Invasion Total Eclipse of the Heart || Objective 2: And I Need You More Than Ever

[Velzari Tharn]

O B J E C T I V E - 2
W I E L U - O R B I T

(Boarders, Fleeters, and Pilots)

High above Wielu's jungle archipelagos, a vast fleet of ships hang in orbit. Elements of the planet's Corporate fleet, several High Republic Navy Vessels and thanks to dark dealings with the Trade Federation, elements of the Black Sun's pirate fleet bolstered by imposing Lucrehulk-class battleships. Officially, the fleet has identified itself as a "private security contingent" of the First Bank of Nar Shaddaa, the largest banking clan in all of Hutt Space, but the gold and black livery tell a different story: the bankers are in open league with Black Sun.

Despite this, Wielu's Corporate Council is entertaining a diplomatic summit with the bank's representatives, along with representatives of the High Republic due to the ongoing application of membership. Overhead, and so far unknown to the other fleets in the system the syndicate fleet is jamming communications and policing transit to and from the planet.

Tensions are high but the Corporate Council know full well that even if mobilized, the Corporate fleet would not survive a direct confrontation with the clan's battleships. It would fall to the Grand Navy of the Republic to attempt to break any blockade and scatter any naval engagement, but with only a handful of ships they are already stretched thin.

Black Sun: The surprise blockade is buying our Vigos time to secure the Corporate Council's partnership. Should Republic forces break the line, they could gather reinforcements or worse surround Alekie Island and ruin our plot. Do not let this happen. At the behest of His Eminence Prince Velzari, you are clear to engage any and all Republic ships, show them the meaning of pain. Defend the Lucrehulks, destroy Republic resistance, and ensure that none break through Wielu's atmosphere or escape our clutches to warn the High Republic Senate.

High Republic: The fleet at Wielu have found themselves stuck in the middle from a blockade of Trade Federation ships bearing Black Sun's sinister livery. Sensors are scrambled and communications outside of the system are jammed - they don't want anyone getting in or getting out. You have managed to get a shuttle down to the planet to hastily evacuate the negotiation team but any further efforts to mobilise on the planet have been halted by the superior amount of Black Sun ships. Word must reach Naboo, the High Republic must learn of this attack. Destroy their Lucrehulks, knock out the jammers, and secure the airspace so that retreat can be possible.

 

[Rhys Gorne]

O B J E C T I V E 2
W I E L U - O R B I T
THE QUEEN’S GRACE

Rhys leaned forward in his seat, elbows braced on the edge of the command console, taking in the soft hum of the Queen’s Grace’s systems that were only sound on the bridge save for the occasional murmur between officers. Outside the viewport, the scene hung motionless against the curve of Wielu’s atmosphere, a brilliant world half in shadow, half reflecting the cold light of the system’s sun.

The Republic Fleet sat quiet. The Wielu Corporate Fleet sat quiet and even the newly arrived Lucrehulks of the First Bank of Nar Shaddaa sat quiet. In Rhy’s opinion, it was all a little too quiet.

From here, it all looked orderly. Gleaming silhouettes of High Republic design floated in tight formation like sentinels, dwarfed by the bloated presence of the Lucrehulks that loomed far beyond. The superstructures resembled giant, gold-trimmed monstrosities, ostentatious and oddly serene. Their very presence mocking the very idea of a war fleet, if they hadn’t advised the High Republic of their arrival and delegation ships being the only thing that had departed to the planet, he would have called it an invasion. Rhys could see the ugly curve of one now, its crescent hull shining in the reflected light of the planet. It hadn't moved in hours. None of them had.

Still, every hair on the back of his neck was standing on end.

“Have we got any communication with Admiral N’yvo yet?” Rhys asked, not looking away from the display.

Lieutenant Solvi, a Naboo native who had been on the Queen’s Grace since the Royal Naboo days, paused and checked her station. “No, sir. It’s still in wide-band scatter. Same distortions across hyperspace buoy readings, same dead zone across comms. Whatever’s blocking it is causing some problems. If you ask me, it feels deliberate.”

Rhys nodded once. That was the third sweep that had come back unchanged. That should’ve been reassuring. It wasn’t. The communication officers were suggesting it was a natural block, a solar flare or interference from something on the planet, all they knew is that they couldn’t talk to the planet, they couldn’t talk to each other and they couldn’t talk to the other fleets sat in orbit either. They were sitting mute and blind and for Rhys that was like being asked to jump into a pit of Synth-Snakes.

However he had to look at some positives. Nothing had happened, not yet. That was the problem.

A small flurry of status reports ticked down the side of the console. The delegation team’s shuttles had managed to reach the planet before the systems went down. At least that was confirmed. Among them had been Rhys’ own Ship Captain; Captain Lamondis, she had given command over to Rhys before departing as was policy but right now, Rhys was sat there concerned that she had made the wrong choice. He was a fighter pilot, he should have gone planet side not her. However that had always been the plan, that was Admiral N’yvo’s directive from the start. Several of the shuttles had been recalled, but they had heard nothing. Rhys had dispatched fighter patrols limited to inner orbit but the surface communication had been spotty and they had gathered no information about any of the goings on down there other than “No obvious signs of trouble”. The excuse from the "Bank" when they could hear them, was there was solar interference. Solar interference that jammed military transmissions?

Sure.

He straightened, arms crossing. The bridge lighting was dimmed to operations mode, casting a muted blue wash across the consoles and walls. It made everyone’s eyes look a little too hollow and face’s gaunt. The quiet professionalism of the crew was holding, but Rhys had served in the Outer Rim long enough to feel when something was going to snap, and this whole situation stank.

He could feel it in the ship, too. Not loud, not urgent, but a coiling presence threading its way through the hull, whispering through every breath of silence. Waiting.

“We should’ve had a ping from the envoy team by now,” Solvi added, her voice low.

“Even with the interference I agree,” Rhys said softly. “We should have even had something broken.”

He tapped the edge of the console. Once. Twice and then stopped. “Double-check the hangar status. I want ground teams prepped and ready in shuttles, but not launched. Tell them it’s a drill if anyone asks.”

Solvi hesitated. “You think it’s going to break?”

“Honestly I think it already has. We just haven’t seen the pieces fall yet.”

He turned his gaze back toward the distant shadow of the Lucrehulk. Still as a grave. Too still.

Something was coming. And Rhys didn’t like the feeling that they had already been outplayed.

Spoiler

Fleet Composition

1 Transport Shuttle 1 Vigilant Corvette

4 Sirocco Escort Corvettes

1 Capital Corvette

2 HRNV Seraphine-class Frigate

2 squadrons of starfighters each

OBJ 2 • Open​

 

[Andrei Vorn]

Objective 2
Rhys Gorne

VORN COMMAND​

~Diligence~

~100%~

~100%~

Andrei stood at the fore of the command bridge. Arms crossed as he stared out at the scene that no doubt everyone of their Captains were also staring at in hopes of some sort of reprieve from this oppressive silence. His voice deep and rumbling cut across the murmur of voices that filled the command bridge.

