Fate Denied: A Star Wars SI

[Saphrith]

Aboard the Hospital Ship Haven, 31BBY.

The air smells of antiseptic and soap with bitter metallic hints of blood and sickness. I walk amidst rows of wounded marines and naval crew in their beds attended by a small army of doctors and nurses.

The injuries run the gamut from simple burns, scrapes and bruises, to mass shrapnel from exploding panels and fuses, broken bones, and organ replacements. A fair few crew were instantly killed in explosions, mostly on the Arbilest, Spitfire, and Nightfall. The wounded are treatable with our medical supplies, but the number was beyond even the Beacon's expansive medical bay.

I walk amongst the beds, nodding and gently patting the shoulders of the injured or the medics as I pass by. Duala trails slowly behind me, her own barely recovered injuries keeping her pace slow.

Thanks to her armor, she didn't break anything, but the bruising, burns, and strain of her injuries are going to keep her on light duty for a bit. A few more soaks in a Bacta tank would clear her up, but there's too many others who need it more right now.

"Master Sarat," voices call out one after another in acknowledgment or greeting as we pass. One of the benefits of not actually being in command is that I don't have to do the after action reports that Sagura does. We're hanging in orbit over Rudrig while reinforcements come up to form a new planetary security garrison, a slightly bigger one at that. Rudrig's populations took nearly a hundred thousand casualties, more wounded than dead, from the brief bombardment. The local hospitals are filled to the brim so half the fleet's medical bays are filled with civilian casualties along with the two other hospital ships in the fleet. I wish I could be down there helping, but we're leaving in a few days, and I'm wanted back at Dellalt.

"Master, are you mad at me?" Duala asks bluntly, looking up at me with concern in her aura mixed with a knot of anxiety that twists and writhes formlessly. I pause to look at her.

"No, why do you think that?" I ask her, frowning with concern. Duala shifts awkwardly under my gaze so I hurriedly soften it.

"It's just, well…you've barely said a word to me since you picked me up from the Beacon's medical bay and well…I ran off on my own for a risky mission that didn't even fully succeed," Duala explains, leaving out the part where she'd been unconscious for three days while I helped wrap up securing the crippled dreadnoughts and the system.

I pause to collect my thoughts and push down the instinctive 'yes you were reckless and I would've been worried sick had I not been in the middle of my Battle Meditation' as a bad response.

"It was risky, and reckless, you went off alone on a mission that put you on an enemy warship under a nebulous and risky disguise. And it paid off as well as the rushed planning could have, limited success but barely making it out of the ship alive," I begin, watching regretfully as she deflates with the outline of just how bad an idea it was. I squeeze her shoulder comfortingly and smile happily.

"But at the same time, you did as I would have done to protect innocents on Rudrig. Reckless action aside, it was done with the right intent, that of a Jedi. For that, I could not be more proud," I say honestly. Really, I am incredibly proud of her dedication to being a Jedi and doing her best to save lives. Recklessness aside, good job!

Her aura lights up, flaring brightly with her growing enthusiasm and a sense of relief like maybe she'll get out of this okay and without too much punishment. My smile stretches just a little bit, and she mistakes it for more happiness on my part. Oh no, child. Oh no.

"You will, however, be spending time with Captain Metaras from the 145th to study squad tactics as part of the new schedule I've written up for you," I tell her, watching her aura seem to fluctuate between interest and trepidation. Her excitement of new experience subdued by the part of her that's probably screaming this isn't what she thinks it is.

"My new schedule?" she asks curiously. I hand her a datapad with the schedule I spent the three days she was unconscious designing. She looks at it, and her aura dims deeper and deeper as she reads it. I'm not ashamed to feel a bit happy that I think the message is sinking in.

Early morning training with me, probably fun for her but once she's fully recovered she won't be so appreciative of the pace I set. Then breakfast, followed by squad tactics with Metaras till lunch followed by two hours of meditation and practice of Force techniques and another two working in the hangar to expand her knowledge of droids and maintenance skills.

When that's done, she gets to spend three hours studying various field equipment commonly used by the Rim Alliance. Then dinner and the rest of the night to her own direction. But given our schedule, that isn't going to be as much as she thinks.

"Master, this is a lot…do I really need all of this?" she asks me. I nod in agreement.

"Of course, I've come to realize that the best way to make sure we don't have a repeat is to make sure you know exactly how reckless your actions were. Next time you get into this kind of position, you'll have hours of training telling you how foolish you're being. And maybe, you'll avoid that reckless decision, or at least wait for reinforcements," I explain. She looks up at me with dawning comprehension of the reality behind my smiling face. Then she sighs and turns her head down. I squeeze her shoulder again comfortingly.

"Listen, this is a trust exercise, show me I don't need to do this and I won't do it. We put our lives on the line often, but there's a difference between risking our lives and throwing them away. We don't have a death wish, when you realize the difference between taking a calculated risk to save lives and tossing it away, you'll be free of this schedule," I tell her with a last pat on the shoulder as we continue through the ship with Duala following glumly.

As we walk, I find myself turning away from the path to our shuttle and instead head for a side hallway labeled ICU. There's a silent tug on my heart, an unspoken assessment that I'm needed down here for something. And given the nature of this place, I can guess for what. Duala doesn't ask why we detoured, but I can feel her curiosity reaching out to the source of the disturbance.

The smell of blood grows stronger, as does the antiseptic smell covering it more and more imperfectly, like too much perfume. My nose wrinkles until I almost want to gag at the overpowering stench. The hall leads to a waiting room with another branching hallway and four doors leading off to separate rooms. Beyond I can see ongoing surgery in the rooms, doctors and nurses hovering over their patients.

"Master Sarat?" I turn to the small desk where a nurse sits, filing reports at her terminal. She smiles a bit confusedly at me, obviously wondering why I'm in the ICU. I wonder if explaining to her that the Force drew me here would be met with confusion? Probably, so don't bother.

"What's going on here? I didn't know we had injured who needed surgery," I ask her. We had some more serious injuries, but I had thought they were along the lines of severe burns and impact trauma. The nurse checks her reports as a cover for collecting her thoughts, fair I guess, before responding.

"Flash-cloned organ transplants. Shrapnel tore a few organs apart beyond simple mending. They're going to be in the ICU all day," she says. I nod sympathetically and look back to the rooms where the surgery is still ongoing and reach out. The assorted surgeons and nurses are hard at work while their patients's auras twist and turn nauseatingly through what I can only imagine are twisted and fevered dreams.

"Do you mind if I hang around, I'd like to offer my condolences to the injured and the surgeons?" I ask her. She nods quickly, almost too quickly. I don't bother her any further and find a chair to sit and fall into my meditation. Duala takes a seat next to me.

I reach out for the surgeons, nurses, and patients as well, touching their auras and aligning their flickering candles together. The patients are the hardest, as I feel like I'm trying to reach through a thick sludge to drag people out. The haze of their feverish dreams poisons them, I'm pretty sure their bodies are reacting to the fever to make things infinitely worse for them.

I press forward, grasping for that weak, flickering flame buried deep within their souls to feed it kindling and fuel until it becomes strong enough to maintain itself. That's it, nice and easy, hold yourselves calmly and it'll all be over soon. Their auras calm, and with it, their bodies seem to slowly reflect their calm mental state to the surprise and relief of the operating surgeons.

They're much easier to wrangle into concert with each other, so much of their job is focus and coordination that adding my Battle Meditation is even more beneficial to their skills. I conduct the flames like an orchestra, lowering and raising their spirits as needed while offering what little comfort I can to the feverishly dreaming.

I don't actually know how much I'm helping, but I feel their auras and the way they seem to relax and even strengthen. No idea what dreams, if any, they're facing, but I hope it does something for them.

It seems before I know it the surgery starts to come to an end, and Duala is nudging my shoulder. She's eating something from a small hospital tray. I frown and check the time, has it been that long already? A time six hours later than I'd started tells me it has.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I hadn't realized it would take this long," I tell her softly. Duala shrugs and offers a reassuring smile.

"It's fine, I meditated for a bit and then got lunch. They're moving the patients into post-op now, but the secretary thought to tell you they were looking to be in good shape," Duala replies. So she did understand what I was doing.

"That's good to hear, have our pilots gone looking for us at all?" I ask, belatedly realizing that they had been expecting me to come back promptly after retrieving Duala, and I did not inform them of my delay.

"Your comlink chimed, I answered it for you. They said they were going to do some standard maintenance and relax a little and that we should let them know when we're ready to leave," she says. I flush a little in embarrassment, whoops. At least they didn't seem to be taking it poorly, and I'm not really expected anywhere until after dinner.

"Come on then, I don't think we should keep them waiting anymore," I reply, standing and brushing off my robes. There's no dust, but it's a habit these days. Duala stands beside me and sets her empty tray on a receptacle to follow me back out of the ICU.

It's a little thing done, but if I can use my Battle Meditation for battle and diplomatic functions, then why not surgery? Really, I could use it for a lot of functions outside combat, shame it's such a rare talent.

Our pilots are a bit off-kilter at our return and quickly put panels back on where they had been checking internal systems and doing readings. I wave off their apologies for the twenty-minute delay and make my way onto the ship. When they're done they join us, and we fly from the Haven to the Resolution.

Here the differences become apparent between Hadrim's command of a ship and Sagura's. The Beacon's crew were disciplined, but there was a relaxed atmosphere of a crew mostly from the same sector and worlds. There was a shared comradery beyond being on the same side.

The Resolution is the flagship of a fleet, with officers and crew assigned from dozens of different worlds. It is simultaneously the last stop on many naval personnel's career path and the first step for others looking to jump to command positions of their own. The crew are friendly but stiff in many regards. Formality is enforced more strictly, and there's a bigger sense of regimentation and just a hint of stuck-upness from ambitious officers thinking to run their sections by the book to impress their superiors.

On the other hand, they get the best meals and their rec room's amazing. Flagship privileges I suppose. There's an escort waiting for us when we arrive: two Jedi, a squad of naval marines, and three of the Rim Alliance Special Operatives hanging back by the door.

"Master Sarat, welcome back to the Resolution," a young, baby-faced Mirialan marine sergeant greets me perfunctorily with a crisp salute and firm posture. I smile kindly and bow my head in greetings. He seems a bit thrown off by the unorthodox response but recovers quickly.

"Admiral Hadrim is waiting for you in the conference room. It seems things are changing," he says quickly. I raise a brow, wondering just what could have happened in just a couple of hours.

"I see, thank you sergeant, please lead on." I nod my head to the door. The sergeant spins on his heel with perfect form, and I almost clap. That would probably be ill advised. He might look young, but technically he's probably only a few years younger than me at best.

We march through the Resolution's halls, crew stopping to salute as we pass which is incredibly awkward. I don't have a rank, I'm not a general or admiral or anything, but they treat me as one more or less. I don't know how to respond without coming off as uninformed by performing the salute wrong, tacky, or arrogant. But stopping to bow my head to each of them is time-consuming, and simply smiling and nodding feels lackluster.

Admiral Hadrim is sat at the head of the table with his commodores and sub-commanders about him. He nods when he sees me and gestures me to an empty seat to his left. Duala goes to a corner of the room to sit and meditate.

"Sorry for the delay, I was busy on the Haven," I apologize with a bow. Hadrim nods gruffly, impatiently gesturing me to sit.

"Yes, Captain Bir'dol mentioned you were using Battle Meditation to help a couple of surgeries. Apparently one of his clerks was very concerned about your presence. Think nothing of it, minor as it may be I'll take anything that helps us keep a few more of our people alive and healthy. But things have changed," Hadrim answers. Ah, I suppose she might have worried that my work could have caused problems. I take a seat and Hadrim clears his throat.

"The Admiralty Board is pleased with the action at Rudrig. We destroyed or disabled twenty-six dreadnoughts in the process of battle while losing none of Sagura's taskforce but all of Saftry's. In the long run, this was a success. I have high hopes the Katana Fleet will be getting refitted for some time," Hadrim continues succinctly. Twenty-six of two hundred down and even more were damaged to varying degrees. Better than I'd feared we'd do.

"For the next five days we will be maintaining a defensive position at Rudrig and patrolling the nearby systems until a new garrison force can come up to take over our post. We assume the Katana Fleet will be keeping out of action, but we will not be trusting that until we can confirm they've made no new actions along the Tionese front. In the meantime," Hadrim says and taps a panel on the table that calls forth a star map above the table. The map zooms in on the Greater Tion and then to Dellalt.

"The Admiralty Board believes that Dellalt will be the Hutt's next major target. Reconnaissance has indicated a build-up of forces at Agon Nine, including a Procurator-class battlecruiser. Adding that to the two Azalus-class dreadnoughts with their initial invasion force, they now have three super-heavy warships a jump away from Dellalt," Hadrim adds grimly. Three ships the Rim Alliance has no immediate counter for. The Inexpugnable class is durable but more of a carrier and command ship than a proper warship. A large enough number of Valors and Centurions could beat them, but there's no chance we get to throw our heavy ships against them without them putting their own heavies on to support.

"Another major battle so soon? That's a bit reckless, isn't it?" Maeve'synda asks. The other commodores nod in agreement.

"They're just as inexperienced with full-scale war as we are. Might be they think to hammer blow us into submission. I'm more surprised they're ignoring Dac, the shipyards are still going to be a problem for them," Commodore Abrig replies with a shrug.

"We've got an advantage holding Dellalt, the system's too fortified to be cracked easily. Between the fleet there and the orbital defenses the Hutts would pay in blood for taking it, if they even could," Commodore Amira adds in. Hadrim nods.

"Which is why we are keeping our eyes open for the possibility that this might be a feint. We cannot, however, afford to not take this seriously. If Dellalt falls the Hutts will be able to flank our forces at Wyndigal. That will push the defensive line back to Murkhana, Caluula, and Mintooine, which the Hutts could shift forces between faster than we could at that point and have less prepared defenses. The distance to other worlds of Greater Tion will also be lower, raising the risk of them bypassing our defenses. Which is why the 12th Fleet will be moving to Dellalt in anticipation of an attack," Hadrim says, giving a quick nod to me.

"Master Sarat's Battle Meditation has been clearly demonstrated as effective in turning a smaller group into a reliable fighting force against superior opponents. The Admiralty Board believes that if she were to use her Battle Meditation on our heavy ships, we might be able to confront the Hutt's super heavies on a more level playing field," Hadrim explains, and eyes turn to me. I keep a neutral face, but the idea is interesting.

The firepower difference won't change, but if we can get an accuracy advantage at range, then enough Valors and Centurions working in concert could maybe beat them? Or more likely force a dreadnought to retreat to recharge their shields. Maybe we'd get lucky and cause some fractures in their troops. None of their big fleets are truly unified, being collections of forces from various kajidics. If one of them pulls back, the others are likely to as well.

"What about the Atgeirs? I heard we were getting a trio of them," Maeve'synda says. Hadrim shakes his head.

"We are, but they won't be ready in time for the timeline we expect them to attack, we've only just gotten the crews sent out to begin familiarizing with the warships. This attack could come within the next ten days," Hadrim answers. Then, he turns to me.

"Master Sarat, you will be going ahead of the fleet aboard the Beacon to join up with Admiral Thach just in case our timetable is off. What matters the most is that your Battle Meditation is there to coordinate the fleet in a worst case scenario," Hadrim says to me. I nod slowly, makes sense. I tap my fingers against the desk as a cold feeling begins to settle over me.

Why attack such a heavily fortified position? Are they really that foolish as to think that just because they have three super-heavy warships they can take on nearly three hundred Rim Alliance warships and win without heavy casualties? Something seems off about the entire thing. It's too reckless, too much risk for too little gain.

"I find myself agreeing with the commodores. This doesn't seem like the kind of move the Hutts would be making right now. Not unless they've got something we're not aware of," I say at last. Hadrim looks to me as do his commodores.

"That is something we are concerned about, but without further intelligence we can't begin to say what they might be planning. The Hutts have their council, but they have been traditionally antagonistic towards each other and competitive. It could be that someone more aggressive convinced the others or they're looking to weed out rivals in an acceptable way," Hadrim answers in a completely non-reassuring way. I don't buy it for a second. They've been building up to this for years, and it's far too early for internal divisions to start crippling them.

"Master Clee Rhara's squadron will be there to support the defense as well as six extra wings of Starfighter support," Hadrim continues, which does reassure me a little. Maybe it's just nerves, but I doubt it. I need to consult with the Temple. Perhaps someone else can shed light on the possible plans in motion.

"Will I be sent back to the Beacon for this assignment?" I ask. Hadrim shakes his head.

"No, you'll be sent to the Spirit of Ash to coordinate in safety. There'll be an entire platoon of soldiers assigned to you there to ensure no boarding actions get to you or to evacuate you should the worst happen." Hadrim answers. Well, okay then. I suppose that makes sense, Hadrim and the other commodores continue talking while I continue to think.

They've got a ton of bounty hunter and other underworld types on their payroll. Maybe they've got a crack army of boarding specialists they're planning to unleash, but that makes even less sense. Mass boarding actions aren't really a thing, especially not in a battle like this would be.

A new technology they plan to unleash? Wait, when did Sidious have the Death Star designs? They don't have an Eclipse-like superweapon they've been hiding, do they? We'd notice that, wouldn't we?

If they come out of hyperspace with a superlaser equipped Procurator, I'm going to lose my mind. They better not.

But the Hutts are known for an eclectic and sometimes exotic collection that could include a megabomb big enough to destroy a planet for all we know. The subject of their exotic hoards are popular enough to have their own little genre of literature and filmography, and the Hutts are often eager enough to play that up.

A vague memory of powerful ancient droids in their possession strikes me, but I can't remember the specifics. Hopefully Vexxtal's rampage will have put them off using too many droids, but I'm not counting on it.

"Will I be moving to the Dac sector if this all does turn out to be a feint? The shipyards there are going to be the biggest threat to Hutt victory," I ask. It still seems daft to me that the Hutts would avoid the massive shipyards preparing to churn out heavier warships for the Rim Alliance navy.

"If we can keep them supplied," Abrin whispers so quietly I almost don't catch it. Is the situation that bad? Surely not. Hadrim glances at him, and the commodore straightens, chastened. Whatever the truth of the matter, it's not my place to ask right now. I have my own duties.

"If needed, the 12th Fleet's postings are flexible at the moment. You will need to be ready to move from the Spirit of Ash to the Resolution in a moment's notice if word comes along that the Hutts have changed targets," Hadrim says curtly. I nod, and he takes that as good enough. He doesn't spare much attention to me after that as he outlines planned formations and strategies on a holographic map of the Dellalt system.

I stare at the image, letting the floating icons of the defense fleet burn into my mind. There's a good number of Valors and about half a dozen of the new Mon Calamari cruisers. Add that to the Inexpugnable command ships and the dozen or so Centurions, and we should be okay for firepower.

Despite that, that wriggling worm of uncertainty roots itself deeper in my chest. Something doesn't feel right about this, the Force is warning me of something, but I can't decipher its meaning. A pall has been cast over the galaxy, great obscuring curtains that have left me blind to the movements of the enemy. There is something I'm not prepared for, but without more information I can't even begin to guess at what it might be.

The rest of the meeting is a formality for me. I've no place in it, and no perspective to offer. But I listen, taking in the subjects of battle strategy and formations. Even if I'm not formally commanding anything, I've hope that knowing some of the process might help…somehow?

But, I think I'll be making a call to Naboo about my concerns and see if they have any additional insight. Someone better at this than me might be able to do something.
____________________________________________________________________________

Dellalt, 31BBY. Aboard the Spirit of Ash.

"They're coming," Ambra whispers. The Sene Seeker seemed relieved when I first arrived with the 12th Fleet, but now the Sene Seeker's nerves seem to have once again become frayed by the approaching fight. I can feel it too. There's a scent of distant fire approaching inexorably as if I were standing at the edge of a forest while a roaring blaze approached the treeline.

"Alright then, we'll roll out the welcome mat," Admiral Alroy Thach declares with grim anger. I don't like that he's in command. He has seniority, and he is the local commander, but I can feel the anger at his prior defeat, the fury and desire to avenge himself. It's not a far leap from that to doing something stupid for pride.

"It'll be fine, Viera," Ilena whispers behind me. Tomas stretches further behind her, his wan-shen at the ready. My call to Naboo was answered with equal confusion and uncertainty, but not inaction. Six more Jedi knights including Ilena who happened to be nearby, alongside Tomas, were assigned here to help.

It gives more peace than it probably should, six more Jedi in a space battle, but I still feel like there's something coming.

"Can't you feel the darkness coming?" I whisper back urgently. The distant bonfire is getting closer, and hotter. No comforting flame of warmth and life, this is hot and heavy, scalding and choking, eagerly licking at and consuming whatever it can reach. This is the flame of destruction.

From the bridge of the Spirit of Ash I glance at the nearly three hundred and fifty strong fleet waiting to meet the oncoming attack. There's heavy cruisers, from the big Centurions and fully-armed Valors to the compact Mon Calamari cruisers, frigates and destroyers, corvettes and multiple carriers holding thousands of starfighters and bombers. Master Clee Rhara's squadron is out there as a bulwark against the encroaching darkness, but it feels like it's not enough, levees and dams against a tsunami.

"Ships dropping out of hyperspace," the comms officer turns his head to report. He's a Twi'lek, with scarred lekku and a burn mark on his neck indicative of a former shock collar, aura set in a grim reflection of focused anger. I wish I knew his name, but I haven't had the time to get acclimated yet.

"You're on, Master Sarat," Alroy grunts, heading for his chair. The interdiction mines pull them out far afield, giving us plenty of time to see them coming and plan. Just another signal that this should've been a bad idea for the Hutts to attempt.

So why bother?

The opposing fleet is similar in number to our own. The two Azalus-class dreadnaughts and the single Procurator sit at the center of the fleet, surrounded by their escorts. I sink to the floor to begin my Battle Meditation.

We're fine. We have the defensive advantage and half a dozen space stations bolstering our firepower. So why am I so ill at ease?

A strand of darkness drifts across the tethers of the Force, teasing the edge of my perception with its cruelty and malice. The apprentice? A foolish belief that he could turn the tide on his own? Certainly within the realm of a Sith's foolishness, but even still I don't think the Hutts would've gone for it.

I bite my lip and sink into meditation. I've got a battle to coordinate. I have to trust the others to do their work.

 

[Saphrith]

Dellalt, 31BBY.

Once more, I find myself immersed in Battle Meditation with that same clear sense of untethered connection spreading out from me to encompass the breadth of those under my wing.

In this case, I am carried far from myself across the open void of space to the stretch of more than forty-five warships that encompass Task Force Shepherd. Centurions, Mon Calamari cruisers, Valors, and their escorts pulled together to counter the thrust of the Hutt heavy ships, a challenge the Hutts could hardly resist.

The flame of the crews and pilots of Shepherd blazes with confidence and pride, flushed with an assurance of victory and pain for their hated foe. Really, half my work is keeping them from letting that confidence or hate throw their discipline out of order. A pulling back on the throttle if you will.

Their soft, or less soft, invectives, prayers, whispered words, and oaths come to me in their echoes, flittering by as fast as they come. With them, however, comes the reminder that there is more than just this small force here. Like booms of distant thunder or the crackling of fire just outside my reach. A flare burning even brighter than the others zooms through space as Clee Rhara leads her squadron into battle, tearing through enemy fighters with such ease as expected of an Ace.

Their flames burn brightly in unison even without my aid. All my help does is connect them with lines of burning string tying them so well together that in the Force their flames become almost one.

I feel a pulse in their flames, as if someone had tossed oil onto the fire, sparking it to a momentary burst of power. That pulse travels across the connection and bathes me in a warm reassurance. I smile here in this ethereal presence my mind has been drawn into and almost belatedly I feel my 'real' self match my happiness. She's fine, I'm fine, we can do this.

The thrum of battle is still exploding about me though in such a panorama of sensation crashing every which way like waves against the shore. Waves of fire at that, winking out one after the other so rapidly as to be barely able to be understood. And yet, the tide does not diminish with these trickling losses. Starfighter pilots have the worst casualty rates in these kinds of battles, and there are easily thousands of starfighters just with the Rim Alliance alone. In this vast void there's plenty of room for thousands to be clashing with each other.

My focus pulls back to my body, sat criss-cross upon the floor of the Spirit of Ash where Admiral Alroy Thach is busy listening to the numerous reports coming from the various parts of the battle line. The tactical map is awash with symbols representing ships and squadrons moving this way and that.

The three super-heavy warships of the Hutt fleet hold the center of the Hutt line, supported by thirty Ajuur and Sabaoth-heavy cruisers and corvettes. Facing them are the fully-armed Centurions, Valors, and Mon Calamari heavy cruisers of Taskforce Shepherd.

I hear Ambra call out weak spots in the shielding of the ships, but against ships this big even an advantage like that is akin to pointing out a weak point in high quality Beskar. Weaker does not mean anything without repeated, excessive firepower.

"Reposition four heavy frigates to cover the line here," Alroy orders, highlighting a section of the tactical map. The affirmation is drowned out by the vibration under my feet and the wave of repeating turbolaser fire pummeling forward at targets thousands of kilometers away.

"They're beginning to unfold their line, inform the line captains to prepare for countermeasures," Alroy continues. Warships are drifting up and down in 3D space to adjust their vectors and escape counterfire. Ours begin to slowly move to counter in a carefully orchestrated game akin to dejarik.

I drift back out into the battle, letting my mind refocus onto….well, onto shepherding Taskforce Shepherd. A Valor takes a heavy raking of fire from a lucky strike of the Procurator and twists to shift to the back of the line to recharge. Like a wounded animal in the ocean, the three dreadnoughts begin to focus fire on the fleeing ship, but its navigator is something else, weaving the ship quickly through the net of fellow ships about it that shift to give it space at just the right moment to avoid collisions.

I can't stop the rush of pride and joy at seeing what Battle Meditation can truly do. Hairpin turns through a tightly woven battleline that simultaneously leaves the Valor mostly unhit in the pursuing fire.

The Valor gets to the back of the line and turns around, finding its new place and resuming its fire as the battle continues in a manner much akin to Rudrig. Both sides sling firepower at each other in hopes of blasting their foes, with strategy being relegated to what ships you focus on or angles of attack that give you the best advantage while vying for starfighter superiority.

