Arc 10 – Cut Off, Part 3
Batoya considered the holographic image before him, displaying the partially vaporized wreckage that had once been one of dozens of factories spread throughout the sector.
"Analysis indicates that they struck between your regular check-in times," the tactical droid stated, reading off a datapad. "The level of destruction is greater than a single light cruiser should be capable of, further indicating that they were able to overload the reactor. Means, as yet, are unknown."
"Status of the crew?" He asked, his voice low and quiet.
"No survivors found," the droid replied. It regarded him passively, waiting for… something.
Batoya wasn't sure himself how he'd react. Violent rage was one tempting possibility. Instead, he schooled his features into a confident mask.
"A blow, yes, but a small one," he said. "I assume you have already come up with countermeasures, no?"
"I have, admiral," T4-12 affirmed. "Implementing uninterrupted all-clear signaling to local response fleets will ensure all facilities remain in contact. Destroying or jamming the source will result in an immediate response."
Batoya considered it. The implementation of such a change on so large a scale in the long term would almost certainly result in logistical setbacks. Stations could lose communications for any number of reasons, even natural phenomena. However, in the short term until this one ship was dealt with, it would only be a problem for local patrols who might be required to break off from their usual routes to deal with false alerts. He nodded. "See it done."
"Is it finished?" Den asked. Slipknot nodded.
"Seppie systems are a bit strange," he grunted in disapproval. "They skimp on the quality parts. But it'll let us transmit to Coruscant, easy. And if not… Well, we've got nine more transceivers sitting in storage."
Den nodded. "Will they know its us?"
Slipknot shook his head. "They'll register the source as a separatist ship using our codes, but that doesn't really matter since all we're sending them is data on the
Charybdis and our own status. If they think it's a trick… Well, it'd be a weird one to pull. They might just ignore us."
"Let's hope that doesn't happen," Den said, gesturing. "Fire it up."
"Yes, sir."
The transmission crackled somewhat as it opened communications, the Separatist and Republic systems struggling to get along with components they weren't really designed to interact with. Slipknot nodded to him.
You're on.
"This is Lieutenant Commander Den Brystel of the
Hound," he said. "The Separatists have a new
Malevolence-class Heavy Cruiser, the
Charybdis, armed with the standard ion cannons as well as interdiction capabilities. Vice Admiral Reeves and the rest of the fleet was destroyed. We are currently behind Separatist lines. Our hyperwave transceiver was destroyed, so we raided a Separatist station to acquire a new one. We're sending all the data we were able to collect on the ship."
Den waited for a long moment, hearing the transmission crackled. He repeated the message a few times. Then, there was nothing else to do but wait. Minutes trickled by, then an hour. By the second hour, however, they finally got something.
The figure crackled into life, first revealing robes, and then slowly Den was able to see a man through the interference.
"This is Jedi General Mace Windu," the figure said through crackling static. "
Hound, are you there?"
Before anything, Den glanced at Slipknot, ensuring the source of the transmission really was Coruscant. The clone nodded. It was genuine.
"We're here, general," Den said, holding back his sigh of relief.
"What is your status?"
"The
Hound suffered only light damage," Den stated. "However, we're only a light cruiser and there are too many ships between us and Republic space. We need a fleet to get out of here."
"Our forces are stretch- thin, commander," Windu said grimly. "We will-" There was a crackle and the image of Windu faded partly, before returning. "-escue you and deal-" Another crackle and Den glanced at Slipknot, who was doing something with the transceiver. "-ajor threat to the-"
The image crackled out of existence and Den turned to the chief engineer. "What happened?"
"The interference is too much," Slipknot said, not turning as he fiddled with the machine. Sparks flew and he flinched backwards as it was like a firecracker had gone off near his gloved fingers. "Dank ferrik! The system's rejecting the transceiver, its starting to damage the rest of the relay." He was already working to all but tear the system out of where it had been jerry-rigged.
"Can't you do something?" Den asked, but Slipknot shook his head.
"If I plug it back in and we keep receiving, its going to cause a power surge," the trooper stated. "Best case scenario if that happens is we lose short range communications too. Worst case, it starts affecting the rest of the ship."
"What about one of the spares?"
"Not unless you have a capital-grade Seppie comms relay to put them in," Slipknot said. "Or better spare parts for me to work around it."
"What about the shuttles and their relays?"
"Not enough power," Slipknot said. "They rely on local holonet relays, not independent transceivers like capital ships use. Even in Republic space, the transmissions aren't very secure."
"And the local holonet is controlled by the Separatists, making it even less so," Den said knowingly, receiving a nod from Slipknot.
"I might be able to work something out, but its going to take a few days, at the soonest."
Den felt that sigh of relief die in his throat. "We were able to send them the information, at least, right?"
The engineer nodded. "Like I said, it's just the receiving part that's causing the problem. If you're fine with just talking to Coruscant, we can manage that much. They just can't talk back."
"Which means no coordination," Den said. "No orders."
"And no idea when or if they're going to take down the
Charybdis," Slipknot finished grimly.
Raptor sat on a pile of crates, sabaac cards laid out between himself and two of his brothers. In the day since their successful raid, the cargo bay had temporarily – albeit only partially – converted into a sleeping area for the… Well, he supposed they weren't slaves anymore. Refugees, perhaps. They'd all been so exhausted after the battle yesterday that many had simply been given a rain poncho as a form of blanket and collapsed onto the floor. They seemed used to sleeping on metal, so perhaps even that tiniest of comforts was lavish for them.