Tension was riding through all of the bodies on the ship. Permeating even the bulkheads themselves as the ship groaned and creaked louder than any singular sound could mask.

“Any changes to communications capabilities?” Not yet breaking away from the viewport to address the communication officer as his eyes settled on the Lucrehulk.

“No changes to the situation, sir. Whatever anomaly is still occurring is generating interference.”

Andrei narrowed his eyes. His fingers rubbed against his chin as he inhaled slowly until it was uncomfortable to hold. Letting his thoughts continue despite knowing it was potentially trouble to let himself wonder.

Almost wondering aloud what they should do in the absence of direct orders from Admiral N’yvo.

His thoughts finally broke as he recalled some small detail that had been mentioned on his first tour of the Sirocco Escort. Turning finally to stalk towards the duty station.

Brow furrowed deeply and tone sharp.

“Show me the display for available communication systems.” His massive form now drowning the poor man as Andrei's arms formed a living cage around the officer at their station.

“U–Yessir. Ah. Here. Are all available systems? I don't understand—” Andrei pointed to one system in particular to cut them off.

“That one. The Communications Laser.”

“That won't help us contact the surface. It's short range and line of–” The officer blinked before turning to look at Andrei. “We are still in formation.”

“Precisely. Remind the rest of our forces with haste.” His words easing back from sharp urgency as he lingered for a moment and keyed the internal shipwide communication line.

“This is Commodore Vorn, hands on stations for WSRT in two standard minutes. I repeat, hands on stations for WSRT to commence in two standard minutes.” The button gave a noticeable creak when his finger was removed. The officer gave him a pleading look as Andrei straightened with a frown.

Removing himself from the duty station to return to the viewport once more as he heard the hull reverberate as the comm lasers were engaged. A message being sent out to remind their formation of the somewhat dated system in their back pocket. It wasn't an ideal system, but in this situation he was glad for it.

Perhaps some update recommendations were in order as he breathed deeply once more and continued his vigil watching the foreign ships.

Spoiler

Fleet Composition

1 Transport Shuttle 1 Vigilant Corvette

4 Sirocco Escort Corvettes

1 Capital Corvette

2 HRNV Seraphine-class Frigate

2 squadrons of starfighters each

 

[Davik Haize]

O B J E C T I V E - 2
W I E L U - O R B I T​

---

There was bad luck.

Then there was this.

A pirate fleet, sharply dressed as a banking security force, staring down and licking its lips at a puny, local fleet of corporate beach-goers and the token presence of the nascent High Republic had mustered to show force. And the Duchess in the middle of it all.

Wielu was the closest waypoint to the Mara Corridor if you were heading down to the Outer Rim; well, closest waypoint with a black market on a fire sale for all sorts of spare parts the Duchess* needed to sustain what life it still had beneath its hull. Instead, it turned out to be the discount Anaxes War College weekend.

Gritting his teeth and pinching the bridge of his nose, Davik Haize leaned back on the pilot’s seat, “No way it gets worse than this, right?”. A burst of beeps from his slicer droid Skip and Haize slumped into the chair with a heavy sigh - the comms had blown into static.

“Remind me to never ask.” the Warden of the Sky hissed under his breath, blood beginning to boil in frustration.

With the Duchess drifting not far from the Republic fleet, Haize watched blankly the stars and ships beyond his viewport. A sudden burst of light furrowed his brow, and the next one made him sit up, then there was a third burst -- all beamed from a gunboat.

“Is that--“

Skip whistled.

Comm lasers; primordial to the rest of the galaxy, but out in the frontier of the galaxy where ion storms, drifting nebulas, and subspace turbulence fried most standard transmissions, they were not so uncommon. It looked like the High Republic had finally started listening to the Spacer Guild’s endless yapping and maybe, just maybe, was beginning to understand where exactly they were setting up shop, raising cheers and cutting ribbons.

“Can you slice it?”

Skip choked like a broken transmitter - a scoff in droid-speech.

“Should’ve bought me a protocol droid.”

The little, hovering orb beeped laconically and Haize shook his head. “I don’t know. It’s some kind of military code.” maybe if he attended any of the Spacer Guild’s meetings, he might’ve known. Alas, Davik Haize was stuck here. At least, his transponder was registered to the Guild’s IFF (not of his own desire), so if the Pubs decided to start shooting, he should be safe.

The only issue here was - the Lucrehulks weren’t Republic.

And they packed a punch.

And none of the seething anger slowly rising up his gut could blaze them away.

--

ALLIES: Rhys Gorne Andrei Vorn | The High Republic
ENEMIES: Black Sun Syndicate​

*The Duchess, a banged-up spacer trash but modified Kom'rk-class fighter/transport

 

[The Madclaw]

A towering white wookiee stalked the bridge of one of the armed freighters that made up a portion of the flotilla encircling Wielu.

He paced back and forth, back and forth, working himself up as he waited. The Madclaw hated waiting. He had "command" of a small cluster of freighters, though of the 6 freighters, only his was crewed by organics. The rest held droids and brimmed with baradium. The giant combed claws through his white beard.

"Where's the signal," he growled.

"Any time now, boss," said a Rodian lounging in a chair, he had a hand of sabacc cards and was looking at the other two players - a human and a Chiss. "Any time now."

The Chiss played his hand and the Rodian buzzed a curse.

"My guess is they'll make a break for it after they realize they've got no signal. Shouldn't be long now," said the human.

Madclaw waved a dismissive hand, then crossed his arms and stared out the viewport.

Waiting...

 

[Jerec Asyr]

Tensions are high but the Corporate Council know full well that even if mobilized, the Corporate fleet would not survive a direct confrontation with the clan's battleships. It would fall to the Grand Navy of the Republic to attempt to break any blockade and scatter any naval engagement, but with only a handful of ships they are already stretched thin.

The Republic Fleet sat quiet. The Wielu Corporate Fleet sat quiet and even the newly arrived Lucrehulks of the First Bank of Nar Shaddaa sat quiet. In Rhy’s opinion, it was all a little too quiet.

Andrei stood at the fore of the command bridge. Arms crossed as he stared out at the scene that no doubt everyone of their Captains were also staring at in hopes of some sort of reprieve from this oppressive silence.

A pirate fleet, sharply dressed as a banking security force, staring down and licking its lips at a puny, local fleet of corporate beach-goers and the token presence of the nascent High Republic had mustered to show force.

A towering white wookiee stalked the bridge of one of the armed freighters that made up a portion of the flotilla encircling Wielu.

"Alright, let's see what we're working with."

Captain Jerec Asyr, smoking a cigar out each side of his neck, slumped into the captain's chair. It was not the familiar chair of his beautiful Infinity's Free, nor the chair of one of the endless stream of the finest pre-owned vehicles and vessels that passed through Quekko's Choice Ship Emporium.