However, even here that foreboding sense of danger refuses to leave me be. In the twilight of my thoughts it crawls and grasps, burrowing through the defenses I erect against it to endlessly gnaw and poke at my mind with its fears and worries.

A damp cloth rolling over the flame of the Force in my heart, I inhale and count the seconds before I exhale and let the worry wash away like the tide going out. But just as it goes out, back in it comes.

There is nothing to worry about. Duala is on the bridge with me. Ilena would never let her just run off, and if she did, Tomas would be there to stop her….right? I've got an entire platoon armed to the teeth taking up defensive positions on the bridge and in the hallway outside to keep boarding parties at bay and three Jedi plus a Matukai on the bridge with me. No Hutt strike team is getting anywhere near me without being stopped.

So why am I feeling doubt?
____________________________________________________________________________

"Heavy fire coming from the right side of that cruiser, watch out." Clee Rhara acknowledged the flight controller's warning silently. She was already nudging her X-wing out of the way of a sea of fire that roiled and raged worse than a Mustafar storm. Red and green, and even bits of blue shot and arced across her cockpit weaving into a tapestry of color. Dangerous color at that, she pushed down on the stick and spiraled into a dive that put her through a flurry of tracer rounds hungry for her.

She pulled back almost as quickly, twisting right as a trio of Hutt starfighters flashed past her position. The Sabaoth cruiser was hanging in its spot, unleashing its fury upon Taskforce Shepherd with reckless abandon, the three dreadnoughts beside it suffusing the cruiser's efforts with their own undaunted firepower.

"Talon Squadron fall in," she ordered. The Force fell about her like a teacher, guiding her through her movements with calm words and expressive movement. The cruiser was ahead of them in relative terms, its curved and sharp shape alight with energy.

Her squadron was never far from her, but still the speed with which they amassed near her was exemplary. Without words they fell in behind her and darted through the defensive fire of the oncoming cruiser.

"Prime your proton torpedoes, prepare to swerve to the right side and follow my lead," she continued, priming her own torpedo and sinking into the Force. Under the auspices of Battle Meditation it seemed like she barely needed to make an effort, the Force was all about her, and her hands moved without her conscious input to avoid the attacks of her foes. Clee Rhara wasn't going to lie, this was an enticing boon to her and her squadron's abilities.

The cruiser was getting nearer rapidly now as her fighter's engines gunned through the void. Closer and closer, the arcs of green energy began to converge on her ship as she wove her way through the danger. Her R2 unit whistled a trill shriek of warning as a missile lock flashed across her screen. A soft voice urged her to move and so she did, spiraling through the void as a flash of exhaust trail zoomed across the corner of her vision. It wasn't going to be shaken so easily though so she dove closer to the superstructure of the cruiser.

She came within a hair's breadth of the metal structure, the white-gray body flashing past her cockpit. Weapon emplacements thundered before her, from the heavy turbolaser batteries that pounded and shook with each blast to the smaller laser and point defense batteries that pelted after her fruitlessly.

She pulled back on the stick, ascending along the structure of metal, past its curved, nearly oblong shape towards the ascending tower that was the bridge. Two small antennae-like towers crowned the bridge, holding what seemed to be long-range communications dishes. As good a place as any to put them she supposed,

Her R2 unit whistled again that the missile was getting closer, and she huffed.

"Cut power to lasers and redirect to engines, give us a little boost and hang on," she told it sharply. The astromech crooned mournfully but complied, and suddenly she was surging faster towards the crowning bridge of the cruiser. She yanked past and up, climbing the tower with the missile hot on her heels until she arced past the bridge and under one of the communication dishes with inches to spare. She could almost hear the paint scraping off her X-wing followed by the boom of a concussion missile slamming into the communications dish. She zoomed past safely and began to arc around again to the cruiser's right side where a long row of turbolaser batteries were firing away at a Valor hanging just a few clicks away.

"Alright Talon squadron, reform and follow my lead." She waited a few seconds as her squadron fell back in before pulling the trigger on her torpedo. Her activation was followed by eleven more that each surged forward, guided by their internal electronics and the Force. Clee Rhara reached out for her torpedo and nudged it along, past the ECM and point defense fire until it slammed into the row of turbolaser batteries with a great crash. Eleven more followed as she zoomed away. A glance back showed two guns of the warship out of commission and four more firing haphazardly and at staggered rates, lagging behind their fellows. Good enough for a first run.

"Talon Squadron, this is Commodore Keyes, pull back and regroup with Breaker Squadron for their run." Clee clicked an acknowledgment, no words needed for that, and pulled her X-wing along toward the rear of Taskforce Shepherd's line. She could already see a growing number of Y-wings and X-wing escorts gathering under the safety of a trio of corvettes.

On and on it went, making one run after the other with the Force singing inside her a chorus of unified action. Each time the wave of fighter and bombers sallied out, slamming the fury of their bombs into the supporting cruisers. Between each wave, more and more Hutt starfighters charged into the gap, and the cries of the dead and dying crested around her in surging waves of torrential despair and agony. Gunships flit about, dropping mines into the void that while barely a nuisance to a warship are more than enough to blast a passing unprepared fighter or three into scrap with barely a momentary flash of pain that sinks into a cold emptiness.

And all throughout this carnage, there is nothing to show any indication of slowing. The battle rages without end as more die, but more are sent out to replace them and keep the fighting going. Squadrons cycle out for refit and a rest, and new squadrons replace them in a manner fit to keep the battle going for hours.

At some point along the way the flight coordinator directing her efforts changes to a new voice, more rowdy than the other. The orders don't change though: counter enemy fighters here, protect another bombing run, run cover for a cruiser moving down the line, and so on and so forth.

Beneath it all, a pulse of ominous warning echoes through her mind. She couldn't trace it, but for the nagging sensation that there was something wrong. It was damnably akin to the feeling of forgetting something just as you were about to leave for work but without any chance to find out what. She searched the Force for a source of the ominous sensation and only found herself going in circles.

"I don't like this," Evrin Kol, her wingmate, muttered over the squadron line. A chorus of affirmatives followed his words, adding to the uneasy feelings she felt.

"I can't figure out why though, there's too much interference. How in the hell are we supposed to predict our enemies' plans when the Force itself is rejecting our efforts," another Jedi murmured, crowning the unease they had all felt for some time. Master Yoda had oft said the Force grew more and more clouded each day like a deep and heavy fog rolling in. Clee Rhara had barely understood what he meant back then, as she'd only been a young knight on her way to training students and earning her mastery, but now she thought she was beginning to grasp it.

The Sith had returned, and with them a darkness that meant to cover the galaxy.

That was when the pain came. Like jumping into an icy lake, the cold shocked through all the guards she had put about herself and assaulted her senses with cries of misery and torment. She yanked hard to avoid crashing into the side of a Valor and forced herself to double her focus on flying through the maelstrom of battle that surrounded her.

It was everywhere. Pain radiated through the Force en masse, crackling across the void like lightning followed by a distant thunder. This was not the pain of the dying, nor even of the wounded. This was torture, massive and unflinchingly cruel. The pain throbbed behind her eyes, a force that took effort to push back and bring under control.

Her eyes found the distant Hutt cruisers, the dreadnoughts, the frigates, corvettes and destroyers gliding about the battlefield as recognition slammed into her with the force of a rampaging Wookiee.

The Hutts were torturing prisoners aboard their ships, and not just a small number at that. There were likely thousands of prisoners kept aboard the various ships, and their torment reverberated through the Force.

She tasted bile in her throat. The depravity was as staggering as the realization that it was meant for her, her and her fellow Jedi. The Hutts had thought up a counter as cruel as the institutions they championed.

They would do their best to blind the Jedi to the Force, make them retreat from the onslaught of pain and discomfort until they could barely fight and use their abilities to drive back the Hutt onslaught.

"Steady yourselves, Talon Squadron," Clee ordered curtly, and mildly hypocritically, as she tried to steady her own pounding head and furiously beating heart. A small part of her desperately wanted to turn around and lay waste to those ships in the way the Dark Side feverishly whispered she could. It took more effort than she liked to admit to fight it off.

"Following your lead, boss," Evrin Kol muttered darkly as they reformed to prepare for another round.
____________________________________________________________________________

"Cycle them back across the line," Alroy ordered in response to his XO's report. Six ships across the growing battle line began to slowly turn and retreat behind their fellows to continue the cycle of protection.

The battle had unfolded like a flower blooming in the sun, expanding into multiple dimensions, ships above and below cascading fire back and forth in a bright tapestry of colors from more than five hundred ships pounding away at each other.

"Shift and reposition, prepare for another volley," he continued, selecting a spot nearby on the tactical map. The Spirit of Ash began to slowly reorient toward its new foe, leaving the scrap it had dealt with behind. With it came the forty Thranta-class cruisers of its escort, twenty on each flank.

Slowly the viewport shifted to a collection of frigates and destroyers led by an Ajuur-class heavy cruiser. The Inexpugnable's firepower wasn't optimized for its size, but that was for a good reason. In its place, the titanic ship's sensor suite was second to none as well as its targeting computers.

"Battlegroup Fusilade, prepare for targeting data," he said, feeling the tiniest smirk across his face. He'd been forced to retreat before, but this time would be different. He selected one of the frigate escorts to the Ajuur and leaned back in his chair.

"Gathering target data," Lieutenant Salai Kar said, tapping fingers along the holographic display. His gunnery chief did her work efficiently and in less than a minute he had a targeting solution.

He transmitted it along the line and after a chorus of affirmations from his battlegroup he gave the order to fire. Turbolaser blasts flew out in a coordinated orchestra of fire. The volley of green thundered out with a boom Alroy could picture in his mind. The frigate shook under the massed attack. Only a third of the shots hit, but a third was all they needed to do some significant damage.

The frigate reared back, beginning to move to safety as another volley came in and then a third, one after the other in a rain of death. Against a heavy ship like the Ajuur or a Sabaoth-heavy cruiser this wouldn't be doing the same damage. But an escort frigate? Easy pickings.

The Ajuur shifted to protect its escort, interposing itself against the hail of his fire defensively, but the damage was still done. That group of ships were repositioning to meet his challenge all the while the rest of his fleet were pounding into them from their positions, scattering the Hutts' lines of attack.

The thunder of the defense stations added to the volley, leaving the Hutt fleet under heavier bombardment, more so than at Agon Nine at least.

"Their arrogance finally got the better of them," he said at last. There was the possibility that they could still win the day, but not without grievous casualties. The slugs were trying to knock Tion out of the war quickly, but at the costs they were expending now, they wouldn't have a prayer of holding any of their successes. Those dreadnoughts were formidable, but three ships could not hold the Tion alone.

And they had their own surprises lurking, waiting for the right time.

"I wouldn't be so sure, they came prepared enough for Jedi, there's no chance they didn't also come prepared for you as well." Alroy turned his head to Jedi Knight Xan for a moment then back to the battle.

"Yes, their eclectic range of weaponry. I've heard plenty about it, but it's hard to imagine they have some superweapon they haven't used yet. They're losing ships, and the Hutts aren't known for being willing to make too many sacrifices." He'd heard they had a Cal-class they'd gussied up. What a joke that was, but he had half-anticipated them using it to fling asteroids at his fleet or asteroids laden with bombs. Something more than…throwing a fleet at him.

"I agree with that, but something still doesn't feel right," Knight Xan muttered. Her eyes seemed to shift between Master Sarat knelt on the deck and the tactical map as if the answers would appear and reveal themselves, but she seemed as lost as he. A part of that was comforting, that even the Jedi weren't infallible. They could be as off put as he was.

Because this wasn't right. It seemed like a victory that was going sour even as he feasted on the spoils and glories. He was losing far fewer ships than they were, and those he did lose were quickly evacuated. It seemed a decisive victory in the making, but the Hutts weren't retreating. Even if you assumed some of those captains and crews might be fanatical, plenty were mercenaries. Toth's entire unit was a mercenary armada, so why the hell weren't they cutting their losses?

"We're making progress on the Procurator at least," he muttered, turning his glance to where Taskforce Shepherd was hard at work. It seemed like two heavyweight boxers in the prime of their careers going at each other with everything they had. Who would give out first, who would make the first fatal error?

So far, the Hutts seemed to be flinching. Master Sarat's work was doing exactly what they had intended, putting more shots against the Procurator than the three were getting on the collection of warships.

What he really wanted, more than anything, was for those ships to scatter. The minute they moved away from each other in some desperate attempt to savage his fleet as much as they could, Taskforce Shepherd would pounce on the weakest loner and beat it down before moving onto the other two. If the Hutts didn't retreat before then.

He had a number of Valors and Mon Calamari cruisers that could hold the other two off for long enough.

"Do you think the Sith came with this fleet? I don't know what they can do, but I figure they're strong enough to worry you lot," Alroy asked after a time. He felt distinctly out of his depth with all this Force stuff. He knew the Luka Sene, Ambra, could sense the weakness in shields with great effect, and that Jedi had their abilities, which included a degree of precognition, but they were always cagey on how well that worked.

"Maybe, it's hard to tell with all the interference going on. They're torturing prisoners on their ships I think, the pain makes it hard to pick anything out of the fog." Knight Xan nods to the other two Jedi standing guard beside Master Sarat.

"There's a number of adepts, but only two Sith. I personally have my doubts they'd put themselves in danger when they have subordinates to sacrifice," she continued, earning a snort from the admiral.

"Only Two? Must be a dangerous lot to give a couple thousand Jedi trouble," he replied. He hadn't meant it to come off as insulting, but maybe it did? He would happily proclaim his ignorance if asked.

"You're not wrong, but the Dark Side gives powerful boons if you're willing to sell your soul to it. Sidious is something else from what I heard," she muttered ominously. Well that wasn't concerning at all now was it?

It also wasn't part of his wheelhouse, so he really shouldn't be asking, but the exultation of a grand victory was warring with the constant reminder that this shouldn't be happening. It shouldn't be this easy. Why weren't they pressing the attack harder than they were? They had a considerable amount of firepower, so why weren't they using it?

It was almost as if they were locking his fleet into place, fighting a tedious space battle for the sole purpose of keeping him from pulling any more exaggerated maneuvers. But what would be the point of that? He checked the tac map, expecting to see a new fleet of ships coming in to flank his force like the hammer striking the anvil. But they'd know if the Hutts diverted that many ships this way. So what was it? What was the strategy he was missing? Because right now, he couldn't see a damned thing.
____________________________________________________________________________

"I don't like this, I can hardly sense anything with that static," Nidiri complained under her breath. The human Jedi Knight stretched her arms, fingers interlocked as she observed the space battle with furrowed brow. Her dark hair was a wild mess, but that wasn't unusual to Ilena's reckoning.

"Agreed, I fear Sidious has been giving them strategies to fight our skills, why else torture prisoners en masse like this?" Orta-Shin-Kar rumbled grimly. The Nikto scratched at his face and let his hands drift to the lightsabers on his belt. They passed over then crossed together in front of him again.

Ilena almost wanted to tap her boots on the deck but resisted the urge. She closed her eyes against the sound of terminals and keys clacking, orders muttered and shouted around her. The battle was in full swing now and showed no sign of stopping. Yet her fellows were right; this was wrong. The torture, the pain and misery was a constant static in the back of her mind, buzzing around like a torrent of insects risen to a fury.

That unsettled her almost as much as the thought that the Hutts wanted to specifically blind her and the other Jedi to something. Ilena silently thanked the Force that Ara was watching the engine room with Duala and another Jedi Knight. She'd be safer there than here.

"Hey, need some painkillers?" Tomas whispered, nudging her shoulder roughly enough to shake her from her thoughts. She glared balefully at the Echani, smiling with that stupid smug face chiseled from marble. His toothy smirk widened now that he had her attention before he became serious again.

"No, seriously Ilena, you look like shit," Tomas continued quietly. Ilena shook her head.

"It's nothing, just…the Hutts are being bastards." Ilena looked down at her friend, still sitting in meditation on the deck. Viera looked alright. Perhaps she was too lost in focus on the people she was…shepherding to notice the pain in the background. Despite that, she found herself smiling. Her friend would've been a bit too distressed if she was aware of what was going on.

"Are they ever not? You sensing something?" he asked again. Ilena nodded, not sure of what else to say. Tomas sighed.

"Not the first time I'm glad I never trained that particular skill." Ilena choked off a laugh, yeah lucky bastard that he was. He didn't have to deal with this problem.

The Force was twisting, growing darker and darker as the pain from the Hutt's victims spread like an oil spill across a formerly clear ocean. Hatred and anger rose with it, from the victims toward their torturers likely, but twisted amidst the fear was another, deeper note of darkness that made her pause. Ilena narrowed her eyes at the viewport, roving her eyes across the fleet while she reached out as if in hope of figuring out where exactly that was coming from. Viera had suggested the apprentice might have come, was this them? She could barely pinpoint herself amidst the static, much less someone else.

"Nidiri, Orta, do you feel that?" she asked, looking over to the two other Jedi who were similarly off put.

"Yes, a practitioner of the Dark Side is here," Orta murmured, hands now drifting again to the lightsabers on his belt.

"Close too, the dreadnoughts you think?" Nidiri added anxiously. Ilena bit her lip and looked back to the three dreadnoughts. It would be the safest place, but if that were the case then…

"Oh, they're closer than you think, hehe," a new voice growled, raspy and cackling. Ilena smelled ozone and spun, reaching for her lightsaber along with Nidiri and Orta. A curtain of lightning fell over them like a wave of hatred and power. Behind it all, that horrible cackling continued, joyous in its sadism and destruction.

That, Ilena thought with annoyance, was what they were trying to hide.

 

[Calico J]

*Insert "Candygram for Mongo" joke here.*

Seriously, popping up behind Ilena of all people was an excellent way to turn a spec-ops triumph into an embarrassing defeat.

 

[Saphrith]

Dellalt, 31BBY

The second major battle of Ambra's career as an attache to the Tionese/Rim Alliance navy was not going as well as she'd hoped. The Director had assured her she'd be relatively safe, relatively, aboard the flagship. Safely in the rear of the fight and swift to get out in danger.

That had reassured her, as she was not a fighter. She had been trained in basic martial arts by the Sene, and she could shoot a blaster decently well, but that was only for self-defense and restraining potentially fallen brother and sister Miraluka, not…combat.

So the wave of lightning that rolled across the bridge was a surprise, and it was perfectly understandable for her to shriek in fear at the sudden storm of hatred unlike anything she'd ever experienced before. Her knees went weak, and she nearly fell to the floor as she oriented her vision towards the ongoing battle.

Two of the Jedi were dead. Ambra could tell that from the moment she saw them. Their auras had simply evaporated like mist while their bodies slumped. Hateful lightning arced across the deck around them, scorching and tearing into everything they touched, half-melting the deck it seemed.

The only Jedi left standing was Master Xan, holding her ground barely against the onslaught, shielding herself with her lightsaber. Master Sarat was on the ground, writhing as the lightning crackled over her. Yet…Ambra almost lost her train of thought at the sight of a faint golden aura wrapped about Master Sarat that seemed to be weakening the lightning. Not enough to stop it, but enough to keep Master Sarat alive. For how long, she couldn't say.

"Security to the bridge!" Admiral Thach shouted, slamming the alarm button and sending klaxons ringing their shrill tone. The doors opened, and the platoon on the other side began streaming in, blasters raised.

The lightning stopped, and for the first time she got a look at the source of all this hate and rage. It was almost disappointing. He was a human man, tall and almost regal with his short hair and robes. But waves of sadistic intent radiated off of him like a heat lamp, suffocating the bridge in his overwhelming hatred.

"Darth Sidious? How did you get here?" Master Xan demanded, lightsaber raised accusingly. Darth Sidious didn't answer, merely cackled. In a flash two lightsabers flew from the dead pair of Jedi and into his hands, igniting as Sidious raised them into the air. Almost like a signal had been given the battle began anew as blasters fired rapidly one after another in a stream from the platoon of infantrymen streaming onto the bridge. Thirty-eight soldiers augmented by another platoon of Special forces soldiers already assigned to her, near a hundred soldiers in total. Sidious leaped into the fray with reckless abandon, deflecting bolts back at the shooters with sadistic precision, wounding before killing.

More lightning leapt from his hands, darting across the bridge seemingly at random to strike at anyone and everyone. Ambra had to duck her head down as a bolt destroyed the console behind her. Bridge crew and soldiers alike dropped with agonized cries of pain under the onslaught while she kept herself low and crawled to what she hoped was safety.

Master Xan was in the thick of the fighting, dueling Sidious with every ounce of skill she could muster, but to Ambra's sight it was a desperate thing. The Sith seemed an unstoppable tide, Ilena Xan the levee barely keeping the water at bay and straining under the effort. She was sent flying across the deck past Ambra, only to come leaping back into the fray fearlessly.

The other one, the Matukai whose name she didn't know, was right behind her with his polearm weapon and doing just as poorly. He darted in when she was knocked back, and she would come up to support him. Each covered the other's weakness, and yet for all they worked in perfect concert they were not enough, not nearly enough.

"Get Viera out of here! Evacuate the Bridge and send the other Jedi up!" Master Xan cried out desperately. Bodies were dropping one after the other, a cascading fight with no end in sight.

"Of course, all hands evacuate the bridge. Retreat to the secondary bridge and—" Admiral Thach's words were cut off as a bolt of lightning struck him in the face just as he rose from his chair. Ambra winced and bit her lip to stifle the cry as she saw his life explode out of him, his aura stripped away in an instant.

That broke whatever morale remained as the rest of the bridge crew began to run for the door screaming, some in fear, others in pain as follow-up bolts darted out amidst a horrible, sadistic cackle.

Ambra couldn't move. The sadistic hate and anger mixed with the fear to form a solid mass in her gut that froze her into place. She shivered in pain and slumped onto the ground. In the corner of her vision she saw the viewport, cracked from where something had hit it, and saw a fleet in chaos. Taskforce Shepherd was breaking formation, and the dreadnoughts were advancing into the sudden gap and dominating amidst a lack of counterfire or accuracy from the Rim Alliance ships.

Reaching out for a moment got her fear, pain, exhaustion and confusion all reverberating and echoing against each other. Gone was the confidence and disciplined coordination, replaced instead by a horrifying sense of loss followed by a dark cackle.

"What the hell's happening to the fleet?" Tomas muttered, dumbstruck. Sidious cackled and lunged for him, only protected by Master Xan's sudden intercession. Ambra winced at the horrible, horrible cackling as if Sidious were treating this as a game.

"Oh, I'm afraid that the fleet is missing their conductor. A bad accident with some burns. You know how tragic these kinds of accidents are," Sidious mocked, smiling then as if he were a kind grandfather and not a horrible monster of destruction.

"It's simply such a shame that they're losing their heads over this. Someone should really go and have a talk with them, this is an important battle," Sidious said seriously, and his face slowly morphed into a hideous cackle at his own joke. Ambra wanted to puke, feeling his aura boil with sadistic glee at the suffering. The battle resumed from this small reprieve, mere moments in truth but stretched seemingly to an eternity.

Blasterfire increased exponentially as more and more troopers flooded the bridge, spreading out their firing lines and dropping just as quickly as they tried to take cover

Sidious stood amidst this chaos like a king, grandly directing blasterfire, lightning, and saber wherever he pleased with devastating effect. Ambra found herself unable to look away for fear that if she did he would attack and slay her then and there. Yet as she looked, she couldn't help but notice something.

He didn't seem to be all that…there? Ambra didn't know how to explain it as he was certainly there, certainly killing and dueling with reckless abandon, but somehow he didn't seem real. She'd heard human stories of ghosts, spectral and unearthly yet interacting with the world nonetheless.

Sidious seemed the same, as the more she stared, the more she couldn't help but come to the firm realization that he was not actually there. But what was there was real enough to kill. The question that bounced through her mind was whether or not he could be killed in turn? If he wasn't there, then wasn't this all pointless? They were just prolonging the inevitable.

Surely Master Xan knew that, right? Ambra looked again to the fight where the Jedi exchanged a lightning fast series of strikes with Sidious as a burst of lightning nearly toppled her over. The Matukai leaped into the gap, swinging the polearm mightily at the Sith only for it to be blocked almost contemptuously. The answering flurry of strikes pulled the Echani back into a rapid series of defensive moves that barely kept him ahead of the lethal onslaught until Master Xan rejoined the fight.

The surviving troopers were still trying to help and suffering for it while the special forces troopers rushed to grab the now unconscious and smoking Master Sarat. Strangely, some of the special forces troopers had that same golden aura surrounding them that Master Sarat did, how odd.

Ambra knew she had to move and get away, get some distance from the fight if she wanted to live, but she couldn't make her feet move and evacuate her. The fight had been going on for what could only have been minutes, but already the bridge was devastated and growing even more so as the floor seemed to buckle and warp, panels and consoles ripped from their moorings to fling at the defenders.

"Pull back!" Master Xan shouted, having perhaps realized the addition of the infantrymen was useless against someone like Darth Sidious. That momentary distraction earned her a bolt of lightning that knocked her clear across the bridge. Now alone, the Echani found himself the uncomfortable receiver of Sidious's full attention, and although he proved agile and nimble to a surprising degree, it was clear he was being toyed with and soon it would come to an end.

Sidious locked both his lightsabers against the haft of the Echani's polearm and a console ripped from the floor to slam into the back of his knees, buckling them forward. The Echani leaned his top half back, switching to a roll across the deck, but that only left Palpatine to slam lightning into him with enough force to send the Matukai flying into the wall hard enough to leave a major dent. He slumped and didn't get back up. Master Xan returned to the fight alone as the troopers ceased firing and began to retreat with Master Sarat.

Ambra lay alone with the bodies, watching the Jedi Knight fight what would surely be her last, as alone she stood no chance. Desperately she fought the oncoming tide and succeeded only in prolonging the inevitable. A lightsaber came near to severing her arm and only grazed, leaving a light burn and a sharp hiss of pain. A dodge that carried the Jedi back safely earned a lightning stream that left sizzling red skin wherever it touched. Ambra watched struck dumb by fear and awe in equal measure.

What could she do anyway? She was nowhere near capable of fighting in any meaningful way, nor could she heal the Echani and return him to the fight. What was there to be done against someone who wasn't even really there?

