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Thyferra... the last time she had been to the planet had been when the Tenth Sith Empire had invaded, where she had dueled Darth Prazutis
to maintain her cover, and where the GA had established Pheonix Station once the battle had concluded and reconstruction efforts had commenced. That had been... over forty years ago now? Time certainly flew, and now the Sith had returned to the world. She understood Gerwald Lechner
's plan for the planet and the opening campaign of the war with the High Republic, could even see the rationale behind the destruction the Sith forces were to unleash, but it was not how she would have fought it.
She would have preferred to capture the planet intact, had even argued for it quietly in meetings of the Dark Council leading up to this, but the decision had been made. For her, while others led the devastation below, she would focus on the battle above. Capturing the large freighters of bacta would be helpful in their goal, and boarding teams were already assaulting them. Her eyes roved over one in particular, the Quibbler, that was already flashing on the holo-readout as contested. Another was flashing with the colors and emblems of the Kainate and their Master. She had directed forces and boarding craft to head for the venerable station for capture as she knew its residents could be useful along with its shields. The operations were already well underway, but there was something about the Republic response...
Something was needling her in the back of her mind about it...
Perhaps it would be revealed to her soon enough. She would turn from the holomap to her grandson and the assembled sorcerers from the Order of Arcane Syn, already deep in their augmenting meditations, waiting for their Mistress. "Now remember what I said about melds and Battle Meditation. You will be connected to many of those fighting and dying. You need to remain detached from it to a degree, like a puppetmaster, as you augment your allies and hinder your enemies. While I'll be essentially conducting, I want you to be first chair of the orchestra, Kai. You'll be my eyes and ears for our boarding crews while I seek out their own Force users and engage them. If you need my attention, a thought will be enough."
The howling of the crimson blade filled the silence, its tortuous light casting long, dancing shadows across the cavernous room. Ala did not move. She did not take the bait to step forward into his waiting guard. Instead, her gaze dropped calmly to the crackling plasma sparks dancing across the deck plates.
"You speak of a test of wills," Ala said, her voice steady despite the suffocating pressure of his presence. "Yet you draw your weapon."
The physical contrast between them was absolute. Carnifex loomed over her, a massive Epicanthix warrior built for butchery and war. Standing before him, her slender, compact frame felt entirely microscopic, completely dwarfed by his sheer mass and the monolithic shadow he cast. To any outside observer, it was a match already decided by the brutal physics of scale.
Yet the ancient warmth humming in her soul kept her feet moored to the metal floor. She met the smouldering glow of his hateful eyes, refusing to look away from the monster beneath the man's mask.
A faint, silent pulse vibrated against the collar of her environmental suit. Across the wrist mounted display of her low-profile visor, a brief string of encrypted text scrolled into view. It was a secure transmission from her shuttle crew. They had disembarked a split second before their transport was obliterated, and ambushed a pocket of Sith forces in the security. Disrupters had proven the only thing of use in destroying the droids, and crushing its slicing sphere before it could finish its mission.
"Fate is not a kind mistress," she said softly. "But neither is she inerrant."
She looked closer at his horrific features, studying the writhing ink upon his brow and the murderer's smile parting his lips. A strange, quiet realisation washed over her, prompting her to mumble a thought meant only for herself.
"You are not the face in my vision."
Her hands dropped to her waist. With a fluid, simultaneous motion, she unclipped a pair of much smaller, elegant hilts from her belt. She did not rush him. She simply stood her ground as the snap-hiss of twin lightsabers finally shattered the dark, igniting two brilliant blades that bathed her small silhouette in an unyielding light.
"As with all before you, I offer you this one moment to renounce the Dark Side. Seek the light. You will find a hand willing take yours upon the journey," she said with a calm, assured resolve.
Just like that, the bad penny dropped. Verity resisted the urge to say something cutting; they were in front of a senior officer, after all, and there iwas no good that could come of alerting Rath to dissension in the ranks, as it were. Too bad, though, she had some pretty good ones in the chamber.
Senator Veruna. I thought I smelled brass polish and drug store cologne. Or perhaps, Your Majesty, how good of you to greet us with your usual contribution of an imbecile's idea of wit. Or perhaps even, If I cared what you thought I'd put a flechette weapon in my mouth and pull the trigger with my toes
You know. Lighthearted banter between colleagues.
Instead, she allowed her blue eyes to settle on his approaching reflection in the viewport, guileless. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean," Verity said quietly. For starters she wasn't wearing pants, instead having opted for a chic charcoal sheath dress and a matching jacket with navy embellishments and lining. "I'm not even wearing pants. Are you referring to something operational?"
Reluctantly she made space at the console for him, so that the two senators and the commodore formed a rough triangle across the command table.
"Now, why am I not comforted by your bravado, Senator?" Verity asked, folding her arms around her middle. Veruna's relationship with the truth was certainly as flexible as any politician's and, she suspected, rather more flexible. "Commodore Rath, I appreciate and agree that blindsiding the Sith could be an enormous tactical advantage. If this artifact does what we think it does, safely, and can be controlled -- without crippling our own defenses -- then I am fully prepared to endorse your plan."
Rath's plan. Not Aurelian Veruna's plan. She turned her attention on the King of Naboo.
"But I don't recall receiving the briefing I requested on the device. How we know what it does and what or doesn't do. The long term effects of its use. Side effects. For instance: there is compelling research that isolating clones from the Force makes them susceptible to severe psychological impacts. Has anyone tested for anything comparable here? Or are we just going to take Aurelian Veruna's good word?" She scoffed, dismissive, as if the notion was too ludicrous for words. As far as Verity Stuyveris was concerned, it was. "Last I checked, trust me, bro was not a reliable security certification."
She glanced out the viewport, her pale features growing paler in the face of battle. She inclined her chin in defiance against her own fear.
"Not to mention a significant percentage of our personnel in the operations area are Jedi as well. Has anyone asked them? Or even warned them?" Verity glanced between Rath and Veruna. The former she doubted she would convince, and the latter she knew merely by stating a position he would take the opposite. Verity hoped the Chancellor would see sense -- and for that, Dominique Vexx
could usually be relied upon -- and better yet, that she had answers to Verity's questions that, for some reason, could not be shared with the Senate at large.
Kai stood a pace behind and to the side of his grandmother, where he had learned long ago the best vantage was close enough to hear the things she said quietly, far enough to watch her work.
He did not answer straight away. First chair of the orchestra. The words settled into him with a weight he was careful not to let reach his face. Somewhere beneath the composure a much younger version of himself was turning the phrasing over and over, disbelieving... She chose me, of all of them, me and he pressed it down where it belonged, because reverence was not the same as usefulness and she had asked him for the latter.
"I remember," he said. His voice was low, none of the dry deflection he wore like a coat everywhere else in the galaxy. He did not perform for her. There was no point; she saw through it, and had never once required it. "Connected, but detached. Augment the melds, hinder theirs. Conduct, don't play." A pause, he acknowledged, "of course." That she'd be ready at a moment's notice, a thought, really.
He let his gaze move over the holo-readout, the contested transports flashing their warnings, the Quibbler, the Kainate's freighter beyond it, the boarding operations already unfolding as points of light and casualty-figures he tried not to read too closely. Corridors. Cargo bays. Men fighting and dying deck by deck for cargo neither side would burn. He knew, without wanting to know, precisely what that felt like from the inside of it. He had been in a hold like those, once, small and certain no one was coming.