It was the command chair of the five-kilometre-tall, neon-soaked, formerly-a-fascist-mountain-fortress Shadowport Thaal'Quorr, which had just exited hyperspace right in the middle of everything.

"Broadcasht," he said around the cigars. "Head-and-shouldersh hologram. Override the jamming for thish one transhmisshion. Vigo'sh authority.

"Hello again, Wielu Shyshtem! Feth but I've misshed you. Thish ish Captain Jerec Ashyr aboard Shadowport Thaal'Quorr and thish - and I'm shpeaking to everyone, Republic, Corporate Council, Firsht Bank of Nar Shaddaa - ish the day you get a deal.

"Quekko'sh Choishe Ship Emporium, for the firsht time in forty yearsh, ish offering a shale! Fifty pershent off the finesht pre-owned vehiclesh and vesshelsh! I shee shome beautiful trade-insh on that Republic shide that I'd love to take off your handsh. Every amenity and all entertainment at the mosht hoshpitable ratesh!"

Titantic neon displays beckoned towards hangar bays bursting with deals, entertainment, the best times for five sectors.

This was very much the 'float like a butterfly' phase. He had little doubt there'd be violenshe, ahem, violence on the horizon, and he was wearing a space suit and bandolier in full expectation of next steps. For the moment, what mattered was tilting the table. Getting a feel for the players, the landscape. The business opportunities.

Nobody actually had to die today.

 

[Rojuhr Pouihl]

​

Mission Entry:
.


---

AFTER ACTION REPORT

HRN NAVAL COMMAND – WIELU ENGAGEMENT
REPORT ID: AAR-0001-HRNALPHA-WIELU
SUBMITTED BY: Capt. Rojuhr Pouihl, Commanding Officer – HRN Alpha
DATE/TIME: [REDACTED FOR SECURITY REASONS]
OPERATION CODE NAME: “Cinderlock”

NOTE: The following transcript has been extracted from the tactical bridge recording of the HRN Alpha at the time of initial engagement. Comms logs, sensor telemetry, and wide-band transmissions have been encoded for archival purposes and dissemination to Republic High Command. No alterations have been made to the source file. Partial encryption breach has been authorized by Fleet Command for review.

---

BEGIN RECORDING: BRIDGE VIEW – HRN ALPHA – WIELU ORBIT

---

EXT. WIELU ORBIT — SPACE

Above the emerald fractals of Wielu’s jungle-choked archipelagos, the stars are drowned in metallic shadow. Hulking Lucrehulks hang like bloated carrion birds, gold and black under artificial light. Behind them, Trade Federation vessels array themselves in a blockade formation—suffocating, lawful in appearance but stinking of syndicate rot.

They jam the system like a vice. The silence is designed—deliberate. A warning. An ultimatum. A threat.


---

INT. HRN ALPHA – MAIN BRIDGE

Captain Rojuhr Pouihl stood tall on the forward command platform of the HRN Alpha, hands clasped behind his back, jaw clenched. Though he wore the form of a human—a fair-haired and square-jawed man of commanding presence—his true self, the ancient shapeshifter beneath, felt every tension in the room. The bridge was quiet. Not for lack of activity, but because every officer, from the sensor pit to the comms deck, knew what they were seeing.

A blockade of a High Republic founding member world. A financial mask stretched tight over a criminal’s grin. The livery of the First Bank of Nar Shaddaa was not fooling anyone on this deck.

The tactical display updated in silence. The ships of the High Republic were present—barely. Two separate flotillas holding their line, hemmed in, outgunned, outnumbered. They could not break through. They could not retreat. They could barely breathe.

Rojuhr’s fingers flexed slightly behind his back. His shoulders rolled once with the slow, deliberate movement of a starfighter ace preparing for a high-G dive.

He didn’t need to speak yet. His officers moved without prompt.

The Command Flight Officer drew up an updated formation matrix—overlaying the Alpha's arc of approach against the Lucrehulk sphere of influence. The ship's Comms Director opened a wide-band frequency—the kind that cut through jamming like vibroblades through snow. On a separate panel, the Tactical Chief brought up precision strike coordinates for jammer sources on the Lucrehulks’ hulls—highlighted red, blinking like a heartbeat. Their range overlapped both orbital insertion paths and long-range communication relays. Whoever planned this blockade knew the game.

A second screen pinged. Task Force Arestul, three Loki-class attack cruisers waiting just outside the system’s jamming net, flickered online. No signal, but the encrypted response beacon came through clean.

Rojuhr raised one hand, slow and surgical, and with two fingers, made a cutting motion across the void.

Broadcast.

The communications officer nodded once and keyed the command.


---

WIDE-BAND TRANSMISSION – SYSTEM-WIDE BURST

The silence shattered.

A deep, clean signal burst across the blockade. It bypassed filters. It ignored protocols. It demanded to be heard.

This is Captain Rojuhr Pouihl of the High Republic Navy. You are operating in illegal blockade formation against a world in protected application to the High Republic. Your identity mask has been noted, your affiliations logged, and your intentions recorded. You are not bankers. You are criminals. Withdraw from orbit immediately. This is your only warning.

Was he breaking protocol? Probably, but this was, Ronto “you know what”.



No reply.

But the silence was different now.

Afraid.

"Sir... no response... we can't even comm with the other friendlies in the area yet
"


---

INT. HRN ALPHA – BRIDGE

The bridge was alive, but still quiet. Orders passed in hushed tones, screens flickered and focused. The Commander Air Group (CAG) had already dispatched the N-3 and N-2 squadrons to escort the next flight path—maneuvering just inside sensor range, threading the blockade’s edge without engaging. The Weapons Officer began charging the forward capacitors of the main guns. The Chief Engineer—a Duros with a calm, gravelly voice—confirmed over internal comms that shield modulation had been tuned to the exact particle signature of the Lucrehulk batteries.

Pouihl said nothing. He didn’t need to.

Instead, his eyes narrowed on the largest of the Lucrehulks. Its bulbous mass hung low over Wielu like a parasite, trailing jamming static and gold-laced hull plating. It hadn’t moved. It didn’t need to.

Not yet.

But it would.

His thoughts, however, were not on the ship—but on the people it meant to trap. On those desperate to reach Naboo. On the Republic ships holding formation below. On Bravo Squadron Leader Rhys Gorne and Commander Andrei Vorn—boxed in and outnumbered. He had not hailed them.

He wouldn't. Not yet.

This wasn’t a rescue.

It was a reckoning.

Rojuhr Pouihl finally spoke. Just one word, low and resolute:

Advance.

The Alpha moved.

Behind him, the other three cruisers in Task Force "Arestul" would get here the moment comms got through. They did not agree with letting "Alpha" going alone as it is.

And the Black Sun blockade was soon going to run out of time.


---

---

END RECORDING EXCERPT – TIMESTAMP MARKED

SUMMARY:

Initial assessment confirms hostile jamming and blockade operations conducted under false flag by Trade Federation-aligned vessels in Black Sun livery. Strategic positioning of Lucrehulk-class battleships and jamming platforms identified. Local High Republic detachments confirmed present but tactically encircled.