Raptor could have used his authority as a lieutenant to access practically any room on the ship in order to play this game in his off-time. He'd chosen the cargo bay, or rather a secluded spot on a catwalk that wasn't being used for anything besides storage and was stacked higher than normal with crates in order to make room for the refugees below. It was cramped and loud, hardly a good space for a game of cards even if the noise could be mitigated by wearing their helmets. But Raptor had chosen it.
He trusted the lieutenant commander's judgement, of course. They'd been through enough together for that to go without saying. But just because he trusted the commander, that didn't mean he trusted the refugees.
Perhaps it was the fact that they were so… well, alien. The commander was easy to talk to, easy to understand, usually. A few oddities about him, but otherwise he was an excellent officer. The Jedi were stranger and had – to put it charitably – idiotic ideas about how to run a war, but even they had honor, if a different kind than he was used to. But these refugees, chief among them the Kaleesh who made up nearly a quarter of their number… There were so many varieties of aliens from so many different backgrounds, some didn't even speak basic, and none of them had ever heard of a clone trooper, let alone the war.
There hadn't been any problems, yet. Still, if there were, Raptor wanted to be in a prime location to react.
"You are the leader of these warriors?"
Raptor nearly jumped into a fighting stance at hearing the voice speak behind him, merely a few feet away. He twisted around to see one of the Kaleesh, their leader, Xalas, standing there. He thought he'd been on the alert, yet he'd never heard the alien coming.
"Apologies," Xalas said, holding up his hands in what Raptor suspected was a universal gesture of non-violent intent. "I did not mean to…" The alien tilted his head, seemingly looking for the right word. "
Surprise you."
Raptor noted that his brothers had tensed as well, so he visibly relaxed, letting them know the situation was fine. Whether that was true or not was a different matter.
"No need," he said, nodding. "I'm the lieutenant in command of the clone company aboard this ship. Raptor."
"Raptor," Xalas repeated, as though tasting the word. "I have not had a good fight in twenty years, since I and the others like me were taken by the Huk and sold as slaves. Even when we finally broke those chains, the Huk- ah, the
Zygerrians-" Xalas spoke the word like a curse. "-were little more than cowards who quailed at the end despite their talk of strength and the right to rule."
"Are you asking me to fight you?" Raptor asked, with a bit of concern.
"I am," Xalas said. "A spar, nothing more. Weapons of your choice. You may wear your armor if you are more accustomed to it."
Raptor thought the alien might have been throwing an insult there, but it was difficult to read his inhuman features.
"I'm not sure it's a good idea for us to spar," Raptor said. "You're the leader of the refugees, I'm a clone officer of the Grand Army. If one of us were to get hurt…"
"Then let me speak plainly," Xalas said. "I do not know your capabilities or the capabilities of your warriors. If we are to fight together in the future, I must be certain that you are able to hold your own, or I risk losing my own warriors. Too many died in the uprising because they were not trained fighters. It could not be avoided for us to attain our freedom, but I would not have it happen again."
Raptor considered that. It was true, the clones hadn't fought a battle, at least not anything but a naval engagement since fleeing the
Charybdis. He could just show Xalas publicly available records of clone troopers fighting, but somehow he doubted that would be accepted by the Kaleesh.
"I'll ask the commander," Raptor finally said, switching his helmet to mute and contacting the man in question.
"Brystel, here."
Raptor explained the situation. Then, after another glance at Xalas, he added, "I'm not sure given he was fighting in the revolt we saw, but I think he looks fairly old. Older than most of the other Kaleesh, anyways. If I'm right, I might hurt him in a fight."
"That would likely damage our relationship with these people, but if they don't trust us in a fight that can get people killed."
"What should I do?"
"Do you think you can fight him without causing any permanent damage?"
Raptor resisted the urge to tilt his head back and forth in an uncertain manner. "Maybe."
"Do better than that, Raptor."
"Yes, I can."
"Alright. Fight him, but use your best judgement. If he's tougher than he looks, treat him that way. If he's blustering, try not to embarrass him. Just don't break anything. I'll have a few squads standing by in case things don't go well."
"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."
"And Raptor?"
"Yes, sir?"
"Win. We don't need our new allies thinking we're weaklings, do we?"
"Understood, sir."
Raptor broke off the connection and unmuted his helmet, nodding towards Xalas. "Alright. We have a gym with a sparring ring that should work fine. I'll meet you there in half an hour."
Xalas nodded.
Den considered the woman before him. She was a nautolan. Like all her kind, she had green skin, large, solid-black eyes, and many tendrils that hung almost like hair from her head. Like the other freed slaves, she had taken to wearing the rain ponchos the ship had stored over the rags they had been given by the overseers, though she had taken a cord of wire and fashioned it into a simple belt wrapped around her waist, giving her at least a semblance of fashion. He could only hope the wire hadn't been torn out of a wall somewhere on his ship, as there were too many freed slaves to keep track of at all times, though they'd mostly stayed in the cargo bay. He wasn't sure why or how she'd convinced Raptor she deserved a meeting with him, first thing in the morning after the raid before even the meeting he'd scheduled with Xalas no less, but here she was.
"What can I do for you, miss…?" Den trailed off and received a wide grin in reply.
"Jatilla, commander," The nautolan said. "And that's the wrong question. It's what
I can do for
you."
"Oh?" He tilted his head, mildly interested if only by her initiative. Most of the freed slaves had simply taken whatever work had been offered, wanting to make themselves useful however they could, perhaps thinking that he'd throw them out if they didn't. He did nothing to encourage that view, but also did not actively discourage it. For most of them, their work was medical treatment for those who were less healthy or, for those with knowledge of machines and especially starships, work dedicated to keeping the
Hound in fighting shape under the watchful guidance of Slipknot. None had approached him personally, except to offer the occasional thanks.