No one had. Until she had.
Kai exhaled, slow, and set the memory down. It had its uses; it would make him careful. It would not make him useful if he let it climb his throat.
"Ready when you are," he murmured, and closed his eyes.
The Force opened beneath him like a floor giving way.
He had practiced this on the island a hundred times, in quiet, with Taeli's hand steady on the current beside him, but a meditation crystal and a silent room were nothing against this. The boarding crews struck him all at once, a hundred minds and more, and for a single vertiginous instant he was all of them: the marine bracing at a bulkhead with her heart slamming; the commando three decks down counting breaths before a breach; the terror, the adrenaline, the animal want-to-live singing through every one of them at a pitch that threatened to simply sweep him under. It was the hold again. It was the hold a hundredfold, and he was inside every cage at once.
Control your fear. Her voice, remembered, worn smooth from years of saying it. Fear blinds. The Force sharpens.
He found her real presence beside his in the current, vast, patient, unbothered, a fixed point he could orient against the way a drowning man finds which way is up, and he steadied. The many minds stopped being a flood and became, slowly, an arrangement. Threads he could feel the ends of. Not a hundred separate terrors but a single instrument with a hundred strings, waiting, wanting a hand.
So he laid one on it.
Into the marine at the bulkhead he poured certainty, not courage, he had learned the distinction, you did not give them bravery you gave them the quiet conviction that the next few seconds were already survived. Into the commando, clarity, the noise falling away until only the breach remained. He reached along the threads and one by one the crews steadied under his hand, fear thinning to focus, hands going still on their weapons, and on the far side of the readout he felt for the enemy melds and pressed the opposite into them, a whisper of doubt, a half-second of wrongness, the small cold hesitation that turned a clean motion clumsy.
It worked. It worked well.
And somewhere under the concentration, so quiet he did not stop to look at it, something in him noted how easily the strings had answered—how natural it was, to hold a hundred wills in one hand and move them and was, for just a moment, pleased.
He filed it away without examining it. There was a battle on. His grandmother needed her first chair.
Kai settled deeper into the current, opened his senses across the burning orbit of Thyferra, and began to conduct.
The click of her boots sounded against the deck plating as Chancellor Dominique Vexx drew near the open blast doors to the bridge. While the situation was dire there was no need for her to run. Conflict had only just begun with forces moving into their assigned positions. They all knew what was about to follow. War games. Simulations. Strategy meetings. Casualties would be high, but the High Republic had not been preparing for this day for naught. Every simulated failure had identified weakness in need of shoring up. Today was the day when they found out if all their cleverness had prepared them for facing the real threat.
"As always, I am pleased to find everyone so enthusiastic from the start," Dominique announced as she strode across the threshold and onto the bridge. "However, as Senator Stuyveris points out we have forces of our own in the field. Artillery on an allied position is at times necessary, but only with forewarning or in desperation. As this battle has only just begun, I do not feel so desperate. Therefore," she looked at those assembled as she strode up to the Gathering, "we will inform them. When the time comes."
Ala Quin
really should send Dominique more gifts. Perhaps they'd not managed to make the rank and file see the obvious -- which is how the Vanguard came about -- but the Office of the Chancellor did run interference for the Republic's small collective of Jedi quite regularly.
After a second Dominique turned to address Verity Stuyveris
in particular, "Considerable study was performed on the artifact. Given the Republic's desire to refrain from any 'questionable' experimentation, certain facets do remain unknown. The psychological ramifications of prolonged contact, for example. Despite their recent poor decision making there was one well-documented Jedi Knight, Lorn Reingard
, that was exposed to its effect for a prolonged period. I daresay exposed at even a far more concentrated than what we here intended. Seemingly without any lasting affliction." The field had been much, much smaller at the time with no one there to control its output. "But there were no Sith nearby." Considering none could even approach Lorn at the time without succumbing to the same effect there had been no opportunity to explore that facet.
Well, none officially. Even unofficially finding subjects was difficult. There had been several very promising subjects in fact Dominique had wanted, but through various absurdities not been able to acquire. The problem with volunteering others was they had a tendency to cry to others that'd take offense; and Dominique really didn't want to kick the hornet's nest of Jedi.
"What we do know is that it suppressed the ability for either Light or Dark practitioner from utilizing the Force within its area of effect. Which means, ladies and gentlemen, if we activate it while they're defying gravity or in the middle of healing the grievously wounded without warning there will be consequences. To say nothing of the fact the Sith will know we now possess such a weapon. They will stop at nothing to destroy or possess such a thing themselves. Our forces need be in a position to take advantage of whatever time it buys them to push back this assault."
A pause allowed Dominique's eyes to scan nearby readouts. "Have there been reports of Empress Talon or Mercy on the field? Any of the Sith's many Councilors or Harbingers?"
CT-312 moved through the hanger bay making one final pass across the machines gathered for deployment. The deck had become a maze of drop pods and shuttles as maintenance crews moved around relentlessly prepping the equipment and completing final combat-readiness checks.
Several hunting packs of Pred-X and War-X droids were within the reinforced interiors of the drop pods. Their quadrupedal frames secured beneath heavy magnetic restraints while locking clamps held their limbs against the turbulence. Dozens of green and yellow optics from mechanical heads followed the Scout as she passed on by open hatches of their drop pods. BARCA populated CT-312’s HUD with results of one system check after another, everything was a go. Packs were accounted for, additional slicer units were distributed, and weapons were loaded. All that remained were drop trajectories awaiting final coordinates. Everything was where it needed to be.
The Scout’s thoughts went back several days, when Quinn Varanin
had summoned both her and Eira into the office on Jutrand. The two had been given personal mission. A specialized facility on Thyferra, dedicated to researching a more potent strain of bacta. The instructions were simple. Locate it during the invasion, recover and extract. There had been no official records or documents of the assignment. As far as the Sith Order was concerned, the mission did not exist.
Warning lights strobed intermittently across the hanger. Quinn would be fine. CT-312 slowed, helmet dipping slightly while the hanger continued to buzz around. The Queen had not been left alone. She had personally seen to it that members of the Echani Royal Guard accompanied her.
Quinn has to be fine.
Behind the visor, CT-312 closed her eyes. The noise of the deck began to fade into the background. She did not possess the practiced refinement of a “force user”, but simply searched for the impression she had learned to recognize as Quinn. CT-312 followed that invisible tether between them. Searching for anything sharp enough to make her abandon everything… Nothing felt wrong. CT-312 opened her eyes again and resumed walking. Good. That would have to be enough.
She finally reached the launch apertures where Eira Dyn
waited. Enormous ray shields shimmered across the open mouth of the hanger. The translucent barrier separated the pressurized deck from open space. Thyferra hung beneath the fleet in the distance with Sith forces partially obscuring the planet. CT-312 approached Eira without speaking, her attention was drawn to the sudden movement spreading throughout the void.
Hundreds of Glaivewing autofighters poured away from a nearby vessel in immense swarms, spreading throughout the battle space before converging upon the Republic defenses and surrounding the stranded bacta transports. Weapons fire began flashing through the darkness. Defensive emplacements were shredded one after another, opening paths for boarding vessels.