Did she know that, was Master Xan aware she wasn't even fighting the real Sidious? Surely she was, but if not…could the knowledge really make any difference whatsoever? Ambra didn't know, but a slow certainty settled in her that if she couldn't muster the will to flee, then she ought at least tell the Jedi that. She opened her mouth to speak and stopped.

Doing so would see the Sith's attention turned to her. There would be no safety then and a lot of death. But if she didn't, then she'd die anyway, right? Ambra steeled herself slowly, mustering the courage before she inhaled.

"Master Xan! Sidious isn't there! He's a ghost!" she yelled. She knew no better way to explain the phenomenon, as nothing she had experienced before gave her the tools to describe what she saw. Ilena Xan didn't turn to face her, yet she felt the words had settled somewhere into the Jedi's mind.

Sidious did though, and the snarl on his face promised a slow, tortuous vengeance. He raised a hand brimming with lightning in preparation to end her, drawing out the action languidly. Ambra envied species with eyes then, as they could close them and not see the oncoming kill, but she was not so lucky.

Then a burning aura, mesmerizing and near blinding to her vision, yet peaceful and warm, slammed into the thing that was not Sidious and broke the lightning that had gathered. The aura of the strange phantom shook, fraying at the seams, and although Sidious turned on Master Xan with a snarl as he leaped back into the fight, it did not seem to truly recover from the damage.

That was enough, she had done her part to help, and now she could go. A courage she did not think she had filled her with enough strength to stand and make for the door and safety. She would escape this place, go to the secondary bridge and continue her duties there. She dashed across the growing no man's land of broken floor and detritus. She maneuvered around broken panels, consoles, bits of chairs, and electronics as deftly as she could. The sound of fighting echoed behind her, ringing like the clap of thunder with each second.

The door was almost before her, a scant few feet and it would open to let her out. She pushed faster as she cleared the last of the shattered consoles, and the door began to open for her, leading her to freedom.

A pain blossomed in her chest, a burning heat that scorched her soul and arrested her movement as she glanced dumbly down to the beam of energy protruding out from her chest as if it were someone else and not her. Strange, she thought it would have hurt more.

"Oh no, you don't get to leave like that, stay, pull up a seat and give witness to the downfall of our valiant Jedi here." Sidious' voice was deceptively smooth for the venom and fury that lurked beneath the waters of his voice. Ambra raised her arms, as if she could push the blade back through.

Then it surged up and Ambra knew no more.
____________________________________________________________________________

Clee Rhara yanked her X-wing down through a torrent of blasterfire and shrapnel that pinged at her shields and left her small fighter rattling with the movement. She grit her teeth against the obstruction and pulled down on the trigger just as a trio of Hutt starfighters crossed her guns.

"Any news from the Spirit of Ash?" she asked, blowing past the now destroyed fighters without care. The fleetcom was a mess of noise indistinguishable from static, fighters flew without direction, crashing or being shot down by their Hutt foes, formation was crumbling, and warships turned to avoid the mass of fire from the three dreadnoughts that was now overwhelming them. Their counter-fire was staggered and slow, when it happened at all, and no one could seem to agree what had happened or why.

Except Clee had a feeling she knew. It came with the slow stench of rot, a seeping smell of death and decay so foul it made her almost gag. Something had happened with Viera and her guardians. Admiral Thach was silent, and the Spirit of Ash only sent back vague and contradicting reports of attackers aboard.

A sense of darkness radiated from the ship, so deep that it seemed an empty chasm when she reached out. The rot stunk from below its depths, creeping claws of death slowly stretching their septic hands up the side of the pit towards her.

"Nothing definitive, they say Admiral Thach is dead as well as half the bridge crew. They keep mentioning a Sith, but not which one," Ahmid Darr replied grimly. Clee Looked up to the ship, sightlessly spinning her fighter to avoid the hull of a cruiser while she thought desperately.

What did they even do now? Her first instinct was to order her squadron back to the Spirit of Ash to board and deal with the Sith, whoever it was. There were multiple Jedi aboard already who should have the situation in hand, but that thought brought her no comfort as an echo of dying Jedi rumbled through her mind.

But if they left, this chaos would grow even more panicked and leave the fleet far too exposed. They'd never recover from it. But her squadron alone couldn't save Taskforce Shepherd, alone they could barely save themselves.

The other squadrons, scattered and leaderless though, they could start there. Losing hundreds of good pilots would be another terrible blow to their cause.

"Talon Squadron, scatter. Each of you pick two nearby friendly squadrons and start organizing them back into line. We're getting cooked out here and I'd rather not give the Hutt Bombers free reign," Clee ordered tersely, selecting two nearby squadrons on her tac map. Her wingman darted away to his own target, and then she was alone with her thoughts.

One second, two, then she passed over the bridge of a Valor struggling against the discharge of the dreadnought and its escorts.

"Eagle Squadron, Razorback Squadron, this is Jedi Master Clee Rhara. Orient toward the coordinates I'm sending you. We're going to reform and clear out these Hutt Starfighters," Clee commanded, banking her X-wing slowly around the Valor until she was once again facing the onslaught of the enemy. A half-dozen Hutt starfighters screamed towards her like slavering beasts before an easy kill, or so they believed. She twisted and cut the engines to spin her X-wing into a spiral that glided through the oncoming laserfire.

Her own laserfire answered, first one, then two, then three starfighters ignited in a flurry and exploded into debris that added to the uncountable detritus already glittering in the void. The other three broke off in a panic, terrified suddenly by her resistance. A pair of X-wings came in from below, their lasers tracing two of the fleeing fighters to their doom. The last tried to turn around, but an X-wing came from behind Clee at high speed and tore it apart in a furious shower of red.

"Eagle Lead, at your service Master Jedi," a gruff female voice rumbled throatily with dry amusement.

"Razorback Two at your call, lead's fighter is down but I'm in charge for now," an airy, lyrical man added. Clee smiled slightly, feeling just the faintest reassurance against the stresses of the day.

"Alright then, form up on me and set your targets. This battle isn't over yet," she said quickly, speeding her X-wing along into the fray. Almost as an afterthought she spoke, the words a promise and prayer both in one.

"May the Force be with you."

They would need it.
____________________________________________________________________________

"No word yet from the Spirit of Ash," Ensign Glarson, his comms officer, reported grimly. The Ishi Tib's face was dangerously dry, or perhaps it was merely the lighting that made the worry on his face seem to be sharp cracks and broken skin. Ishi Tibs didn't sweat, but if they did, Hadrim supposed Glarson would be perspiring greatly.

"Ignore it for now, we have other concerns," he said, making the command decision with some regret. Alroy Thach was a friend, a fellow graduate of the Anaxes school and of the class right after Hadrim's own. He'd seen the Tionese man in the halls of that esteemed institution and had even sat in as a senior advisor to some of his theory and thesis work. A direct, but gregarious and eager man, he was a good man. Now he might be a dead man. Hadrim wanted to reflect on that, but they did not have the time.

Taskforce Shepherd was broken, whether it could be mended was up in the air and dependent on someone getting a hold of the ships and their crews and dragging them into line once more. He'd spoken with the captains and commanders already, and though their discipline cracked with murmurs of pain and tears fought back, the answer was the same.

Their entire crews seemed to have been struck with the same traumatic experience. Gunners fired wildly and without direction, often at nothing and without care for power conservation leaving entire batteries unable to fire more than a shot at a time. Navigation was trying to flee all at once or even jump to hyperspace. Security was split between keeping them in check and dealing with their own lying slumped upon the deck as if the will had been drained out of them.

The Flight coordinators were left lethargic and stuttered, unable to command the similarly frantic squadrons, though it seemed the Jedi Ace Squadron were taking up the slack. Thank the Force for small mercies there, but it wasn't enough.

The Hutts were diving into the gap being created, wedging away ships from the support of their allies and hammering them with fire. At this rate they'd start losing ships one after the other, and then it would be over. The rest of the fleet was fine, but with the Hutts advancing on them too and their strongest thrust crumbling under pressure, it was but a matter of time before they too started to break.

"Move Battlegroup Halberd up to engage the Hutt line and stall their advance. See if we can peel off some of those dreadnought escorts. Battlegroup Wraith can cover the other flank," he ordered. Gladson passed on the orders quickly, at least that was going well, but Hadrim was not nearly satisfied with it.

Hammerheads and Thrantas thundered forward to blast at their opponents while supporting medium cruisers and fast attack frigates came forward to meet Kossaks, Ajuurs, and Chelandons in a flurry of battle.

"Move two wings to support Taskforce Shepherd and the Jedi there, we can't afford to let that thrust shatter completely," he said at last, feeling a sudden weight of exhaustion settle upon him. Everything they had planned for seemed to be going up in smoke or exploding in front of him.

They had Atgeirs coming and between the Corellia and Dac projects they could maybe see a turn-around, but not unless something survived this chaos. Hadrim did not feel hopeless, he never would give up even if it came down to him in a single freighter against the galaxy, but it was hard to put on that brave face for his crew now looking to him as their anchor.

Now if only someone could tell him what the hell was going on with Viera Sarat and her other Jedi!
____________________________________________________________________________

Ilena gasped with pain as the blows kept coming. She backpedaled, fighting the shade of Darth Sidious with every ounce of skill she could bring to bear. Her Master had said she had the potential to be one of the Order's greatest Battlemasters given enough time and effort. She'd believed him and devoted herself to the study of lightsaber combat. Drill after drill in every discipline imaginable, every form known and even some only theorized or styles of other cultures, creating a blend of something all her own.

"Almost a challenge, a few more years might have seen you become something great, for a Jedi." Sidious smiled mockingly. Ilena raised her blade in a defiant guard.

For all Viera's strength and speed, when Ilena fought in earnest her friend couldn't hope to keep up as she switched from form to form seamlessly. Ilena was the best duelist in her generation and could consistently win against her peers. She only lost to those her senior in both age and skill.

Like Sidious, for example.

The Sith Lord saw every move she made coming and countered it with a predator's grace, slithering like a snake through her strategies and into his own. His lightsabers became a series of nigh unpredictable strikes that only her enhanced speed and strength allowed her to keep ahead of. She fled more often than she gave serious battle to the Dark Lord of the Sith. As much as it galled her to retreat from such a foe, she knew too well how poorly it would go if he slew her and was allowed to keep rampaging.

If only she could focus long enough to draw the Force into her again, summon another burst of the Light that would burn away the Sith and harm him more than her bladework could hope to. But it took everything she had just to keep herself alive and still in the fight. A crossing slash of blue and green nearly bisected her but for her leap up and back that brought her safely beyond to rest atop a broken panel. She leaped back to the ground with Sidious already pursuing.

"Here, little Jedi, come and play with me. Your friend is dead or dying and soon you will be too. I regret that I only have this brief moment to play so why not make it last?" Sidious cackled. Ilena didn't answer, could not answer. She could not look away or Orta's sabers would cut her down.

Tomas was somewhere, alive she thought, alive she hoped. The fool knew he was outclassed, but he'd still refused to back off and get help. That had warmed her anyway, the knowledge that it was her he was rising to aid no matter the cost. He couldn't die for that, Ilena refused to accept it. The fool had to live and deal with the consequences of his stupidity! Preferably in good health.

First they had to survive though, a fact that was becoming more and more unlikely with every passing moment. Ilena grit her teeth as Sidious suddenly appeared before her with such speed she could barely catch. She raised her blade vertically before her to block the cross slash, holding the two lightsabers there before Sidious disengaged with a flourish and pounced.

One slash after another, the hissing scratch of battle was everywhere, her heart hammering in her chest with each movement while she fought worriedly to keep herself alive.

"How sad, you know what you must do to defeat me and yet you can't achieve it. How laughable. When you fall, I'll see to the other Jedi aboard, this entire ship even. Doesn't that sound lovely?" he asked sardonically. Ilena grit her teeth, feeling an anger threaten to bubble up at the casual cruelty.

"You've been forced from your Senatorship, exiled to the most rotten corner of the galaxy, forced to work with gangsters imitating conquerors. You are alone, you and your apprentice might win victories here or there, but in time we will strike you down as we have done before. If nothing else, whether I win or die, you've already lost," she answered, because every second he wasted on her was one he wasn't pursuing Viera or doing irreparable damage to the ship.

And yet even that rejoinder was meaningless, the fight had stalled for a few seconds. He had permitted her this comment, the scornful reply as if a teacher allowing his student a single response before destroying his argument.

"I suppose you're right, shall I end this? The game has been amusing, but every good thing must come to an end and yours is fast approaching. Like trying to bail out an ocean with a bucket, you will find the Dark Side's power is…infinite." Sidious smiled in mock derision then lunged at her in a sudden flurry of blows.

A moment, a second to gather an attack. This shade could be hurt by the Force, that she knew clearly. Enough hits would surely dissipate it. But he wasn't going to give her that time. She felt the soreness and the pain in her body and knew it was only a matter of a short time before she was too tired to fight.

Sidious swung for her right, she moved to block and too late realized that it was a feint, in a flourish his blade was nearly at her hands. She had to drop her lightsaber lest she lose it and her hands both. That was it, the end of her fight. Ilena prepared herself for the end and it came with relentless fury.

"Foolish girl! Did you truly think you could overcome me? I have more power within this shade than you will ever know, the Force may be your ally, but it is my servant!" Sidious roared now with lightning blasting from his hands and enveloping her. She opened her mouth to scream and found she had no words to give. She couldn't say anything though her body desperately wanted to scream.

She could almost hear her body beginning to sizzle and burn, her skin popping and blistering under the onslaught. Yet she was not dying, not yet. It was as if the lightning was burning and rejuvenating her just enough to keep the pain going, to draw out every last ounce of agony she possessed. It was across her skin, her eyes, dancing down through her open mouth. Everything hurt, the pain. Oh the pain! She wanted it to end, to have that last moment where her life left her agonizingly, but the Sith Lord would not allow it, would not suffer her to die before he deemed it time.

And then it was over all at once with a sudden blast and a sense of relief she couldn't place. She was not dead, though she faintly wished she was. In fact, she was quite alive enough to see that Sidious was rearing back with a cry of pain, his own lightning cascading up like a geyser to the roof of the bridge. Boots echoed across the metal floor as six Jedi came up before her, lightsabers raised in one hand with the other outstretched in denial. Sidious recovered, but his body seemed to be fading, his legs becoming wispier and less formful.

Another burst of Force Light echoed from the six and hit Sidious, and the lightning guttered out to nothing. His legs faded entirely, the lightsabers of the slain Jedi dropping to the floor. His hands seemed half-smoke, billowing black smog that belched from his body.

He raised bits of broken console and shrapnel from the ground as if to fling them, but as he did the Jedi casually batted them aside or cut them into nothingness. He barely had the strength to attack.

Then, all at once a third volley was released, and Sidious howled his denial as the Force sundered his Shade. Ilena stood, watching with trepidation until it seemed that finally he was indeed truly gone.

Ilena smiled, called her lightsaber back to her hands and returned it to her belt.

Then she collapsed onto the floor.

 

[Calico J]

Seriously, popping up behind Ilena of all people was an excellent way to turn a spec-ops triumph into an embarrassing defeat.

Click to shrink...

Okay, in my defense, I didn't realize it was Sidious himself...

Although, I guess just dropping a pair of grenades at Viera's feet was a little too lacking in style for him? Next time less showboating, bro.

 

[Johnreiter]

WOW. That was awesome. I was seriously scared for Viera, even though I know she is the star and has plot-armor. She is definityl not reday to face Sidious, even with back-up. What a great battle!

 

[Saphrith]

Dellalt, 31BBY.


Her unconsciousness lasted but a few moments because, when her eyes opened again, Ilena found arms wrapped across her chest holding her up. She staggered and drew on the Force. It came slowly, a creeping cool sensation that soothed the burning that was her existence. Like jumping into an ice cold bath it was electrifying. Even that jolt seemed barely enough to reinforce her iron will to keep standing.

She took a step and staggered as her body seemed to rebel against her, arms and legs moving and spasming without her command. She was barely upright, and her chest seemed to heave and shift in places like the flesh itself was moving. That…that wasn't good. She didn't like the feeling, and it sent a wave of nausea through her that nearly exploded from her mouth.

"Check for survivors!" she shouted weakly, sending the six Jedi off to check the bridge. One, an Ithorian whose name she couldn't remember at the moment, stopped and offered her an arm. She took it, feeling herself barely able to stay awake as it was. Her leg jerked out of place and almost sent her to the floor again. She had a job to do here, and she really didn't want to slip under even though the inviting depths of sleep beckoned to her. Her breathing grew labored and painful. She coughed and found a tinge of blood that did nothing to relieve her concerns for her condition.

Ilena glanced across the devastated bridge. Half the floor was buckled upward, and the terminals were broken and scattered about. There was a crack in the viewport, small but present, and scorch marks were dotted across the floor where their duel had taken place.

She tried not to pay too much attention to the corpses scattered about.

"What happened here," Saluin, a Falleen Jedi, asked with concern, picking his way across the ground tentatively. What had happened here? Ilena barely understood it herself, much less how it had happened.

"Sidious appeared as a shade, I don't know how, but we fought…" The full measure of what had occurred hit her like a freighter, sending another shock of adrenaline rattling through her bones that hurt horribly, as the Ithorian gripped her tighter to keep her upright. With it came the remembrance of a very important fact.

"Viera! What happened, is she alive?" she asked desperately, trying to spin her head back to the door where her friend had been evacuated and finding herself with a sudden case of vertigo. A squad of naval marines were tentatively entering to help with securing the bridge. If she were alive, she'd no doubt be trying to get back to the bridge, reckless fool that she could be. But she wasn't dead, she couldn't be.

"Master Sarat is alive, she's being tended to in the medical bay for burns," Saluin answered calmly, sensing her distress. Ilena sighed, that was good. Her muscles relaxed, and she looked over to Tomas slumped across the ground. She could feel him still alive, heart still beating defiantly against the death that strove for him. She smiled thinly, good, that fool couldn't die on her now.

"What's going on with the rest of the crew, is Admiral Thach okay?" she asked softly. Her stomach hurt again as she tried to inhale deeply. Had she broken a rib or two? Oh that wasn't good. She was going to really need a bacta tank and a fair bit of surgery later. Saluin sighed and nodded to a place on the bridge.

"Admiral Thach is dead, as are half the bridge crew," Saluin told her mournfully, pointing to the corpses still littering the floor. Ilena blinked owlishly, she'd seen the corpses but she hadn't really paid attention to them. Alroy Thach was still dead in his command chair, face cracked backward violently.

"Fuck, just…fuck," she muttered, unsure of what else to say. Who would command the battle now? Who else was here?

"Then…Hadrim, we need Admiral Hadrim to assume command, if he hasn't already. Get me a comm, quick!" she shouted, pushing past the lethargy that threatened to swallow her down. She couldn't rest, not yet. Saluin nodded grimly.

"On it, first let's get off the bridge. Keep watch, he might reappear! Force Light at the ready!" Saluin said, giving out orders to the assembled Jedi. Medical teams with stretchers were swarming onto the bridge under the watch of the guards, she tried to wave off the stretcher that came for her but the Ithorian insisted, rumbling deeply. She hesitantly let him nudge her onto the stretcher while he went to help Tomas, though she stubbornly sat upright.

Getting Tomas loaded up was easy enough. The one time that stubborn, overconfident, headstrong…genuine, kind fool gave her no trouble was the one time she would've preferred he didn't. His inane quips and constant poking would've been welcome now. She was lifted off the ground, her body seeming to settle as she was carried off the bridge. As she did, one of the Jedi handed her a comm to her. She wanted to give it back, let them do it and have her slip off to sleep, but she had her duty. Everything hurt though. She could see the hint of burns creeping from under her tunic in strange tree-like patterns, and it was strangely sticky as if stuck to her skin. She'd probably need to have it cut off of her and just the thought made the nausea return and almost overwhelm her. The Ithorian put a comforting hand on her shoulder, she raised the comm to her ear and sighed heavily.

"What the hell is going on over there? The fleet's in chaos and no orders are coming through," Hadrim demanded angrily the minute she had the comm on her ear, Ilena almost snapped at him.The pain she was suppressing reared its head up again and burst at the walls she put around it. Her head was spinning, and she was shaken beyond anything she'd experienced since Coruscant, glancing at every shadow. But he was more in the dark than she, and they were out of time. So, she exhaled painfully and put on her best face.

"Admiral Thach is dead. Darth Sidious appeared on the bridge and attacked us. Master Sarat is currently being treated for severe burns on the medical deck, the bridge is destroyed and half the bridge crew with them," she listed their problems off tersely. Silence, a long moment that seemed fit to stretch on eternally. For a second she was half-worried he'd been killed as well.

"Devils take them all, fuck! Alright then. I've assumed temporary command, this just makes the situation clearer. The Spirit of Ash should have off duty bridge crew and a secondary bridge. Get them situated and prepared to receive orders," Hadrim ordered firmly, his anger sapped away in a split moment followed by a resolute determination to keep going. He had to now, for all of them.

"Taskforce Shepherd has fallen apart, what the hell happened there? Is Master Sarat still coordinating?" he asked again after a moment. Ilena bit her lip then cursed herself when a flare of pain arose.

"Her Battle Meditation was interrupted. I think the pain from the attack must've washed over the taskforce and panicked them. I…don't know what can be done to reorganize them quickly," she answered worriedly. Melds and strong Force bonds could often cause pain in every member if one were to die or be seriously hurt. Battle Meditation was a very thinly understood technique. Few were the Jedi who had it, and fewer still the times it was needed and used. Maybe this was always a risk you took putting so much of yourself into others?

Mizra was the clearest example in her mind. The accounts were odd, a Jedi Coordinator killed in the midst of their Battle Meditation and an orderly retreat turned into a mass slaughter with hundreds of Jedi defections to the Sith and countless slaughtered. It seemed a similar thing was starting to happen here. Taskforce Shepherd was only a portion of the fleet, but they held a number of the heaviest and most experienced crews. Their loss would be devastating.

"Then get her to reorganize them quickly. The tide is turning and every second wasted will mean more ships lost," Hadrim ordered gruffly. Ilena almost shot back again at the callousness, but he was right. This was no time for rest.

"I don't know what her condition is, she was unconscious when they dragged her from the bridge," Ilena replied. She could be comatose for all Ilena knew, but that black thought was expunged quickly.

"Do what you must, tell the medical staff to use whatever stimulants they need, but I want her on that bridge and coordinating the fleet within the next thirty minutes," Hadrim insisted. Ilena bit her lip, feeling the room spin for a long second, imagining having to get her wounded friend back into the fight without time to rest.

"Yes Admiral, I'll see it done," she answered. He cut the channel and left her with her own dark thoughts.

"Seems like we're in a bit of a bind," Tomas grunted suddenly, silver eyes cracking open weakly to stare over at her. She smiled wanly, looking to her right at his gurney. It seemed he was in better condition than she'd thought. She could almost reach across the distance between their gurneys, but she thought better of it.

"When are we not? But this is far from over yet. We've pulled off miracles before, what's one more?" she asked him. Tomas laughed and then groaned from the pain etched across his body, stilling to silence it.

"Don't overexert yourself. Get some rest already, won't you?" He opened his mouth, a crack about her condition on his lips, but he thought better of it and let it slide, chuckling. His eyes closed, and he seemed to slip off to sleep. Saluin drifted close to her stretcher as they approached the elevator and leaned over to whisper in her ear.

"Are we sure that Sidious can't do that again?" Saluin asked once they were in the elevator. Ilena didn't have a clue what had happened there, how he could project himself so far and still maintain the ability to fight like that.

"I don't know, I've heard of projecting an image of oneself through the Force, but fighting with it and at a range like this? I assume it costs a lot, but who's to say if he couldn't. Be on guard," she told him. Not that she needed to, they were looking about already, watching for any hint of a forming projection.

Maybe he couldn't do it again, now. But what about later when they were asleep? Could he appear in the room with the Admiralty Board and kill them? What about the RA Council, or Queen Airal's court? They didn't have nearly enough Jedi to spread out and cover all of the possibilities.

"We'll operate on the assumption he could appear at any moment then until we know otherwise," Saluin answered eventually. It was all they could do, and damn it, the feeling of helplessness stung. She'd be sending word to Naboo and Kamparas for advice afterward. This was too much of a change to the game.

The medical deck was furiously busy when they arrived, troopers standing guard while nurses and doctors rushed about tending to the wounded. Tomas was taken off by the nurses to triage and she had to fight the nurses trying to take her off as well. She wasn't going anywhere until she'd seen Viera and ensured she was well. It was awkward, insisting she was alright while her body occasionally spasmed and she could barely stay awake. Her chest was beginning to hurt with every breath she took, each one becoming more and more labored from pain. The orderlies helped her past the defensive barricades to where Viera was staying.

Viera's room was reasonably big, holding a bed surrounded by medical equipment, a bacta tank in the corner and a desk for an attending nurse or doctor to keep updates on treatment. Trust a ship like this to have a VIP medical room.

Viera, thankfully, was awake and talking. On the other hand, Ilena almost found herself dumbstruck by the condition of her friend.

"I'm fine," she heard Viera insist, only to hiss painfully as the nurse poked at the burns across her body. She'd been stripped down to her undergarments to tend to her injuries while the special forces guards in the room looked every other way defensively.

"You're not fine, Viera," Ilena found herself saying, though she also had to fight her own surprise at her friend's condition. Her upper body was covered in red, tree-like burn marks that spread from her chest up to her arms and around her back like great tree roots. There were swollen, red spots on her arms and legs that looked like the nastiest sunburn imaginable. But besides that and what seemed to be some flaky dead skin, she seemed almost okay. Hurting to be sure, but somehow restricted to a few heavy burn marks and some swelling. She seemed remarkably okay.

Ilena was pretty sure that a few of her ribs were broken and her tunic was lightly fused to her skin.

For how long she was under Sidious' lightning, it was a minor miracle. She'd feared her friend would already be in the bacta tank dealing with the outer layer of her skin being burnt off. A quick glance at her robes showed them in similarly surprising condition. They were Armorweave which was quite resistant to heat, but the Force had a way of bypassing such limitations with enough effort.