The HRN Alpha initiated first challenge protocol with system-wide broadcast. Task Force Arestul executed Phase I positioning maneuvers in support of potential breakout or counter-blockade operations.

RECOMMENDATION:
Immediate escalation to Republic Emergency Defense Protocols, Tier-2. Coordination with Naboo Home Defense Command, pending full decryption of fleet comms from Bravo Squadron and Commander Vorn’s detachment. Awaiting further action from enemy vessels following initial transmission.

Task Force Arestul stands ready to engage.

(Done from my phone, left handed, uphill, both ways, just kidding on that last part)

Rhys Gorne , Andrei Vorn

 

[The Madclaw]

But the silence was different now.

Afraid.

The Alpha moved.

Behind her, the void of space shimmered—and three Loki-class cruisers emerged from shadows of realspace, like hunting lances thrown from the dark.

Task Force Arestul had arrived. Not in combat distance but in support.

Aboard the armed freighter Ka-ching, a sensor alert went off. The Rodian sat up and thumbed through the display.

"Huh. Hmmm," he buzzed.

Madclaw's pacing stopped. "What is it, Farrlo?"

"We just got an angry Republic naval-type issuing threats. The usual, you know. 'You can't do this. This is illegal. You're criminal scum.' Yadda yadda."

Madclaw snorted. "What else?"

"Looks like they're advancing. One, no-... four cruisers. Loki-class. Eight hundred meters. Nothing to sniff at."

Madclaw sniffed, then went and sat down in his chair. His chair was a giant hunk of carved netherstone that they'd bolted to the floor of the freighter's bridge. He sat very still, ignoring the discomfort of hewn stone biting against fur and flesh, and closed his eyes.

"Uhhhh, boss?... boss? I'm guessing you're not thinking about whether or not you should give me and the guys shore leave on Thaal'Quorr. I mean it's right there. Jerec even said-"

"Quiet," Madclaw snapped. "I'm meditating."

Farrlo made an annoying buzzing noise and Madclaw realized he was laughing. "Quiet!" he roared, baring fangs. That got the Rodian to shut up.

The Wookiee settled back in the chair and reached deep into the Force, running calculations through his head as he analyzed the last known positions of his freighters... and those cruisers. He seized the power of the Force, used it to guide his calculations. He began punching in coordinates and prepared to take the freighters to hyperspeed.

All of them.

Rojuhr Pouihl

 

[Vestra Tane]

SHIP STATUS: DEEP RANGER | SHIELDS 100% | HULL 200%

Vestra Tane sighed with relief, sprawled out in the cockpit of the Deep Ranger like a sunbathing cat. Finally, something was happening.

The young Sith had been, until the last few minutes, incredibly bored. The Republic ships were all being irritatingly well-behaved, and the comms jam meant she couldn't even taunt them effectively. She, along with countless other fighter pilots, had been stuck doing the next best thing, a very distant second; patrolling the blockade line and daring the Republic fleet to flinch.

And then, smack in the middle of No Man's Void, an event. Space shuddered, fluxed and warped, and then it emerged. A shining light in the void, a bright neon monunent to both consumerism and questionable business ethics, spat from hyperspace like a rotten tooth. And it started broadcasting, too, blaring a -

Sales pitch?

"Hello again, Wielu Shyshtem! Feth but I've misshed you. Thish ish Captain Jerec Ashyr aboard Shadowport Thaal'Quorr and thish - and I'm shpeaking to everyone, Republic, Corporate Council, Firsht Bank of Nar Shaddaa - ish the day you get a deal.

"Quekko'sh Choishe Ship Emporium, for the firsht time in forty yearsh, ish offering a shale! Fifty pershent off the finesht pre-owned vehiclesh and vesshelsh! I shee shome beautiful trade-insh on that Republic shide that I'd love to take off your handsh. Every amenity and all entertainment at the mosht hoshpitable ratesh!"

Unfortunately for Vestra, she didn't have the time to enjoy the Sales-Vigo's handiwork (or listen to his advertisements) for very long - because soon after, another signal cut through the void, bypassing every protocol and jammer frequency the Sun had deployed:

This is Captain Rojuhr Pouihl of the High Republic Navy. You are operating in illegal blockade formation against a world in protected application to the High Republic. Your identity mask has been noted, your affiliations logged, and your intentions recorded. You are not bankers. You are criminals. Withdraw from orbit immediately. This is your only warning.

"Oh, fuck you." Vestra slithered out of her comfortable cat position and started fiddling with the Ranger's controls - and got an annoyed whirrrrrr from astromech unit V7-T3, who was none too pleased with the sudden seizure of flight controls. Vestra scoffed and, playfully, flicked an empty spice sachet towards the droid's dome.

"Can it and keep an eye on our energy readings, Vee. Chit's about to kick off."

 

[Rhys Gorne]

O B J E C T I V E 2
W I E L U - O R B I T
THE QUEEN’S GRACE
The entire ship’s silence made everyone feel uneasy. Yes there was noise, crackling static and beeping from consoles trying to keep all the systems operational, while fighting the ever present interference from whatever it was causing it. Occasionally the murmur of staff as they tried to push some command or request down a non-responsive comms unit.

The only saving grace was as yet there was no blaster fire, just something quieter, colder; a delay in everything that should not be delayed. It was like the edge of a storm, yet the waves were obviously rolling in.

Rhys stood at the helm now, arms clasped behind his back as the bridge crew worked in tense rhythm. On the far side of the viewport, one of the Lucrehulk’s had begun to rotate. Only a few degrees. Barely noticeable unless you’d been watching it as long as he had.

He noticed.

“Status on the orbital lanes?” he asked.

“Transit traffic is down to zero,” Solvi replied. “Banking ships are positioned in locking vector lanes, stopping anything that approaches planetary entry or exit. They haven’t announced that this is the intention but it’s an obvious hold pattern protocol.”

“They’re not even hiding it anymore,” Rhys muttered.

He paced toward the holotable, where a blue projection of Wielu shimmered gently beneath pulsing fleet markers. The High Republic vessels formed a small crescent against the vast spread of the Lucrehulks and their smaller escorts. It was a rough image, from scans that happened before the interference, but seeing as nothing had changed in the last few hours it remained viable information; it unfortunately told a very real story, High Republic ships were outnumbered nearly five to one.

And communications were still jammed.

“Any word from the surface team?” He already knew the answer.

“Still silent,” came the reply. “We haven’t received a burst transmission since the diplomatic escort made landfall six hours ago. They’ve likely been cut off from local relays.”

Rhys exhaled through his nose. That wasn’t a mistake. That was a message. Black Sun didn’t need to fire a single shot; not when silence and stalling would do the job just fine.

He turned to Lieutenant Solvi again. “Or they don’t even know yet. Scan the lanes for any sign of fighter movement, hyperspace beacons, magnetic anomalies that could explain this damn block.” She nodded sharply and moved. “And try to get a warning down to the ground teams, I need them ready to go when the Admiral says.” He glanced out across the viewport towards the larger of the Republic craft, wondering what was happening on that bridge. What decisions were being made.