There it was. The war had finally begun.
CT-312 diverted her attention toward the solitary fighter resting nearby. “Caligo—” Raising a gloved hand, brushing along the Dûr'ashaarai’s hull. A slicer droid scuttled across her gauntlet, its tiny mechanical limbs clicking against the armor before it leapt onto the fighter. BARCA established a connection almost immediately as the slicer droid disappeared through the cockpit and slipped beneath the controls. New windows spread across CT-312’s HUD, remote systems coming online one after another. Her palm settled against the Dûr'ashaarai. “Wake up.”
The restraints holding Caligo to the deck released almost simultaneously. Clang–Clang–Clang. Heavy chains and their securing seals fell away from the fighter’s frame, striking the hanger floor in a succession of deafening metallic clatter. The Dûr'ashaarai remained perfectly still for a second before power surged violently through its systems. A low mechanical groan traveled through as its metal frame shuddered underneath CT-312’s hand. The bond between ship and pilot opened.
Caligo’s presence slammed into CT-312. The awakened fighter pushed against her thoughts, carrying violent impatience. Hunger poured through the connection, its aggression bled into her in restless waves as the mechanical predator began to react to the sight of bacta transports beyond the ray shield.
Her jaw tightened. CT-312’s thoughts returned to Quinn’s instructions on Jutrand. But this time… the office disappeared beneath another image. Broken glass scattered across the floor of the Mandalorian Embassy on Naboo. Quinn cornered inside her own office while the Jedi of the High Republic had forced their way into a place where they had never been invited. The Queen sheltering beneath the desk after the situation had turned accusatory… CT-312’s visor turned back to the engagement outside the hangar. Her gloved fingers slowly curled against Caligo’s hull into a fist as her eyes hardened behind the visor. The fighter felt it.
Rage answered rage as the Dûr'ashaarai fed it back. Its engines flared, climbing another pitch, sending a violent tremor throughout the surrounding deck. “Eira.” There was no rise in CT-312’s tone as she spoke through the helmet's voice modulator. She turned away from Caligo and began walking toward the drop pod control terminal. BARCA brought their planned descent toward Thyferra onto display. Their target facility marked and waited below. Everything had been arranged to get there before the Sith advance could reach it. “We have our priority mission.” She had already told the apprentice of the incident on Naboo. The blatant disrespect the High Republic had shown to the Queen of Eshan, not only in the streets but what should have been in the safety of her own office. “But seeing this does remind me of something…”
“The High Republic seemed perfectly comfortable entering places where they weren't invited and like forcing a choice.” CT-312’s helmet angled towards Eira. “Wouldn’t it be rude not return the same courtesy they had shown our Queen?” The Scout tipped her helmet toward one of the Sith's boarding party and the other bacta transports that still remained untouched by the fighting.
“We have time.”
CT-312 set the new trajectory of the drop pods before climbing inside. Settling the Assault Carbine across her chest as heavy restraints locked around her shoulders and waist. The hatch door closed and beyond the small viewport, Caligo began to lift from the deck under BARCA’s remote control. Its engines awakened once more, burning brighter as it prepared to follow. Warning lights inside the pod changed to red as the acceleration hammered CT-312 into the restraints. Both drop pods shot through the ray shields and into open space. Caligo tore through the ray shield right after, accelerating after the pods.
It didn't take long before the pods slammed into the transport that they saw through the hanger bay. Explosive bolts detonated around the forward hatch as the door launched into the corridor. CT-312 released herself from the restraints and moved through the opening with the rifle already raised against her shoulder. BARCA swept through the corridor as the weapon followed her line of sight, searching for any Republic defenders.
There were none. Only the dead remained. Bodies lay scattered throughout the passageway in numbers. What remained were broken remains of temporary barricades, blaster scoring along the walls, and silence. CT-312 kept the carbine trained ahead. BARCA chimed softly, notifying that there were no movements. “Clear.” The Scout stepped over a body as she continued following the destruction.
A familiar invisible pressure pressed against CT-312's senses. It was thick enough that she instinctively slowed. Passing a wall terminal, a gloved hand raised and skimmed across its interface. Another slicer droid scuttled off, burying itself into the terminal's circuits beneath the panel. BARCA began pulling the transport's schematics and internal data. Movement farther down caught the Scout’s attention. Figures appeared moving through the ruined halls. BARCA immediately identified the armor profiles granted she didn’t need the confirmation. Coming across the Blackblade Guards, she had encountered them before during the battlefield with the Galactic Empire on the Death Star III.
Ah. The pressure surrounding her suddenly made considerably more sense. CT-312 lowered the muzzle of her carbine as she approached the Guards. If the Blackblades were here… then He was here. Darth Carnifex
. Her visor turned towards Eira. “Didn’t you mention you knew of the Dark Lord?” The realization changed the Scout's assessment of the situation. With Darth Carnifex somewhere aboard, it was no longer a question of whether the ship would fall.
Eira's thumb softly caressed the file chip that Quinn had handed to her before they left for this invasion. Thinking on the words that her Master had stated to Eira, it was not the type of mission that Eira was entirely used to. She was someone who sought to destroy, burn and ruin that which others wanted or utilised. Slowly letting out a sigh, it was something that Quinn had declared as important to her and there was nothing that Eira would not do to ensure that her Master was happy. There was likely some logic to the whole thing that Eira had not considered as well but she prioritised the fact this was her chance to redeem her previous failures and show that Eira could succeed in a mission.
With the armour donned, the self-esteem issues that plagued Eira since Humbarine faded. Hate was all that lingered, the hatred of Jedi, the hatred of the High Republic. The hate Eira felt for herself. That was the weapon she needed, the focus that her mind craved after being lost for so long in a way that Eira had never experienced before. Eira grabbed her weapons and ensured that she was fully equipped for this mission. She knew that she needed to craft her own Lightsaber but the young Sith was taking her time, learning from every fight that she participated in on what she needed the Lightsabers to do. Figuring out the ways in which she could maximise her potential with them.
Looking at the drop pod, it reminded Eira of the last time she was in such a device with CT-312, it had been a DeathDrop mission. Back when they were operating as mercenaries for the Black Sun, before the untimely demise of the criminal organisation. The mission had not gone to plan and things seemed to only get more dramatic but there were fond memories she held of the DeathDrop missions. Such as destroying a temple with CT-312. That had been a lot of fun.
Spotting her friend, the nostalgia faded from Eira's mind. They were on a mission and there was no time to get distracted, "Quinn is far stronger than either of us. If things are problematic, we just head for the Force Storm, she has a fondness for creating those in battles like this." Eira pointed out to her Master's bodyguard, she could tell that CT-312 was thinking about Quinn. It was nice to see how close the two had become, which was part of the reason that Eira desired to encourage such a connection between them. Her friend was one of the few people that Eira felt she could trust around Quinn to ensure that her Master was not harmed nor would Quinn be coddled.
Hearing CT-312 wanting to go a little off mission to punish the High Republic caused Eira to raise an eyebrow. It was not like the soldier to desire something more primal, that was usually Eira's approach. There was a soft chuckle, "yes. A reminder that they are small fish in what is a very large ocean. Too long have they thought themselves bigger and better than they actually are." Eira thought of her sister in that moment. Knowing exactly that she would one day make Cerys suffer.
