“Belay that,” I crossed my hands over my back, feeling that sense of detachment seep into my skin, “We have them right where I want them. All ships, proceed forward at best speed.”

⁂

Jedi Master Plo Koon stood on the bridge of Star Destroyer Impavid, totally absorbed in the Force. Expanding his consciousness throughout the bridge and even across the whole fleet, he foresaw the paths of the streaking missiles and guided the ships under his command out of the way accordingly. Whether it be a grand Venator or an insignificant corvette, Plo Koon ensured their respective captains had all the information they needed to evade disaster with composure and promptitude in equal measure.

Even as blinding white trails streaked overhead and as Impavid shivered with every near-impact that threatened to punch a hole through its deflectors, its crew worked in the datapits with quiet, Force-induced calmness.

“Tighten our formation and have Impavid take point,” Master Saesee Tiin ordered, “Have we identified the enemy flagship?”

“Yes, General,” Clone Commander Wolffe confirmed, “It’s that Providence right in the centre of their formation. The Seppie commander isn’t even trying to hide the mess of tightbeams they’re transmitting to the rest of his fleet-but I imagine that’s what it takes to orchestrate a battle lattice as orderly as that.”

“Do we have a designation?”

Wolffe leaned over the datapit to check, “Castigation, sir. No battle data yet; looks like a shiny.”

“Indeed,” Plo Koon rubbed his respirator-covered chin, “Their new missile launch system is notably less accurate than that used by the Ascendant. I believe they haven’t properly installed or calibrated their new weapon.”

“Is that so?” Master Tinn crossed his arms gruffly, “From Christophsis’ battle report, this weapon’s potential is quite concerning. What worries me is that this could be an indication that every new Separatist ship may be equipped with it.”

Concerning was an understatement, Master Plo Koon had to admit. He had been planetside with the rest of the Wolfpack when his flagship Triumphant was first struck. Admiral Yularen had immediately ordered his retreat afterward, but truthfully Plo Koon didn’t need the warning. By then, he could already see Triumphant crashing through the atmosphere in a great inferno held aloft.

It was only while transferring his flag to Pioneer did he first understand the true scale of destruction the weapon was capable of. Seeing the pride of the Iron Lance slagged without even being able to fire a single shot… what was to be done but to retreat? And now, Admiral Wurtz was missing, and the rest of the Iron Lance Fleet with him.

“Generals,” a sensor officer hastily climbed out of the datapit, “Our scanners are picking up five Pathfinder-class pickets skirting our firing arcs. Looks like the Separatists are trying to identify our make.”

“Prep our flight wings to sortie,” Master Tiin turned around, “I will leave the Impavid in your care, Master Plo.”

Both Plo Koon and Saesee Tiin were some of the finest flying aces of the Republic. These days, they might have been replaced with rising stars like Anakin Skywalker and Obi-Wan Kenobi, but many still remembered when their names were hailed as heroes of the Republic for their efforts during the Stark Hyperspace War. It has been a long time since then, but their skills have never dulled.

“Good hunting, Master Tinn,” Plo Koon said, before turning the Impavid’s captain, “Arrow formation. We will target the Castigation directly.”

“We are facing down a Separatist battle lattice, General,” the captain shot a pleading look at Commander Wolffe, “Charging directly at them is what they want us to do.”

“And the one weakness of a battle lattice is the command ship,” Plo Koon returned with smooth confidence, “As Commander Wolffe had said, a lattice of this precision requires all ships to be connected to a central network. Not too dissimilar to a slave circuit. If we capture the Castigation, that entire force will be in our hands.”

The captain stiffened up to protest, before deciding better of it and releasing the tension in an explosive sigh. With a brisk tug, he straightened out his grey uniform before snapping into a sharp salute and marching off.

“His advice is well-meaning, sir,” Commander Wolffe commented, “Not many are familiar with fighting with Jedi.”

Plo Koon knew that very well. His battle meditation saw a small part of his mind aware of every being on the bridge, every conversation, every half-formed thought, every bead of sweat trickling down spines and sticking hair to foreheads. This was a fine crew-one of the Republic’s best-but they were organic, not programmed droids. Beneath their disciplined veneers they were afraid.