So why was she in such good condition? Viera turned to her, annoyance clear in her body language that only softened at Ilena's own poor condition. She needed to rest herself, but like hell did she have the time or luxury. Not with Sidious possibly able to go at them again. Viera stood from the bed, ignoring the nurse's efforts entirely to walk over to her, and kneeling, or trying to. She almost fell over from a sudden spasm of her muscles. Viera slowly brought herself to the floor and winced from pain. She raised a hand as if to rest it on Ilena but thought better of it.

"Ilena, what happened! I felt something, a disturbance on the bridge, but by the time I began pulling my focus back I was getting shocked." The question was more a demand than a request, but Ilena merely crossed her arms. She immediately regretted it and winced in pain.

"Sidious appeared behind us and attacked. I don't know how…but it took everything we had to drive his shade off," Ilena admitted finally. Even around the face mask covering the upper part of her face, Viera's face turned white and pale with each passing second.

"Orta and Nidiri?" she asked softly, noticing the pair's missing presence. Ilena shook her head. Viera had known that already, but still the news settled in the slump of her shoulders and the downturn of her lips. The sadness drifted across her like a thundercloud, outpouring its grief.

"They're one with the Force," Ilena whispered. Viera nodded and looked back to her, expecting more.

"Admiral Thach is dead too, as are much of the bridge crew. But that's not the worst of it, your Battle Meditation was disrupted and now Taskforce Shepherd is collapsing. There's no coordination or discipline, and if nothing gets done then they'll be annihilated," Ilena told her. Left unspoken was that the rest of the fleet would soon follow.

"I assume Hadrim needs me back in action," she whispered, and Ilena nodded regretfully. She didn't want to send her friend back out when she had barely even had the time to be tended to, but they couldn't afford to wait anymore.

She saw Viera's face harden beneath the mask as she turned to grab at her robes. The nurse tried to stop her, but Viera was twice her size and was not even phased.

"Master Sarat, your burns are in no condition to dress. You're likely to rub off skin! You'll be fighting infections for the next month!" she insisted desperately.

"What? Would you rather I march off to the secondary bridge in my undergarments? I don't think that would be very helpful to anyone," she half-joked, tugging her pants on with a wince and reaching for the tunic.

"Besides, I can't get sick. The Force'll just purge anything and immunize me to it. I'm not worried about infection or illness," she continued, tugging her tunic on quickly.

"Your nervous system has taken a serious hit, we don't even know what might happen long term, you could have nerve damage for the rest of your life if you don't get into the bacta tank now!" the Nurse added with concern. Even still, Viera waved her off.

"I'm sorry, but I've got work to do still. I'll take the best painkillers you have that won't impede my mental faculties," Viera replied simply. The nurse pursed her lips in concern but sighed and seemed to acquiesce.

"You couldn't just do the Battle Meditation from here, on this bed?" the nurse suggested desperately. Viera looked around the room.

"And if something happens again? The secondary bridge is isolated and secure, the troopers will have an easy time defending it as will my Jedi guards. If Sidious reappeared here, they'd be stuck trying to protect the bed I was resting in with no room to maneuver. At least on the bridge there's more room to fight," Viera countered, earning a frustrated sigh from the nurse.

"You're going to need a lot of treatment later when this is done. Right away, do you understand? You're looking at serious calcification unless you get into a bacta tank quickly," the nurse warned as she began calling someone on the comm. Viera didn't smile but nodded her head.

"If I'm alive to lament my suffering, then I'll be content with taking whatever trade off. You can gloat at me later if you want," Viera answered grimly. She tugged at her robe and tunic with a wince of pain at each moment. Ilena was sympathetic, burns hurt, and even using the Force to suppress the pain wasn't absolute. Ilena felt her own pain threaten to bubble up to the surface again, reminding her of her own condition.

As the nurse left, Ilena told her to bring back another stretcher. Even if Viera went, she wouldn't be walking the whole way there. The nurse nodded back and hurried out.

"How in Ashla's name did Sidious get aboard the ship," Viera muttered, voicing Ilena's own worries.

"I don't know, I didn't even know he was there until he said something. He could've stayed silent and slaughtered us before we knew it. I barely saved myself in time," Ilena answered. Viera sighed deeply.

"A Sith variation of Force Projection? I'm not sure, it must've taken a heavy toll on his stamina though," Viera mused. That explained everything and yet nothing at all. Why now, were there limits to be exploited, defenses they could make? She didn't know, and that scared her more than she liked to admit.

"A question for the more scholarly types. Maks can do some research with Kamparas for any records of prior usage," Ilena muttered.

"Once the nurse gets back, you take my place here till the battle's over, Ilena. Saluin and the others can watch over me for now," Viera ordered just as the nurse came back in with two orderlies behind her. Ilena opened her mouth to protest but the nurse was taking over, practically commanding Viera onto the stretcher while she prepared an IV, and the guards and Jedi were working out the escort and a new defensive plan. They'd have to assign more bodyguards to her now, practically surround her at all times facing every way to keep a sight line.

But what if he appeared in the reactor room or somewhere as critically important and just detonated that? They'd need more Jedi, dozens of them all trained with Force Light and skilled enough to hold their own while the others readied.

The sudden weight on her shoulders was dizzying, and she almost didn't notice when Viera left. The nurse pushed her to the bed, and letting it happen was almost blissful. She fell back and slipped off into sleep almost as an afterthought.
____________________________________________________________________________

I have to fight falling asleep on the gurney ride to the secondary bridge and have to settle for Saluin giving me updates on my padawan and the battle. Thank Ashla, Duala didn't rush up to the bridge to help, and that I had the good sense to have her and Ara assigned somewhere out of the way. Sidious would've killed her as an afterthought.

I don't want to think about her dying to protect me while I was stuck in a trance, nor while I was unconscious and unable to help. The dizziness I feel causes me to forcefully still myself until it passes, and then my muscles spasm slightly against my will. The weakness and dizziness is overwhelming, my head is spinning, and I don't know what to do about it.

Nothing hurts as the painkillers kick in, but that isn't the same thing as being okay. I am not okay. I can feel my body jerking and spasming occasionally, my back rising suddenly in a spasm then falling back down with a pained grunt. Oh the pain, there it is. I cough roughly.

"Do you need anything, Master Sarat?" Saluin asks with worry. I shake my head and try not to think about Nidiri and Orta. They're dead now, dead defending me when I'd previously chuckled at the thought of anyone getting close enough to me to actually threaten my life.

"I'd love some good whiskey, or any alcohol really. But obviously I can't drink now, thank you though," I tell him mildly.

What the fuck did Palpatine do? I'm wracking my mind trying to figure out what he did and how. The Jedi kept an archive of the abilities they encountered the Sith performing, but not one of them lists a kind of projection that would allow him to send a shade out to fight me. Much less with the power needed to do all the damage he did!

I can't think of it, which means it's something I've forgotten. Or something I never knew about, but I knew a lot. Could it be something that was never listed? I mean, the old Expanded Universe didn't write about more than one percent of the worlds, nations, and history of the galaxy, but that doesn't mean they didn't exist. And a technique's existence or non-existence in the record was only determined by whether or not some author wrote it down.

There could be some technique the Sith have that I would never have had the chance to know about or prepare for. I fight off the shiver of fear. For so long there was a…reassurance that I at least could anticipate things that might happen, if not predict or prevent them.

"Jedi on deck!" The door swishes open, and we're here on the secondary bridge. It's not nearly as impressive as the main bridge, small and boxy, and even more crowded now with my stretcher, the six Jedi, and the special forces soldiers taking up defensive positions in the room. The crew here are a mess. Some of them must have been on the bridge when Sidious attacked, and a fear as dark as the deepest pit lies over them like a pallid shroud. They split their time between their terminals and glancing back to make sure there's no one there. The acting captain is a mousy Mirialan woman who looks like she has no idea what to do.

Having an Admiral aboard, a ship captain, and an executive officer below him in line for command in addition to other senior crew probably doesn't prepare you for the sudden propulsion to command. She looks at me gratefully, as if I'm somehow going to save all of this. Maybe I am, who knows?

"Master Sarat, welcome to the bridge," she says quietly. Her words seem awkward and unfocused, like they're recited from rote memorization even though the situation really doesn't fit the words. Still, I smile reassuringly.

"Thank you, give me a moment to get situated," I say, forcing myself to sit up amid a wave of dizziness. I really don't like this. My head is spinning, and my body is weak and sore, the spasming making my sore stomach even worse. But once I get into a meditative posture, I can ignore it and let all of it fall away.

I exhale and begin steadying my breathing. A spasm causes me to jerk a little, leftovers of the lightning that tore through me. I groan softly and sink into the Force.

That warm sunlight stretches its fingers through my skin, causing me to smile slightly despite the dark situation. But as I reach out and the bridge begins to fall away, I find myself seemingly alone. My presence stretches out to the fleet. Taskforce Shepherd is a mess, akin to a band director leaving and coming back to the choir having dropped their instruments and scattered them about, with some vainly trying to collect them while others lie despondent on the floor or run wildly about without rhyme or reason. The weight of the problem slams into me, and I feel strangely hopeful.

This isn't over yet. This is bad, but it's manageable.

I begin reaching out to them again. At the touch of the Force I can feel their aura's ping and stretch out towards me hesitantly, little flowers reaching for the sun after having it cruelly yanked away. I can almost imagine the quiet question on their lips. Is this real, or some bad joke?

It isn't a joke. I press on, taking hold of their auras until they bloom and brighten then settle into a slow, rising confidence. A second wind breezes through the fleet. Bodies stand up, and I can almost hear the sound of their boots on the deck. Panic simmers down to a much more manageable level, though it doesn't leave completely.

Come on, come on! You're soldiers, this is what you do. If we don't recover and reform, then this battle is as good as lost and the whole of the Greater Tion will be opened further to their strikes. I once again feel like an exasperated mom or teacher ushering around children, some of whom want to do everything but what they need to be doing and others who will scatter off into any other effort without supervision.

One of the ships' bridge crews is especially a mess, split between rank panic and desperate determination with each warring against the other and bringing the lot down. I reach out for the panicked crew and gently soothe them, finding the comforting words drifting quietly from my lips to usher them back into line.

Their auras react fiercely, some happy, others despondent, still more angry and accusing, as if blaming me for leaving them. The translation of complicated emotions is hard to parse and sometimes confusing even when I can, but they're not wrong. Trying to impart through the Force that I really wasn't trying to is even more difficult, but still I reach for them, trying to pull their auras up and coax the flames of their heart to burn in tandem with their fellows again.

Come now, stop sulking and go play with your friends. There's a battle on, and you don't want them to lose because you were sulking now do you? Bad things happen, but you gotta keep going and work through it.

Some are a bit too enthusiastic, the return of my presence like napalm wanting to burn up until nothing remains. I have to yank them back hard, pulling on them to settle down, and sure enough the panic underneath their rage reveals itself like a cloth pulled away to reveal the stained wood beneath.

Taskforce Shepherd is indeed in a mess of conflicting emotions and drives, and pulling them back into a semblance of order is a more difficult challenge than anything else I've done today. But in the end, they are soldiers and used to taking orders, even difficult ones.

We're losing this battle, but it's not over yet, not by a long shot, and I mean to give us the chance to win it.

 

[Thunder999]

WOW. That was awesome. I was seriously scared for Viera, even though I know she is the star and has plot-armor. She is definityl not reday to face Sidious, even with back-up. What a great battle!

Click to shrink...

It'd be an unlikely direction, but with the characters introduced so far the story could probably work even if she died. She's already less personally involved with most things.

 

[Fellow Human]

Is offensive battle meditation for Siths or old republic Jedi? I've read in a couple of other fics that BM was only half effective in Clone Wars coz the other side were droids, but to organics it's possible to seed doubt, fear and discord.

 

[Saphrith]

Dellalt, 31BBY.

The structure of the battle above Dellalt had markedly changed in the past hour. With Taskforce Shepherd in disarray, the three Hutt Dreadnaughts broke containment and had begun to wreak havoc on the Rim Alliance fleet, barreling aside unlucky ships in their path towards the defense space stations orbiting Dellalt.

Lines of Thranta-class cruisers and fast attack frigates found themselves under the withering fire of the dreadnoughts guns while Valor and Mon Calamari cruisers on the line worked desperately to halt their advance.

Elsewhere the Hutt Ajuur and Sabaoth heavy cruisers followed behind to fill in gaps of a Hutt advance. As the fleets drew closer together, turbolaser fire became more and more accurate and brutal. Guns pounded against each other, and like ancient armies of old, the Rim and Hutt 'lines' met in a melee of sorts.

Starfighter superiority at least still remained firmly in the realm of the Rim Alliance. Fighters tore through space leading cover for the following bombers that destroyed smaller, unluckier frigates and corvettes and damaged turbolaser batteries on bigger ships. Small though it was, the difference between victory and defeat seemed to hinge on these small-scale actions.

Taskforce Shepherd found itself almost enveloped by the dreadnoughts escorts that remained behind to finish their grisly work. Sabaoth and Ajuur heavy cruisers, Kossak frigates, Chelandion light cruisers, and Batil gunships alike formed grim lances of death and destruction.

When the Battle Meditation rejoined it was a tonal shift that echoed across the void. The Starfighter squadrons recovered first, the work already halfway done by Clee Rhara and Talon Squadron. They slowly but surely began to turn the area around Taskforce Shepherd into a secure zone for the wave of bombers that came in to reinforce at Admiral Hadrim's order.

Slowly, the capital ships too began to rally, some damaged heavily. They turned their guns back in unison onto the remaining force left behind to handle the seemingly disorganized and 'in the wind' force.
____________________________________________________________________________

"Orient all starboard guns to that Kossak frigate, port to the Ajuur," Captain Korandon ordered to his bridge crew, breathing a sigh of relief at their quick obeisance. The Comet's shields were just starting to recover, their hull was breached on two decks, and his hangar was blocked off with a mountain of debris the engineers were only starting to begin clearing. But despite all that, he had a functional crew again who were returning to work with only the slightest jitter to their actions.

The lingering effects of whatever had happened remained, but they were at least able to focus on their work and coordinate again. Korandon would take whatever he could get.

"Batteries charged, targeting vectors locked, firing," Ensign Habra reported, and then his viewport was lit up by lances of energy. The Comet's turbolasers were joined by many more, and at once the frigate seemed to be pushed back under the force of the impact, shields buckling then breaking as more power tore through it. The Ajuur fared better, but it was shifting for a safer angle while on the tactical map a wave of fighters and bombers soared after it to follow up the attack.

A familiar sensation, a comforting one, fell over him again. It reminded him of when he was a young child on Daslkehnt, helping his mother haul in the fish traps on their little farm. She'd take their catch and make little fishcakes smattered in the rare seasonings they could afford. He remembered the savory taste, mixed with his mother's soft singing and then his father stomping in with mud on his boots from the day's work in the fields with his older siblings. The feeling spread across his arms and to his fingers until he shivered reflexively at the sudden contrast. His eyes found the tac map where a trio of allied ships were shifting to cut off the Ajuur's escape, and the heavy cruiser seemed to shake under the bomber's relentless stings.

Looking at the map now, huh…the Comet could get a pretty good line on the Ajuur's engines if they just moved forward a little. Korandon shouted orders quickly, his nav officer responded immediately, and the Comet began to accelerate after their prey.

"Divert all unnecessary power to the shields and standby. Get me firing vectors on those engines and prepare to fire on my signal," he said quickly to a chorus of affirmations from his crew. Turbolaser fire shook the Comet, but the Valor's shields held. Ahead the Ajuur found itself facing a trio of ships, two Mon Calamari cruisers and a Centurion, all plugging away at it.

"Adjusting course, twenty degrees by fifteen," Ral'dot hissed, shifting the Comet ever so slightly as now the Ajuur was turning again. Their little ship followed it closely, nearing it until at last his gunnery officer gave the word, and Korandon clenched his fists.

"Open fire on the engines," he ordered sharply. Thunder rumbled through the ship as lances of turbolasers tore forward into the engines of the Ajuur-class heavy cruiser. The shields of the Hutt cruiser, damaged already, shattered. The successive shots broke off parts of the engines, damaging them in volley after volley until at last a series of turbolaser bolts slammed into the Comet's rear from supporting ships.

"Engines, full speed ahead and bring us around to rejoin the main line," he said. They'd gotten a little out of line, but that cruiser being trapped was well worth it. The Comet sped forward, turning to bank around the wounded cruiser for cover and peppering it with fire as they went. Combined with the trio of other warships the effect was striking. Metal warped and buckled, and bits of debris exploded off or vented out of breeches alongside numerous bodies of crew unable to escape in time.

By the time the Comet rejoined the line the Ajuur had ceased firing back, for all intents and purposes out of the fight. All was not well though, and from the tactical map he saw the Oracle's mark vanish suddenly. The Mon Calamari cruiser had been hit particularly hard in whatever distortion had rendered them inert.

"Captain, bring the Comet around to this point." The message from the Resolution came with a ping that transferred to his tac map, highlighting a point just behind the Howitzer. A defensive position, tightening the line.

"You heard the Admiral, prepare to move." The rest of cruisers around them began to move as well, slowly coalescing into a semblance of formation again. But, formation or not it wasn't going to bring the three dreadnoughts back from where they were tearing into the fleet. This wasn't defensive; it was a wedge forming for a push. Korandon smiled, feeling a hunger for revenge deep in his chest.

Last roll paid for all as they said.
____________________________________________________________________________

"Haxander, Eye of Kossos, and Breaker are out of commission." Hadrim listened to the report with an ever souring mood. Tap, tap, tap went the fingers on his armrest while he observed the tactical map and the ever worsening situation. TaskForce Shepherd had been reformed by Master Sarat's handiwork, but it hadn't changed the fact that the Hutt dreadnoughts were no longer contained. Off they'd gone, scattering themselves across the lines of battle.

The mess of Thranta cruisers, Republic-class medium cruisers, and other lighter vessels were not nearly capable of standing up to a dreadnought's heavy fire, and all their vaunted mobility availed nothing if Hutt warships moved into the gaps they left. His battle line was shot with gaps, and he had no idea how to plug it. Follow behind and attack the gaps with TaskForce Shepherd? A fruitless endeavor, there were three scattered dreadnoughts to chase, and they weren't really holding still, just drifting like those primitive farmers who still walked up and down their fields with scythes to collect the grain. It was treating the symptoms and not the disease.

But at the same time, how was he going to keep those dreadnoughts contained without scattering TaskForce Shepherd into three smaller, more isolated forces? Three isolated forces that would each be too weak to do much and would be subject to envelopment and destruction. Letting them go was impossible too.

Two CR90's began to list under the heavy fire of a dreadnought, moving to escape, but only one managed to slip behind a Valor for cover. Two more ships down.

And that really didn't begin to consider the Hutt heavy cruisers. Their Ajuur and Sabaoth-class that were either trading fire with Taskforce Shepherd's forces or making further gaps in the line and poring through to flank his ships. He had heavy ships outside Taskforce Shepherd, but they weren't concentrated, either trying to stem the dreadnoughts tide or go after the heavier cruisers to offer some measure of defense while the rest of the Hutt fleet advanced.

At the least they were still giving as good as they got. A Kossak frigate exploded while a Chelandon cruiser listed from a massive gash in its starboard side. It wasn't completely one-sided, just leaning that way.

What to do, what to do. His tapping grew louder, as the clock was ticking and not in his favor. He exhaled roughly and closed his eyes for a moment. He would have to retreat. There was no other way about it. He was losing too many ships and not taking enough of theirs to justify staying in the fight, but it galled him. He hated the thought of abandoning Dellalt and its nearly one billion inhabitants to the whims and mercies of the Hutts.

But they had two army groups on the planet, five hundred thousand professionals plus millions of reservists and militia. They had a planetary shield generator to protect from bombardment and enough fortifications to vex the Hutts for a while if they decided to land. They could hold ground. If he committed for too much longer, they would lose too many ships and too many experienced crew members to even consider retaking Dellalt…anytime in the next year.

They couldn't just jump to hyperspace though. They'd need to alert Dellat to their plans and let the orbital defense stations evacuate. Then somehow organize a retreat that kept their line in good enough order so they weren't isolated and cut to pieces. Easier said than done, those dreadnoughts were causing problems.

He needed a distraction, something to turn their gaze away from his ships. Even if they didn't move, distracting their gunners would be enough.

"Alert all taskforce leads to prepare for a general retreat," he said at last, almost able to feel the shock and dismay permeating through the bridge. Another casualty report comes through, two more Thranta's and a CR90. That broke the malaise and quickly the order began to circulate through the taskforce leaders.

"Defensive pattern, consolidate the line and launch remaining fighters. Let's give those cruisers something to think twice about before they think about advancing on us," he directed, leaning back in his chair resignedly.

He looked to the Procurator-class Battleship framing the center of the battleline and stroked his chin. Then he looked to the tactical map. The two Azaluses were a couple of klicks away, the Procurator the central-most of the ships and the closest to Taskforce Shepherd.

The escorts had thinned around it slightly to give it the best firing line and maximize their rampage through his ships. It was a unique opportunity, if they could make use of it.

"Get me Commodore Dezlin, I have a job for him," he said finally. They needed to make a door, and he had the perfect idea.
____________________________________________________________________________

"Talon Squadron, fall in," Clee Rhara ordered. Her X-wing was rattling amidst the torrent of fire that seemed to miss her ship only by centimeters as she made her way at the front of the formation. Talon Squadron fell in behind her with a chorus of affirmatives, and together they sailed into battle.

Dozens to hundreds of fighters gathered around them leading the charge at the Procurator-class battleship hanging ahead of them, its lances of cruel fire blistering into the warships of the Rim Alliance battle line while they desperately tried to dodge and weave through the withering lances.

Behind them, the ships of Taskforce Shepherd were speeding to catch up, breaking their engagements to shift after the Procurator. The Force groaned about her, straining machinery struggling under an ever increasing weight as the battle drew on, and more and more lives perished in sudden conflagrations.

"Fighter screen, moving to greet us," Evrin Kol reported quickly. Her own tactical screen lit up with dozens of enemy signatures gathering around the Procurator to meet them.

"Alright, shift to attack mode, prepare breakthrough formation." She pulled on the stick, letting that gentle guidance put her into place, and pulled the trigger. Scores of laserfire erupted around her as the screens met, and lives blinked out one after another like dozens of bulbs popping from an overload.

Talon Squadron broke through without difficulty and joined in the fighter hunt with a fervor that bordered on frenzied. There was no time to waste now, and she found herself without the patience she usually had, not with the situation as it was.

She darted through space, sniping fighters left and right as she went and chasing them up and around the Procurator and its escorts.

Taskforce Shepherd followed behind, their turbolasers thundering open with a furious attack on the massive dreadnought which turned its guns toward them, orienting through the void to meet the challenge.

How were they going to safely retreat in this mess? They needed to bloody the Hutts' nose before they left, but as it stood, they were only tickling them.

"Fighters coming in behind you, boss," Kol warned. Clee was already turning her X-wing left and up towards the Procurator, maneuvering through its point defense fire and the laserfire that pulsed from behind her. She pulled up as she neared the hull, coming up from her dive and speeding along the deck, weaving through gun turrets and other protrusions from the dreadnought. Her pursuers kept pace, hanging above her to rain fire down, hitting the shields harmlessly as they passed over.

"Coming in behind you, be ready," Evrin Kol said. She felt him coming towards her, racing to back her up. She didn't quite need it, but she'd take it. She lifted up slightly, scanning the hull for something, anything. There was an itch in the back of her mind that screamed she was missing something.

"Alright, break off…now." Clee pulled up and left, bringing herself down the starboard side of the hull and past the Procurator's hangar bay. The doors were open, the atmospheric force field active. Clee found her eyes locked on it even as Kol swooped in and eviscerated the pursuing starfighter.

"Boss, eyes up?" Kol questioned, perhaps sensing her distraction. She shook her head and broke off, him following quickly behind her.

"Kol, what's the average yield of a starfighter proton torpedo?" she asked idly as a plan came to her mind.

"Reasonably big, we're not carrying capital ship grade, but a massed volley hitting simultaneously can do some decent damage to a ship," Kol answered, then paused.

"The shields are still up, we're not going to do any serious damage to the Procurator," he told her. She shook her head though he wouldn't be able to see it.

"Not thinking of hitting the hull of the Procurator, that hangar bay's still open. Their particle shields might still be active, but they're not the strongest shields and enough concentrated fire could break it. A dozen proton torpedoes detonating inside a hangar simultaneously might cause some internal problems," she said. Not a whole lot of damage, but for a big ship like this any sort of internal damage could be a shock, and they might mess up a few floors at least.

"Hmm, yeah, I think we could manage that. The point defense guns are going to be pretty heavy on that end, might need a big run up. Some distractions wouldn't hurt either," Kol replied. That it would, she switched her fleet comm

"Admiral Hadrim, I might have a way to damage the Procurator, not a lot, but enough to draw that attention you're looking for. Could you spare us a heavy ship for support?" she asked quickly. Talon squadron was forming around her again, unified in purpose once more.

"I'm moving the Arbiter to assist you, what did you have in mind?" She told him the plan, and already she could feel his doubt. But whatever doubts he held, they were outweighed by his desire to do something to turn the tides of battle around.

"Well, may the Force be with you, Master Jedi," he said softly and then cut the line. The fleet was moving, shifting and consolidating. The defense stations were practically abandoned, set to automatic, and their crews evacuated while Hutt ships closed in to finish the job. Boarding shuttles made for the stations, contested by starfighter wings delaying the inevitable while they kept firing.

The dreadnoughts were pursuing the retreating vessels with their escorts. Some were coalescing around the Procurator to aid it against Taskforce Shepherd, but the battle seemed to be teetering on the edge, liable to fall one way or another at the faintest opportunity.

The Arbiter, a Centurion-class battlecruiser moved from the line, shifting around to fire at the Procurator, concentrating its blasts near the hangar area, giving them just a hint of an opening. Clee Rhara meant to exploit it for everything they could get.

"Alright, Talon squadron, give me a sitrep. What do we have as far as torpedoes go?" She had two of her six left. A dizzying assortment of numbers came in, totaling up to nearly twenty torpedoes between the dozen of them.