Following her friend and comrade in the mission, Eira settled in. "Been a while since we were previously in one of these." Eira commented, curious if CT-312 would remember the mission like Eira did. Shooting across space, Eira closed her eyes, wondering if she could sense Cerys around here. But there was nothing that came to her in the moment. Either her sister was hiding her presence or the coward had refused to come defend the people here. Either way, Eira was having fun thinking of new ways to torture her sister over this. Especially once the Sith succeeded in demonstrating the failures of the High Republic and their Jedi.
When the pair landed, Eira could tell that this was a ship where Carnifex was and working on causing as much destruction as he could. "Well, he drowned me once. And offers some additional lessons for me, so I know a little about him. You fought him and got thrown through a door. Think you know him pretty well too." Eira commented, remembering that day in the spa. Another DeathDrop mission. That one had been pleasant and chaotic in the best of ways. "Probably best we move on, Darth Carnifex is more than capable in causing as much destruction as he can here. And likely far more creative than we can be."
Fate is not a kind mistress, indeed. The Jedi had unknowingly struck closer to the Dark Lord's own beliefs than she might have realized. Her observation that His face was not the one she had seen filled in some of the blanks, the Dark Lord's understanding of the situation growing more complete with every second. The Force had both drawn them together despite the chaos and confusion of the battle, but whereas she perceived it as an instinctual pull, the Dark Lord felt it was a growing tension.
"On that we are in agreement, Master Jedi," He commended her resolve in the face of such terror, she indeed possessed the spirit of a true Jedi. Which is why she had to be destroyed. The Dark Lord knew better than most that a Jedi so centered in their convictions was just as unmovable in their resolve, she could not be undermined so frivolously. The only solution to a Jedi such as her was death.
His stance shifted, and the warrior began to take shape. Where He had relaxed His guard as bait, now His guard was utterly unassailable. Every minute movement was made in service to combat, the Dark Lord wasted nothing on obscene flourishes or opulent displays. It was raw technique stripped of any unnecessary adornments. Even at a glance, it was evidently lethal beyond reproach. "I do not offer the darkness to you, Jedi, for I would not insult your conviction as you have insulted mine."
Those words would be the last kindness she'd receive.
As now the Butcher King moved.
One moment He stood across from the Jedi Master, and in the next He was upon her. His speed was unnatural to His stature, the Dark Side flowing so virulently through Him that He might as well have been a direct extension rather than a willing conduit. He struck with such ferocity that it appeared as though His blade were in multiple places at once, slashing from every conceivable angle. To a Jedi of lesser skill it might have been a death sentence, but a Master such as her would not be so easily overwhelmed.
Blue streaks abruptly stopped as the Aurodium Guard corvette A.G.S. Silver Blade reverted from hyperspace. The admiral on board hailed the Republic forces and began to coordinate the Aurodium Guard’s support. Outside the viewport, it was chaos. Thyferra burned, uncontrolled blazes visible even in orbit. Turbolasers and fighters danced in omnidirectional space. The Force felt just as chaotic. Flares of Light and pools of Dark collided. An anchor of Light coordinated Republic and Jedi forces while Cal could feel whispers and probes from the Dark, seeking weakness. She stood on the bridge with her hands clasped behind her back, looking composed and in control as she took it all in.
Inside, she seethed. She feared. And the Dark Side danced at the edge of her awareness, begging to be unleashed.
Lancel was somewhere in that mess. Somewhere, his ship was stuck and toothless against the Sith. The Aurodium Guard had mobilized half of its forces as soon as the distress beacon came through. They were there to support the Republic in defending a resource-critical world, officially. After all, Epica itself was a border world and a near neighbor.
The officers around her barked orders as the small fleet mobilized, dividing their forces. Most would be dedicated to supporting the Republic fleet and providing a screen for the rest: a small strike force of a few armored transports and escort fighters. Cal turned from the viewport as communications attempted to hail Lancel’s ship, the Archdeacon’s Mistress, and headed for the hangar where the transports waited. She wore the Aurodium Guard combat armor, not quite as light as she remembered it. Then again, it had been a few years since she trained with it. Her usual dual pistols, an S-195 pistol and an A-180 pistol, sat in holsters at her hips. Her two lightsaber hilts sat mildly concealed at the small of her back, mag-locked in place. The kyber crystals practically vibrated with the violence in the air. It would be enough.
It wasn’t long before the strike force launched from the corvette’s hangar, angling towards the coordinates of the distress beacon. Debris clattered against the hull, and comms systems came alive with chatter from other transports and their escorts. Some fighters lost here, a whole armored transport there. Another transport called out heavy fire from Sith forces before the line went dead. Cal bent the Force to her will, demanding that the strike force be left alone. The Dark side answered. The gambit seemed to work and the Archdeacon’s Mistress came into view. Cal couldn’t see any damage, but at this distance, that hardly meant anything.
“Transport Five to Archdeacon’s Mistress, do you copy?” the pilot hailed. “Lord Atria, do you copy?”
Cal stared at the yacht, waiting impatiently for a reply. If Lancel was dead, there would be hell to pay.
"And for the record, I am firmly with our rugged Commodore here," Aurelian added, leaning casually against a primary console as the viewport filled with the violent reds and greens of realspace combat. "We activate this thing as soon as humanly possible."
A pause allowed Dominique's eyes to scan nearby readouts. "Have there been reports of Empress Talon or Mercy on the field? Any of the Sith's many Councilors or Harbingers?"
His attention snapped to another display, a massive hologram showing the opposing fleets as they clashed in battle.
"Divert power to starboard batteries, firing solution on that Sith vessel at L287. Bring it down."
"Aye Commodore," replied the weapons systems chief officer.
"Captain Marsanti, open the weapon lockers and prepare the marines for transport and security operations."
Tiberius' ponderous attentions swung back to the politicians. He addressed the king directly.
"Your majesty, the others are correct. When the artifact is activated it will attract the attention of the enemy. We should plan accordingly. The bridge is not the most secure place on this vessel."
But being cut short by Sith invasion was not exactly how Lancel had expected it to go. The possibility had occurred to everyone in the Republic's upper class. It was a logical point of attack, a world critical to both civilian and military operations. If Lancel were still in the Aurodium Guard he would have likely been pushing for more preparation around a possible invasion. Instead, all he could manage was negotiations around moving some of Thyferra's bacta production off-word to Epica.
The deal that had only just been signed would provide income to his family for years, and it would settle the debate as to who would be the one to inherit Fautus' title. Mother would be most displeased.
"Atria. Do something!" Yelled the Thyferran lawyer who had represented the business interests of three of Thyferra's main producers.
Lancel, who was watching the battle from behind the pilot and co-pilot, seemed calm — military training had helped in this instance. "We are in a civilian yacht...with very little shielding, and nothing in the way of weapons. The best thing we can do is navigate ourselves to a hyperspace jump point...and we return later to bring you home."
The lawyer yelled something about Lancel being far too calm. Atria barely heard him.
A sudden, violent jolt shook the yacht, Archdeacon's Mistress, sending both Lancel and the lawyer into the walls of the cockpit. He was groaning, even as he pulled himself up and heard the call coming over the comms.