"Your ship's running around in Separatist space," Jatilla continued, the grin never leaving her face. "But if you want to keep raiding, you're going to get noticed more and more. Pretty soon, there will be patrols and ambushes set up."
Den tilted his head. "And, what makes you think we're going to keep raiding, rather than return to Republic space?"
"You can't," Jatilla said confidently. "Too many ships, plus that big interdictor cruiser. The
Chara-whatsit."
Den leaned back in his seat. "And you heard that
where, exactly?"
"From you," Jatilla said. "When you were talking with that Jedi on Coruscant."
The casual admission of an offense punishable by a lifetime of imprisonment was enough to catch Den off-guard. He blinked.
"You sliced into our communications net," he said and she nodded, a look of satisfaction on her face. He considered getting angry at her and having her thrown in the brig. He decided that was not an option he had at the moment. Every resource would be needed to keep the
Hound and her crew alive. "Alright. You're correct, I plan to continue raiding until we either learn of the
Charybdis' destruction or are otherwise able to reestablish communications with Coruscant."
It wasn't an appealing option now that the Separatists were almost certain to start taking countermeasures, but he didn't have much choice. His safest bet would likely be to try and stock up on enough rations and fuel to make the months long crossing through uncharted space, but that plan was more shot now than ever with the slaves complicating matters.
"I can help you find out where they'll be, when, and in what numbers," Jatilla said, crossing her arms, holding her head up proudly. "I can do a lot more than slice into a ship's communications."
"Indeed?" Den asked, his face a mask of neutrality. In truth, having a top-tier slicer around would be excellent… But he'd be putting a lot of faith into this person he did not know all that well, not to mention the possibility that she was bluffing about the communications and had overheard the conversation some other way. "Slicing isn't a job they give out credentials for, not that I know of anyways. Do you have anything to show your skill, besides overhearing a single transmission?"
How do I know you're not going to get me and everyone else aboard this ship killed?
Jatilla's gaze never wavered as she drew a datapad from a satchel that hung on her makeshift belt. It was stamped on the back with the symbol of the Confederacy, likely taken from the factory, and he had to wonder if this was one that had been captured by the clones or stolen long before they'd come.
"My resume," she said simply as she handed it over to him. It was a criminal record. Illegal possession of slicing equipment, violence against an enforcer, and destruction of private property were all listed, as were numerous counts of sabotage and robbery. Each crime had a few years sentencing which added up to around two centuries if one didn't include the largest: the robbery of a minor vault operated by the Banking Clan, which doubled that sentence's length.
"Impressive," He said. "Though I fail to see why trying and failing to rob the Banking Clan would be a point in your favor."
"I didn't fail," Jatilla replied. "I broke through their security and nabbed sixty
million credits out of their vault. I only got caught a few months later after a certain bastard stabbed me in the back."
"I see." If that was true, it
was impressive. Banking Clan systems were famously some of the most robust in the galaxy, literally the best money could buy. Of course, it could also be a lie. Depending on how widely known the story was, the Banking Clan might have suppressed it to keep trust in their security from plummeting. He scrolled down more and noted, with only a little surprise, that the most recent of the crimes was dated around ten years prior to the start of the Clone Wars, while the nautolan before him looked like she wasn't even in her mid-twenties, though he wasn't sure how nautolan lifespans worked. "How did you end up here?"
"They offered me a 'work-release program'," Jatilla said sardonically. "Said I could work off my time. I thought that would be better than sitting in a cell for four hundred years. I'm not so sure now, but hey, I got out early anyways."
"And how do I know your time in that factory has not rusted your skills?" Den asked. Rather than becoming defensive, Jatilla's grin widened even further.
"I got this interview, didn't I?"
Den blinked, taking a moment to comprehend her words. Then, he turned and opened his datapad containing the message about the meeting from Raptor. When he opened it, however, he instead found only an image of the very nautolan sitting before him, winking up at him with a coy smile.
For a moment, he was quiet, considering the pad.
"Never do anything like this again," Den began, looking up at her with a serious look in his eyes. "Don't eavesdrop on my transmissions. Show me you can crack Confederate codes as easily as you do the Banking Clan's vaults. Do all that, and I'll make sure that you're well-rewarded when we return to Republic space."
Jatilla's grin faltered a bit for the first time. "I don't need credits or recognition," she said, a hard edge entering her voice. "Just make sure you hit those bastards where it hurts."
It was Den's turn to smile. "Deal. You can start immediately by finding out what countermeasures the Separatists are taking in response to our raid."
Den considered Raptor, who sat unarmored, the corner of a bacta patch peaking out from his undershirt and another set to his face, as well as a bruise that, while ugly, only needed time to heal. Xalas sat across from him, sporting a similar degree of injuries, and Den was almost certain that the Kaleesh hadn't had a chipped chin ridge the last time they'd spoken.
"Who won?" Jatilla asked curiously, though her eyes were mostly jumping from Raptor to Hook and Slipknot, who were also not wearing armor, thus displaying their identical faces. Or what would have been identical, in Raptor's case.
"Your warrior fought very well, commander," Xalas said to Den. "He earned his victory."
Raptor did not seem entirely pleased with his victory, though at the very least he wasn't angry or sullen. Den supposed they'd have to have a conversation about that later.
"Satisfied we're worthy to fight alongside?" Den asked.
"I would have fought with you regardless, if only to free others who have been enslaved and to kill more of the Zygerrians," Xalas said firmly. "I am glad to say that I will now also fight alongside you as warriors who deserve my respect."