"Okay, here's what I'm thinking. We can launch them without their propulsion systems. They'll be practically invisible to the automated anti-torpedo guns and even the manually controlled guns would struggle to catch them against the dark backdrop of space. They'll have forward propulsion and we can guide them into the hangar to hit all at once." They'd have to be really lucky to cripple the ship.

But a ton of proton torpedoes detonating inside the ship with no shield to mitigate the damage? It could do a lot to mess up the internals of the ship. They'd breach a couple decks, cut out some of its guns, and panic both the ship and the fleet enough for them to break away.

By the time they realized the damage was mostly superficial, the RA fleet could be on the way out.

"Alright, sounds as good a plan as anything right now. Let's get it done and give the fleet an opening to get out of here intact," Kol said airily. Clee smiled grimly, accelerating out in a long loop as the Arbiter continued its barrage. The Procurator was sparing fire for the warship, but its guns were already firing at so many other ships from Taskforce Shepherd that it was barely any difference.

"Alright everyone, maintain a loose formation and prepare your torpedoes for silent launch. We need to do this all at once for maximum impact," she ordered. Her fellow Jedi spread out around her, keeping to a loose formation as the anti-fighter fire began to zero in on their approach. The streams of laserfire became a rain, dozens upon dozens of lances firing out in their direction while they as one weaved through the oncoming fire.

Her ship was shaking slightly, a groaning creak of stress while her R2 unit screamed damage and stress reports to her. She grit her teeth through it and kept going.

"Put all non-critical power to shields and hold on. This is going to get a bit bumpy." The lights dimmed in the cockpit to near darkness, and only her instinctive familiarity with her craft allowed her to keep up.

"Lot of fire coming from that right battery, keep alert," Kol told her. Sure enough a sudden salvo thundered out toward them, adding to the cascade of fire. An alert shrieked at her, a dim glow on the tac map she knew too well.

"Missiles, prepare countermeasures!" she ordered her squadron, then began flipping switches across the panel. Just barely visible in the far distance were the plumes of exhaust that signified the more than a dozen anti-fighter missiles.

"Standby to release countermeasures, on my mark." The missiles were growing closer rapidly, soaring through the air at a speed the sentient eye couldn't quite keep track of. But the Force could.

"Standby and…now!" She flipped a toggle as dozens of flares shot out from the back of her X-wing. She pushed down on the control stick and dove. A quick glance left and right showed her squadron mirroring her. The laserfire passed over them, tracking slowly before they ascended again.

Ahead the Arbiter shook under a heavy impact, bits of metal and hull exploding outward from a bad hit, highlighting the need to get this done quickly. The fleet was buckling, and they'd already lost more ships than was particularly safe.

"You've still got a missile on you, Lead." Kol's voice fizzled through the static of the com. Clee looked back to see that sure enough one missile had slipped through their flares and ECM to keep on her.

"Forget about it, focus on the mission," she ordered tersely. They had one shot to save the fleet, and they would not miss it because of a single missile.

"We're nearing launch range," Massiri Dart, Talon Four, said. The Procurator was getting close now, close enough that their target was clearly visible. Above it the anti-fighter guns were converging into a line of near-impossible to dodge fire. Clee smiled despite that. The ship probably thought they were going for something above the bridge, a gun battery or perhaps the bridge or a shield generator. No, even that wouldn't be enough to do much damage.

"Prime your torpedoes and prepare to launch. Focus on the torpedoes and guide them forward. We're going to need to break off as soon as we fire," she told them, reaching out for one of her own torpedoes. Feeling it, getting a sense for the ordinance and its place. This was going to be the hardest part, firing the torpedoes, guiding them in to hit, and flying away at the same time.

Clee narrowed her eyes and sank into the Force, feeling the gentle instruction guiding her through her work, a click of the firing mechanism to ready the ordinance for launch, a gentle nudge of her hands to guide her through the rake of deadly fire. She felt Master Sarat's own meditation too, a second teacher pointing out things the first missed.

"Fire!" she yelled and released. She saw the torpedoes for a second before she lost visual sight of them in the blackness as she maneuvered. But she still felt their presence as they flew forward into the empty expanse.

She could feel the rest of her squadron's torpedoes as well, over a dozen surging through space on a silent mission. She nudged hers along, aligning it with the hangar field.

"Okay, Kol cover me while I take out the hangar shields," she ordered, accelerating towards the target.

"Copy that lead, got your back." Kol decelerated and fell in behind her, narrowly missing the missile that was still streaking after her. She might have asked him to shoot it down, but that would mean she'd need to dodge his laserfire, and she needed all of her focus on hitting the target.

Hangar particle shields were weak, but difficult targets as small as they were. And any disruption would trigger the physical doors slamming shut to avoid depressurization, so it would have to be timed just before their torpedoes hit the shield but before it could close and lock them out.

The Force was with her though, and as she drew close she could feel the target in her mind. All she needed to do was orient her fighter as if she were putting a cabinet together and sliding in the drawers onto their racks.

One simple alignment and…she pulled the trigger, sending more laserfire in a steady stream towards the Procurator's hangar. The small generator buckled, completely unprepared for the fire and exploded in a wave of shrapnel. Immediately the door begins to close. A safety measure as air was sucked out.

She imagined the people inside were panicking, being pulled towards the door and holding onto anything for dear life. Clee wondered if they were perceptive enough to notice the proton torpedoes flying in just before the doors closed in that fraction of a second before they'd have crossed the hangar and detonated. She hoped they weren't. Enemies they may be, but she didn't like imagining the sheer terror in their hearts that came with the certainty of sudden death.

The explosion was soundless, but with the sudden reverberation of the dead and dying in the Force, she knew they'd hit home.

"Pull up, Clee!" Kol warned desperately. She was already ascending up through the fire, feeling her shields take a hit and flare before shattering as she crested the top of the sloped hull while the missile pursuing her exploded in the rush of heat and debris.

Clee exhaled softly with relief as she arced around to turn back.

"Okay, R2, divert power and get our shields back up, let's get out of—" Her X-wing jerked roughly, a shake so powerful it nearly sent her up into the canopy. The viewport was spinning wildly while she was left to scramble for her controls. A quick glance left showed her the damage.

"My port s-foils are gone." She was spiraling through the void without any control. She bit her lip and pulled hard on the control stick, but she couldn't stop the spinning. Okay, that wasn't ideal. She cut the engines and pressed hard on the control stick.

"Talon Lead, there's a cruiser heading your way, you need to eject. I'll pick you up," Kol reported. Clee checked her suit to make sure it was still pressurized and exhaled. First she ejected her R2 unit and then grabbed for her emergency supplies before popping the canopy.

The incessant rotation was slowing down enough for her to leave and not risk being crushed by her spinning craft, but it was still an almost dizzying experience to time. She leaped from the fighter into vacuum, drifting across the black expanse as the backdrop glittered with light and color.

The Procurator was still there, but the hangar doors were busted open and debris was drifting out in small quantities. She couldn't see the internal damage, but it was probably visually imposing if not actually too serious.

Taskforce Shepherd was breaking away from the Procurator along with the rest of the fleet, some slower than the others with rear guards moving forward to cover the others retreat. More ships than not had some sign of damage, some worse than others, and littered here and there were the carcasses of destroyed ships. The three dreadnoughts had been allowed to run rampant for long enough to cause serious damage to the smaller Rim vessels. Hammerheads and Thranta's lay devastated under withering fire while even the tougher medium cruisers and attack frigates were limping away wounded.

Clee Rhara reached out to her R2 unit and pulled it closer, collecting a strong cable from her emergency bag and tying it to herself and the R2 unit. She wasn't going to let the Hutts collect that kind of data.

"Hang on, I'm going to come by and pick you up. We're heading for evacuation," Kol said through her ear. She could see his X-wing approaching, slowing down as he drew near. Turbolaser fire scattered around them from the Chelandion cruiser approaching, and for a moment she worried that Kol and herself would be obliterated by a good shot.

"Okay, grab hold and I'll get us to the Arbiter," he said. Clee grabbed hold, and he slowly accelerated, carrying her and her R2 unit toward the Centurion-class cruiser that was gradually pulling away from the battle. The other dreadnoughts were converging from both sides, seeking to envelop Taskforce Shepherd or at least protect their third compatriot.

The Hutts were converging on their damaged dreadnought or trying to attack the retreating ships, but they lacked cohesion or perhaps clear orders. Clee faintly wondered if the Fleet Commander had been on the Procurator, that would've been a strange blessing, and their panic might've been causing less sound orders to spread out.

Clee wondered if Hadrim might turn the fleet around to counterattack, but at this point there wasn't much viability for that. They were retreating to Caluula where the fleet tenders were based, but even then they'd probably have to retreat again to reform a stable defensive line.

Between this and whatever had happened on the Spirit of Ash, the battle for Dellalt was a strategic disaster. She watched a Thranta explode in a blossom of fire as it failed to escape the volley of one of the Azalus dreadnoughts.

Where did they go from here?

 

[Calico J]

Well, that was a painful way to learn about Sidious's force-projected shade technique, but it probably didn't accomplish as much as he would have wanted for its big debut.

Still "things could have been worse" is not a phrase you want to see in your fleet's after action report.

 

[Fellow Human]

Battle meditation was a Force ability that considerably boosted the morale, stamina, and overall battle prowess of an individual's allies while simultaneously reducing the opposition's combat-effectiveness by eroding their will to fight.

In other fics MC's using BM can't demoralize droids in Clone Wars, but here Viera is fighting organics. Does she consider that dark sided or she's still not a master of the ability?

 

[inverted_helix]

In other fics MC's using BM can't demoralize droids in Clone Wars, but here Viera is fighting organics. Does she consider that dark sided or she's still not a master of the ability?

Click to shrink...

She has a natural talent/inclination for the buffing side of it which lets her get quite a lot out of it with minimal training, but the debuffing side she has no instinct for and hasn't trained it. I suspect that she would always be better at the buffing side of it anyway though simply because of who she is as a person. Building connections and lifting people up is just what she's always done. She definitely hasn't mastered the ability though.

 

[Saphrith]

Rim Alliance Senate Building, Serenno, 31BBY.

Politrix stalked into the Senate chamber of Serenno to a mood as dark as the night sky outside. A hushed tension had fallen over the room as she entered and made her way to the senate pod from which the Blue Jedi held their post. Jai was already waiting for her, and as she stepped onto the small pod he took her hand and squeezed gently, a worried frown marring his normally handsome face. She spared him a quick smile and squeezed back before heading to the controls and with a touch putting her pod into the air.

Serenno was perhaps an…ironic choice for the new capital of the Rim Alliance. It was certainly capable of hosting the Senate and its assorted needs, well protected, and far enough from the front to avoid a decapitation strike. But the Serennans' normal…high-spirited temperament made their position as the seat of the authority they often bucked all the more comical.

That said, Senator Dooku had more than smoothed over any issues of administration or local tensions. He was a saint as far as the people seemed concerned. Pol wondered how the old Senator felt about that particular bit of reverence. Knowing him he wore it with all the poise and grace of his swordsmanship.

But that was a distraction from her real purpose here, testifying before the Senate. Her pod came to a stop before the Council podium and she prepared to do her best.

Even if her best had only resulted in near-frantic hours long communiques with Naboo and Kamparas that left more questions than answers.

"Master Maruk, the defeat at Dellalt is heavy on the minds of the Council and Senate alike, but the reports about the defeat are…confusing and we were hoping the Jedi would be able to enlighten us on the particulars," Tayaal Farseelie, says solemnly. The Telosian delegate was an odd choice for Rim Alliance Council President, especially with Cham Syndulla sitting angrily to her left, but she supposed the complexities of having the president be from an independent state whereas much of the Rim Alliance was still Republic-affiliated was too much. The Zabrak seemed relatively steady though, so far at least.

An anxious series of mutterings followed that statement, a tumultuous echo that resounded through the chamber into a deafening drone. Tayaal raised her hand, and slowly it quieted down. The silence that fell hung heavily throughout the room and put the weight on her instead. Politrix exhaled and pressed her face into a mask of solemnity as she spoke.

"President Farseelie, the matter you refer to is the appearance of Darth Sidious, a Sith Lord known more commonly as the former Senator Palpatine of Naboo. He appeared as a Shade upon the bridge of the Spirit of Ash and slew Admiral Thach, along with half the bridge crew and injured Master Sarat in the process," Politrix began.

"That interruption caused the ships and crews under her Battle Meditation to lose coordination and allowed the Hutt dreadnoughts to break the cordon and wreak havoc on the fleet. Master Sarat recovered and renewed her Battle Meditation, but it was too late to save the battle and Admiral Hadrim chose to retreat to Caluula to save the fleet," she continued, though that was speculative from what she'd heard. Caluula was thinly populated and poorly defensible, especially as the road to Murkhana was now also open to the Hutts, and from there it was another heart thrust into the Hegemony. There were already a score of planets the Hutts had available to lunge at with raids and invasion forces.

"You call this a 'Shade', can you explain what particular…ability Sidious used to create such a creature onboard one of our capital ships?" Farseelie asked, steepling her fingers together as she stared down at Politrix.

"No, President, I cannot. I have spent hours working in concert with Naboo and Kamparas to ascertain what power he might have used and so far we have found nothing that fits," Politrix answered sadly. That sparked a torrent of worried conversation, a calamity of fearful sound that Farseelie tried to rein in to no success. Pol let it wash over her with a sigh while she considered their options.

Projecting oneself with the Force was a long-noted ability, but it took a great amount of focus and strength, and the farther the distance the more a toll it took. Performing such a feat should have left Sidious unable to do anything but talk and perhaps mock or deride the people aboard the Spirit of Ash. Fighting ought to have been beyond him, projections weren't physical.

Yet Sidious had fought Ilena and nearly killed her with the Force and with lightsabers alike. That was not something any technique the Jedi knew of allowed. There was room for a Sith variation as many Sith 'techniques' were often uses of traditional techniques turned to hateful and destructive ends. But a variation that could fight should have cost even more strength and stamina. It should have killed Sidious to attempt it.

The only option that they could all agree on was that there had been Sith Magic involved. Perhaps Sidious had researched Sith magic in the wake of Dathka Graush's Tund uprising, or he had the ability all along but never had need to use it before.

Sith Magic was unpredictable though. The Jedi's knowledge of how it worked was slim particularly because of how broad the applications were. Saying it was Sith Magic narrowed down little for them.

"We…suspect it might have been a technique of Sith Magic, like Dathka Graush, but we cannot be sure," she said at last. How was it done, what did it cost to perform, and what were the drawbacks, if any? It had been three days since Dellalt and no reported uses of it had occurred, but that didn't necessarily mean anything. Sidious could've been out of commission for now or was simply preparing for the next use?

The murmurs increased again, and this time a frenetic fear seemed to permeate the chamber as the delegates talked urgently. Tund was not so long ago that people had forgotten the reports and events that occurred there.

Sith zombies plaguing a planet, a near genocide of the people there, the Sith migration to Republic space. All of it would be fresh in the minds of the senators here.

"And there is no counter to Sith Magic in the massive archives of the Jedi Order?" Cham Syndulla asked testily. Politrix shook her head slowly.

"Not as you define it. There are techniques to dispel Sith Magic but not to prevent it from being cast," she replied. It was perhaps a regrettable stroke of fate that the Hundred Year Darkness and subsequent Sith wars broke any interest the Jedi might have had in less…Dark applications of alchemy and magic. The options she had found were mostly reactive, not anticipative.

That satisfied no one. A massive argument broke out amongst the chamber, dozens upon dozens of representatives arguing and shouting with one another, the argument splitting off into more and more different tangents with Farseelie and the Council vainly trying to bring back some semblance of order.

This whole thing was a mess. Force Light dispelled his Shade, but to make use of it there would need to be multiple Jedi who knew the technique assigned to critical areas. Jedi to protect the Senate and Council, guarding military leaders, the list went on. And if you included Jedi for each Senatorial delegate…no they didn't have the numbers for that.

They didn't even know if Sidious could do that again, or how easily, or if he would and when. But now it hung as a guillotine above their heads impacting every decision they made. Eventually, though it took some time, Tayaal managed to get the Senate back under control. With a sigh, she looked to Politrix.

"This is a very concerning development, Master Maruk, I'm sure the Admiralty is already debriefing Master Sarat, and will come to their own conclusions, but we have our own concerns as to what might be an insidious tool the enemy can use to infiltrate our ranks to wreak havoc across the Rim," Tayaal began, earning more discontented muttering simmering up.

"It is…disappointing the Jedi so far have no clear answer to the problem, but this has been a year of surprises for all of us, so I cannot hold blame. Instead, I would like for you to speak on what you think might be necessary to adequately protect the Rim from the Sith," Tayaal said calmly, a veneer of tranquility that hid how afraid she was at these new developments. Pol could not blame her, not with this.

But how to answer in such a way that reassured the Senate and spoke honestly, or as honestly as she was capable.

"From my own report of the incident at Dellalt, the same techniques that harmed the Sith zombies on Tund worked on the Shade. Many Jedi are skilled at that technique, and we can quickly train those who don't." They had barely over a thousand Jedi though, and even if every one knew every technique, they couldn't adequately cover everywhere.

"This is more speculative, but such a technique as Palpatine must have used would have taken intense concentration and strain. I suspect that it would not be a technique he'd want to use often. And more importantly, if the Sith had a technique to easily allow them to summon Shades from across the galaxy they would not have remained hidden for so long," she continued.

If the Sith could do that, then why hadn't they launched long-range Shade attacks on the Jedi as often as possible to whittle down numbers and cause havoc generally? Force Light was essentially a lost technique up until Ood Bnar had been recovered. The Order could've relearned it easily enough, if they'd had the time and motivation to research it. But if Palpatine or another Sith had struck, then it would've been difficult to find the time between hiding.

Logic stood that there was a range limit as well. Viera thought that Palpatine might have been at Dellalt or at least been close to the front, so already there was a possibility that he needed to be close to do it. If more occurrences happened near the Tionese front, then it would be a suggestion that Palpatine for all his power needed to be close to where he sent the Shades.

In that sense, it could be a means for narrowing down his location. She would have to remember to send that news back to the Council.

"In the interim, until we know more, the best suggestion I could give the Senate is to decide on the most critical places to assign Jedi to protect and watch over," she finished. President Farseelie nodded slowly, drumming her fingers on her seat.

"It is my thought as well. I realize that we cannot force the Blue Jedi to do anything they do not volunteer for, but I would ask that you bring this recommendation before the Council while we confer amongst ourselves and the Admiralty board as to what places are most vital to the prosecution of this war against the Hutt cartels." Tayaal asks.

"Of course, I was already intending on doing just that, I'm sure the Council will likewise agree that at the moment the best interests of Rim and Jedi alike is to work together," Politrix answered smoothly. Which meant another long night sending messages back and forth, analyzing communiques and theorizing with Maks, Denia, and Master Bnar.

There were a few more questions, but clearly there was nothing more to be said or done aside from fretting over possibilities, and Politrix was dismissed to perform her own duties while the Senate deliberated.

She returned her pod to its docking port and headed off, Jai following close behind.

"Nice and short, and not as bad as it could've been," he said supportively. She sighed and smiled.

"Yes, for now, but if this continues they're going to get more panicked. And more angry, at us, at the Hutts, the Republic. At anyone really, until it stops. I don't like this new development," she muttered.

"Neither do I, but clearly we're pushing the Sith against the wall if they're starting to lash out like this. They spent a thousand years in hiding for a reason. They don't want a drawn-out war," Jai insisted. Perhaps, perhaps not.

"I hope so, can you message Kamparas for me, update them on what we're working on here?" she asked. She'd call Naboo, and that would be an all-day affair in and of itself. Her husband leaned over and planted a quick kiss on her cheeks, momentarily relieving her worries and bringing a smile to her face.

"Of course, don't overexert yourself," he replied, and they split ways.

The rest of her day was a nightmare of activity, one call after another, listening in on meetings and workshopping plans and strategies for how many Jedi they could reasonably assign to each location. One Jedi was too few, seven too many to cover anything, but Sidious was clearly too powerful for most Jedi to handle if it came to a drawn out fight.

She managed two different meetings about the same thing between the Council and the Senate, then another with the Admiralty Board and General Staff Council all with their own requests that were more gruff demands. This General wanted fifty Jedi guarding a series of apparently critical forward bases and supply depots for the army groups based out of the Tion while an Admiral was pointing to the need for multiple Jedi in the shipyards at Lianna or Desevro, or half a dozen other places. Telling them there were only 1300 Blue Jedi with not all of them fully trained in Force Light anyways earned much grumbling. But thankfully, for once, the fear was such that they would be willing to compromise no matter how much they hated it.

When it was finally done at the early hours of the dawn and a night of no sleep she tiredly glanced at her datapad and blinked at a message from Viera. She was probably out of the bacta tank by now and recovered. So, eager to hear of her friend's recovery, she opened the message and read over it.

Then she sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. She sighed longsufferingly and mused about how her friend could somehow simultaneously offer relief and stress in the same measure.

But at least it was progress.
____________________________________________________________________________

Kamparas, Jedi Council Chamber, 31BBY.

"This is quite ominous, to think Palpatine had a card like this left to play," Mavra Zane said, eyes closed against what Qui-Gon believed to be quite the migraine. He was nursing much the same, little sleep would do that to you.

"Our knowledge of Sith Magic is limited, even Master Bnar knows little of it, and there's been a four thousand year gap where it developed beyond his prior experience. Still, he is researching the Sith holocrons we do have in our possession to find out more," Qui-Gon said. The Neti Master's ability to peruse such repositories safely was a generous boon that the Jedi were lucky to have. Each day their knowledge was growing, but with everything they learned it became quite clear that they knew nothing in truth.

"In the interim, this bodes poorly for the war effort. Interrupting Master Sarat's Battle Meditation was a smart tactic, now she will need to be guarded by more Jedi, more effort made to keep her secure and more caution given to each use. The Hutts might not have smashed the Rim Alliance fleet, but they have wounded it and made them cautious," Oppo Rancisis added.

"We might have to consider what a Hutt victory would mean for the galaxy. It could be a return to their Imperial past," Everen Ettene said gloomily.

"The war is not over yet, Dac and its shipyards still stand, they are producing more warships of stronger armament. The tides will even out over the coming months and the Hutts do not have the forces to hold large swathes of territory against a counter-attack," Eeth Koth suggested, though to Qui-Gon's ears it sounded too reductive, too clinical.

"At still great cost to civilian lives. There are almost a billion inhabitants of Dellalt. How many will die in a Hutt invasion, how many more taken into slavery in Hutt Space? The Hutts could still devastate the Rim even in defeat," Luminar Unduli countered. There was the sentient element that worried Qui-Gon. The Rim wasn't losing per se, but neither were they winning, and all it would take was for those setbacks to drag on morale and further inhibit victories.

"The question is what do we do, the Judicial department has declared this a foreign matter, and without authorization, we cannot intervene in foreign affairs," Even Piell grumbled bitterly, stroking his chin.

"That is not necessarily the question, we are not…we should not be warriors. But no diplomacy will be done here, there is no arrangement that would leave both sides at peace," Yaddle adds succinctly.

"Then what is the question? The Rim and Blue Jedi are fighting the Sith and we are here not involved due to bureaucratic procedures and diplomatic technicalities. Just because the Tionese and the other seceded we can't legally intervene? Master Rancisis' aid alone would make the situation much more favorable for the Rim. Put him with a fleet coming out of Ryloth and his Battle Meditation paired with Master Sarat could force the Hutts to fight on two fronts at disadvantage and give Sidious a hard choice to make in who he goes after. And if he should choose Master Rancisis, then perhaps he finds a team of our best Shadows waiting for him," Qui-Gon proposed, clapping his hands gently together. Qui-Gon itched to get involved for his former padawan's sake if anything. They talked occasionally, and Obi-Wan was settling into his post on Mandalore well, training his own padawan and keeping the peace between Satine and Jango's factions as effectively as could be expected.

But as seceded states the Greater Tion, Dac, and Ryloth weren't under the Republic's blanket of protection and legal ability to intervene. It was a weak excuse to Qui-Gon's mind. They could find ways to support their fellow Jedi without being involved directly. But the fact that they hadn't spoke volumes. Were they waiting for the Rim to call desperately for aid to dictate on their terms? Qui-Gon knew there was a debate raging about intervention, but the prevailing tide was not in the Rim's favor, and some of them seceding had only further skewed the numbers against them.

"There's something brewing in the Corellian Sector, don't you know, Master Jinn," Plo Koon answered sardonically. Qui-Gon snorted.

"And that's another thing, why are we being pressed to turn our eyes to Corellia when even the Senate acknowledges that Sidious is a danger? I call it a distraction meant to keep us focused elsewhere," he replied grumpily. Always something was calling their attention now. Investigate these RLA bombings or protests or riots, oversee these civic ceremonies. Aid a refugee settlement and escort a shipment of relief goods. Many of them were productive, certainly, but the sheer number was suspicious. Qui-Gon simply couldn't be sure with the state of the galaxy these days.

"Whose to say? Corellia might have partially reopened to the galaxy, but they are being very particular in where travel is allowed. Something is clearly going on that they wish for outsiders not to see," Yarael Poof said exhaustedly.

"Even the Corellian Temple is being vague, I am a little concerned," Mavra Zane admitted hesitantly. The Corellians certainly did have the right to close their border as part of their agreement with the Republic.

But once they'd reopened, surely there was no need to off-limit swathes of the sector to non-verified travel and raise such a stink about anyone coming close. So why? And really, why did it matter? Corellians were ornery like that, and so long as there was nothing illegal going on then what did it matter?

"CEC is a big shipyard, maybe they're building something they don't want anyone to see," Everen Ettene suggested. Qui-Gon paused, frowned, then looked around.

"It's not technically illegal, but perhaps they would want to forestall a law banning such sales?" Eeth Koth muttered.

"They're not doing it for the Atgeirs Alsakan is sending over, I doubt they'd do the same for Corellia. More likely they'd be keeping it a secret from the Hutts," Master Rancisis replied. Yarael Poof narrowed his eyes.

"Whatever the reason, we're getting a bit off track, aren't we? The matter we should be concerned with is Sidious and the Sith. This new development will result in the Blue Jedi diffusing their numbers to protect critical infrastructure and people from assassination. A measure that will further weaken the defense and tie down Jedi in bodyguarding duties that are subpar uses of their time. The full measure of Sidious's plan is clear." Yarael sighs softly.