Outside, something was stirring. He had not noticed it at first but from the bridge of Vorn’s Frigate there was a light. It was flashing across the space in front of Vorn’s ship in a pattern, once, twice, hold…once, twice and hold.

“Comms!” Rhys shouted and several faces looked up. “What is he doing?” His finger pointed out across the stars, towards the flashing almost invisible bean. Towards Vorn’s command.

“It’s old Republic code sir. Looks like an old Comm-laser, good old Vorn remembers his handbook.” Rhys already noted someone writing it down, copying the flashes into arubesh.

Rhys keyed his comm. “Bridge to engines. Prep ready for scramble, condition green. No deployment yet. I want the engines warmed up.”

A brief acknowledgement came back. Routine and calm. Too calm.

He shut off the comm and let his hand linger on the edge of the console. His fingers tapped once. Twice. That same rhythm.

“I don’t like it,” he said quietly. “They’ve boxed us in, and now they’re waiting.”

Solvi looked up from her scans. “Waiting for what, Captain?”

Rhys’s eyes flicked back toward the Lucrehulks. The closest silhouette was framed now by a glint of reflected sunlight, a golden halo around a mouth full of weapons.

“For us to blink. Or for someone planetside to say the wrong thing.”

The stars outside had never looked so still…Then they didn’t. Like a jump-scare from the old holovids, a rock, gigantic, huge and neon, arrived in the middle of the Banking fleet. Rhys’ eyes widening as it did so, he instantly almost called for weapons, but he chose not to, which as the realisation of the rock sunk in had been smart. It offered no threat, it offered no message, after all even if it did they couldn’t hear anything with the interference.

“Someone find our comm laser and work out one how to use it and two if we can get a channel with the Commodore, he should be able to see the Admiral’s bridge from his position.” His eyes took in the rock now sitting uncomfortably in space before them, “And watch that…”

Spoiler

Fleet Composition

1 Transport Shuttle 1 Vigilant Corvette

4 Sirocco Escort Corvettes

1 Capital Corvette

2 HRNV Seraphine-class Frigate

2 squadrons of starfighters each

Davik Haize Andrei Vorn • Vestra Tane The Madclaw Jerec Asyr​

 

[Kinley Pryse]

You've been hit by... you've been struck by...

If trouble had a favorite drinking buddy, it'd be Kinley Pryse
​

Flying: Kihraxz Heavy Fighter
Tags: Michael Angellus

This is Captain Rojuhr Pouihl of the High Republic Navy. You are operating in illegal blockade formation against a world in protected application to the High Republic. Your identity mask has been noted, your affiliations logged, and your intentions recorded. You are not bankers. You are criminals. Withdraw from orbit immediately. This is your only warning.

"Hasn't this guy ever heard of a career change?" Kinley muttered, cocking an eyebrow.

She, for one, was quite happy with her new gig as a "banking associate." Sure, the cockpit was cramped, and the hours weren't exactly humane, but it beat being groundside listening to planetary locals whine about how Black Sun was "ruining their futures." As if futures mattered when you had a gunship and clearance codes.

Besides, this job came with fun toys.

Her fingers drifted across the controls, barely touching them. The ship responded like it could read her mind, humming beneath her like a predator ready to pounce. Sleek. Hungry. Deadly. She kept it in place, though. No need to start the party before the fireworks were officially scheduled.

She pulled a stimstick from the console, eyed it for a moment, then slid it between her lips. A few months back, she wouldn't have gone near the stuff. Now it was practically a ritual. Funny how spending time trafficking spice for the criminal underworld seemed to give you a habit of your own.

The hit came fast. Adrenaline surged.

She smiled.

A Smooth Criminal

 

[Davik Haize]

Unable to crack the Republic comm-laser code, Haize sank back into his seat, irritation flickering with every pulse of light, mockingly dancing across his face.

The scanty sense of acceptance opened his senses to the Force unintentionally, and with it came a creeping, ethereal apprehension of future events that settled in his gut, mixing in with the embers of a temper already ignited by helplessness.

His twiddling thumbs began to twiddle a degree faster and rougher.

A sudden jolt from the quiet static of his scanners and sensor console made him jump in his seat.

"Hello again, Wielu Shyshtem! Feth but I've misshed you. Thish ish Captain Jerec Ashyr aboard Shadowport Thaal'Quorr and thish - and I'm shpeaking to everyone, Republic, Corporate Council, Firsht Bank of Nar Shaddaa - ish the day you get a deal.

"Quekko'sh Choishe Ship Emporium, for the firsht time in forty yearsh, ish offering a shale! Fifty pershent off the finesht pre-owned vehiclesh and vesshelsh! I shee shome beautiful trade-insh on that Republic shide that I'd love to take off your handsh. Every amenity and all entertainment at the mosht hoshpitable ratesh!"

Captain Jerec Asyr?

The name rang familiar, too familiar - a name he was certain was notorious among spacers and the fringes of the galaxy. But it wasn’t until Quekko’s Choice Ship Emporium was mentioned that the pieces clicked into place. The ship retrofitter was one of the favored spots of his perished mentor, and Haize was certain he’d visited it once as a kid, tagging along with the grizzled old Warden of the Sky.

Of all the useful things he could’ve remembered, only one line surfaced:

Did you ever hear the tragedy of Quekko, the legendary Apokka spacer? I thought not. It’s not a story the Jedi would tell you.

Odd, considering the old man had always admired the Jedi far more than Haize ever did. But whenever he spoke of Quekko, his voice always struck a painful chord.

None of it mattered now. The rest of what Captain Asyr said barely made sense. Perhaps spaceworms had finally eaten through his brain. Haize stole a glance at the viewport, where neon lights flashed wildly, splashing the reluctant stars with the colors of a fire sale.

He lunged for the electrotelescope controls, and one look confirmed it.

Captain Asyr had absolutely lost it.

And the spacers’ myth that Shadowport Thaal'Quorr was a mountain fortress fitted for space flight was true.

"You have to be kiddin' me." Davik blinked, then took another look to make sure he wasn’t losing it, too.

He wasn’t.

There was, indeed, a flying rock.

And as it loomed closer, the ethereal unease pressing in his chest only intensified.​

Rhys Gorne Andrei Vorn Rojuhr Pouihl The Madclaw Jerec Asyr Vestra Tane

 

[Jerec Asyr]

"...sho anywaysh, that'sh what dishtinguishesh the warrior ethosh from the real professhional, moshtly. Honor, inshularity, team loyalty, elitishm, toughnesh rather than — on the other shide — reshiliensh, proshedure, shtrucshure, shervish to the people, violench without boundsh of law, war ash shomething to be avoided whenever poshible inshtead of shome kind of valoroush pershonal crushible..."