As they should. Even as the barrage of missiles petered out, the sight of hundreds of Separatist warships racing forward in heartless synchronicity was ever a heart-stopping sight. And yet, despite their fear, these brave men and women would keep fighting for the Republic. None braver than the clone pilots spearing through the void beyond the viewports, each so stubbornly individual behind their identical helmets.

None braver, he thought silently. Plo Koon reached out through the Force, letting his gaze touch each unique, committed pilot. He locked their faces in his memory, in case this was the last time. Saesee Tiin noticed his presence, and responded with an assured mental handshake.

Both sides continued to rush towards each other at maximum acceleration. Jedi Master Plo Koon was long familiar with this distasteful prelude to slaughter.

⁂

“Jedi General Plo Koon,” I quoted the readout, “Registry access granted; a proclivity for effective, if simple, tactics. Always leads from the front, and prefers close-quarter combat. But that cruiser… Impavid, flagship of Jedi General Saesee Tiin. A flying ace and legendary ground combatant. Both fought in the Stark Hyperspace War.”

I had to restrain myself from asking Tuff to run the numbers out of habit. Another trusted commander in the field widened my strategic possibilities, but that didn’t mean I didn’t miss his reliable presence on the bridge. Instead, I quietly scanned through what our registries had on the two Jedi Masters. I did recognise both of them, though, from Episode III. Weren’t they both on the Council?

Looks like I have my work cut out for me. These two have stellar battlefield accolades. And also rather predictable.

“Sir, we’ve lost contact with Pathfinder-One and Pathfinder-Three,” Stelle said, “The carriers are launching their fighter wings.”

I checked the range again, then the velocities of each division. Our acceleration, while relatively slow, was respectable enough that shifting vectors will take time. With both fleets hurtling towards each other at a good 200 KPS, the battle lines were going to collide in some ten minutes. Question was; how close do I want to cut it?

“Have the Pathfinders drive into the enemy formation and create some chaos,” I ordered, “All units, modified Battle Order Five. Castigation will exercise command over Base Division One; Queen of Beauty over Head Division Two; Battlecruiser over Head Division Three; and Renown over Head Division Four.”

The battle lattice immediately tore itself into four sections, as if an interstellar hand had taken to shredding a sheet of paper. The largest section-Base Division One-was smack dab in the centre, corners rounding out into flattened oval. Head Divisions Two and Three launched themselves up and back of Division One, solidifying into two elliptical formations on a perpendicular transverse axis to Castigation. Head Division Four, led by the trusty Zenith II, went below and back in a reverse wedge.

If an ancient Onderonian was standing on Metalorn and looking out to the stars right now, they’d see a new constellation in the night sky; the three heads of a hragscythe rearing back to bait a drexl into charging straight towards its vulnerable body.

A smile tugged at my lips as I confirmed all four pieces of the White Hand operating at peak efficiency and proceeding at the deliberate course and pace set by Castigation at the point.

“We are to hold our course until contact,” I reiterate for my bridge crew, “Launch all of our starfighters and have them orbit Base Division One.”

Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

I see you, Jedi. I know you can’t resist.

⁂

Laserfire flashed around Impavid’s bridge as Master Tiin hunted down the rogue scoutships the Separatist commander had sent forward to harass them. So callously tossing aside subordinates once their value had run dry, it was simply to be expected from a Sith-backed state like the Separatists. Plo Koon supposed the fact that those ships were crewed by droids made the decision all the simpler.

“They’re breaking their formation,” Wolffe observed warily.

“Not breaking,” the Jedi Master corrected, “Developing at the last second. We’ve seen these tactics before, haven’t we?”

“You think this is Rain Bonteri, General?” the Clone Commander turned his head in mild surprise, “Isn’t he supposed to be in the Southern Theatre?”

Plo Koon didn’t answer. Dividing his fleet like that was a risk-laden manoeuvre on Bonteri’s part, as it expanded his line of battle too greatly for the opposite formations to support each other. Master Saesee Tiin could take his fighter wings and strike each piece individually with local superiority, before pivoting to assault the next one, effectively defeating the enemy in detail.

But Rain Bonteri would know that. From what the Jedi Master read on him, the Onderonian was infamous for dividing his formations precisely to lure out that line of action from his opponents. Dividing also expanded his tactical flexibility, after all, and with the main body of his fleet in the centre, it and its orbiting formations could support each other both ways. The main mass of battleships in the centre was thus the linchpin of the entire force. Once they were dealt with, the three secondary formations were too far apart to support each other.