"He means to keep the Jedi off him or force them into situations where he can kill them while distracted. A bodyguard team of Jedi protecting an installation or individual is a prime target itself. All he must do is force them to divert their focus between their charge and himself and he can slay at least a few of them." Mavra Zane finishes to a nod from Yarael.

"So we throw more Jedi in. How many of our Jedi know Force Light? Hundreds at the least, if not thousands. We've spread the technique through the Order well, The Shadows alone are begging to get involved, and more besides," Qui-Gon suggested, glancing between his fellow councilors.

"The Senate will never approve of us going into the war, and I'm not convinced flooding thousands of Jedi into a dangerous war is what's best to combat the Sith. Especially if Sidious decides to slip into the Core," Mavra Zane answered, and he could see the other Councilors shaking their heads as well.

"They don't need to, much of the Rim is still part of the Republic. We can still help guard people and places within Republic space. There is, after all, a clear and direct threat to the Republic and its people from Sith influence. Halting that is part of our mandate that even Chancellor Antilles can't deny once he hears of what happened," Qui-Gon insisted.

Even a thousand Jedi dividing themselves out to keep watch over places and people Sidious could go after would be a huge deterrent to sabotage. Five Jedi assigned to two hundred different places and people would be a good start.

"That…could work," Mavra Zane muttered contemplatively. Other Jedi were nodding along in agreement.

"The Senate will still see it as a rejection of their authority, Chancellor Antilles is looking to centralize governance and he might easily use the dissatisfaction certain Senators have with our involvement to assume more power over the Republic, and us by association," Oppo Rancisis advised.

Bail Antilles was a prince, and it showed in how he expected certain levels of deference and respect that the Senate was not giving him. In an older day, Qui-Gon might have even tacitly approved of the Senators being reigned in, even a little bit. But now it might be used as a tool against them.

"We don't command our Jedi so strictly. If we send them out and then order them back…they could ignore us for the sake of the Force and the people of the galaxy. What could we do to bring them in? I know of no Jedi who would in that situation willingly go out to force them," Qui-Gon suggested with a grin. Everen smiled slowly.

"Perhaps…if they chose to object we might declare them in violation of the law and no longer Jedi until such time as they recant and return to Kamparas. We wouldn't have the means to go and reclaim their sabers, not at the time at least," she said. She understood where he was going with it.

"We must be careful about assigning them to their posts. We cannot be so forward about it, perhaps the Blue Jedi Council and the Rim Alliance Senate might request our aid more directly, give us a clear reason to justify our involvement," Coleman Kcaj spoke up, chuckling softly.

"We are, after all, only answering a call for help against the Sith," Saessee Tiin said.

"I am a little hesitant at breaking the spirit of the law if not the letter, but the Sith must be opposed as best as we can and this is what we will be doing, if indirectly. I motion for a vote," Luminara said softly, raising her hand in assent.

Slowly the votes were cast, Qui-Gon adding his own name as a yes. There were no dissents, even though there was clear anxiety about the potential fallout. They were taking the best option they had available to them now. It still didn't feel like quite enough, but it was a step in the right direction,
____________________________________________________________________________

Etti IV, 31BBY.

"Corvette Daybreak, transmit your transponder and cargo manifest for the docking authority," the baritone droid voice of the Mondder Spaceport Administration droned familiarly. Aladaa would swear that every world had the same droid synthesized voice for its docking authority.

"Transmitting now," Captain Lia replied. The Onderonian captain nodded to the comms officer and turned back to the viewport. Aladaa smiled; she liked the captain. She was smart, and kind, and didn't talk down to her like so many older people did, assuming she didn't know what she was doing because of her youth.

Etti IV grew closer and closer in the distance, their destination filled with dozens, hundreds of ships going in and out from the planet's massive trade markets.

"Corvette Daybreak, your wait time for landing is sixteen hours and forty-five minutes to bay 136," the docking authority eventually replied dully, cutting the line as quickly as it opened. Aladaa huffed. Not bad all things considered, she'd dealt with worse.

"Alright, lock us into orbit and await clearance," Lia ordered the bridge crew, nodding to Aladaa. "We can handle things here, Lady Aladaa."

Aladaa nodded and waved, heading for the door. She had to go and alert her two extra deckhands.

The corridors were relatively empty. Most of the crew were still at their posts or asleep. Why be up now when there was a good while before they'd be needed to help unload the cargo? Aladaa hurried through to her mom's quarters where Zey and Dar sat in meditation, already awake and ready.

"We're landing in sixteen hours or so. You've got some time," she said, stepping into the colorful, and luxurious, bedroom meant for her mother…and Sata honestly. Zey stood silently, looking to Dar and shaking his head.

"Alright, thank you Aladaa. How long will the Daybreak need to unload the cargo?" he asked quickly, crossing his arms. Hmm, good question.

"Well, normally there's droids to help unload but the Corporate Sector charges a fee to make use of them. So if I refuse them, six hours? Four if I accept," she told him. Greedy bastards as they were, she wasn't going to give them any more of her credits. All the other fees would be annoying enough. If it weren't for the profits, she'd never go near this place.

"Accept then, the Order can cover your expenses there. The sooner we finish, the sooner you can let the crew out to have shore leave before returning," he said. The sooner also for them to slip away into the crowd.

"What leave there is, nothing's free here," she said dismissively. Some bars for pilots and such, but the Corporate Sector did not believe in 'public' places. Which was a shame, because Etti IV was supposed to be a beautiful planet. But 'wildlife passes' were not something she was willing to buy for the chance to see them.

"No one's surprised there. Just make sure you leave quickly, before anyone takes notice of you," he ordered curtly. Aladaa snorted.

"Before I can get involved and get you in trouble with mom for letting me help, you mean," she replied. It was almost funny, if it weren't for the fact that she was quite capable of watching out for herself.

"Yes, that too. This isn't going to be safe business and I don't want to explain to Viera why you were in a shootout with me," he told her, smiling for a moment before his dour expression returned.

"Well, you don't have to worry about that. I've got other work to do anyway," she said and left him to his preparations while she went to her room.

She passed a stuffed Ronto, standing proudly on the desk and patted its head absentmindedly from ritual. The walls and shelves were lined with more and more of the things, little ties keeping them in place. They were arranged by biology, diet, planet, anything to make it seem a bit more organized and neat. She'd made a habit of grabbing a new one whenever she stopped on a world, something to put on her shelves or send home to the manor or estate.

It was flourishing, as much as it could at least, but they were breaking new ground more or less with the growing settlement. Mom, somehow, still didn't know, which remained incessantly funny.

The thought of her face when she realized that Sumati Achaval technically held title to a small, growing estate on one of Onderon's moons managed by her adopted daughter helped soothe the worries for her safety.

She'd be fine though, right? Mom got into crazy situations all the time and managed to push through and survive. Sometimes in a bacta tank…but she survived. She'd continue to survive this.

A war was different though and…Aladaa banished the thought with a force of will. She took the stuffed ronto and squeezed it gently. It was childish, but it helped. Mom had gotten it for her after all. And if it worked, then why not?

Then she took a seat at the desk and reached for the datapad, looking over Jorj and Booster's message again. She smiled slowly, tapping her fingers on the desk.

She wouldn't go to Etti IV with Zey and Dar. But she'd never said anything about going somewhere else.

Kothlis seemed nice this time of year.

 

[Gantradies]

Genuine props for staggering her way back to the secondary bridge with full-body force lightning burns,
Let alone being able to walk/focus enough for battle meditation-
I still remember how Luke could barely walk/stand after being blasted for a prolonged time with crystal clarity…

Does anyone have any ideas why SV is stubbornly refusing to send me post notifications?
I know for a fact that they're on, but..

 

[Saphrith]

Aboard the Resolution, over Caluula, 31BBY.

"I can speak to my clan, Viera, but I cannot guarantee that the other clans will listen. My history is long and remembered by many in song and ballad. I would not rely on my voice in these matters," Barukka tells me. Her hologram flickers with her regret, but I shake my head in dismissal. I understand.

"Do you know what will convince them then? This is important, critically so," I ask her. We lost Dellalt, but the retreat's given me time to consider just why the hell I survived and took so much less damage than Ilena, Nidiri, or Orta

And honestly, I fucking forgot I got my robes enchanted on Dathomir! I forgot! It was such a spur of the moment thing. I had the time on my hand, and the person was there. I just…thought why not see if it did anything, and then I forgot about it for over a year because I never got into a position where its protection was needed.

I paid a whole crate of whiskey for it; I really should've remembered something that precious.

But the point being, Dathomiri enchanted robes equals some protection against Force Lightning. Not immunity, but mitigation is a good consolation prize when all things are considered. I nearly died, and I probably would have died in the first volley otherwise, simply cut down before I could have even thought to do something about it.

It scares me to think of how close I came to dying pointlessly and damning my allies in the process. A part of me wants to attribute any other possible explanation up to and including Sidious simply fucking with me for sadistic glee.

I don't really want more complications to…everything!

But it's the only explanation why I survived the first lethal volley of lightning from Sidious where Nidiri and Orta did not. Duala pointed it out to me afterward, but my robes are practically intact, unmarred by the scorching heat.

I can look at them right now and see no sign of the damage that should have spread across them. They look almost pristine.

"The clans follow their kindreds, but beyond that they respect individuals. They'll make deals with people they know, people who they respect. If you don't have that, they won't listen to you," Barukka replies. Fairly standard for tribal societies, your rep matters or else no one will listen to you, but Augwynne is deeply respected!

"Your mother can't speak to them?" I ask. Barukka shakes her head.

"She could, but then the order is not for her, is it? It would be an insult to the clan mothers for the one truly requesting the order to not ask herself. Using mother to do it would be seen as even more of an insult, even by my mother. She would be seen as your underling, asking on your behalf." I don't groan, but I want to. I get it, I really do. I don't command Augwynne Djo, so why is she placing orders for me as if she were a family steward or middleman? It hurts my cause by making the other clan mothers think I view them with such little respect and weakens Augwynne's position vis a vis her peers. Augwynne could maybe come with me to lend credence to my request, but it would have to be me.

Pol got back to me within two days of sending her my report with a very precisely worded and eloquent letter that essentially boiled down to 'The Rim Alliance will heap a fortune to get mass production of this enchantment, how do we do that?' I was doing my best to figure it out, but the Senate probably isn't going to appreciate being told there's only so many that can be made in such a short time.

Mine didn't take that long to make, granted, but that was one set of robes, not…. a thousand plus, not to mention armor and equipment. Where would the line be drawn? Would the military want the reactors of warships protected? I know that no one knows the answer to that, and it feels like we're not going to know for a long time.

That's not even getting into that I don't know what it takes to make an enchantment. The military and senate aren't going to accept 'it'll take us a couple of weeks to gather the materials needed to make an enchantment'. I hope to the Force that it's something we can outsource to them.

This all assumes, of course, that we can convince them to supply us. Like it or not, Dathomir cannot be left alone anymore. They're going to hate the intrusion, but making them filthy rich should more than make up for it…I hope.

"You could go, Master Sarat," Barukka suggests suddenly. I tilt my head curiously.

"The clans know you, you fought Zalem, spoke to them all and earned their acknowledgement. You negotiated the Rim Alliance base guarding the Star Temple and opened Dathomir to what little trade it does. You could convince them to make arms and armor for the Jedi and the Rim Alliance," Barukka explains.

I can't leave! I'm needed here to help the navy. We're still making repairs here at Caluula. The Hutts are still regrouping too, but soon enough they'll get ready to come at us again or go after more planets. There's a bevy of worlds they can leapfrog to from Dellalt. Another Hutt force attacked Murkhana yesterday. They got repelled there, but they still made an attack. Now they've got two direct routes into our territory to threaten.

"I have my duties here, Barukka. I can't afford to depart for weeks to convince the clans," I tell her, though now the thought does sort of linger.

"This isn't going to be another council of sisters, you don't have to spend time gathering them all up. You can go to them directly, inform them of your needs and make your orders. With enough payment, they'll give heed to your words," Barukka insists. I sigh, thinking.

The fleet's not going to move from Caluula, not with the 'road' to Aigor and Brigia right beyond it. But it'll be time before the fleet tenders can get the damaged ships repaired enough to safely move again, and even then a number of them will need time at a shipyard to be fully repaired. Hadrim's having other ships move up from the more secure regions to replace the damaged ones so they can go be repaired.

The Hutt fleet at Dellalt took some damage too, and they're going to need to reposition a little bit to watch Mon Calamari and the south near Ryloth, plus whatever landing they do on Dellalt. It's not like there's going to be an immediate deployment to battle.

The Katana Fleet's still out there, so I might be needed to go after them again, but that's about it. I could…maybe, I could take a couple of days to go make negotiations? I mean, it'd be closer to a week or two to get everything sorted but same thing, right? I only need to leave when it's time to actually do the negotiating.

"Do you know what they'll want? I don't know if they'll take credits as currency." I mean, they might have begun adapting since they've opened limited trade with the galaxy, but probably not enough to really have switched over to using it as complete currency.

"Exotic goods? Alcohol, silks, things to make life easier. The Clan Mothers will appreciate things they can dole out to the sisters as favors," Barukka answers. So….typical with pre-industrial society? There's a ton of things we can do to make growing food easier and preserve it longer. Medicines and blasters or other weapons to better fight off the predators.

Oh and the silks and luxury goods to help the clan mothers cement their control over their clans by doling out favors. I can do that, and I'm sure the Rim Alliance would pay to get the clans to make enchanted armor and robes so as to make sure this never happens again. I wonder if we can place protective wards to keep the shades from appearing in specific places, or at least reducing their strength there.

That…I don't think we have the logistics for that, and I wonder if there's enough enchanters on Dathomir to even carry out that many orders. For now, the robes and the armor would be best, start small and hope they're smart enough to realize they need to train up more apprentices and get more people involved.

"That'll open up Dathomir to reprisal though. Are you okay with that?" I mean, Palpatine on Dathomir could run wild and slaughter, much less the Hutts. Dathomir isn't far from the front. I'd hate to see her home destroyed or ravaged because of their support. We could put a garrison over Dathomir, right? Well…maybe, depends on how things keep going for us here.

"The spirits will protect us, whether through their own power or through outside aid. Preventing such an evil being from continuing with such foul arts is a worthy cause for my sisters and I," Barukka answers hesitantly. I bite my lip, and she puts on a forced smile. I get it, as a Hutt cruiser could drop out of hyperspace to rain fire down on the inhabitants of Dathomir before jumping out. There's nothing they could do to stop it, but Sidious would eventually come for them anyway.

We've got to be able to get a planetary shield generator down there at least, something to keep them from being obliterated without a chance to fight. I'll speak to someone about it later. I'm sure the Rim Alliance will agree to provide one.

At this point, they'd probably throw a mountain of aurodium at Dathomir if that's what it took to get them to provide the security the Senate and Admiralty Board are desperately seeking. Pol didn't say it outright in her message, but I'm getting the distinct opinion that they're on the verge of panicking.

No one's talking about surrender yet, thankfully, but it's not going to be long before we get to the point of suggesting extreme solutions to our problems. Ironically, the Core has finally got off their ass to do something…parts of it at least.

Alderaan's been sending food and medical supplies, along with parts and other assorted mechanics to help with repairs. Nubia has sent foodstuffs as well as metals, starship parts, and astromechs. Rendili and Alsakan increased manufacturing and offered discounts on weapons and vehicles and ships. Corellia's been quiet, but I've heard reports of numerous 'independent' freighters bringing a bevy of donated goods and an influx of new pilot recruits for the starfighter corps.

Apparently Kamparas is even sending Jedi down to help take over guard duties on worlds still Republic-aligned, which gives us more room to move Blue Jedi to protect military sites and individuals. It's a load off our shoulders, but there's still ten other loads, and now we need robes for all of those Jedi too. So, one load off, one load on. Oh the irony.

"Thank you, Barukka. I appreciate your support," I tell her honestly, fighting the clenching pain in my heart. It's not going to get better anytime soon. War makes for unfortunate necessities. We need Dathomiri aid, and I can only hope that we can give them not just payment, but protection from the dangers to come.

"Of course, Viera, it is you I have to thank for freeing me from the despair I wallowed in for so many years. It is the least I could do to repay you." She smiles, and I smile back, remembering the despondent, pitiable figure she was in that little cave on Dathomir. Utterly spent and broken with the torment of her fallen sister and her own misdeeds, castigating herself at every turn with no hope of recovery. She's come a long way since then. Arthur's helped with that, drawing her into the Jal Shey academic departments who have just been slavering at the chance to study her 'magic'.

There's nothing else to really discuss here. I've already covered everything I and the Senate will need. Anything more would just be looking to add more trim where it isn't needed, so I bid her goodbye and return to my own business.

I truly hope this works; it should. The evidence so far has shown it will, but maybe there's a way around it, or maybe some other method protected me? I can't really afford to ignore the possibility, can I?

I step out of the conference chamber to find Duala and Ara standing beside the door with my guard. I wave to the two padawans, and Ara waves back shyly while Duala looks me up and down for any sign of lingering injury. I appreciate it, but I'm fine. Bacta tank baths solve all your problems, and I have been lucky not to have needed to use so many in my time.

Still, I smile at my padawan and continue to thank the Force that she wasn't on the bridge. I'm going to need to teach her Force Light soon. I'm not going to be so lucky that she'll always be somewhere conveniently away if he does this again, and any weapon in her arsenal could be the difference between life and death

"Looks like we might be going to Dathomir," I tell her, turning to head down to find Hadrim. Duala's aura staggers with alarm, anxiety, excitement, and hope as she rushes to catch up with me. The thought of going home again rushes through her as a fire in her veins.

I imagine she'll be ecstatic to show her clan how far she's come, and why not? She's achieved a lot in her short time, and if she means to be the Watchwoman of Dathomir, she'll need to let them see her as a Jedi and a Dathomiri.

"Really? Can i Bring Cabur?" she asks hopefully. I don't see why not. She can show off her new friend to her clan. Didn't she have a friend she was always with, Magash I think her name was? She'll be happy to be able to catch up.

"Sure thing, just make sure he doesn't cause trouble. We won't be there too long…I hope?" I mean, I'm just going to fly between clans and negotiate directly with their leaders. The Senate won't like having to make a dozen or so different trade agreements, but I'm sure they'll get over any annoyance felt very quickly. She pumps her fist excitedly anyway. I smile and let her catch up to ruffle her hair again, making her sputter and giggle.

"I mean it, the Senate and Admiralty Board both need this meeting to go well. No causing a ruckus, and no lingering. You can stay with your clan while I travel around if you want, or you can ride Cabur and follow after me," I tell her seriously. She looks up at me and nods with equal seriousness.

"Of course, is this about your robes?" she asks. I nod and tug at them exploratively. I wonder if they would have completely blocked a less powerful Sith? Probably not, but they might have made the damage near inconsequential at least.

I can't shake the feeling that this shouldn't work. Everything I've learned from the Order says it shouldn't work this way. But…Sith Magic and Alchemy aren't much different, and the Jedi hardly have a monopoly on how the Force works. Still I wish I'd had reason to figure this out sooner. Imagine if I'd known since Coruscant what these could do? I'd have been recommending orders much earlier.

Ah well, live and learn as they say. I just hope we can get enough Jedi equipped with them to protect them from further Sidious shenanigans.

Now…now I just need to inform Hadrim of what I've learned, convince him that I need to be the one to go and make the negotiation, and then prepare a brief for the Senate and the Admiralty Board so they can send a negotiator with me to discuss the actual payment.

____________________________________________________________________________

"I can lend you the Beacon and have you off in the morning to Taris. That'll give the Senate and Admiralty Board enough time to nominate a representative to go with you and speak on their behalf," Hadrim tells me, stopping the argument I was already about to make cold. I feel like the wind's been rather knocked from my sails so to speak. He gives me a wry look, pained as it is.

"Viera, we lost Dellalt because of this Sith magic nonsense, they are even now landing troops on the planet to begin their siege. A dozen worlds are reporting scout ships heralding potential invasions, and we might be seeing another assault here at Caluula. I need something to prevent this from happening again. If this visit to Dathomir is it, then I'll take it. And if you need to be the one to go, then you're the one to go," he explains gruffly. The news of the potential mass of invasion forces coming in is another matter entirely. The Katana Fleet will likely be returning to lead some of these attacks, and every battlegroup we send out to reinforce or block an invasion force will leave Caluula open as well.

"Thank you, Admiral, I was a bit worried that you might need me here. You're sure you'll be okay though? Sidious could reappear at any moment," I ask worriedly. Maybe I should leave some Jedi guards? Sidious won't know where I'm going, so I doubt he'll send another shade after me, but the fleet could be in danger. Hadrim snorts and shakes his head.

"We'll be fine, we trained to fight this war without you, we're not going to crumble because you left for a few days, or even a week. We've got Atgeirs coming to reinforce the battleline," he answers with a wave of his hand.

"Oh? I thought they were still training the crews," I say in surprise. That's not an unwelcome development; the Atgeirs are tough, and we need heavy ships.

"They are, but they've got enough of an understanding to do the basics and we can train them further here," he replies resignedly. Needs must as the devil drives and all that. I look around his 'office' and the sparse decorations, little statuettes and odd trinkets or knickknacks giving the semblance of life to a room sparse and militaristic.

"Do you think it'll be enough?" I ask him. I…I'm not doubting, not really. But it feels like for the first time I'm in truly uncharted ground. Plagueis is still out there, and Sidious is helping the Hutts conquer the Rim…for what? I don't see an endgame. Are they just going to try and go for the galactic conquest route again? That worked so well for the Sith last time, it can't be that.

Or is there another plan, to worm their way back into power in the Core and then take command of the Core and do what? There's no clone army to command Order 66, and they can't take out the Jedi in the same manner. There's no coup de grace that can eliminate ninety-nine percent of the Jedi in a single moment and cast us as exiles across the galaxy.

Really, if anything happened it would start a civil war that would be long, bloody, and sure to end in the Sith's defeat. They'd tried this same song and dance countless times in the past, and each time it had failed in the end, even if they'd achieved some temporary dominance and power. Sidious had to know that. He wasn't that arrogant, was he?

I idly consider the thought of Plagueis cutting his apprentice loose. He was still safely hidden, still pulling economic strings in the background though supposedly 'retired'. If he really had achieved the immortality he so desired, then why bother doing anything now when he could wait another thousand years to carry out his plans.

That I have no method of outing him reliably is another problem. If he takes a new apprentice, what do I do? How do I keep up with what he's doing? I can't just go and attack him. If he doesn't see it coming and work to prevent it, then I'll have just ended up murdering a wealthy financier over seemingly nothing. My assertion that he was a Sith in hiding wouldn't carry much weight even if a blood analysis revealed Force sensitivity.

I shake my head, no time to think about that now. There's too much else to focus on.

"It'll have to be, won't it? The war's still early. We're losing ground but we're not losing the war. I didn't expect it to be easy anyhow. But don't you worry Master Sarat, we've got our surprises waiting. Assuming we finish them in a timely manner," he grumbles this last bit, but at my curious look he waves his hand dismissively.

"Don't worry about it, the fewer who know the fewer who can leak it. Savor the surprise and all that, the point is that we're not even remotely close to being beaten yet," he tells me. I chuckle and sigh.

"I guess I've just grown accustomed to things being fixed in short order, a battle or two and then we begin mopping up. This isn't a planetary crisis anymore though, it's the whole of the Rim." He chuckles and reaches under his desk, popping up a bottle of corellian whiskey and two shot glasses.

"Ranulph sent this to me, said I'd know what to use it for," he explains. I almost laugh as he pours two shots and hands one to me. I take it and swirl the liquid around idly. Ranulph Tarkin, I owe you a hell of a lot.

"To the Rim," he toasts, raising his glass. I mirror him.

"To the Rim," I say and down the glass in one go. The whiskey burns, but there's a pleasant kick to it, a warmth that spreads through my chest and radiates outward. Hadrim coughs and shakes his head, groaning.

"I hate whiskey, but whatever." He raises his empty glass and sets it down. Well…if he doesn't really want it… I hold out my glass, and he slides the whole bottle to me which I take eagerly. Mine, mine, mine, mine.

"Drink plenty of water and make sure to sit down if the room starts spinning," I tell him, and he annoyedly swats at me.

"I know how to drink, by the Force Jedi just go," he grouses to my blatant amusement. Alright, already. I bid him good day and retreat back to my own quarters.

Dathomir will, hopefully, agree to make the sale and begin scaling up their production to match our needs quickly. Even then it's probably going to take months or years before we start seeing mass deployment of enchanted gear on the scale the Rim would like.

And that's if we're lucky. I don't know what it takes to train a person to make enchantments, but I'm assuming a lot. Some enchanters might have apprentices who can go on to full production themselves, but more won't, and it'll be years before we see them be ready.

Does it require force sensitivity? I assume so, so it narrows the number of potential apprentices even more. Side benefit, maybe since I've sort of proven to them that the Force isn't a female only thing, they can train the men of their clans? Maybe it will encourage some of the egalitarian social reforms I couldn't get them to more than nominally consider on my last visit?

Do I dare point Alpheridies in the direction of Dathomir? Thanaton suggested not doing that anymore, but really, can he blame me in this instance?

Oh, Arthur, the Jal Shey do make Force-imbued objects on occasion. It's half their wheelhouse between their diplomatic and scholarly pursuits. Is there a difference between Force-imbued items and Dathomiri enchanted? Are they just the same thing achieved through different methods?

I'd listened to Arthur talk about the process on occasion, but his implication was that it was a time-consuming process and rare at that to achieve anything that could be distinguished from the work of a master artisan.

Still, the Jal Shey might be able to learn the same techniques the Dathomiri use and add to the quantity we could create. Maybe within a few years we could actually equip a couple of regiments reliably.

I shake my head at the distracting thought.

First I need to make my reports and make sure everyone's on the same page. I almost want to heave a sigh of exhaustion at the veritable mountain of paperwork before me. President Farseelie, Admiral Niksis, the head of the office of military procurement, and Senator Ars Goren of the Rim Alliance Budget Committee will each need a multi-page writeup of just what I'm planning and how I plan to make it work. It's more or less drudgework, because I'm pretty confident I could put 'Trust me' and they'd go for it.