The bridge of Shadowport Thaal'Quorr was more of a retrofitted grand chamber of authority and judgment, all crystal and steel and white apart from the retrofits in question. It gave a beautiful view down the mountainside into space — the Lucrehulks and beautiful Wielu to the right, the Republic cruiser to the left, the corvettes and freighters and everything else fussing in between. Any comms traffic strong enough to get through the jamming was a murmur in the background, being sorted for priority by a wingless Duinuogwuin glitbiter with a preference for smooth jatz.

Jerec rubbed his eyes, which, being Ithorian, was a bit of a workout. "Are we getting interferensh on the picture?"

"It's, uh, a window, Vigo."

Half-a-metre-thick glasteel; he'd known that. "Right. So the shtatic is in—" He took the cigars from both sides of his neck to speak a little easier. "The static is in space, then?"

The static was bodies. That sank in slower than it should have but then again, hardly anyone was really accustomed to the sight of innumerable bodies wiggling around in space. They futzed with the neon signs that advertised not only QUEKKO'S CHOICE SHIP EMPORIUM 50% OFF but perennial local attractions like THAAL'QUORR CHAMBER OF COMMERCE PRESENTS: FESTIVAL OF DRUGS. It took a lot of biomass to make a static effect across THAAL'QUORR FESTIVAL OF DRUGS.

The wave of gyrating bodies swelled close enough to the fortress viewport to discern species.

Mynocks. Hundreds of thousands of them.

Two or three splatted hungrily on the outside walls. Jerec jerked back from the glasteel windows and jabbed a cigar at the disparate bridge crew. "First one to tell me the feth's out there gets rich."

Minor scramble. The tattooed Quermian at Ops won it, three hands clamping three comlinks to his head. "Containment breach, that human superfreighter in bay one, cargo of bio samples and biomass for the market. Whole aft hold was low-grade stasis crammed full of vacuum-packed mynocks. They're eating the ship and bays one through five." Despite impending prosperity, the Quermian's little face took on a deeper level of existential bafflement. "They're...purebred."

Jerec whirled back to the panoramic window and beheld, with dread enough to make four throats go dry, starship-chewing mynock bats pervading the entire battlefield.

"It can't be. Not purebreds."

Jerec being an Ithorian community business owner, the scope of the ecological and financial disaster tugged at his heartstrings. As one of the ranking Black Sun people in orbit, though thankfully not in charge of those Lucrehulks, Jerec struggled to grasp the strategic implications.

He could override the jamming briefly again, but shouldn't. It had implications for the teams at work on the surface, very serious work no doubt among the lux resorts and paddleboard-friendly beaches and the finest black market in the sector (even better than Thaal'Quorr). Stray flickers of refracted coherence on the sensor displays suggested some of the Republic commanders had read their ships' operating manuals and were improvising with comm lasers. They had their comms solution, maybe. Black Sun did not. From Black Sun's perspective, this situation was simple: block them from reaching the planet or communicating with their people down there. That didn't need a lot of coordination when you had Lucrehulks with their hundreds of droid fighters, plus a ragtag melange of other craft.

Nobody had planned for a hundred thousand bats swarming out from a looming mountain fortress. Madclaw had grumbled something like that one time, but he'd been drunk enough on Trando blood that Jerec wasn't completely sure where the mental image had come from, let alone why he (Jerec) hadn't foreseen the possibility or at least made excruciatingly sure of the contents of every ship aboard before jumping Thaal'Quorr into the middle of everything. That had been a mistake. Jerec might lose his Vigo-hood for it.

If today was his last day as Vigo, there were worse ways to go out than as lord of a mountain fortress surrounded by swarms of bats.

"Somebody," he said upon due consideration, flicking away the cigar stubs, "get me a black cape that fits over a space suit."

Every neon sign on and around Shadowport Thaal'Quorr blazed with a coherent message, visible to everyone, probably visible from the surface.

CONTAINMENT BREACH
ECOLOGICAL DISASTER
FOR YOUR OWN SAFETY
AVOID WIELU SPACE​

Mother Jungle dammit. This was going to cost so, so much money.



BS Artists: @Madclaw Vestra Tane Kinley Pryse
Republic: Rhys Gorne Andrei Vorn Davik Haize Rojuhr Pouihl

 

[Andrei Vorn]

Republic: Rhys Gorne Davik Haize Rojuhr Pouihl
BS: @Madclaw Vestra Tane Kinley Pryse Jerec Asyr
Objective 2

VORN COMMAND​

~Diligence~

~100%~

~100%~

Andrei stared out into space as one the Lucrehulks began to shift ever so slightly. Before his eyes narrowed at the sudden disruption to the otherwise serene calm that had been instilled.

Unable to entirely discern where or why the looming mountain of rock and durasteel had come from.

“What.” Andrei made several small motions that never found completion. Vague gestures towards the window at the structure while his brain stutters around what exactly to call the structure. “Is that?”

“Oh! The uh. The spacer port! Uhm. Oh chit I forgot the name.” The comm officer was equally befuddled by the name but far more at ease with what they were seeing.

“You know it?” Brow furrowed deeply in disbelief as Andrei turned to spy the man. Suddenly sheepish under the scrutiny.

“It’s more legend really. Heard a lot about it at dive bars. Didn’t think I would ever get to see it.” Despite the scrutiny, the comm officer was smiling and stealing glances out the viewport.

The commodore stared until their face changed to worry. Turning back now to see strange wriggling in the space between the large flying rock and their own contingent.

“Communication from Admiral N’yvo, Sir! Decoding now.” The message from their Admiral’s ship no doubt sent across the whole formation by now.

The announcement was lost as Andrei stared for a while longer as the wriggling shapes seemed to grow larger in the viewport window.

“The Feth are those?” His question was partly answered when the large vibrant signs of the floating shadowport flared to life with a different message.

Tearing his attention back from the half-visible shapes.

CONTAINMENT BREACH
ECOLOGICAL DISASTER
FOR YOUR OWN SAFETY
AVOID WIELU SPACE​

His face contorted in thought as to what that could mean. It was a spacer legend that tried to sell used ships and entertainment just a moment ago.

“Ecological disaster?” His eyes catching the faint colorations against the dark of space once more. Understanding began to dawn.

“Give me scan sections directed at the floating rock.”

“Admiral N’yvo wants us to remain in formation for the time being and keep weapons in check. No engagements unless defending ourselves. Reminder of penalties for CB-1, CB-2, or OD-1 violations.”

“Send a Priority Alert message back in response-” Andrei glanced at the other vessels before stealing a glance at those shapes headed their way. “Impending attack by unaligned space-faring biologicals.”

He wouldn’t be able to alert the others without subverting the chain of command. Especially now that they had established communication lines.