"Transport Five to Archdeacon's Mistress, do you copy? Lord Atria, do you copy?"
The pilot signalled back immediately. "Transport Five this is Archdeacon's Mistress. We are taking fire, repeat...we are under attack. Shields holding at 55%. Lord Atria is alive and on board."
"What about me?" Yelped the lawyer. No one heard him.
"Get us closer to that transport," Lancel said. The pilot complained, something about a path to hyperspace possibly opening up if he could make it around the Sith destroyer that was in front of them.
"I like our chances on that transport much more than on this yacht."
"It is the conviction of the Jedi to always offer the hand," Ala said, "even to the monster."
When the Dark One moved, he was a blur of unnatural speed, a wall of muscle and malice descending upon her with a ferocity that seemed to place his crimson blade in multiple vectors at once. Ala did not panic. She did not try to match his terrifying physical power with brute strength.
Instead, she allowed the flow of her favoured Soresu form, committing both of her comparatively tiny blades to a faultless defensive display.
The storage room erupted in a blinding cascade of sparks as plasma clashed with plasma. Rather than trying to push his heavy, crushing slashes away, Ala tilted the angles of her twin blades. She caught the terrifying momentum of his strikes and deliberately allowed his own immense power to deflect her.
Her compact frame became fluid, slipping and pivoting through the dark like a leaf caught in a gale. Each of his massive, world-ending blows was met with a glancing parry that slid her across the deck plates, using her low center of gravity to dance just outside the fatal arc of his reach.
The final, thunderous overhead strike from the Epicanthix warrior came down with the force of falling rocks. Ala crossed her twin blades, catching the blow at a steep angle. The sheer kinetic energy exploded outward, throwing her backward through the gloom.
She slid across the metal floor, her boots carving lines through the dust before snapping perfectly back into a low, ready stance. She didn't wait for his next leap. Extending her hand, Ala channeled her true expertise, pulling on the whisper of ancient light within her soul into a dense, shimmering Force barrier that locked into place between them.
"You were waiting for me." She demanded, head tilted in curiosity. "Why?"
She would offer her grandson a soft and quiet smile as he acknowledged her words and settled himself into the meditation already building. Lucy would probably be annoyed that Kai was helping her this particular time, but she had long sensed that Kai's talents lay more within the ethereal rather than Lucy's aptitude for alchemy. Kaivaan had taken more to sorcery, and this would be a chance for her to watch how he handled a real battle. But for now, she would settle herself into the center of the circle of Sith sorcerers and her grandson on the bridge.
It was time to do one of things she did best... compartmentalization.
A slow breath... inhale... exhale... inhale... exhale... she allowed the currents of the Force, chaotic as they ever were during a major battle, to wash over, around and through her. And in those currents... was the mind and spirit of every individual engaged within this first stanza of the war. She could feel the bravery of marines and troopers, the fear and apprehension, the exhilaration of fighter pilots as they engaged in looping dogfights. She could feel when a turbolaser strike occurred on a shield, when a ship voided all life, how the thoughts and actions of an individual would inevitably lead to their next thought or action.
Within her mind's eye, she had a complete overview of the battle in space... even the light flickering upon the surface as a Jedi brought their own Battle Meditation to bear. Part of her almost wanted to reach out to that Jedi, a quiet greeting and challenge, but that light was concentrating on its own. She wondered if they would be able to keep their concentration, considering what was soon to come. She would keep that light marked in her mental map for the future if need be.
Exhale...
Her ethereal self pulled out from her physical form, almost like a puppetmaster rising their doll upon its strings. Her physical form spoke, giving voice to all she observed for the officers assembled around the holomap of the battle, letting them know targeting coordinates... and the arrival of a large concentration of lifeforms. Republic reinforcements. Her ethereal self would travel along the currents, inquisitive towards the new minds she sensed. Senators and officers, men and women acquiring firing coordinates and scrambling to battle stations... and the Republic's Chancellor. For them, for Verity Stuyveris
, Aurelian Veruna
, Dominique Vexx
, Tiberius Rath
, if they were not sensitive to the Force, all they would feel is a slight shiver down the spine. The faintest brush of her presence upon them, and across the crews of their ship and its accompanying forces.
She would turn away from their connections in the current for a moment, tugging upon the strings of a loyal scout and faithful apprentice. For them, they would feel a guiding hand almost settle upon their shoulders, an encouraging presence that would almost whisper in their ears and minds... to look, to observe the data flowing to a HUD and its installed assistant. Blips would appear for them, targets they could engage to accomplish their own goal of revenge against the Republic for how they treated Quinn. In return, her physical form would be relaying to the intelligence liaison on the bridge to connect with any sliced data coming to them from CT-312 and Eira in the future.
At this distance, behind these walls, gunfire sounded eerily innocuous. Like a child's toy.
Everything Cora had ever learned about battle has been largely against her will. She'd learned of the way fresh blood lost its sharp, metallic tang as it dried. How to count the breaths of the dying and gauge the degree of obstruction based on the particular way they tried to pull in air. She hated it all, and she'd pivoted into a healing role after the core wars not because it was easier, but because it made her feel a modicum of usefulness.
If you couldn't win, then at least you could keep the loss from being slightly less devastating.
Now, she counted the muffled staccato of slugs. She counted the silence after, too.
The blast door had shuddered closed, so she opted for a service corridor. When she emerged from a side door, the first thing Cora saw was Arris, even as the broken bodies and their steadily widening pools of blood begged for the pull of her attention. From where she was standing, from what she was feeling, there was nothing she could do for them now.
The presence of Briana Sal-Soren
, vague but no less potent, washed over her in the Force. Cora inhaled it in slowly as her hand found the grip of her lightsaber. She looked to Arris like one would look at a starving, flea-bitten mongrel begging at the door for food.
"If I didn't know any better, I would've thought you a hired gun."
How had this blaster-toting cyborg become a Triumvir? Her performance in the Kaggath had been was excellent, but it took more than martial prowess to successfully lead an empire, criminal or not.
There had to be more, there was always more. Cora intended to find out.
She didn't activate her lightsaber, but her free hand shot upward, fingers curled, then yanked back down. An industrial light fixture above Arris came crashing down.
His blade snapped after her, barely missing the edge of her foot by centimeters. She'd slipped beyond His range then, and He would have pursued her had she not raised a barrier between them. Instead, He stayed His hand for now, and paced back and forth like an impatient beast; though such a comparison was only surface-level. He was inordinately patient for one that claimed the mantle of Sith, who were so prone to acting on impulse in accordance with their passions. But He had mastered His passions long ago, the reins were held tight in His hands and not the other way around.
Such assumptions played into His strategy. The enemies of the Sith often clung to their preconceived notions about the Order and its adherents. Many believed they understood the mind and attitudes of the Sith, and applied such knowledge in broad strokes. He did not deny that there were plenty among them who fit the stereotype to a comical degree, but even such louts had their place in the grand design. Let His enemies misunderstand and underestimate Him at their peril, though He figured that this Jedi was a bit too astute for His tastes.