But I'm not going to flip that coin and risk them saying otherwise, and their cooperation is going to be vital to get this done.

My plan is that I and a representative of the Rim Alliance Senate and military will go to Dathomir and begin making rounds with the clans to purchase as many enchanted sets of armor and robes as they can reasonably make.

I don't know what the clans will specifically want beyond simple payment or if simple payment will be enough. Some might prefer certain concessions or boons in exchange. There's no way to tell when dealing with a people who don't all use monetary systems like we do and who have very different ideas of value.

But we'll get it done, one way or another.
____________________________________________________________________________

Dathomir, 31BBY.

I stand within the shuttle's cockpit, surrounded by the senate rep Rasana Till, Colonel Verdi and her guards, Ilena, and two other Jedi as a Basilisk War Droid surges ahead of us toward the planet to begin its own reentry process.

I can imagine Ara's screaming in mixed fear and excitement from here. She'd made the mistake of being curious about how Cabur would get to the surface, and Duala had quite quickly dragged her into armoring up to go with her for the descent.

Eagerness aside, she's been very well behaved so far. Which gives me hope for this mission's importance.

"It's strange that a world with such a small population and almost no technology should command our attention like this," Rasana says quietly beside me, peering down at Dathomir as if searching for some hidden truth the world is secreting away.

"The Force has its ways of surprising your expectations. I'd be careful with respecting them. They are a prideful people, and they tame Rancors by the dozens," I tell her. She nods, a little woozily at me.

"Yes…Rancors," she responds worriedly. I clap her shoulder supportively.

"Don't worry, Senator, you've got Colonel Verdi, the Jedi, and a warship escort in orbit. They aren't going to attack us for no reason. Just…remember to be polite and things will be fine," I advise her. Colonel Verdi snorts but stares pointedly forward at the approaching planet.

Here goes nothing! Despite the pressure I find myself eager to get started.

 

[Saphrith]

Dellalt, 31BBY.

General Tisar Ordan placed his hands on the edge of the tactical map of the planet and glanced across the holographic map. He narrowed his eyes at the contours and bends of the planet, dotted with annoyingly placed towns and cities.

"We've fortified the Delaran pass northwest of Vault's City with SAM installations and local militia infantry with the 431st mountaineers to command them. The Hutts try to pass through there and they'll be bled dry," Brigadier General Saya Malir reported, pointing to the region of mountainous passes and trails northwest of the capital city. There was a single narrow road along the sea coast to go through, but it was a killzone.

"They're landing near Masar City, mostly. We've bled them on the landing, but they were always going to take a foothold," Delas said gruffly, and Tisar smiled at the memory of that little sucker punch. They'd come down so cocky and confident, only to find themselves under a barrage of AA fire, the Dellalt Air corps, and sea navy battle groups meeting them.

"They bled our navy too, Command Missi's retreated to the naval yard at Sere to repair her ships and take refuge for now," Brigadier General Sarana San added.

"Better to die fighting than enslaved," Brigadier General Dagar added hatefully. The Togruta snarled down at the map, and Tisar spared the man a withering glance. He was going to be the most difficult to deal with. His hatred ran deep, and right now Tisar was praying he could keep himself restrained.

"They'll come for Vault's City first, the shield generator is buried here and if it falls, the planet falls with it," Tisar said, that was not a question. The Hutts did not have the time for a long drawn out months, if not years, long siege of Dellalt. Going from city to city, line to line, and destroying every army or militia detachment in detail would take far too long. Destroy the Planetary shield though, and the whole planet would be forced to surrender under bombardment.

"The first skirmishes have already taken place on the perimeter line. Droid troops mostly, walking scrap if you ask me, but they soak up blaster bolts well. They're probing our lines for weakness, but the 311th is repelling them for now," Delas reported. The hundred mile stretch of the hinterlands surrounding Vault's city was heavily mined and fortified, manned by militia and army both.

"How're our supplies? I keep getting reports of more refugees coming by the day." Tisar couldn't blame them. Vault's City was a massive underground metropolis with numerous cavernous vaults turned over to housing and economics. Millions lived here already, and it seemed like millions more had fled to safety.

Tisar had ensured they were well stocked with supplies, but even that could only go so far to buoy them in a siege. He'd need to ensure they stole supplies from Hutt camps as often as the chance arose. Even that might not be enough long term.

Dellalt had a population of 969 million normally. A number had fled to other worlds farther from the front in the leadup to war, but that was a paltry number compared to those who stayed behind. Tisar hedged the number at 950 million but it could've been more, and could've been less. Nearly a billion people, and he would not be able to feed them for long if they lost the farmlands and their silos.

He didn't even want to consider what the Hutt response would be if he asked to open an evacuation corridor for civilians. Yeah, an evacuation corridor right into Hutt slavery.

"Tell Commander Missi to hold at Sere with the 41st. Prepare the mobile corps to harry the Hutt advance. If they come to Vault's City, I want them to have speeder detachments strafing their every step. Issue a general alert to the civilian administration, I want them out of the way of advance wherever the Hutts go forward. I want them nowhere near our Artillery barrages," Tisar ordered.

He could not afford to spare the towns and cities from bombardment if the Hutts took up residence. It would be painful for the locals to see their homes obliterated, but if it spared them slavery, then Tisar would consider it a price well paid.

His officers saluted. Then he sighed and stroked his chin again.

"Contact the Dellaltians, they'll need to organize their own defense. I can't spare the men to guard their every lake." The Native Dellaltans were an isolationist, territorial lot, living within the many deep lakes and underground grottos of the planet and absolutely uninterested in offworlders beyond charging credits to haul goods and people across the long lakes and trading for what necessities they could not produce on their own.

They had their own defenses and their own concerns. He could hardly house them in Vault's City anyway.

"Not like there's much use to the Hutts for them anyhow." Dagar shrugged dismissively. No, the concern would have to be with their own defense.

"This is where it begins, everyone. The Hutts will come at us hard in the coming days, but here we'll break them," he declared confidently. All they had to do was last until the Hutt army broke or the navy came in to relieve their positions.

"Remember your guiding orders, but take what liberties you need to fulfill them and defend your operational areas," he told them, looking at each of them in turn only to narrow his eyes suddenly.

"However, I want no risks from any of you." He settled his gaze on Dagar who straightened defiantly. Not for the first time he cursed the whims of the War Department for putting a man who hated the Hutts so gods-damned much on a frontline defensive deployment.

"We have limited effective manpower, and we have people here to protect. Your priorities are firstly to defend your territories and secondly to maintain your corps as an effective force in the field. No lone sallies into enemy lines without coordination from every corps," he finished. In the silence he heard no dissent, then clapped his hands.

"Alright, break to your deployments," he said, and the holograms disappeared at once. Tisar sighed and reached for the cup of caf beside him.

It was going to be a long battle.
____________________________________________________________________________

Exterior defensive lines, Vault's City hinterlands, near the town of Kasavo.

"All I'm saying is, if it were fucking Mandalorians, we could be confident they'd march straight into our redoubts head on under the belief they could tear through us," Lieutenant Rhakim pointed out airily. She was leaned up against the trench wall, pressed up against the warm dirt. Dellalt's climate was mid spring at that perfect mix of warm without being oppressively hot. Sergeant Darbit kind of hated it.

If he had to be in a miles long trench about to face an invasion force, he wanted the climate to match his terrible mood. He puffed at his cigarette again for his pounding nerves. It was a gods-damned travesty. His hands didn't shake no more, but he still felt like he was tense as a coiled spring ready to pop.

The whole land was too damned quiet, and he hated it so fucking much. The animals had all fled well in advance of the battle they knew was coming. Ahead of the trench line lay no man's land, a twenty kilometer stretch of grassland framed by a deep lake with a forest right behind, a long road winding around the lake and into the forest with nary a speeder to be seen.

Kavral liked to imagine this place was once very pleasant, with families coming to hike in the forest and lunch around the lakeshore. Fishing and swimming might be common in the spring and summer, a real touristy getaway place.

Now it was empty and soon to be filled with bodies. What an upgrade that would be, festering corpses leaking into the lake and ground, decaying into fertilizer where a big collection of fetid shrooms and grass might grow one day. It might even be his.

Yay. He hoped especially pungent mushrooms grew from his decayed corpse.

"They'd probably be right, with the numbers they've got," Kavral answered smartly, Elincia laughed and adjusted her helmet. Still wasn't quite used to calling her lieutenant even if it'd been months by now. The promotion still didn't feel real for either of them.

"Well be glad they're a gaggle of mercenaries, conscripts and whatever counts for the Hutt elite guard," she replied pensively. Echo platoon milled about in a trench line so interconnected it could've been mistaken for a city street plan minus the city. The eight augmented squads of the platoon mixed with the rest of the 331st and every other regiment along the multi-kilometer stretch of defensive fortifications. Thousands of them total against an offensive of…however many the Hutts threw at them.

Elincia straightened a little, listening to something in her helmet comm perhaps? Then she nodded and pushed off the trench, keeping low out of habit. Kavral took his own cigarette and doused it in the dirt, reaching for his helmet with resigned acceptance.

Just another day on the job. He turned to the rest of Echo platoon.

"Listen up soldiers, there's work to be done!" he shouted in half-command, half drone. Heads turned, and helmets were donned with relaxed efficiency. They were all veterans, so they knew how this was going to go.

"Bastards are a few hours out, we're gonna lay out the welcome mat. Brix squad, take up on the high bulwark, you've got emplacement duty." Kavral half listened as Elincia gave out duties for the battle, and soldiers moved about their business with practiced and relaxed hands.

A series of raucous booms exploded out from somewhere behind him as the artillery began handing out welcome gifts for the advancing troops. Kavral counted down to the explosions. He was only off by a second.

"Welcome mat laid out," he said to a couple of nervous chuckles. More booms followed, as the artillery was finally able to fire and pull their weight for once. Elincia began to walk the trenchline with him following dutifully behind as her second in command like a faithful hound.

The silence was shattered by a dozen different conversations: calls for more ammo, the best place to stack the heavier ordnance, how many kills would they get today, and what was going to be their lunch among other things. Kavral tuned it out into the background amidst the pounding of artillery.

Sergeants stopped to salute and report updates to the lieutenant while she nodded and gave orders with the sort of clipped authority belying her own nervousness. And why shouldn't she be? She was promoted only recently to lieutenant, and no matter her prior experience it was still a new load of responsibilities just as war broke out. Kavral sometimes forgot his rank and looked to other sergeants for orders before realizing he gave them now.

Wild how the galaxy worked out sometimes.

But their 'prep' only amounted to an hour's work. So much had been done already, and they ended up back to where they were, laying out in the trench, along the wall or on the ground. Some were even sleeping! How they managed that was beyond him, as Kavral couldn't imagine sleeping right now.

So now they waited. Comm traffic updated them on the approaching force plus artillery confirming one hit or another. Whatever the results of those hits, he couldn't be sure, and artillery didn't speculate.

Tanks and repulsorlift vehicles milled about between their positions to the slow, steady drone of the engines keeping them in place. Elincia was nodding her head to something, music maybe? Technically against regs, but so was sleeping, and no one cared about that. Soldiers coped however they could.

Then came the counter-fire. The warning siren blared, and everyone fell to the floor, pressing themselves low as a whistling drone narrowed in with terrifyingly slow speed until a boom shook the ground somewhere ahead of the trenchline. Kavral made a game attempt to merge himself with the dirt of the trench as one after another fell in counter-barrage from the Hutt's long-range artillery.

Of course they had artillery, why the fuck not? Each whistling drone was an executioner's axe swinging for his head with such swiftness yet somehow drawn out until he could screw his eyes shut and pray for salvation.

A plume of dirt erupted right before the trenchline like a volcanic eruption that showered the trench with dirt. It bounced off his armor as he flung himself from the edge of the trench with such force he surprised himself and slammed into the other end, groaning with pain.

"Screw this!" someone said, barely audible over the screaming and whistling booms of artillery and counter-fire. Kavral zipped his gaze to the source like a Nexu picking up movement and found a woman—a girl really, couldn't be older than nineteen—in militia stripes. Black hair poked out beneath the edges of her unsealed helmet, brown and black fatigues with modular armor pieces about it and secondhand blaster rifle shaking in suddenly frightened hands.

Kavral could sympathize, really he could. It was a desperate and pretty scuffed decision, in his opinion at least, to put militia wearing whatever equipment the Dellaltian government could muster alongside experienced, well-equipped infantry. That didn't mean he could tolerate even the hint of cowardice. He pushed through the hunkered down troopers with a fervor he forgot he had. Another near strike put dirt over the trenchline again. The militia were half-panicking, looking to them for inspiration. His comrades in arms were fine. They were used to this, disciplined and experienced enough to know how easily life came and went on the battlefield. They were here anyway, and if they didn't break, the militia would look to them and hopefully not flee.

But if they saw a comrade run? One of their own?

The girl took a step back, eyes still locked on the trench wall and the unknowable dark littered with monsters beyond. Her rifle lowered, and he put a hand on her shoulder before she could even think to turn and bolt. The response was instant, as she jumped in spot, mouth open to scream, but whatever it was a boom of an artillery salvo obliterated any chance of it being heard.

"Keep hold of your rifle, girl. It's just an artillery salvo! Get against the trench wall and hold still, this won't last long," he told her, making sure to grip her shoulder firmly against any bolting.

She looked up at him, looking like a Sharnaff under a predator's gaze. He pushed her along to the trench wall and pressed her to take cover, falling in beside her.

"They'll have to move their artillery soon to avoid our counterfire, probably already getting hit," he said casually, keeping his voice and tone level, as if this were all another day on the job. On a whim he removed his helmet and pulled out a cigarette, lighting it and putting it to his lips he inhaled.

"Shouldn't we…not be where they can hit us?" she asked softly, almost silent under the din. Kavral laughed.

"What's your name, girl?" he asked her.

"Private Emiri Darret, sergeant major," she squeaked. He nodded and patted her shoulder reassuringly.

"Well, private Darret, I'm going to tell you one thing. We get up and move and there's actually a bigger chance of that artillery hitting us." He didn't actually know if that was true, but the logic made sense in his head, and this one desperately needed something to hang on to.

He was going to strangle the daft bastard who thought to send a girl who couldn't have had more than a few months of slipshod militia training onto the frontline. But that could come later.

"All those shells falling all over the place, we're safe in the trench unless they land right on top of us, but out in the open they only have to get close to shred you," he explained, dragging on his cigarette again and watching her stare up at him. It was a little sketchy and watching the logic pass through her eyes was reassuring because at least it meant the fear was being pushed down.

"And really, I'll bet you a thousand credits there're snipers across the way waiting for someone to poke their head above the trench wall." It's what he'd have done, send out teams of snipers ahead of the march to scout and maybe pop off a few heads if possible. Keep them pinned down in the trench.

"So you stay here with us and your odds of surviving this are better than going off elsewhere. Lot less likely to be court martialed too," he added with a final tap to her shoulder.

He worked his way through the last of the cigarette until the artillery fire began to die down. He extinguished the last of the cigarette and donned his helmet again.

"Clean that rifle while you've got the time, it looks a bit scuffed and you don't want it blowing on you, right?" he asked her leadingly, looking to the rifle covered in fallen dirt. Private Darret nodded slowly and began reaching for her kit to get it done. Kavral left her to her work and went back towards his platoon.

A few hours later the first of the line of droids began to march their way through the forest and into the minefield they'd oh so carefully laid out. Artillery opened up, along with tank fire, heavy laserfire, repeater emplacements, and their own infantry guns.

It was almost not worth the trouble. The droids fired back with guns so ancient it was amazing they fired at all, and some weren't even armed, picking up the guns of their fallen as they marched. But there were a lot of them, and some of models not even meant for combat! He saw astromechs and protocol droids marching through.

They were good for clearing mines at least. One detonation after another sent showers of sparks and shrapnel every which way. By the end of the 'assault' Kavral was pretty sure they'd not lost a single soldier to hundreds, if not thousands of droids.

Not a single actual soldier appeared, and their minefield was a shoddy mess. Then the artillery came back for another round, and Kavral had to sigh and hunker back down in the trench.

Yep, another fucking day on the job.
____________________________________________________________________________

Vault's City, 31BBY. Refugee processing station Aurek.

"Stay in your lines and follow the direction of the attendants and we can move things along much more smoothly," Lieutenant Datash Krimix rolled his eyes at yet another scuffle in the line. His sympathy had long since simmered into a sort of dry distaste for the whole process.

Millions of refugees had fled to Vault's City in the wake of the invasion, leaving his corps to help organize and filter their dispersal into the city in a manner that hopefully didn't leave chaos and disorder in their wake.

And, of course, to ferret out spies and assassins. He'd found six potentials and one confirmed today alone. There were yet more to come he was sure, but first he had to get them through the line.

Obviously, asking a bunch of scared locals and their families to wait patiently in line and filter through the administration brought tension and dislike and a fair bit of argument and complaining. Fights broke out every now and again: people arguing in the lines about the slow process, about people complaining about the slow process, accusations of cutting the line, worries about their families and imminent Hutt attack.

Datash was oh so tired of having to deal with it, but knew full well they would be going through this for the next month easily. The line quieted down again to muttered grumbling, as the tension had bled away somewhat, leaving a stuffy quiet. He marched back to his station and settled in to listen to reports, write up his own, and prepare for the next crisis.

Vault's City was a massive construction and arguably one of many galactic wonders if you were being generous. Not the vaults themselves the city was built within, massive vault complexes built into a mountain or underground were incredibly common, but turning them into a city in the way the Dellaltians had was a marvel of engineering and sheer pluckiness with veritable arcologies situated in massive chambers.

It was massively defendable as a redoubt and spacious enough to hold an incredible amount of people, but that space also brought problems of management. Datash did not envy the administrators who would need to handle the sudden influx of people.

"Do we have eyes on our suspected spies yet?" he asked no one in particular, almost lazily glancing over the civilian ID information their 'legal residents' had provided to justify their entry. Some of it was laughable, but a few of them had almost perfectly crafted identification to the point that they were either legit refugees who just had the bad luck of being suspicious looking or master spies.

Given the Hutt dominance of the underworld, it wasn't hard to imagine them being capable of hiring the best of the best.

"Eh, we've got them situated in temporary housing, we'll see if they actually stick there," another lieutenant mumbled. Good enough in his opinion, for now at least.

"I still say we should've just processed them right away, they can still cause trouble even if we have eyes on them," Datash grumbled.

"Yeah, but I guess command hopes they'll try to link up with local spy rings and we can swoop them up at once. Worst comes to worst we just grab them later and send the rest into hiding," a third added. Yeah, and who was he, some rando lieutenant, to question command's judgment?

He heaved a sigh and let the hours whittle away while he worked, and interceded in dispute after dispute. Eventually this would be done, and his platoon could go on to better assignments.

He actually managed to have a stretch of time without any problems until near dark when a bulky man in Mandalorian armor opened the door to his station and grunted for him to come out. Datash sighed and pushed back from his chair, wondering just what inane argument had sparked up this time.

Halbarad was usually pretty serious, so maybe it was something actually worth his time? Why couldn't the militia be doing this? He stepped out of his office into the large high ceilinged vault that served as the administrative entry zone, grey marbled stone towering hundreds of meters tall and wide. Banners and holographic displays had been cast about the walls and ceilings as if to hide the almost prison-like quality to the structure to little success.

Gods there was still a thousand people in line easily. How were they going to get everyone here settled before the Hutts made their way here? There didn't seem to be an argument, so he narrowed his eyes at the Mandalorian, wondering if he was bringing him out for something petty and trivial, but Halbarad had stopped and was subtly nodding him over.

Curious now he ambled sedately over to the Mandalorian, trying to keep as casual as he could. Maybe it was another spy or saboteur? Mandalorians did a lot of mercenary work, so maybe he'd recognized someone he used to know?

"What is it?" he whispered, careful not to stare anywhere in particular lest their target be made aware of their presence. Halbarad didn't answer for a moment then nodded slowly.

"In the line, right past the support pillar near the medstation. There's a man there, tall, you can't miss him," Halbarad said. Datash looked, and just past the pillar by the medstation there did seem to be a man near 2 meters if not a tad over. Dusky grey skin, humanoid with a shock of short white hair. He towered over the line, shoulders hunched just a little as he glanced about the room curiously.

There didn't seem to be any of the fear that stunk up the room, no nervous jittering or half muttered prayers. He wasn't shifting from foot to foot, nor any of the other anxious behaviors he'd come to expect of the refugees in the line.

Really, he just seemed impatient.

"What about him? Near-human as far as I can tell, unusual species I think, but it's a big galaxy." Datash shrugged. He didn't see anything particularly objectionable. The lack of fear was unusual, but not necessarily strange. Some people just didn't scare easily. Halbarad huffed.

"He's got an air to him, that one's a killer I guarantee it," Halbarad insisted. Datash looked back and saw the thin, lithe figure of the man. Maybe with a vibroknife or a blaster, but he couldn't imagine the man killing anyone hand to hand.

"How so? You think he might be a criminal from one of the other regions?" he asked quietly. The ROSF and later Rim Alliance had been cracking down hard on the major crime syndicates, had been for the past ten years really, but some were harder to pin down than others, and new ones grew up every day.

Even now he was aware of six small syndicates on Dellalt, mostly smugglers and petty theft networks, but there was violence between them. If he had a record, they'd find out pretty quick.

"No, look at his eyes, those are the eyes of a professional killer, not some petty murderer," Halbarad said dismissively. Datash narrowed his eyes, peering across the way, but he didn't have a viewfinder in his helmet HUD like Halbarad did. Instead, he looked to the couple dozen RA troopers, local police, and militia members milling about at their guard stations, the fortified barricades and emplacement weapons protecting the whole area.

"I'll have the team run a thorough analysis of his credentials and bioscans, if he's done anything objectionable and been caught or suspected over it, we'll know," he assured the big Mandalorian. Halbarad huffed but nodded, crossing his arms and seemingly freezing in place.

Datash left him with a shake of his head, Mandalorians. Reliable as they were, their seriousness could cause him some serious headaches.

He went back to his station, but not before relaying Halbarad's concerns and instructing the staff to give an extra thorough review of that near-human's credentials. That should have been the end of it, but somehow he found himself standing to go and check the inspection himself.

He cursed Halbarad for his stodgy ways as he made a crisp walk across to the inspection station and slipped inside the back. A few troopers saluted, others nodded while they worked, processing documents and asking questions of the refugees flooding in.

The big near-human was there too, talking to corporal Goren and handing over every document when asked. Datash listened in enough to learn the man's name was Arien and he was an immigrant worker for the dockyard in Sere. He'd been coming to Vault's City to finalize his immigration paperwork when the fleet withdrew. Seemed reasonable enough.

But as he talked, Halbarad's warning echoed in Datash's ears. He found himself listening to the clipped and neutral tones, and noticing the way the man's pale blue eyes froze like chips of hard ice that burned with the intensity of the cold. It was a little unsettling how his smile didn't reach his eyes. In fact it seemed the mere act of smiling made those eyes colder and more dead than they'd been before. Soon he couldn't even look at the man without feeling like an ooze was stretching across his body.

His documents were all in order, residency, employment, everything checked out, and even with a thorough scan nothing objectionable was pulled up. He was missing certain documentation, but that was easily explained away by this invasion ruining the finalization of his paperwork.

Goren sent him through with his assigned housing unit, and he thanked them with those cold dead eyes. Datash watched him go and felt faintly relieved when the man finally left.

The rest of the day was fine, the same old boring work, two more suspected spies and saboteurs to keep watch on, and a load of refugees to worry after, nothing objectionable. He could almost put the memory of those chilling eyes out of his mind.

Almost.
____________________________________________________________________________
Dellali Forest, northwest of the city of Sere.

"Watch the right, three on the right!" Corporal Janson hunkered down beneath the burnt wreckage of a towering tree as thick as a speeder. Wood splintered and crackled, sizzling in her ear with fires that died and smoldered out as quickly as they sprung into existence.

"Leaning out," she said levelly despite the nauseous fear that festered in her heart. Training and discipline, had to be that because there was no other way she could've edged the tip of her rifle around the hunk of fallen tree with such steady hands.

The forest was alight with bolts of bright red shooting back and forth so fast they became a blur darting like horizontal rain across her vision. Across the tangle of trees, shrubs, and winding tracks, a Nikto in roughshod armor leaned out and fired a staccato series of bolts at someone else from her company. Janson aimed and pulled the trigger in the fraction of a heartbeat it took to line up the shot.

A loud bolt erupted from her rifle like a triumphal declaration. The Nikto dropped back, but now a Vordran leaned out and raised his blaster towards her, and oh shit she was pulling back behind cover.

"Nice shot." Janson huffed and looked to her left where Corporal Evrich was leaning over the top of the tall tree, using a low hanging branch as a foothold to lift himself up over the top.

"Thanks, any word on the Baker teams?" she asked, counting down the seconds until it was probably safe to lean out again. The fight was still ongoing, and her heart racing with every distant bolt that drew near their meager cover. This was the last time she volunteered to be a forward scout. Find the enemy Janson, it'll be simple and safe. Pah, she was going to slap Sergeant Marr'sudo when she saw the bastard.

"Enroute, but the mortar teams are here," Evrich replied singsong. A distant whistling whir was all the warning she got before the mortars came down and raised a plume of dirt somewhere on the other side of her cover. She still saw the fucking plume of dirt which meant it was way too close for comfort.

"Bout time," she muttered and leaned out to fire again. They were getting wiser to her this time, and a salvo of suppressive fire put her back in cover before she could accomplish much of anything. More mortar fire came raining down one after another. Dirt began to fall like rain all about her.

This was around the time she'd really want to have some tank or repulsorcraft cover. But the Dellali forest was too narrow for anything but infantry movement. Another tree fell… well for now it was too narrow.

Which meant it got the short end of the stick on defensive deployment. The 99th Infantry Regiment guarded the forest route with pride and vigor! She'd rather be behind a defensive position, but with the Hutts trying to fortify their own entrenched positions, command thought to give them a little bit of a kick in the pants to keep them from being too comfortable.

Janson leaned out and fired again, catching a glint of chrome, a lot of chrome. Droids incoming, she aimed and fired quickly, dropping two of the metallic bastards before darting back into cover.