Den had to admit, he hadn't been entirely sure letting the sparring match take place was a good idea. However, given how he and Raptor had first met, he also knew that sometimes a friendly match could go a long way. He was glad to see his hunch about Xalas and the Kaleesh had been right.
"In that case, we should begin," Den said. To start with, he explained to the new arrivals their situation regarding the
Charybdis, the lack of support, and their more recent troubles with communications to Coruscant.
"A battlecruiser that's got an ion cannon that can wipe out fleets
and can stop ships from jumping to hyperspace?" Jatilla asked, sounding nervous for the first time. "That's… we're not fighting
that, are we?"
"It would be a worthy challenge," Xalas said, though he even he seemed uncertain that said challenge could be overtaken.
"We won't ever encounter it again if I can help it," Den said to Jatilla. "We'll leave the battlecruiser to the rest of the GAR. My focus is on keeping everyone here alive and this ship intact."
"But we
will be freeing more slaves, will we not?" Xalas asked, leaning forward in his seat.
"Whenever possible, yes," Den said. "I can't and won't promise that we'll free the entire sector or even a fraction of it. We don't know which stations have slaves or even if all of them do. Which brings me to the most immediate problem regarding that… We don't have space aboard this ship for anymore slaves, even if we
did free them."
"We can't drop them off on any inhabited world in the sector without risking them being recaptured," Hook noted.
"Correct," Den said, taking a breath. "Which is why our next target isn't a station."
He switched the display on, revealing a saucer-shaped
Corona-class armed frigate, roughly on par in length with the
Hound, yet bulkier and more lightly armed.
"It's a ship."
Galdor V was a tiny, backwater world with nothing of value on it save for a single tiny island continent with a small doonium mine. Such worlds were a credit a dozen and were often overlooked by the galactic powers as anything more than a place to extract a few resources before moving on. If such worlds had a sizable population, they
might get a garrison of troopers or droids. Galdor V had less than a thousand intelligent beings living on it, no spacefaring presence whatsoever, and was almost wholly dedicated to the mining business.
Yet, in wartime, such worlds helped oil the wheels of logistics. Since they were
technically allies of the Confederacy, the world's population was left in relative peace, though they were required to sell their ore to the Confederacy at a fair price.
Or what Admiral Batoya determined was a fair price, anyways.
"Captain, I think we might either have a few stoaways or some of the crew have been taking their pick of the locals again," First Officer Dacor Ures said with some annoyance. "Too many lifesigns aboard. Quite a few stuffed into unused rooms with security locks."
"I hardly blame them," Captain Iten Fasil said, shaking his head. "There's hardly anything to do out here. We could
all use a few extra credits."
The cargo hauler,
Roaming Venture, had not always been a military logistics vessel. Once, it had been a part of an unofficial privateering force of the Zygerrians, in the days when they'd still had to be careful about the Republic's laws and the Jedi. While some called them pirates, they were of a class above such common criminals, roaming the stars, plundering worlds for the glory and advancement of their people, like in the ancient days of the Zygerrian Empire's golden age.
Sometimes, Iten missed those days. They were complicated, yes, but filled with action, adventure, and wealth. There was very little wealth to be gained from hauling ore from worlds like Galdor V to one of the countless factories churning out new materiel for Batoya's 'grand resurgence'.
"Captain, we're detecting something coming in from hyperspace," his sensors officer said. Iten's eyebrow rose a fraction.
"Another cargo hauler?" He asked, more curious than anything else. Well, except bored.
"A shuttlecraft," the officer said, sounding surprised. "Confederate
Maxillipede-class. Twenty-one lifesigns."
An unusually large number for a shuttlecraft, unless it was hauling slaves.
"Does it have a name?" Iten asked.
"
Alogo."
"Alright, open communications," Iten said. He checked his chronometer. They were ahead of schedule, but there were no bonuses for doing so. "Alogo, this is Confederate Hauler
Roaming Venture, under the command of Captain Iten Fasil. What's your purpose in this system?"
The voice that came back was scratchy, the transmission crackling somewhat, but clearly feminine.
"This is lieutenant Jatil Faus in command of the
Alogo," the voice said, but no holographic image appeared. "We were apart of a convoy that was attacked on route to the
Charybdis by a Republic light cruiser. We managed to escape aboard this shuttle but our hyperdrive was damaged and this was the nearest inhabited system."
"I'm sorry to hear that, lieutenant," Iten said. "I can't seem to see you?"
There was a pause. "I'm sorry, captain, it seems our communications relay was somewhat damaged as well." She laughed. "Not much working over here anymore, I'm afraid."
"What convoy were you apart of?" Iten asked, opening his datapad.
"I'm sorry captain, I'm afraid that's classified," Jatil Faus' voice said, taking on a more serious tone. "I'm sure you understand Admiral Batoya's preference for secrecy with his new toy."
Iten swallowed. "Yes, of course, I understand." There were rumors, of course, of what Batoya had been building and planning to unleash upon the Republic. The ancient Zygerrians had occasionally used interdiction technology as a means of preventing their prey from escaping and enslaving whole worlds. Batoya's fascination with the ancient days was well-known, as were the rumors that he'd been favored by Count Dooku with one of the small number of
Subjugator-class battleships the Confederacy had been building.
Excitement ran through him at the idea. If he were to rescue the survivors of a classified convoy and deliver them to Batoya personally… he might finally get a return to the action and adventure of his past.
He wondered, briefly, if the shuttle might have some kind of secret clearance codes, the sort that holodramas often had, but in the end they simply used normal access codes, the sort his own ship used for proof of identification. At a glance, he saw nothing wrong with them.