"A mystery that you will have to solve on your own, Master Jedi." The Dark Lord raised His left hand, unburdened by weapon, and let loose a torrent of blood-red electrical energy towards the Jedi's barrier. The swarm of bolts struck the outer surface, deflecting and dancing across it to strike at the storage room all around them. Each bolt struck with such unnatural ferocity that it vitrified metal, shelves collapsing as their structural supports melted and shattered under the intense heat. Yet, even so, she might have come to sense that the Dark Lord was deliberately withholding His true might, though for what purpose was entirely unknown.
The question had caught her off guard. No - well, actually… It wasn’t the question. It was the vulnerability.
She didn’t expect to find it in Quinn of all people. Not after what they had experienced together. Weren’t they, Sith Lords, supposed to be above such things?
She didn’t know what to say at first. Could she have just said what Quinn wanted her to hear? Part of Arris thought that was the easiest path. But another part didn’t want to lie to her. Not when the masks dropped.
The way Arris felt when she tasted Quinn’s power… It was intoxicating, yes, but more than that, it was as if the only source of joy left to the cyborg was through that woman’s gift. Strange as it was. Horrible as it turned out to be, sharpening Windrun’s violent tendencies and numbing the cost.
Finally, she managed an answer: “You don’t want that.”
Was it stupid? Was it a lie? Was it the wrong answer? Was there really a right one? Did Arris know what need was anymore?
If only Arris knew what prompted the question. Then she might've cleared up the misunderstanding... of course, that just meant Arris missed the point entirely.
When she emerged from a side door, the first thing Cora saw was Arris, even as the broken bodies and their steadily widening pools of blood begged for the pull of her attention.
Her attention turned to the newcomer. ‘Jedi?’ She’d never seen her before. But something about the woman was oddly familiar.
Arris twirled her weapon and slid it back into the holster.
“Well, actually--"
The light fixture crashed into the cyborg before she could finish. She fell to one knee, buckling beneath the weight of steel. Sparks flew from where the lights themselves were smashed. Arris rose, slowly, the debris rolling off her.
“--I think you have the right idea.”
Maybe it wasn’t credits that she chased anymore. But what was life if not a streak of transactions; a constant negotiation for your rights, an endless fight to claw a little higher than your current suffering?
Every act Arris took was for compensation of some kind. It just might’ve not made sense to most people anymore. As was often the case whenever the Triumvir tried to explain it to Ace.
“So - how do you wanna do this?”
She almost made a joke about it, but Arris was prepared for the same speech every Jedi gave her. ‘I don’t want to kill you.’ They should've done it when she wasn't looking. ‘Redemption is open to you.’ A falsity if you believed that was ever anyone’s determination. ‘Surrender.’ Just fucking fight already.
Dominique regarded each of the strategies in turn around the holotable. Tiberius Rath
's report that Mercy and Srina hadn't yet been seen on the field was both reassuring and disappointing. There'd be fewer casualties if that pair didn't appear, but their presence would also be useful. One of the hardest parts about warfare was waiting for word. Information. Something that enabled them to make intelligent decisions that changed the face of battle in their favor.
It only she possessed such keen insight and control that certain Jedi or Sith seemed to possess in battle. But then she would be down there on the ground, and not the Chancellor of the High Republic. Sick little ironies in life, and stark realities that a single person couldn't do everything.
"Who?" Dominique's brow furrowed as she pivoted in place to look behind her and to one side of the bridge as if a presence had simply snapped into existence behind her. Assassins were not out of the question. Something she'd warned Ayumi Pallopides
about when she'd pursued all those initiatives of hers to clean up Denon.
A second after her breath had caught at the thought of being in danger, Dominique's golden eyes narrowed to slits behind her glareshades. Being jumpy was not in her nature despite accepting danger could lurk around every corner. She was accustomed to the safety Naboo afforded compared to Denon, but had yet to grow soft for it -- one of many reasons she enjoyed returning home frequently. If there was nothing there then something else must have been.
She turned to face the table once more. "Spyglass." Her tone darkened as she looked at Verity Stuyveris
, Aurelian Veruna
, Tiberius Rath
, and the rest assembled. As much as it pained her to do so, the Chancellor opened a drawer to pull out a neural band to hook around her ear.
Had the Sith developed some means of eaves dropping from afar? No one could ever be certain to the extent the Dark was capable. They found new and sickening ways of utilizing their powers to lay waste to entire planets. So in the thick book of scenarios they'd drafted, a means of countering such a thing had been formulated. It was all they could do not being Jedi or Sith themselves. Just as they'd bolstered the weapons and armors of their soldiers so they could hold out longer -- hopefully long enough to take one of those monsters down with them.
As for Dominique not being merely unnerved, but consciously alerted there was a facet about the Woman from Denon no one had remarked on before. Though there was one man -- on the Dark side of the line -- that had noticed it. Despite not once manifesting the ability to so much as shake a pebble, the Chancellor the High Republic was in fact Force Sensitive. As a child of Denon -- a world that had not been the most Jedi friendly, packed full of people -- it was no surprise she hadn't been swept up in her youth.
Taeli Raaf
's projection felt far closer than Dominique would have liked, or properly understood. It was unsettling enough that the mere possibility had her issue the alert.
The meditation was his last preparation, and he’d taken to it swiftly, to centre himself after forces of the Republic and Jedi Order were pointed toward the beleaguered world of Thyferra. The transit had been swift, and the arrival over this key world had plunged his sense of the Force into the cacophony of the battle, but this was nothing disorienting to someone so in command and thoroughly versed in his view of and ear to the metaphysical plane.
He could find and track a being across distances greater than this, but nearer proximity was always clearer. He could sense the beacon of her meditative light, that of his beloved, the Jedi Briana Sal-Soren
, on the world below, but he left the avenue of their layered bond still and quiet. To reach for her, much as the desire ached in him, could end up being a costly distraction.
And he’d had years enough to master keeping that distance, years that had made a stranger of her, once. These long weeks, now, should hardly be a test, but he’d always struggled with the separation, for longer than sense would have it. The low thrum of frustration was something of a constant.
A gnawing Hunger, an aspect he could hardly disentangle from his love, or his existence. It was hard to tell where it ended and he began. Or if it was simply him, and he, it.
And so he remained in this meditation, his senses roving carefully elsewhere, but when an Eye of Darkness… no, two, entered the picture, the young High Councillor pared down the reach of his watch to the Grace of Theed alone, as a result, and maintained a cursory vigil beneath its notice. He was no ethereal battlefield commander, after all.
He was hunter, watcher, spy.
And when the Eye turned this way, seeking to peer into the thoughts of the metaphysically disinclined on this vessel, his eyes opened to slits, the meditation broken, the walls of his psyche firmed. He yanked his comm device into his hand with a pull, while he affixed the hilts of Honour and Ingenuity back to his sides, straightened himself out, and grabbed the datapad as well when exiting the room, to begin to beat the path back up to the bridge, moving at a mundane pace at first, typing to the Chancellor herself. Operational need had necessitated the link.
—Sith battle coordinators have been fielded. We’re being watched. —
Surely the pink woman would figure it out for herself, but, well, you know what was said about assumptions. As if the oppression wasn’t bad enough—though there was little difference as to whether it was the within that worked his jaw, or the without of that pressure— they had to be nosy too.
Information nonetheless, as everything was, in his eyes.