“General Tiin reports all scoutships have been destroyed,” a comms officer said.

“Very well,” Master Plo Koon drummed his fingers on his arm, “Inform him we will begin our main assault.”

“Understood sir.”

“Captain,” he addressed the patiently waiting-if visibly uneasy-man, “Bring the fleet into the arranged formation. Fix forward batteries on Castigation’s approach vector and standby to correct our intercept at the right points.”

The taskforce condensed into a jagged cone, effectively concealing the fleet’s true profile from the front. Resembling a barbed arrowhead, the point of naval bombers would concentrate all their attacking force against a limited but critical area-Castigation and its escorts-and clearing the way for the successive waves of warships to sweep through the centre of the defenders and tear them apart from the inside without giving them a chance to recover.

Once the arrowhead had pierced the defending formation, it could simply turn around and hammer the survivors against themselves.

“Those frigates beneath the Seps’ main mass are going to try to Hydra us,” Wolffe predicted, pointing to the division of Munificents and Recusants gliding beneath Castigation.

“Ventral gunners standby to fire on my order,” Plo Koon commanded calmly, mentally counting down the seconds until the enemy ships entered the engagement envelope.

Then, a hundred energy readings spiked on the readouts as the Separatist main body fired all retrothrusters-their formation glowing like a newborn star on the display.

⁂

Do you see what I’m doing, Jedi? Do you understand?

Unlike the orbiting squadrons, Division One was primarily composed of a grim, solid mass of battleships and heavy cruisers. I felt weightless even as Castigation groaned in exertion, the mighty warship quivering as she strained her retrothrusters against her momentum. Some of the heavier ships were forced to swing around 180 degrees to reverse burn, each with varying degrees of power to keep the entire formation’s velocity synchronised.

“They’re catching us, sir!” the gunnery droid exclaimed, “Do we open fire!?”

I focused back on the tactical holo, realising the enemy LACs were concentrating in a spiralling point at the forefront of their formation. So that’s what your plan is.

“Deploy all of our Vultures forward,” I hastily ordered, “Break up those flight wings.”

“Roger roger!”

I wasn’t a LAC commander. Onderon didn’t use starfighters, mostly orbital monitors and light cruisers that could roughly translate to capital ship warfare. I only knew the most elementary of starfighter basics. And since Vultures were droids, I couldn’t rely on individual wing commanders to give orders out in the field. Considering that, I fell back on basic swarm tactics, which was about standard Vulture operating procedure anyway.

As long as the Republic LACs couldn’t get a clean strike on my battleships, it was mission accomplished.

My LACs immediately broke their defensive positions and surged forwards so viciously I could almost physically feel the phantom hurricane pummeling my skin. In response, the Republic escort LACs leaped into action to intercept them. Within moments, the once-empty abyss between the two parties was consumed by a thick fog of screaming fighters punctuated by a storm of lasers.

With Base Division One effectively stopped on its course, the Head Divisions were now extended forward of the main body. And with every second the Republic ships accelerated to catch the reversing Base Division, the further they were led into the gauntlet.

I suppressed a triumphant grin, “Base Division One, return to our set course. We will meet them here. Head Divisions, commence your attacks.”

⁂

“They’re coming down on us!” Impavid’s captain shouted, “Your orders, General!?”

“Hmm,” Plo Koon grunted.

Frantic agitation was bubbling on the bridge at their apparent inactivity. He did not blame them-the Battle Hydra had risen to a level of infamy after both Knight Skywalker and Master Kenobi’s defeats against it. The Kel Dor Jedi Master Force-fully induced another period of serenity again.

The Separatist secondary formations had pivoted on their central axes and were now hurtling straight towards their fleet from three directions. Space was suddenly populated with bursts of light as the enemy warships unleashed their first missile volleys, followed by a glittering torrent from their forward batteries.

Jedi Master Plo Koon relaxed, “Fight with me, everybody.”

He fell into his own mind, letting his consciousness envelope Impavid, and the entire fleet, entwining every mind and soul into his own. Moments later, the enemy missiles ran into a wall of point defence, littering space with harmless flares of gold. Those that slipped through along with the turbolasers bolts collided with Republic deflectors and disappeared in a boil of gas.