"I will go and greet our new guests," Dacor said, already rising from his seat, but Iten raised a hand to stop him.
"As captain, I shall be the host," he said, straightening his clothes and smoothing down his fur. He wondered what lieutenant Jatil looked like. Perhaps he should invite her to dinner, being the gracious host that he was.
"Should I send a security team?" Dacor asked, almost as Iten was out the blastdoors. He paused.
"Oh, very well," he said, waving his first officer off, his mind already wandering towards other matters.
The Zygerrian captain stepped into the hangar bay, escorted by six Zygerrians in security uniforms with holstered sidearms.
"Have they made us?" Raptor asked, drawing his blaster pistol from its own holster. The sounds of weapons undergoing final checks could be heard throughout the shuttle's length as nineteen more clone troopers wearing the same spacetrooper armor as Raptor prepared themselves for the inevitable fight.
"Not yet," Jatilla said after a quick glance up from her work station to look at the approaching captain, shaking her head. "They'd have heavier weapons if they thought we weren't who we said we were, right? Not to mention, more troops."
"They could be hiding," Raptor pointed out. "Regardless, they're going to realize the shuttle's battle damage is superficial at best pretty soon."
"Nah, that's the head cat," she said, her voice containing a trace of bitterness. "He won't do anything unless they think it's safe."
Raptor could have pointed out that, although she admittedly had more experience with Zygerrians than he did, her own experience was confined to those who'd been operating the slaver station. He was mindful of the commander's warnings to keep from insulting the freed slaves, however, so he kept that bit to himself.
The Zygerrian had made it to the boarding ramp, easy to see through the ship's security camera overlooking the spot, but the doors of the shuttle had yet to open. He seemed confused and quickly growing impatient. Soon, their console was beeping with a request for communication.
"Lieutenant Jatil," the captain's voice said, still maintaining a degree of politeness. "Are you having issues with your ship's doors?"
"Yes, captain," Jatilla replied, sounding embarrassed. Raptor was almost concerned by how convincing she was, particularly with her Zygerrian accent. "I don't suppose you could pry those open for us? I'm certain the mechanism will activate if you just put some pressure on it."
"Very well," the captain sighed and gestured to four of his men, who went forward and began to try to pull them apart. Jatilla glanced over at Raptor, a smile on her face.
"Ready for some fun?" She asked. He nodded.
"Begin the operation," he said. She had a sour look on her face at his neutral tone, but hit the activation key for the rear doors.
Outside, the four Zygerrians attempting and failing to pry open the magnetically sealed doors were suddenly caught off-balance by a sudden lack of resistance as the doors slid open. They fell over and onto one another, but were already scrambling up again so as to not make fools of themselves. They never got the chance, however, as four blaster bolts burned holes in their chests before they could even stand and they collapsed, dead.
The two remaining guards only had a second to react and they used it well, drawing their side-arms. However, rather than fire into the ship filled with clone troopers, they wasted the rest of their time grabbing their captain and pulling him behind them. Another two shots dispatched them with ease and the clones began to pour out of the ship. There were other Zygerrians in the ship, but mostly shock-collared slaves. None were prepared for a sudden attack.
Screams filled the hangar bay, but the clones were already on their way towards the exit, led by Raptor. Two stepped over to the captain and held him at blaster-point.
"Captain Iten," Jatilla said, stepping over to him, heedless of the one-sided slaughter raging around her. She gave him a mocking salute and a grin. "Lieutenant Jatil, reporting for duty."
Iten's face was curled into a look of snarling rage, but he did not dare move an inch under the watchful gazes of the clone troopers. Jatilla would have loved to keep mocking him, but her job was clear. As the last of the Zygerrians within the vast space was shot down, Raptor led his squads into the rest of the ship, heading towards the bridge. Meanwhile, from the shuttle, she retrieved a long bundle of cable, connecting one end to the shuttle's external data port before quickly running over to the other side of the hangar, where a console with its own port was, inserting it and giving her access to the ship's systems from the shuttle. She activated her commlink on her run back to her latest workshop.
"We've captured the captain, the hangar bay is secure, and the system link is established," she said "What should we do with him and the slaves?"
"Get any slaves you can onto the shuttle and keep the doors sealed. Make sure to keep the captain outside the shuttle, though. If they do open the hangar to space, they'll have to kill him too."
"What's happening down there?!?" Dacor demanded, stepping over to the security officer's console. The hangar bay was littered with the bodies of dead Zygerrians, all swiftly executed by what looked like
clone troopers of all things, while the captain himself was being held at blasterpoint while valuable slaves were being herded onto a ship to be taken stars-only-knew-where. Dacor swore in his people's language at Iten's stupidity at being taken in by a pretty voice.
"What should we do?" The Zygerrian at the console asked and Dacor slapped the back of his head.
"Respond!" He shouted, stomping up to the captain's seat and taking it. "Send all security teams to stop the intruders and retrieve the slaves!"
And the captain, he supposed.
"First Officer!" The sensors officer suddenly yelped. "Republic light cruiser just jumped in!"
Dacor swore again. "Hail the fleet! We need reinforcements!"
"They're jamming our long-communications!" His comms officer called back. Dacor snarled.
"Fine, then," he growled. "Prepare for battle, all hands! Bring us about!"
The
Roaming Venture was hardly a battleship, but it was armed for combat. Still, Dacor had heard tales of the Republic's new warships, how each was deadlier than anything else of their size that had been created in the last thousand years now that the Ruusan Reformations were dead and done with. He was not eager to test the
Venture's abilities against such a foe. He steeled himself, however. Such a victory would surely grant him glory and honor, not to mention a good chance at a promotion. He was all but certain to get the captain's chair permanently after this fiasco was reported, but command over another, more lucrative ship might also be in order.