Thrown through the door? CT-312’s visor remained on Eira for a long moment after the Apprentice casually summarized their respective experiences with the Dark Lord. “You mean into a pillar across the room.” But she wasn’t entirely certain how that encounter qualified as knowing Darth Carnifex
particularly wel–
BARCA interrupted with an almost obnoxious sequence of beeps and chirps inside her helmet. Oh. CT-312 saw the pattern now of Eira’s and her own experiences with the Dark Lord. “By that measure, then yes. He is… an interesting fellow.” CT-312 gave a small nod of agreement to Eira’s assessment of the fate of the vessel. “Let’s head to the hangar bay.” BARCA expanded the schematics across the HUD while the pair began to backtrack their route though the damaged corridors.
With the battle now fully underway in orbit, CT-312 found herself wondering what the conditions had become like for the ground forces. Eira’s earlier reassurance: Look for the force storm, replayed in her head. A faint amused breath escaped through CT-312’s nose that never made it beyond the confines of her helmet. Yeah… If something were to happen, an enormous storm of destruction would presumably announce Quinn Varanin
’s displeasure to anyone unfortunate enough to be nearby. That and the obvious truth Eira had pointed out. She was far more powerful than either of them and with the Queen’s involvement with the Sith Covenant by herself just reinforced the truth. Quinn was more capable of protecting herself, regardless of whether CT-312 was there.
The Scout knew that… Accepting it though…
CT-312’s thoughts were cut as the hanger bay doors slid open. Blackblade Guards stood at intervals throughout the immense chamber. Several vessels, including nearly a dozen bacta shuttles scattered between sat idly across the deck. Thud.CT-312 visor turned towards the sound. Thud. Something large was moving between the rows of the scattered crafts. Thud. A small spherical astromech rolled alongside a battle droid whose proportions boarded on ridiculous. The overly large battle droid towered everything nearby, each heavy step sending another dull vibration through the deck as it continued its patrol of the secured hanger. CT-312 continued to watch the pair for several seconds before her visor panned back towards the bacta shuttles.
“Eira, remember the slicer droids that I issued before the mission. Those shuttles—” CT-312 pointed with her finger. “—Occupied or not, tag it. A touch should be enough for the slicer droid to hop off and connect.” Her hand that was pointing then reached across to pat Eira on the shoulder as CT-312 moved towards the massive machine. “And if you can, update the Queen on our status. I’ll be right back.”
A hand brushed against the hull of the first untouched shuttle, receiving a slicer casually. The tiny spider-like machine slipped through the seams of the hull. CT-312 continued. Tagging every shuttle, giving it the same treatment. BARCA began to register each infected shuttle across the Scout’s HUD, establishing remote access. Another slicer emerged from a pouch and scuttled to her wrist. CT-312 finally reached the hulking battle droid, giving its armored leg a pat. Tiny limbs found overlapping sections of armor before crawling upward through the gaps into the larger frame.
Both droids stopped. The battle droid turned toward CT-312, bending over towards her. BARCA chirped. Text appeared on the HUD. [ M O W E F ]Technical information cascaded beneath the designation. Its original security protocols were rewritten and control was soon given to her. CT-312 looked toward the smaller droid. “Tell your Master I’m borrowing this droid.” The Mowhef straightened back to its full height. Its head rotated once toward the astromech before turning away and began lumbering toward the landing pad. “Indefinitely.” The spherical droid beeped loud and confused. “Thank you for the donation.” CT-312 raised one gloved hand and gave it an appreciative thumbs-up before turning away, leaving the spherical droid little opportunity to object to what just happened in front of it.
“BARCA, bring Caligo in for pickup.”
By the time CT-312 rejoined Eira, the Dûr'ashaarai had crossed through the barrier before settling on the landing pad. Its engine lowered into a threatening growl as BARCA guided it down. The fighter’s satisfaction lasted until the Mowhef began approaching. A violent surge of displeasure tore through their bond as Caligo realized exactly what CT-312 intended to put inside it. Its engines pulsed with an irritated flare as the Dûr'ashaarai pushed against her mind with offended hostility. Her eyes narrowed behind the visor as the Mowhef settled in and the cockpit hatch closed. Caligo’s anger intensifies. Inside the helmet, CT-312’s expression twisted into a brief grimace. “Stand by.” The command was directed as much through the bond as through BARCA. Caligo remained profoundly unhappy about it.
With their drop pods no longer useful for leaving the transport, that just left the captured bacta shuttles. CT-312 turned with Eira toward the nearest commandeered craft, entering inside its cockpit. The Scout’s visor jerked sharply over her shoulder, her hand’s grip tightened instinctively on her carbine. BARCA swept the space around her. Nothing was there aside from Eira. There was weight where the phantom touch hand landed. An unfamiliar presence (Taeli Raaf
), it was neither the suffocating darkness she had associated with Carnifex nor the violent hunger constantly pressing through from the Dûr'ashaarai. CT-312 remained motionless for another second. She felt a guiding press to Look. Her visor settled back forward. BARCA pinged. Information suddenly flooded across the HUD.
BARCA began to sort out and organize the overflowing information that was being transmitted to them, forming tactical information.
[ TARGETS ] [ HRNV THE QUIBBLER — LOCATION: X, X ]
[ S.S. MUTUAL LIBERTY — LOCATION: X, X ]
[ ARCHDEACON’S MISTRESS — LOCATION: X, X ]
[ HRNS GRACE OF THEED — LOCATION: X, X ]
[ A.G.S. SILVER BLADE — LOCATION: X, X ]
[ . . . ]
CT-312’s eyes moved through the list. The strange presence remained, this time feeling a pull towards one particular designation. HRNS GRACE OF THEED. BARCA began pulling up all related information and coordinates on that specific vessel.
Was this what Quinn had tried to explain to her before about part of the Force? Whatever… Whoever this manifestation was, it wasn’t the Queen that CT-312 had learned to recognize through their bond. Another violent wave rolled through the Scout from the fighter. On second thought... perhaps it was what the Dûr'ashaarai wanted, to go after that specific vessel.
So be it.
“BARCA, our next target is Mutual Liberty.” The shuttle began to lift from the ground. CT-312 faced towards Eira. “Once we’re in the next transport, do the same thing we did here. Tag anything useful and BARCA will handle the rest.” Her visor looked through the cockpit glass at the Dûr'ashaarai as they passed it. CT-312 could feel its impatience immediately. This time, she did not restrain it.
“Try not to get distracted by every engine signature you see.”
A simple command passed through BARCA and into the Dûr'ashaarai’s controls.
ENGAGE.
Caligo reacted with vicious enthusiasm. The fighter tore away from the deck and accelerated through the ray shield just past the shuttle they were both on, banking sharply in the opposite direction. CT-312 and Eira flew within the chaos, heading towards the Mutual Liberty that was nearby.
[ “CALIGO” , Dûr'ashaarai ]
[ ENROUTE TO HRNS GRACE OF THEED ]
Caligo was furious. Its pilot was not seated within the cockpit where she belonged, instead a Mowef sat. Not only that, a slicer droid embedded in its systems and with the assistance of BARCA it maintained a firm hold on the mechanical predator.
The restraint did little to diminish what passed between fighter and pilot. Distance had never severed the bond between them. CT-312 remained at the Dûr'ashaarai’s core. Whatever anger had been stirred within the Scout was reflected back through that connection. Distorted and amplified into something for pursuit and violence. Caligo answered it eagerly. Its frustration at being denied combat for so long, and now a target has finally been given.