Their formation consisted of a steady shell of heavy cruisers and battleships filled with lighter destroyers and corvettes-a complete apostasy from usual fleet doctrine-with a simple purpose. The heavy capital ships will be able to focus their overlapping shields on only one or two surfaces, using their great mass to break through the enemy line before opening up the phalange and disgorging the lighter warships to flood through the breach and sow chaos.

Not too dissimilar to how a Separatist Trident-class assault ship operates, the ageing Master mused.

In this context, no matter how the enemy tries to flank them, no friendly warship will be any more vulnerable than the one next to it.

Commander Wolffe returned from the Battle Operations Room, “General-”

The Jedi Master knew the words before the man himself did, “Open fire.”

A Impavid’s modified SPHA-Ts concealed within its ventral hangar tore through the darkness-a glittering bolt of lightning that tore into the first warship in its way and bisected it port to starboard. Two dozen more crackling beams shot out, laying destruction into the unsuspecting enemy, so much so it was as if someone had painted a sweep of black with Zeilla flowers blooming from cracks in the wall.

“Match acceleration and cut primary thrusters,” Plo Koon kept his expression dispassionate, “We will ride our momentum into the enemy battle line. Divert power to tertiary drives.”

“Sir?”

The Jedi Master held back, his goggled gaze intently inspecting the fleet’s shield status. With the Separatist flanks focusing to burn their way through at three points, Plo Koon waited until the shields reached critical saturation to issue his next command-

“Formation; oh-thirty-three degree portside rotation on our longitudinal axis, centred on Impavid’s mark,” he ordered, “Repeat this action when our deflectors are red again. Divert excess power to our forward batteries.”

The arrowhead formation spun like the revolving cylinder of a rotary cannon, with each ship taking their new stations two vessels down the portside, breaking the targeting locks of the Separatist attackers in the process. Unable to hammer the same points over and over, the Republic’s laboured shield generators were able to recharge while fresh deflectors took their place, successfully retaining the formation’s integrity.

“Understood, General!” Impavid’s captain snapped to attention, rightfully more eager now that the Jedi Master’s tactics have been proven.

Plo Koon allowed a brisk nod. Soon, Impavid was surging into the tempest of intersecting ion trails and erratic spirals of dogfighting snubfighters. Soon, the cruiser’s shields were registering not turbolaser bolts but shattered pieces of fighters and even some straight collisions from malfunctioning droids. The viewports were consumed by an epileptic mess of lights as Impavid’s bow forged through the storm with all the sleekness of a Pamarthen liner cutting through waves and rain.

And then, they were face-to-face with Castigation’s malevolent stare.

“Captain, you have the bridge,” Plo Koon swung around, “Commander Wolffe, prepare a boarding party. Inform Master Tiin we will be assaulting the Separatist flagship directly.”

Time to end this.

⁂

I no longer had to suppress a smile. In fact, I was no longer in the mood for one.

Sweat ran down my cheeks as I tried to comprehend the enemy fleet’s near-perfect joint manoeuvres. Tiny sparks on the tactical holo did not do the Venators’ new ventral cannons justice as the blinding beams swept across Division Four flared two frigates into vapour and scrap. They did not do the Republic’s point defence justice as they tore down every missile and torpedo in the black with almost insulting ease.

I couldn’t understand, even as I watched with my own two eyes, as the entire Republic formation rotated on its axis to disperse the Head Divisions’ attack vectors over a greater area of shields. If each individual vessel was rotating, I’d understand, but it was the entire formation in unison.

What the fuck was the point of having droids if… if that was possible without!?

An unpleasant feeling rose up my throat as I checked my board’s real-time status readout. Head Divisions Two and Three were drastically checking their acceleration to avoid a physical collision; Division Three was all but crippled, with Zenith II rallying what remained for a orderly withdrawal; and Base Division One was about to get pummelled within every inch of their lives.

All that… and facing a Republic fleet only a third the size of ours. Well, half the size, considering a not insignificant amount of our vessels were fodder.

Reluctantly, I forced myself to face the truth. ARENA boasted a pretty sizable catalogue of battles to review, and superimposing the current situation over the Republic’s previous performances… By every metric-coordination, accuracy, efficiency-this battle was a statistical anomaly. A statistical impossibility, I daresay.