Spoiler

Fleet Composition

1 Transport Shuttle 1 Vigilant Corvette

4 Sirocco Escort Corvettes

1 Capital Corvette

2 HRNV Seraphine-class Frigate

2 squadrons of starfighters each

Post #2

 

[Davik Haize]

CONTAINMENT BREACH
ECOLOGICAL DISASTER
FOR YOUR OWN SAFETY
AVOID WIELU SPACE​

The neon warning blazed across Haize’s viewport, projected from the flying shadowport like a HoloTV ad jolting you awake in the dead of night.
He raised an eyebrow, leaned into the electrotelescope--

--and froze.

Strange things happen in space, but Davik Haize, Warden of the Sky, had never seen anything like this before.

Batteries of mynocks cascading out of the shadowport like a dam burst. Not even the space fortress could sate their hunger. The ravenous tide spilled out into space.

Mynocks on one side. Lucrehulks on the other. His fists clenched, released, clenched again; neither fate enticing, to say the least.

“We gotta get to atmo. Now.” He decided and vaulted over the yoke, then yanked the Duchess into a planet-bound heading. “Skip, warn the Republic fleet. Plug in and get all the lights beaming code.” With no comm-lasers fitted on the Duchess, this was the best he could do.

Skip beeped frantically in response as his scomp-link snaked from the chassis and jammed into a socket. A questioning chirp followed.
​

“Go Atmo. Helium. Helium.” Haize dictated, hoping someone on the Pub fleet possessed a modicum of spacer’s knowledge of mynocks; hell, he wasn't even sure they had the time to pull it before the tide swept them.

He could only hope, and he hated hanging just on hope.

The Duchess lit up in a miserable light show compared to Captain Asyr’s flying marketplace.; landing lights, anti-collision lights, even the cabin fixtures pulsed in a tight, desperate sequence.
​

Go. Atmo. Helium. Helium.​

Skip beeped a hesitant tone.

“I know,” Haize muttered. “It’s a long shot anyone sees this… but we have to try.”

The deck shuddered underfoot as the engines roared, and the Duchess plunged forward, racing toward the planet.

Rhys Gorne Andrei Vorn Rojuhr Pouihl The Madclaw Jerec Asyr Vestra Tane Kinley Pryse
​

 

[Rhys Gorne]

O B J E C T I V E 2
W I E L U - O R B I T
THE QUEEN’S GRACE

Rhys could hear the storm coming.

It came through the hull, like the ship itself recoiling in fear, it was a subtle thrum, low and rising, like the shift in air pressure before a thunderclap. Something stirred in the space between them and the shadow port.

He stood still, eyes fixed on the viewport. It was the tell tale sign of Mynocks. He grew up as a starfighter pilot, he knew what to look for but this was scaled up. There were thousands of them. A black tide unfurling from the shadowport like a ribbon of writhing wings and hunger.

“Commander,” Solvi’s voice cut gently through the hush. “We’re… receiving something.”

He didn’t turn. “Comms breach?”

“No. Visual. Shuttle. That one there…” she pointed to a flickering mark through the viewport window. “It’s lighting up. Not randomly. Patterned pulses across its surface. No laser or signal, just… lights.”

He stepped to her station. The flashes resolved into a tight rhythm. Crude, but intentional.

“Well I’ll be damned. Mining code,” Rhys said quietly, almost to himself. “Spacers’ shorthand. I used to fly with the spacer’s guild while on downtime. Hold on.” He grabbed one of the nearby consoles and started to decode. “Go. Atmo. Helium.” His brow furrowed. “That’s old. Pre-hyperspace war era.”

The comms officer looked confused. “Helium?”

Rhys inhaled through his nose. “It repels purebred mynocks. Industrial worlds and mining stations flood their upper atmosphere with trace helium during dry-dock seasons. That ship’s not fleeing. They’re warning us..”

He looked again at the Lucrehulks, watching their immense hulls drift just a little too slowly.

They weren’t reacting. Not yet. Still operating at full emission, full heat signature.

“Orders from Admiral N’yvo still stand, sir,” Solvi said softly. “Maintain formation. No engagements unless fired upon. CB-1, CB-2, OD-1 violations are—”

“I’m aware.” Rhys’s tone was calm, but his jaw had set. “Of the violations.”

He hadn’t fought this long to die in a silence no one was brave enough to break.

His hand hovered above the holotable for a moment, then tapped the projected path of the shuttle, “Frakk, what am I doing.” He looked over towards the crew who had found the comm laser. “Point it at the shuttle, give it to me. Unless anyone esle knows old spacer guild code?” The shuttle was burning hard toward atmosphere, Rhys just hoped it was still looking his way.

Blockade. Retreat. Speak. Sandwich. Negotiations.

He was pretty sure he got it all right, it had been a while. He repeated the code a few times in the hope that the pilot would indeed see it, and then stopped, giving into hope.

“Right get this back online to the other ships, tell them to power down, all non-essential systems power down.” He looked to the crew. “Power down all non-essential systems, keep our emissions below carrier threshold. Shields to passive charge. If we fall out of formation just roll with it.”

Solvi stared at him. “That’s direct insubordination. May I remind you that the captain…”

“Gave me the stripes.” Rhys paused, then added, quieter: “There is no one else to give them.”

A pause.

Then, softly, “Yes, sir.”

He returned to the viewport, watching the black tide grow larger. The mynocks didn’t have a mind in the way people did; not a conscious one. But driven by a thirst that sent them into a frenzy, even though silent it was like hearing the gnawing of a million tiny teeth against the edge of the viewport window.

“We need to be the invisible shapes in amongst tastier targets. Those Lucrehulks are energy batteries, those Mynocks will be pulled to them as long as there is nothing else juicer.” He didn’t need to explain, but he did. It felt odd. Unfortunately the corporate fleet around them wouldn’t get the message, and in fact they had already started to close formation behind the Republic line, putting Rhys and the other ships directly in the path of this new threat.

Spoiler

Fleet Composition

1 Transport Shuttle 1 Vigilant Corvette

4 Sirocco Escort Corvettes

1 Capital Corvette

2 HRNV Seraphine-class Frigate

2 squadrons of starfighters each

Andrei Vorn Davik Haize • The Madclaw Jerec Asyr Vestra Tane​

 

[The Madclaw]

Aboard the armed freighter Ka-ching, the Madclaw of Kashyyk pulled upon the Force itself, twisting the energies of existence as aphotic power pulsed from his form, perched atop his command chair of netherstone.

He reached out a gloved hand and pushed.

All at once, the five other corellian light freighters winked out of existence, tossed into hyperspace by his will, at his direction. They micro-jumped directly amid the formation of Republic cruisers commanded by Rojuhr Pouihl , dwarfed by the much larger vessels, they accelerated their sublight thrusters to maximum, racing as close as they could toward the nearest cruisers.

Then, in the darkness of space... light.

Bright, white blindingly brilliant flashes as of the birth of five suns amidst the void as all five of the droid-crewed freighters detonated the contents of their holds - hundreds of metric tons of baradium all went up in an instant, enveloping spheres of pure destructive force rippling outward in the blackness of space aimed to cause the maximum amount of damage as possible to those cruisers.