Its ion engines flared even brighter as it surged towards the coordinates assigned to the HRNS Grace of Theed. Acceleration came in bright bursts that hurled the fighter through Thyferra’s cluttered orbital battlespace. Caligo did not maneuver around every obstacle. Its wraithphase cloaking mantle engaged in carefully timed intervals alongside each burst of acceleration. The fighter’s outline collapsed into a distorted shimmer before disappearing almost entirely from sight and sensors. High Republic interceptors and bacta shuttles found themselves with little to no warning before Caligo drove directly through them.
A brief illumination betrayed the fighters position only for a fraction of a second at a time. Its shield generator shimmered beneath glancing impacts and whatever incoming fire that was shot at its direction. Flames from burning wreckage crawled across the invisible surface as the Dûr'ashaarai passed through. Revealing the suggestion of ghostly wings and hull before vanishing completely again.
Every destroyed craft fed something through the bond. A violent satisfaction. A need for wanting more. It wanted to continue the chase until nothing remained except drifting wreckage.
Just as quickly the fighter struck, it halted. The sudden stop was abrupt enough to leave the surrounding wreckage continuing to float past it while Caligo remained motionless among the shattered armor platings and debris. Blending in with the wreckage, as if the ship itself was shot down. BARCA updated the navigational information across the cockpit displays.
They had covered slightly more than half the distance towards the intended target. The Dûr'ashaarai’s “Artemis” targeting system began sweeping the distant vessel. Combing through the surrounding chaos, until something registered within its readings of the target’s location. The solution refined itself.
A presence. A Force signature somewhere aboard the vessel.
For several seconds, the empty cockpit remained filled only by the low hum of active systems. Then CT-312's voice emerged through the internal speakers.
“Perses.”
Caligo responded immediately. Power began rerouting toward the heavy weapon while indicators across the cockpit shifted configuration.
CT-312's voice returned through the speakers. “Super Heavy.”
The command illuminated another sequence of controls across the cockpit. Systems that had remained dormant during the fighter’s assault on the smaller craft began drawing power.
[ FIRING MODE — SUPER HEAVY ] [ DAMAGE OUTPUT — EXTREME ]
[ ENGAGEMENT MAX DISTANCE — LONG RANGE ]
[ TARGET SOLUTION — CALCULATING ]
[ . ]
[ . . ]
[ . . . ] [ CONFIGURATION COMPLETE ]
As the “Perses" turbolaser began to charge. Energy began to gather through the weapon over several long seconds. Climbing steadily toward maximum charge, while the targeting information continued adjusting for the distance and movement of the HRNS Grace of Theed. The accumulating power vibrated through the hull as the glow intensified beneath the weapon housing, growing brighter and brighter.
[CHARGE COMPLETE ]
“Fire.” CT-312 gave the final command.
A tremendous beam tore across the void. The shot ripped through the battlespace in a continuous torrent of destructive energy. Erasing fragments of debris and anything unfortunate enough to intersect the firing line was consumed within the blast. For several seconds, the beam remained. Explosions from either high Republican’s forces, bacta transports, and its vessels followed along the brilliant firing line that stretched from the Dûr'ashaarai’s position aimed to the unsuspecting HRNS Grace of Theed.
Only after the final surge of energy left the weapon offline momentarily.
[ WEAPON DISCHARGE COMPLETE ]
[ PERSES THERMAL LIMIT REACHED]
[COOLDOWN ACTIVE — ETA 60 SECOND]
The moment the weapon entered its cooldown cycle, Caligo’s engine flared once more. Leaving the wreckage and debris field behind, continuing towards its prey.
Begins making way towards HRNS Grace of Theed
Plowing through any bacta shuttles and high republican fighters that were in the way
Stopped about half distance from HRNS Grace of Theed
Blending in with debris field
Fired turbolaser at HRNS Grace of Theed with the coordinates obtained from the Mind's Eye (Taeli Raaf
) and honed in with the Dûr'ashaarai's "Artemis" targeting system
Turbo laser is offline. Caligo (Dûr'ashaarai) continues to make way towards HRNS Grace of Theed
- Spelling and grammer, one day I will care less about it
As usual, Dominique Vexx could be relied upon to be sensible, and to have the kind of information that the Senator wanted. She wasn't fully satisfied with the answers she got, but she was at least convinced that whatever happened, the High Republic was not a small child playing with some sort of doodad they had found in the woods. "Thank you," she said, dipping her head in deference to the Chancellor. She was certain that Dominique would agree with her that Aurelian Veruna's enthusiasm for a particular course of action did not necessarily recommend that course of action.
But it wasn't disqualifying either. Usually.
Her eyes, for want of elsewhere to go she assured herself, lingered on Commodore Rath. He was certainly in command of the situation. But there was something afoot; Verity could feel something, some uncanny creepy crawly sensation. She couldn't place it, couldn't name it, couldn't quite put her finger on why she suddenly felt an apprehension in her gut.
"Wait," she muttered, but the Chancellor interjected, and then an officer across the bridge stood bolt upright so fast his comms headset jerked off his head. Verity had a bizarre impulse to study the screens on the bridge, which didn't make sense. She was a Senator, not a strategist. She wouldn't be able to make heads or tails of the tactical data. So why was she so curious all of a sudden? "Commodore -- "
But then the Jedi, Vizion Trozky
, was chiming in. The pieces fell into place. Verity snagged a pair of the bands from the drawer and thrust one at Aurelian Veruna
before settling her own on. The sensation of surveillance faded immediately, but it was replaced with fury. There was something deeply violative about what Taeli Raaf
had attempted to do. Across the bridge, command personnel were donning their own bands.
"We should take no chances," Verity told Dominique, her voice grave. "I don't see what good we can do here on the bridge, and the Force only knows whether these things will stop whatever else the Sith have up their sleeves." She indicated the neural band now surrounding her cranium. It wasn't a particularly flattering look. "Perhaps we should leave the good Commodore to his devices here. The Commander-in-Chief can issue orders from a secure location just as well as from the bridge, no?"
For Verity's money, she'd rather see Dominique Vexx on a ship back to the relative security of Naboo, but she doubted very much whether the Chancellor would agree. This was troublesome for two reasons; the obvious one being the risk to Dominique's safety and the upheaval that would be caused should something happen. Less obvious was the fact that Ravion Corvalis
would be in charge of the Republic until an election could be called. Knowing Corvalis, the war would be a crisis preventing elections.
It would be convenient and tidy, at least.
Something glowed in out the viewport, like a distant sun going nova. "Commodore!" Verity gasped, pointing out the viewport.
Kaivaan Raaf
Darth Carnifex
Darth Nefaron
Darth Malum of House Marr
Arris Windrun
Darth Prazutis
to maintain her cover, and where the GA had established Pheonix Station once the battle had concluded and reconstruction efforts had commenced. That had been... over forty years ago now? Time certainly flew, and now the Sith had returned to the world. She understood
Gerwald Lechner
's plan for the planet and the opening campaign of the war with the High Republic, could even see the rationale behind the destruction the Sith forces were to unleash, but it was not how she would have fought it.