An icy shiver ran down my spine. I could only think of one explanation.

This was the true power of a Jedi Master. Two Jedi Masters.

And not only Jedi Masters, but veteran leaders from a war two decades past. Who fought and won so decisively their names were engraved into the Republic’s living memory. Whatever sorcerous Force power this was, it terrified me leagues more than hand-waving and neck-pinching.

Shaking away my musings, I glanced across the holo again. It didn’t change the fact that I still outgunned the Republic taskforce, especially since I could bring all my guns to bear while they can’t. Rotating or not, it was only a matter of time until their shields caved in.

Except time isn’t on my side.

Impavid had smashed straight through the fighter screens, unleashing a wave of electronic jamming that sent the Vultures corkscrewing into suicide dives or outright detonating-as was coded to occur when they were no longer connected to their mothership. The Republic’s unified particle shields shimmered as Vulture after Vulture rammed themselves like birds into a window pane.

Then, the two fleets collided. The Republic formation’s tapered front flattened into a hammerhead as they pounded Base Division’s lattice with wave after wave of torpedoes and turbolaser charges. I gave the order to return fire, but nothing was stopping the Republic’s momentum.

Their formation tore straight into Base Division, physically smashing my battleships out of the way while the smaller warships disintegrated under a typhoon of interlocking fields of fire. Impavid and her satellite cruisers retarded to stand off against Castigation while the rest of their fleet bulled their way through-and that’s when I realised the extent of their plan.

“He’s planning to pierce straight through us, about-face and use Impavid as an anvil for their hammer,” I said out loud, “Is their ECM inhibiting our command matrix?”

“No sir,” Stelle answered, “Only our Vultures are being affected. But I’ve already authorised Queen and Battlecruiser to exercise independent action over their Head Divisions in the case of a decapitation.”

“Gunship drive trails spotted!” the sensor droid alarmed, “It's a boarding party!”

I swung around, scampering to the viewport and straining my eyes to pick out the LAATs carving their way through the battle. A wing of Republic LACs headed by an Aethersprite emerged from virtually nowhere to deal with what remaining Vulture combat patrols attempting to intercept them.

“Close the hangar blast doors,” I panicked, “Now!”

“We can’t,” Stelle said bluntly, “They aren’t responding.”

I rubbed my face, “And we don’t have a security complement either.”

“Correct, sir.”

Castigation thumped as the gunships swept into her hangars, vomiting out the clone soldiers who sought to capture her. It won’t be long before the boarding party realised what was amiss. Because while the Providence looked complete from the outside, within its hull was a completely different tale. Right now, the warship was a hollow shell, devoid of everything but the most critical components and skeletal of crews.

She had been ripped from her graving docks before her time, and never will achieve her full potential as the latest flagship of the Confederate Navy. Instead, she will die here, surrounded with the rest of her half-born brethren, fighting a hopeless defence of her home. Impavid slid beneath Castigation, granting the Star Destroyer’s dorsal batteries wider firing envelopes to tear into the Providence’s ventral hull.

“Hah…” I sighed, straightening out my uniform, “I should at least be presentable for our guests, right? Off you go.”

I waved my hand, and Stelle and the rest of my droid crew faded like a dream, leaving me alone in Castigation’s pilothouse. The lights weren’t working, and empty chairs laid dormant before blacked console displays that would never be turned on. Smoke and dust kicked through my body as Castigation shuddered at every breaching round she took. The world was gone, replaced with confusion and panic as every ship of the White Hand fought their own desperate wars against the Republic onslaught. A numb coldness settled in my chest.

If every Jedi General can replicate something like this… what chance do we have? It was difficult not to stumble and lose myself in the frighteningly deep rabbit hole of implications.

As I waited for them to reach the bridge, I took the opportunity to check the ammunition stores of my ships. After confirming there was still a sizable amount-plundered from Metalorn’s ordnance plants, mostly-I heard echoing footsteps thundering down the deathly silent hallways.

“You are… Rain Bonteri,” a gruff voice stated.