"They're hailing us!" His comms officer said. "They're ordering us to surrender as they've taken the captain hostage."
"Have they now?" Dacor asked, an evil thought entering his mind. Might as well make that 'all but certain' into a certainty. "Deactivate the hangar's shield. Vent them all into space."
The bridge was silent and stared at him for a moment. Dacor snarled at them.
"DO IT!" He shouted and then it was done. He watched with glee on the display as the shields opened. Many of the slaves and the nautolan who'd come along with the clones were safe within their shuttle, which was magnetized to the floor, as were the troopers themselves, though they laid almost flat against the shuttle in order to avoid being ripped off their feet as the air of the hangar was sucked into the vacuum of space. The captain, however, along with a few of the slaves who had not made it to the shuttle in time vanished into the void.
It had accomplished little, tactically speaking, beyond removing a bargaining chip from their foe's hands. In fact, Dacor was a bit annoyed that the slaves hadn't hurried up and gotten aboard with the rest, as the destruction of valuable merchandise was nothing to be celebrated. However, seeing Iten being blown away was enough to make him feel satisfied all the same.
"Inform them that we have no interest in bargaining with murderers and thieves," Dacor ordered. "Make all preparations for the jump to hyperspace! We shall leave with their boarding party as the newest additions to our cargo!"
Blaster bolts whirred past his head and Raptor heard a grunt of pain from one of the troopers behind him. He sent two bolts into the chest of the Zygerrian who'd fired the shots. Only after the corridor was clear of any perceivable threats did he look back to see Grudge laying on the floor, Jumper, their medic, kneeling next to him, tending to a bolt that had taken him in the chest, but it had not gotten past the thicker armor of spacetrooper gear. The Zygerrian security teams had swapped out their sidearms for more powerful blaster carbines, similar in size to the ones the clones wielded themselves, but Raptor had already noticed how… underpowered they were.
"Grudge is dazed, but he'll be fine," Jumper stated as he rose to his feet. "I wouldn't like my chances in regular kit, but I don't think their blasters are strong enough to pierce the thicker parts of our armor."
"Is his armor still airtight?" Raptor asked, to which Jumper nodded. "Flask, Tracker, get him on his feet. We'll bring him with us." Win or lose, he wasn't leaving any of his brothers behind. "Let's go!"
They continued on towards the bridge, slaughtering any Zygerrians they came across, passing over any slaves they encountered. At one point, a Zygerrian with an electrowhip was goading a few slaves with shock collars into attacking them, but it was a simple matter to stun the slaves and then riddle the Zygerrian with enough blaster bolts to render him almost unrecognizable as anything more than charred meat.
They had the element of surprise on their side, but as they continued on through the ship, they inevitably encountered harsher resistance. The Zygerrians had set up a blaster cannon at the end of a long, narrow corridor and Raptor got the feeling that, whether the other Zygerrian weapons were weak simply because of a cheap and poor design or because they were meant more for disabling targets than killing them,
this would be deadly to get hit by. The corridor was filled with blaster bolts flying and slamming into the corner around which the clone troopers rested.
"Nautolan, you read me?" Raptor asked into his commlink.
"Its Jatilla."
"Are you still connected to the ship systems?" Raptor asked, ignoring her words.
"I am."
"Can you determine what section of the ship we're in?"
There was a pause.
"I've got you. I see the Zygerrians finally got their act together."
"Vent the atmosphere from this section," Raptor ordered. Another pause.
"Can't. There are still slaves in the section who'd get caught in it."
"Do you have another way to deal with the blaster cannon?" Raptor asked sardonically.
"I do," came the reply, sounding almost insulted.
"Hold on, I'll handle it."
"Jatilla-," Raptor began, only for the sound of hydraulics whirring to cut him off, along with the sudden cessation of blaster bolts. He glanced around the corner and saw, with some surprise, that the blastdoors at the far end of the corridor had slid shut. "Alright… But we need to go that way."
"Just go to the end of the corridor, tough guy. I'll give you an opening, you chuck a grenade through. Problem solved."
Raptor did not like her attitude, but he couldn't fault her plan. The troopers soon were at the end of the corridor and Raptor sidled up to the door, pulling out a thermal detonator. He could hear banging on the side of the door, where the Zygerrians were trying and failing to override the door's systems.
"Here you go," Jatilla said and the door's sections slid open just enough to allow the detonator to slip through. He could hear a yelp of surprise just before the door closed again, and then…
BOOM
The decks shook with the force of the explosion and he saw the blastdoors jerk. True to their name, however, they held strong and opened again, revealing the half-vaporized blaster cannon and charred husks of the Zygerrian defenders. Raptor and the clones were already continuing on their way.
"Uh, you're welcome?"
Raptor wanted to roll his eyes. "Just make sure they stay in place."
"Oh, did you not notice them trying to jump to hyperspace just now? Of course you didn't. Again, I say, you're welcome."
"What's happening?!?" Dacor demanded towards his navigation officer. "Why haven't we made the jump?"
"I don't understand!" The officer said, shaking his head. "Our hyperdrive says all systems are nominal, but its refusing to power up!"
Turbolasers slammed into the
Roaming Venture's shields and Dacor could see the system's readout that showed them as having almost drained entirely. It would not be long before they were entirely exposed.
"Find the problem and
fix it!" Dacor said. His eyes turned to the security officer. "Have the boarders been dealt with yet?"