The Madclaw's eyes did not open, his work was not yet done, but the Rodian aboard - Farrlo - sent out a hasty message, playing off the sudden explosions as hyperdrive malfunctions due to mynock infestation. A likely story. And one of no concern to the Madclaw.

His form winked out of existence.

One moment he was aboard the bridge of the armed freighter, the next he floated in space... directly outside the bridge of the Queen's Grace.

Unfortunate. He had meant to appear within the bridge. Gritting his fangs, the Madclaw mentally shrugged. It would buy them some moments of life yet.

From within his insulated skinsuit, the Madclaw stared out from where he floated, his golden eyes meeting the eyes of some sensor technician through viewport Then he activated his greatsaber in his right hand and drove the crimson blade into the transparisteel of the bridge.

He would carve his way through.

In the Force, he reached out, pulling on the presences he knew were out there in the depths of space. Jerec Asyr . Vestra Tane . He lit up his own presence like a dark beacon. They at least would know where he was.

Out in the darkness of space, hundreds of thousands of wings beat in silence.

Rhys Gorne

 

[Vestra Tane]

SHIP STATUS: DEEP RANGER | SHIELDS 67% | HULL 195%
TAGS: The Madclaw Jerec Asyr Kinley Pryse Andrei Vorn Rhys Gorne Davik Haize Rojuhr Pouihl

«This is a stupid idea, captain.»

"You got a better one? We dogfight like normal, Mynocks are gonna be all over us."

The Deep Ranger was flying sideways.

Past the Lucrehulk line, past the other scrambling starfighters, past the mynock-infested Shadowport, the Ranger soared through space like a lopsided voidbird. Its flight path was not to be altered unless absolutely necessary, and so when a few slow-witted mynocks inevitably failed to evade the craft, it failed, too, to evade them, and so they were reduced to bloody smears along its hull. More of the horrible little bat-things followed the speeding ship, of course; whole damn clouds of the things. The Ranger's thrusters were over-tuned, its reactor overclocked; it was a tasty, tasty target. But the duo inside ignored them.

Neither Vestra Tane nor V7-T3 were in the cockpit; the ship was flying itself. Or at least its droid brain was flying it. After the Madclaw's forces jumped into enemy lines and exploded, Vestra had input a very simple set of commands; fly to this ship and ram into its observation deck. It had barely mattered what ship "this ship" was, but it ended up being the Diligence.

Vestra and Vee, meanwhile, were in the cargo bay. And they were arguing again.

«We could take shore leave at Thaal'Quorr. We could leave. You could visit your mother once in a whi-»

«IMPACT IN: THIRTEEN SECONDS.»

Vestra sighed, relieved at the ship's announcement. A little cranial trauma was better than listening to Vee nag.

 

[Jerec Asyr]

“Send a Priority Alert message back in response-” Andrei glanced at the other vessels before stealing a glance at those shapes headed their way. “Impending attack by unaligned space-faring biologicals.”

the Duchess plunged forward, racing toward the planet.

“Power down all non-essential systems, keep our emissions below carrier threshold. Shields to passive charge. If we fall out of formation just roll with it.”

pulling on the presences he knew were out there in the depths of space. Jerec Asyr Jerec Asyr . Vestra Tane Vestra Tane . He lit up his own presence like a dark beacon. They at least would know where he was.

fly to this ship and ram into its observation deck.

SHADOWPORT THAAL'QUORR CONTROL DECK

Jerec settled a black cloak over the shoulders of his space suit. Every kind of alert was pinging at once; everyone on the control deck had opinions. He felt confident that most of what was important was getting through to brew in his brain.

Far as he could tell:

• A significant fraction of Thaal'Quorr's docking bays and their precious cargo were being chewed right now.
• So were an awful lot of spaceships.
• Various people were flooding various decks and bays with helium, Thaal'Quorr being in no way short of seasoned spacers. That ought to mitigate damage.
• Belatedly, he raised shields, a barrier which sharply reduced the number of mynocks Thaal'Quorr had to wrangle from staggering to survivable. This also entailed cancelling the 50% off sale, a mixed blessing.
• Belatedly, he ordered some of the Thaal'Quorr's Supa fighter squadrons to launch and start clearing mynocks off the shadowport's exterior within the shield perimeter. Complicating factor, super minor, so minor: the mynocks had started chewing on some of the fighter bays. Very manageable.
• Small Black Sun vessels were ramming Republic ships, some to explode and some to board. He wished them the best.
• He had the ticklingest little sense that The Madclaw was trying to get ahold of him, but fortunately, Jerec had removed the shards of the Heart of Palpatine, the Artusian kyber crystal whose shrapnel had made him Force-sensitive for decades, and was now no longer that. Huge fething relief.
• Those Republic-friendly ships were honestly doing a pretty solid job out there. Blink code, helium use; hidebound by formality and process and - ugh - order they might be, but underneath some of those people were quality spacers. Note to self, find out who and see how much they're making.
• Gazing out over the bat swarms from his mountain fortress, Jerec's cape looked magnificent. He did a bit of a pirouette to see his reflection in the glasteel. You could do that when you were a Vigo.

SUMMARY: Shields up, Thaal'Quorr is focused on its own constant sorrows.

 

[Davik Haize]

Gripping the yoke with white-knuckled hands, Davik threaded the Duchess in between drifting ships, uncertain of their fate with the looming blockade and the batteries of mynocks. Out of the corner of his eye, portside, a faint flicker pierced the void: laser light blinking in taut patterns. He nearly ignored it, assuming it was yet another incomprehensible military code, but Skip beeped sharply in translation.
​

Blockade. Retreat. Speak. Sandwich. Negotiations. ​

“…sandwich?” Haize muttered, brows twitching. “By the stars -- we’ve gone from military code to lunch orders. What the hell are these idiots thinking?”

[[PROBABLY A MISTAKE,]] Skip chirped dryly.

“I’d hope so.” his jaw clenched, “But that still tells me nothing. Check the Spacer Guild feed - don’t they drop a bulletin there? Anything about Wielu?”

Skip gave a descending whistle of a half-apology, half-scolding.

“You’re saying I deleted it?” Haize snapped. “Great. Of course I did.” Digits tapped restlessly on the stick, then he leaned forward, “Fine. Send back a reply: NEED. MORE. INFO. And see if you can slice into any local comm relays. I know they’re jammed to hell, but maybe there’s residual traffic, a signal bleed, something.”

A single confirming beep, then a lower, doubtful one followed: [[IT IS A LONG SHOT.]]

Fethin’ everything seemed to be now.

As the Duchess crept through the graveyard, the coded reply pulsing from the lights of the freighter, the Force crawled across the back of Haize’s neck: something dark, nefarious that made him stiffen.

Then light exploded in the corner of his vision.

“Chit -what the hell was that?” he twisted just in time to see flames blossom and vanish, suffocated in the void’s cold embrace. “Keep the signal up, Skip!”

Rhys Gorne Andrei Vorn The Madclaw Jerec Asyr Vestra Tane Kinley Pryse ​