I turned around in mild surprise, coming face to face with a very strange alien. A grotesque mask covered a leathery yet somehow insectoid face, deep blue lightsaber gripped tightly in a four-clawed hand with thick, sausage-like fingers. Clone troopers with blood red wolf motifs painted on their helmets fanned out through the pilothouse, expediently searching every nook and cranny for things that weren’t there.

With a hiss, the Jedi Master’s blade retracted.

“Sorry,” I shrugged, “But your princess is in another castle. I’d still enjoy a conversation, however.”

Plo Koon slowly crept forward, circling around me with an inscrutable expression, “Why do you fight Dooku’s war? Because your planet does?”

“I can ask you the same…” I stood still, “But to answer your question; it is because Dooku is the lesser evil.”

“General,” the Clone Commander stepped out, “We’ve secured the ship. But, there’s nothing here. This isn’t the control ship.”

“Care to explain your views?” the Jedi Master asked politely.

“I thought General Kenobi told you? That the Republic is under the control of the Sith Lord,” I shared.

“A wild and baseless claim,” the alien chided, “Dooku is the Sith Lord.”

I stroked the captain’s chair forlornly, feeling the phantom surface graze my fingertips, “I assure you, Master Jedi, that I watched the Attack of the Clones. I know there are always two Sith Lords; care to guess which one is the lesser evil I speak of?”

Plo Koon stilled his wolfish stalking, inspecting my face carefully as if to check if I was lying. I didn’t react.

“You are not my enemy, Master Jedi,” I swept my gaze around the bridge, towards the troopers, “But right now, I am yours. May I pose you the same question you asked me? Does your Jedi Order fight the Republic’s war to rid Dooku, or is it because you are servants of the Galactic Senate?”

“We serve the people of the Republic,” he corrected.

“And I serve the people of the Confederacy, not Dooku,” I offered my proverbial peace treaty, “Dooku’s grip over the independent systems are slipping by the day, and the time will come when the Separatist peoples no longer believe his lies. And when that time comes, we will no longer want to fight you. When that time comes, will you still want to fight us?”

“How are you so sure?” the Clone Commander marched towards me, “Why should we believe you?”

“At ease, Commander Wolffe,” Plo Koon raised a hand, “He is correct; innocent citizens should not be subject to the horrors of this war.”

I brought up my tablet and keyed in a command, “Good to hear, Master Jedi. Now get off my ship.”

“What?” the Clone Commander snapped, probably resisting the urge to sock me in the face. Not that he could, and he knew it.

“Sorry,” I said again, “Regretfully, we are still enemies right now. But when the time comes that we need not be any longer, it is up to the Jedi Council to decide whether to continue sanctioning the Senate’s war.”

The clones stumbled violently as Castigation’s sublight drives roared to life once more, straining the ship’s internal bracing to its limit as several billion newtons of warship threw herself forwards without warning. With her beaked prow suddenly a battering ram, the flat dorsal surface of Impavid looked suspiciously like a red-painted bullseye. Undoubtedly catching my intentions, the Jedi Master hastily rallied his men and raced back towards the hangar bay.

The star destroyer lurched downwards, tearing her half-built construction apart as she bellowed her final battlecry in screams of rage and tortured steel. I waited until I confirmed the Republic gunships had left my ship, lamenting how great of a flagship Castigation had been, even if only for the very temporary period.

“Stelle, do me a favour and detonate the ammo stores.”

The connection snapped, and I blinked to find myself back in Repulse’s lively bridge-the holoprojection of Castigation’s bridge having whimpered out. With the viewport blast shields having retracted and the HUD with it, I could once more stare out the transparisteel barrier at the once all-consuming battle, now little more than a small buzz of insects in the distance.

I received a pair of macrobinoculars from Hare; and with them watched Castigation slamming through Impavid’s hangar doors, interlocking the two ships in the savage tango of destruction as one warship attempted to extract while the other drove deeper and deeper.

Then, a blinding white explosion. Repulse’s automatic sunscreens immediately darkened the viewports before I could blind myself, but with Castigation and Impavid directly in the centre of the battle, the scale of destruction was a foregone conclusion. I had packed that ship full of volatile, untested war materiel.

Forcing myself to ignore the human cost of what I had designed, I swung around and sat back on the captain’s chair.

“All available vessels are to retreat to Wobani,” I instructed, “Send a message to Ground Command; the rest are yours. Good luck and godspeed.”

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