"We were planning to flank them at a chokepoint we set up, but they've managed to slip past," the officer said. He sounded almost baffled. "The doors suddenly closed up and let them advance far enough to-."
"I don't care, just
stop them-," he paused. "The doors closed?"
"Yes, captain."
"They're slicing into our systems," Dacor realized, just as another series of turbolaser shots struck the shields and made them fail entirely. "Get our shields back up! Bring us around and take us to the other side of Galdor V! Full speed!"
"Sir, they're hailing us again!" The comms officer called. "They're requesting our surrender again."
He considered shooting the officer just to have one less issue to deal with. Ironically, the amount of information he was dealing with would usually have been split between himself and the captain. He never imagined he would miss having Iten around, fool that he was, let alone so soon after his tragic death.
"I won't surrender this ship to Jedi-loving filth!" Dacor said.
"Sir, I've lost visual feeds!" The security officer called.
"Which ones?" Dacor demanded.
"All of them!" The officer said. Dacor couldn't have imagined how that was possible. There had to be a team of slicers aboard to have accomplished all this so quickly. He heard a distant explosion, but he wasn't sure if it was a shot from the attacking cruiser or a grenade from the boarders.
"Recall every security officer to the bridge!" Dacor ordered. "Set up a final defense outside these doors." He took in a deep breath, then smoothed out his uniform and ruffled fur. "Hail the attacking cruiser. Tell them we wish to…
negotiate."
Den stood on the bridge of the
Hound, considering the Zygerrian that had appeared before them in holoform.
"I understand you seek to surrender?" Den asked.
"On the contrary," the Zygerrian said, rising up to his full height. "
You will surrender. You will power down your weapons and engines. You will call off your boarders and have them withdraw,
without the property you have attempted to abscond with. Then you will take no further action as we depart."
"Interesting offer," Den said, tilting his head. "And I'm to assume you have a reason why I should take it?"
The Zygerrian smiled cruelly, raising his hand. "I hold in my hand a remote connected to every shock collar on the ship."
The holographic image of the Zygerrian vanished, replaced by a cargo hold where many slaves were milling about or sleeping. Suddenly, their collars activated and Den heard their screams as they writhed around and collapsed to the ground, hands flying to their throats.
The image reverted to the Zygerrian. "That was a low level setting, the sort we normally use to keep skugs in line." The Zygerrian did something to the device. "I have just set it to the
maximum. It will kill them… eventually." The Zygerrian's smile grew. "Now,
obey."
"After careful consideration…" Den said. "I'm afraid I will have to
reject your most gracious offer."
"What?" The Zygerrian asked, caught off-guard by the outright refusal. Confusion was soon replaced by anger however. "Do you think I won't do it?" He demanded, holding up the device threateningly.
"It would be a mistake to do so," Den shrugged nonchalantly. "But it is within your power if you wish."
"I hold all the cards here,
Republic dog," the Zygerrian said. "These slaves, their deaths will be on your hands!"
"I can live with that," Den replied. "My question is, can you? Or, rather,
will you? Right now, I have two squads of clone troopers aboard your ship, nearly at your bridge. Now, you
could kill all your slaves in some pointless attempt to save yourself. However, then I'd have no choice but to send in my other forces. The forces made up of freed Kaleesh slaves."
The Zygerrian hesitated at that. Little was known about the alien Kaleesh, but what
was known was that they carried a reputation as fearsome and
brutal warriors.
"The clones will be more than willing to capture you alive and treat you fairly as a prisoner of war," Den continued. "They are, after all, trained and disciplined professionals. The Kaleesh, however… Well, there are plenty of Kaleesh slaves in this region as I understand it. I'm sure there are stories about what happens when one gets pushed too far or gets loose."
The look of dread on the Zygerrian's face told him he was correct.
"Now, if you would be so kind, please surrender your ship and your crew into the custody of my troopers," Den said with a friendly smile. "For
your protection."
The enemy officer stared at him for a long moment, then nodded slowly, setting down the remote.
"We surrender ourselves into your care," he said, hanging his head. The
Roaming Venture soon had powered off its engines, floating adrift in space as the
Hound approached it. The holographic image of the officer vanished and Xalas stepped up from the back of the bridge.
"I apologize for risking the lives of the slaves," Den said, but Xalas held up a hand to stop him.
"Better they had died than continued to live as slaves," Xalas stated with a nod. "I understand your methods and approve. However, I say again my wish that we had been able to join in the assault."
"Spacetrooper gear is unsuitable for use by Kaleesh," Den said, turning back as he considered the approaching ship. "Had you been in the hangar when they vented it, you would have died. However, if we find gear suitable for Kaleesh use, you'll be able to join in boarding actions in the future."
Xalas nodded. "And what is to be done with the Zygerrians?" He asked and Den thought his facial expressions might have been conveying disgust. "Are they to remain safe within your ship's brig? To never know justice?"
Den turned and faced the Kaleesh fully, glaring into the alien's eyes.
"Yes," he said firmly. "I am a Republic officer. They are prisoners of war awaiting our return to Republic space where they will stand trial for their crimes and face justice."
Xalas snorted. "
Republic justice."
"Yes," Den said, his gaze unwavering. "If you have an issue with that, say so now."
Xalas returned the glare for a long moment… then, his eyes seemed to crease in what might have been amusement. He said something in his native tongue, then nodded. "You have spirit," he said. "I wondered whether the leader was as capable as the soldier who followed him. I am glad to see you are."
With that, Xalas turned on his heel and departed the bridge, presumably heading back to his and the other slaves adopted abode in the cargo bay. After the doors slid shut behind him, Den shook his head and turned back to the
Roaming Venture.
"Get the rest of the men ready," Den said to the comms officer. "I want two troopers per Zygerrian when they're escorted on board. Keep them out of sight of the slaves. Have a squad guarding the brig around the clock with blasters set to stun. No accidents are going to befall these prisoners on my ship."
The
Roaming Venture was captured easily enough. Den made sure that, when the time came to remove the collars of the freed slaves, it was clones who did it. It was clones who brought them food and water and it was clones who gave them clothes. He trusted Xalas, or rather Xalas' hatred for the slavers, to be strong enough to keep him from betraying Den or trying anything against him, at least for the moment. However, the slaves they'd rescued from the station had been united and led by Xalas in a revolt that hadn't really needed the
Hound or her crew beyond having a ship to escape in.
If Xalas decided their goals were no longer in alignment, Den didn't feel like giving him any more forces than he already had.
This was a Republic operation and the slaves of the
Roaming Venture knew it.
While most of the positions for actually running and maintaining the ship were left to the slaves they had freed, many of which were more than happy to assist their saviors when it came to continuing the fight and freeing more of their brethren, Den still had to send a few of his clone crew members over to help teach slaves how to run certain systems which were wholly in the control of the Zygerrians.
There were a few slaves who were not eager to fight. Some had families, others held to religions that forbade them from fighting, some simply were sick or injured, too old, or too young. The Jedi might have been fine sending children into battle, but he wasn't. He sent all these individuals to the
Roaming Venture. The main point in the raid had been in getting sufficient space for all the slaves to live, as well as more rations, not necessarily in gaining a new craft to fight with. The
Venture provided both in abundance and those who wanted and were able to fight were kept on the
Hound.
The slaves were celebrating their freedom, as well as mourning those that had not been able to achieve it, when Den's impromptu council met again.
"We should carry this momentum forward," Xalas said. "Capturing additional vessels will provide us with greater options. Perhaps enough to even be able to fight this
Charybdis."
"We'd need a whole fleet of capital ships to manage that," Raptor said. "But more ships can't hurt."
"Logistically, it can," Slipknot pointed out. "Maintaining those ships for a long period of time isn't something we can manage. Even if we find a few engineers in every group of slaves we rescue, we can't be certain we'll find the parts we need, especially if things get damaged in battle."
"Could we manage it for a short while?" Den asked. "A few weeks, perhaps?"
"As long as nothing gets too damaged, sure," Slipknot said. "But I'm not so worried about captured ships falling apart as I am the
Hound. Spare parts'll be common enough for the Seppies own ships, not so much for a Republic design."
"Then our priority should be to get more ships, to reduce risk to your command vessel," Xalas said. "If we grow large enough, perhaps we can even begin to capture territory."
Den shook his head. "I doubt that. Right now, our strength is the fact that we can jump anywhere in the sector. That's not true for a station or a world. If we took either, the whole sector would be turned against that point."
"Or the
Charybdis itself would come," Raptor added. Den nodded.
"However, I have no doubt that the Republic will come up with some kind of response for the
Charybdis, especially if its remaining in the Boonta system to cut off access through Hutt Space," Den continued. "We only need to last a few weeks before we can regroup with Republic forces and begin work on retaking the entire sector."
"Qymaen could have managed it," Xalas said quietly, shaking his head almost mournfully. Jatilla seemed to almost roll her eyes at that, as though he were a parent speaking to another's greatness for the hundredth time.
"
Anyways," Jatilla said, drawing attention to her. "I've been listening to Zygerrian comms chatter via the shuttle. Apparently, they're going to have all their stations transmit constant all-clear signals to make sure if they're jammed there's a response."
Den considered that, then a thought occurred. "Would you be able to slice into their communications channel and fake an all-clear signal from the stations?"
Jatilla frowned. "I could, but the timing would have to be perfect," she said. "Otherwise, they'd either get two all-clear signals from the same source or there would be an interruption in the transmission."
"Could you time it for a minor interruption?" Den asked. She nodded, but confusion was plain on her face. He smiled. "Alright then. Let's see just how many crises they can handle at once."
Batoya's eyes blinked open to the sound of his commlink alerting. He rose from his bed, groaning as he rubbed at his eyes. He'd gotten only a few hours of sleep, so why was he begin bothered?
"Admiral," T4-12's monotone voice drawled. "There is an issue with the
Charybdis."
His eyes snapped wide. "
What issue?!?" He demanded.
"The interdiction systems are causing irregularities in the reactor," T4-12 stated.
"That's impossible, I compensated for the integration," Batoya said, rising from his bed, pulling aside their drapes, and quickly dressing himself.
"It seems there were areas you overlooked," T4-12 replied and Batoya could have hurled the comm across the room. "Constant interdiction appears to be the main cause of the issue."
Batoya swore. "Take the interdiction field offline and…" He sighed in annoyance. "And contact the designer."
"Additionally, a transport vessel, the
Roaming Venture, has reportedly gone missing," T4-12 said.
"So, a freighter was lost, what about it?"
"The
Roaming Venture was a
Corona-class armed frigate," T4-12 replied. "No ordinary group of pirates could have overwhelmed its defenses."
"The raider strikes again?" Batoya asked.
"I calculate a seventy-eight percent chance of that, given the last known locations of the attacker and the frigate. The vessel has been identified as the
Hound, likely under the command of one Lieutenant Commander Den Brystel," T4-12 stated. "I will have his file sent to your datapad."
"Do so," Batoya growled. "And send me ideas for countermeasures to protect our transports. It seems he is not content to relying upon stations alone."