"We got shinies, and Baker teams are two minutes out. Keep up the good work Janson," Evrich urged her, as if she needed the encouragement to keep going. She wasn't some punk straight out of boot camp who'd wet herself at the first sign of combat!

She was thirty-five years old, and she'd been with the infantry since the ROSF started! She was at Troiken for goodness sake! She was a farm girl from Taanab who'd found a lifelong calling with the military. She had a husband and son she loved dearly waiting for her back home. She wasn't new to any of this.

Evrich liked to jokingly call her a career corporal, but what of it? She liked her work and did it well.

Another lean out, two more droids among the throng of thousands marching out towards them downed. They were distracting from the organic squads moving up, but the mortars were making quick work of them anyway.

"Baker Team here!" came a shout, and suddenly Private Polluck was rushing up with the heavy repeater slung over his shoulder while Private Maskere followed right behind carrying the power pack in her hands. Three more riflemen came up with weapons loaded, sergeant Dietrich at the forefront.

"Ready to get the move on, corporal?" Dietrich asked, and Janson imagined the fierce grin behind his faceplate pointed teeth gleaming with war paint.

"Yes sir, just waiting to hear my name called up," she replied distractedly, leaning out to fire only to yank herself back before a bolt took her head off. Fuckers! Dietrich laughed and waved to Polluck and Maskere who were busy setting up the heavy repeater atop the hulk of the tree. Protective energy shields framed each side of the gun, protecting the big private from the volley of counterfire.

A minute later the rapidfire screech of the repeater joined the fray, picked up by half a dozen others across the stretch of forest the 99th were counterattacking. Janson peaked her head out and saw a torrent of heavy fire tear through lines of marching droids that fired back unfailingly and inaccurately even as they still kept coming.

Damned things were shit, but apparently cheap enough to mass produce. Janson turned from the scrap to find the organics moving through the foliage from cover to cover. She waited, a human ducked out and she fired in a breath. He dropped and she turned her gaze to the next.

On it went, one after the other, leaning in and out of cover to open fire while the repeaters made short work of the mob and the riflemen went after the juicier prizes.

Then, all of a sudden it seemed a change had taken over the battlefield. It was strange, a hint of ozone that wiggled its way through her helmet's filtration system. Janson thought it was just the massive burning of wood and dirt from all the blasterfire, but soon shouts were coming up and down the line.

Something was coming.

"Contact, twenty meters!" Polluck shouted over the deafening sound of the repeater, sergeant Dietrich turned to inquire further, but whatever they were saying was cut off by the noise and her own problems. She leaned back out and fired again.

Twenty meters was close though, she spared a quick glance ahead and didn't see anything outside what had been there already.

"Polluck, what contact?" she asked. The firing continued unabated, followed by a loud snap and hiss of energy then…nothing. The repeater cut out, and her world was filled with a rush of new sound. Janson glanced back and froze as Polluck's headless corpse fell back onto the earth with a loud thump. Maskere cried out as a figure landed on top of the tree trunk, a red lightsaber held in hand. Janson raised her blaster dumbly to shoot, but the figure leaped from the top and swung down, carving her blaster's barrel apart before they began to swing in defensive arcs against the blasterfire that shot towards them.

Maskere took a bolt to her chest and fell back. Another rifleman took a hit to the knee and then one to the chin. Sergeant Dietrich cursed and seemed to be about to call a retreat, or an attack, something, but the Jedi knockoff leaped towards him and cut him down in one fell stroke.

Janson meanwhile was trying desperately to scramble to her feet and draw her backup pistol. A Jedi? No, Sith? What? This was so far out of her wheelhouse. She had no idea how to fight a Jedi, much less one with an infantry group at their back!

"Command, come in command, there is a…Sith on the field. I repeat, Sith on the field! Sergeant Dietrich is—" She was cut off as the Sith extended a free hand towards her, and she was picked up bodily from the ground as if she'd stood in the midst of a tornado. She flew, flailing back, hit a tree, and fell to roll painfully onto the ground.

Her mind was blank. She hurt, a pain that throbbed and stung and burned across her body, yet still she moved, writhing across the ground. At least she wasn't dead, or with a broken back. She knew that much and that much only.

"Come on Janson, get up, we gotta go!" The voice was familiar but she couldn't place it. There were screams, wordless and unintelligible. Blasterfire too, the whistling of the mortars, and the booms of their impact.

"Evrich," she finally placed the name. It was a word she could latch onto, familiar. Evrich, Corporal Evrich.

"Yeah, it's me, now get up Janson we gotta go before that Sith turns her attention to us. Come on! You know I can't carry you the whole way." Evrich was pulling at her, but her sense of balance was off. The world was spinning, was she flying again? She stood up anyway, and her vision focused on dirt. The ground was beneath her feet with all its green shrubs and grass and flowers and bits of fallen sticks and branches.

Good, good, she wasn't planning to fly again. The world spun, and she wanted to vomit. Evrich walked in front of her and dragged her along with him. She saw some others from her company, retreating back by squads and firing off behind her at the foe. Where was the Sith? She stumbled along after Evrich.

"I can run on my own," she murmured, not sure if that was actually true or not but unwilling to be pulled. He let her go, and she followed after him, slowly picking up speed and ricocheting off of the trees with the sway of her gait.

Maybe she wasn't as capable as she'd claimed, but she'd manage. The vertigo wasn't stopping her. Still the run was terrifying, turning back to shoot with her pistol at a foe she could barely focus on and was sure she never hit. But eventually they stopped pursuing as they neared the reserve lines.

It was a temporary setback. The 99th would already be compensating and planning another attack. Janson didn't care, as she just wanted to fall into her bedroll and sleep. Hopefully Dietrich, Polluck, and Maskere wouldn't be there.

Hopefully.
____________________________________________________________________________
Nar Shaddaa Cartel Landing Zones, 31BBY.

The first spoils of war, Ardim Kent watched the transports come and go with a sort of idle amusement. The Hutt Ruling Council had dollied up the landing pad with flashing lights and big banners, displays of power as guards and soldiers in beautiful, ornate armor stood at attention framed by speeders and tanks. Fightercraft flew by with gunships patrolling around.

A crowd had gathered, mostly scoundrels like himself from a thousand different professions ranging from legit to unscrupulous. The crowds had extended to walkways and towers across the gulf of space from the landing pad. There were holo-cameras displaying the procession across the planet. But he had to be here in person.

Treasures from the worlds they'd raided in the initial stretch, prisoners captured, soon to be slaves were paraded across the landing pad, heads down while they marched to their fate. Ardim wanted to laugh at the paltry number. The Hutts had lightly raided a dozen worlds and only just landed an invasion force on Dellalt, parading treasure and plunder now was a bit premature.

But he knew full well they needed to keep the people intimidated of their power and enticed to maybe join up themselves in search of their own loot. After all, this would be divided up between the Hutts and their servants, reward for leal work. In truth the common soldier would be lucky to get ten credits from this small fanfare.

But if it induced a recruitment spike, then it was probably well worth it to the slugs. Ardim didn't really care himself, these petty governments and their needs for pomp. He was of a higher, independent mind. He took the jobs that paid him the best, smuggling goods or even people at times hither and thither according to his will.

Right now, the Hutts were paying a premium for war material of any kind. It was an aurodium mine for any smuggler worth their ship and downright stupid to turn down. They were smugglers; their entire job was freedom from authority, shipping where they liked, when they liked.

Still, some of these hauls were pretty enough to look at. There was a gathering of near-humans near twenty strong with varied skin tones, a truly staggering height for a near-human, lithe frames, and some exotic hair colors. Ardim almost laughed, maybe the Hutts were looking for a suitable alternative to Twi'leks on the exotic market?

He didn't think they'd succeed there, but a couple of them were interesting to look at. Well, if you went for tall at least.

Well, whatever the case, he snapped a few holos of the proceedings. Someone in the Rim Alliance would pay for any intelligence on Hutt actions. A thousand Rim news companies, journals, and talk shows would pay out their nose for video of a Hutt treasure march parading captured slaves of the Rim from their raids and war.

Really gets the rage flowing, and his pockets lined.

Maybe enough to take a sweet trip to a resort world for a week or two? Arden stretched and pocketed his recorder, whistling while he shoved his hands into the pockets of his coat. This was the kind of era he liked, so full of chaos and change, so full of possibilities for the adventurous and bold to make their fortunes.
____________________________________________________________________________

Axum, 31BBY.

"Chancellor, on what authority should we act in foreign matters?" Senator Snopps asked evenly, as if it were a settled matter and Bail Antilles only needed to have it explained to him and he would acquiesce. Bail kept his features pleasant, meeting the Senator's even gaze with his own.

"It is a matter of stability, the Hutts expanding their power and returning to their imperial past threatens to cast the entire region into disarray and turn this war into an unmitigated galactic slaughter," Bail answered with the same evenness he used when speaking to his little cousins.

"Already, other Rim worlds speak of seceding like the Tionese did. They chafe at the restrictions hindering their intervention. If more systems secede then the Hutt's allies will intervene and the war will spread across more of the galaxy," Bail continued. Snopps raised a brow.

"And? It is their right to secede, Tion established that. If they wish to join their fellows then who are we to stop them?" Snopps replied dismissively. Bail knew he would, as his faction was dismissive of the war at best, outright oppositional at worst.

"Many Mid and Inner Rim worlds hold no desire for succession, they would be dragged into the crossfire of war. Which is why a positioning of Judicial squadrons in the border regions would allow us to project a sense of strength and stability. The Hutts would not dare attack any one of those squadrons and secessionists will feel more hesitant to act and relieve themselves of that protection," Bail told him starkly, tapping a finger on his desk.

"We can bring this back, reunite the Republic. The Tionese are surely seeing the dangers secession has brought them, and if we put ships nearby, they might begin to think of the benefits of asking for our aid. The moment a Judicial Fleet enters the sector the Hutts will retreat and sue for peace." It could work. The Republic could be reunified and things brought to right this time.

There would be a permanent Judicial presence in the Rim and stricter oversight. Investments could be directed to furnish the Outer and Mid Rim with growth while further tying them to Republic authority and administration. A centralized hierarchy could keep things from spiraling like they had in the past.

"The Judicials have higher priorities keeping the peace in the refugee settlements and the garrisons there. I'm sure you've seen the reports, sixty new incidents just today. Murder, arson, looting, the list goes on. The focus of the Judicials is where it needs to be, I can bring your recommendation to the committee." Bail almost snorted, but composed himself. Snopps ran that committee with an iron fist; it wouldn't do anything he didn't want it to do.

"Surely a handful of patrols through the hyperlanes along the Rim could not be too much to ask for? I know KDY has been experimenting with a few new design ideas. I'm sure Senator Roesk could be convinced to argue for an increase in the budget to test out those designs?" Bail suggested at last. Snopps made to consider it, stroking his chin lightly.

"Perhaps, I've seen their suggestions and there is some merit. The committee will discuss it with due diligence I assure you." Snopps smiled. It was as much of a yes as he was likely to get, so Bail took the victory he was likely to get. Snopps stood to leave, then stopped and turned to him.

"What of the Jedi? I must admit there is a great deal of concern as to why a thousand Jedi have departed to the Outer Rim at the behest of the Council. They claim to be responding to a request for aid from the Rim Alliance Senate, but a thousand? And with concerns closer to home?" Snopps shook his head.

It was clearly an excuse, but Bail did not understand for what. The Council had explained it as defending Republic worlds against Sith attack, citing a report from Naboo that Palpatine had acquired some method to attack remotely.

It seemed fantastical to him, but he wouldn't claim to understand the Force, nor the Jedi.

"There are several thousand Jedi doing work across the Republic on our behalf, a thousand doing guard work for governmental figures is not a matter of much concern. Your obsession with Corellia notwithstanding," Bail replied dismissively. It wasn't completely true though, as the Kamparas Council had done this on their own liberty, bypassing the Judicial office and the Chancellory.

Technically allowed, but not done as a matter of respect. If they thought he would deny their request, then perhaps they should have explained the situation better, as it was now he couldn't countermand their decision without appearing weak.

Snopps smiled and walked to the door, proving he was as much of a problem as he would always be.

"Asri, who is my next appointment?" Bail said tiredly when the man had left. There was a moment's pause as his secretary looked up his schedule.

"Magister Damask, Chancellor. He scheduled a meeting a few months prior," she told him. Bail nodded slowly. The financier had turned an elusive figure in the past two decades, but that was changing with the galaxy's strange turns.

"Send him in then, I'll meet him in my office," he said, reaching for his caf and taking a long, slow sip.

He loved his work, but there was ever so much of it.

 

[Johnreiter]

I feel so sorry for Chancellor Antilles. He's trying to do the right thing, but by this point it is too late to save the Republic. Still, at least he wants to help. And now we have a better idea who was trying to keep the Jedi and Judicial forces distracted from the war, though I doubt we know the whole story yet.

It is VERY ominous that Plagueis is meeting with the Chancellor. Hob-nobbing with high politicos is not something he does socially, like Sidious did, so he must have a definite reason for this visit. And it was something he has had in the works for months.

 

[kaosisreality]

too late to save the Republic

Click to shrink...

It's not too late to reorganize the various planets of the galaxy into something new. Maybe something closer to a confederation.

 

[Johnreiter]

It's not too late to reorganize the various planets of the galaxy into something new. Maybe something closer to a confederation.

Click to shrink...

Maybe, but by this point I'm not sure if most of the Rim would ever be willing to rejoin a new Republic, even one which supposedly guaranteed them more protection and autonomy. Once burned, twice shy

 

[Saphrith]

Kothlis, 31BBY.

"Are you sure you'll be okay, Lady Sarat?" Lia asked concernedly, glancing across the bustling Starport with concern. Aladaa shrugged, pointing to the half dozen RA special ops who were moving into the crowd ahead of her.

"Kothlis is a Rim Alliance world and I've got half a dozen commandos shadowing me. Plus Morris and Claptrap." She pointed to each droid in turn. Morris tilted his head to the captain.

"There will be nothing to concern yourself over, Captain. So long as I am functional, Lady Sarat will have no troubles," the droid promised lightly. Lia frowned, biting her lip, but nodded hesitantly. She couldn't disagree that a garrisoned RA world with half a dozen special forces and a footman droid guard would be hard to overcome, but she clearly wanted to.

Whether that was out of duty, concern for Aladaa, or fear of mom's wrath if something happened was an entirely different question Aladaa couldn't answer. Probably a little of all, she wasn't the Sarat family head of security, but she was responsible for Aladaa's wellbeing to some degree.

"Head on back to the estate to drop off my purchases. I'll take the Horizon back to Onderon and meet you there, I'll probably be staying on the estate to handle some business before heading out again so consider yourselves with shore leave until further notice," she instructed firmly. Lia saluted with a sigh and bowed.

"As my lady commands," she answered and pivoted to head up the Daybreak's cargo ramp. The Horizon had already been moved from the corvette's hanger to the docking bay and was awaiting her leisure.

Aladaa waved and strode off towards the Starport entrance while she whistled quietly. If only Mom knew about what Aladaa was doing, she'd probably have a conniption of some sort. Between going off on her own like this or realizing that for all her 'I don't want to be a Jedi Lady' rhetoric she was technically one already.
a
Had a nice estate on Dagri and everything, all under Aladaa's quiet management. She relly should have thought this might happen when she got herself made a minor noble and then gave her signet to Sata. As if the Princess wouldn't give her more than just a manor in Iziz for her residency. Oh no, Viera Sarat had a whole estate and everything. Small, but not for long if Aladaa had anything to say about it!

The thought made her giggle quietly, imagining her mom's face when she realized she had become nobility, proper nobility, all without actually intending to do so or even trying. It put a skip in her step as she led her two droids into Tal'cara's busy street.

It wasn't like they wanted to give her any stress related problems, but the way Sata told it, there was a little bit of grumbling about the princess courting a common woman, no matter how famous. Well, it wouldn't be a problem now!

"Mistress Aladaa, where are we going?" Morris asked cautiously, photoreceptors glancing around to the crowd giving them a wide berth. Only the restraining bolts on their bodies kept the crowds from panicking at the sight of the two droids. Aladaa couldn't blame them, even as she hated having to do it.

"We're heading to a place called Myder's Bar. Jorj and Booster are waiting there for us," she told him. Morris took a second to process, collecting local data from his databanks.

"Myder's Bar is in a disreputable part of the city, Mistress Aladaa. Is that wise?" he asked her. Aladaa checked her blaster hidden behind her long coat and the armored undershirt she wore to be certain. She had a vibroknife and a stun baton sheathed, plus Morris and the RA agents.

"It should be fine, Booster and Jorj wouldn't ask me to meet them here if they thought it'd be too dangerous," she replied airily, kicking a rock down the street and glancing across the shops and corporate manufacturer offices in the center of the city. There were factories farther off, centers of Kothlis' manufacturing business, busily churning out war materials for the Rim Alliance: tanks, speeders, fighters, blasters and ammunition, replacement parts, and sundry other goods as well.

A group of Bothans walked by, whispering between themselves only to quiet when Aladaa drew near. They hurried past, continuing their conversation in hushed tones. She made her way around the city center and down a long street of apartment housing towering above the street.

She headed left at the next fork to the mag-lev and boarded the train to the entertainment district where the Shadowport did much of its negotiations. It had been a long time since she'd delved into the underworld in any seriousness. She was a legitimate businesswoman, but it wasn't out of the question to make use of smugglers for news and such. Booster and Jorj were well informed, and more than one of her ventures had been started on little bits of information they'd slipped to her.

When they stepped off she led the two droids, Morris silently and Claptrap mournfully whirring, away from the main thoroughfare with its flashy bars, gambling parlors, brothels, clubs, theaters, and gaming houses towards the side streets and alleys that housed odd museums and parlors offering strange sights and wondrous artifacts that totally weren't fake bits of plastics and other cheap materials meant to wow onlookers for a couple of credits.

The crowds became thinner and less reputable. Men and women eyed her from where they loitered beneath porches and slanted roof overhangs. The clientele wore obscuring clothes and kept to themselves, eyeing everyone around them warily and moving quickly to whatever destination they had.

A few peddlers shuffled cautiously in the shadows and down alleys where she could just barely see the wares on display even if she couldn't make them out. She didn't need to though. They were forged luxury brands, illegal bootleg holos, and maybe a fake ID or two if they felt brave enough.

No one bothered her all the way to her destination. That might have been different in a past age, but in the days of Rim Alliance garrisons freeing local security for other duties, the more riotous gangs and groups had long since been driven out or forced so deep into the shadows it wasn't clear they would ever resurface to even a glimmer of their former power. Now everything was done behind the scenes in shadow and out of sight.

Myder's Bar was a hole in the wall of a decrepit looking building caked in layers of old rust and flaking paint. Half of it was clumsily repainted in uneven layers until the whole building was a mishmash of color that hurt the eyes to look at. The door was the only clean part of it, and even it creaked as it raised up for them.

"What a horrid place," Morris muttered. Claptrap chirped in agreement and would probably have turned around immediately if she'd let him.

"I've seen worse. Besides, it's half the point, now come on." She stepped through the door and sound suppressor field to a world of loud whooping music that pounded in her ears and made her montrals shake painfully. She was going to have such a headache after this, but Jorj swore he had something good for her, and he was never one to disappoint.

So she powered through the pain and mixed with the crowd of sentients of multiple species each talking loudly with each other, pounding back drinks, or dancing to the beat while the waiters and waitresses made their rounds. Aladaa pushed her way through the crowd slowly, pausing to help Morris and Claptrap along against the mass of surly transients.

Where were her guards? She'd told them her destination, and they'd agreed to fan out and keep watch, but she didn't see them. Though wasn't that half the point? Whatever it was, she'd find out later.

Spotting Jorj and Booster wasn't hard, two young men, clearly Corellian. Jorj had cut his brown hair short, while Booster was letting his black hair grow out more. Both men were having a furious argument with each other….well Booster was. Jorj was nodding along and seemingly offering blaise rejoinders that did not settle Booster's mood.

As she drew nearer she could almost make out the words.

"I'm telling you, the Dreadnoughts have this in the bag. Roland's in top form and plowing through the field. The Ranphyxes don't have a counter to him, he'll run roughshod," Booster said as he pounded back his drink.

"Mitilim's a good enough counter and that's all that matters. Roland is the only thing keeping his team afloat and once he's stalled or stymied the rest of the team will crumble," Jorj replied. Aladaa wrinkled her nose, ugh smashball. Jorj spotted her from the corner of his eye and smiled gratefully. He nudged Booster who saw her and waved her over.

"Get over here and sit down. We got some stories for you." Booster laughed while Jorj shushed him ineffectively. She took the seat across from them and rested her arms on the table while Morris and Claptrap came to a halt beside the table.

"You hungry? This place ain't the high class fare you're used to, but it's just as good," Booster boasted, but Aladaa watched Jorj's face twist with distaste.

"If you mean, greasy and fried slop slathered in so much fat that you can hardly taste it, then yes it is quite…good," Jorj admitted reluctantly. Booster scoffed.

"You get some money and now you're advocating the high life too? I remember a time that this place would be more than enough for you," Booster scolded while Jorj looked every bit not bothered by the boisterous chastisement.

"Accepting what you can afford does not mean enjoying it, Booster. Not all of us can stomach anything set before us with such magnanimity," Jorj replied, turning back to her with a thin but genuine smile.

"The nerf ribs are perhaps the only thing I could recommend with any seriousness. I know how you Togruta are a carnivorous lot," he told her bluntly. Aladaa smiled, rolled her eyes, and leaned forward.

"Food's fine, but I'd rather talk about what you've found out and what you've been doing lately. I know you Jorj," she said, half-accusingly. Booster was boisterous and blunt, proud and bold with a strong sense of loyalty to his friends. Reliable, talented, simple, that was Booster. Jorj though?

Jorj was a schemer, and she'd known that since she met him. Confident and charming when he needed to be, quiet and calculating always. He had plans and schemes along with the talent to discover information and its potential uses whether for economic or strategic gain. It was half the reason she cultivated him as an informant for her own ventures and for times like this where she wanted a different sort of information.

"Ah yes, quite. Your mother's smuggler problem. I heard about that whole affair, set back the peace talks almost irreparably. I believe I know a few useful facts," Jorj replied, pleased and now suddenly very quiet as he leaned back against the booth. Aladaa stared, waiting for him to continue. When he clearly wasn't going to, she sighed and pulled out a credit chit and slid it across the table. Jorj pocketed it with a grateful nod and a wink.

"Well, it just so happens that there have been a number of new postings for…independent freighter captains willing to take questionably legal work," Jorj began softly, only to sigh at the roll of her eyes and the clearly disinterested look she was giving him.

"Smugglers exist, I know that Jorj. I also know that the Hutts are hiring smugglers to ship them war material they can't make on their own. If this is all you've got, I want my credits back," she told him gruffly. If he'd called her all this way to tell her shit she already knew, then— Jorj raised a hand defensively, still smiling.

"Yes, I know that, and I know you know, but what's interesting is that these job offerings are coming from different employers. The Hutts aren't behind this, though they are benefitting," Jorj continued, pausing her thoughts. Well, that was interesting. Not totally unexpected, but interesting nonetheless.

She thought to Zey and Dar on Etti IV tracking the corporate side of affairs, and maybe this would be concurrent with their investigations. Maybe she'd have some additional information to give them?

"Do you know who is behind it?" she asked him hopefully. Jorj's smile dipped, and he shook his head wryly, as if it was a professional disgrace to him to not know.

"Not sure yet, but it doesn't match the usual Hutt methods in a way that simply can't be explained by a change of tactics, see the problem is that there's a lot of players in the game so to speak. There's the Hutts who sit at the top of the underworld hierarchy. They've got a hand in every pie and take their 'rents' so to speak for the luxury of not having an assassin come to you in the night," Jorj began, tapping his fingers on the table while he glanced around their table. They were in a secluded part of the bar, but they weren't completely isolated.

"Then you've got the lower syndicates below them. Big crime organizations who sometimes compete with the Hutts and each other. Below them are the smaller sectoral and regional gangs, until you get down to the occasional business owner who employs smugglers on occasion for information or help bypassing an embargo." He nodded to her, not judgingly or mockingly, but it was a truth of their relationship.

"Right now, a lot of it is in flux as Jedi and RA investigators are crunching down on their open business. But the players that matter right now are the Black Road. They're an amalgamation of smugglers with criminal leanings and a lot of skill at keeping themselves out of official attention," Jorj explained, and Aladaa nodded. She knew of them, though not a whole lot.

"They've grown big in the last year or so, with safehouses and enclaves apparently across the galaxy to help smugglers or pirates avoid the law. They arrange dead drops and exchanges, provide relief and escape strategies for criminals who need them, and most importantly of all, smuggle cargo of every stripe," Booster added with a grunt.

"Slaves, drugs, stolen goods, war materials and exotic animals. You name it, the Black Road deals in it lucratively. So far, much of the war material passing to the Hutts seems to be through their safehouses at Hutt bidding. But not these postings. They still go through the Black Road often enough, but the middlemen are new, and so too are the clients." Jorj nodded to Booster who leaned back and stretched lazily.

"A man came to me, human or near enough, and asked if I was willing to haul five hundred tons worth of ignition coils to a place called Senesthan. Said I'd be paid handsomely for it, gave a pretty good offer too," Booster explained, drinking deeply while she turned the name around in her head.

"Haven't heard of the place," she said, and Jorj nodded.

"No one has, at least, no one that I've asked, and I've asked a lot of people. I want to say it's Outer Rim but given how uncharted the Rim is that doesn't narrow things down. But what intrigues me the most is that Booster was told he would only be allowed to jump there via a jump beacon," Jorj told her with a note of excitement in his voice, as if this were some great puzzle he was eager to solve.

"Jump Beacons? Those things are ancient and incredibly inconvenient to use, you'd have to go through the beacon each time to get the right coordinate to the next." Aladaa wrinkled her nose. How inefficient was that!

"Exactly, it's perfect if you don't want your pilots reporting the astrographic data back to any potential spies, even helps make second-thought having pilots less of an issue. So what if the government knows? Unless they have the means to seize the jump beacon and follow the trail to where it goes," Jorj replied again with that touch of excitement.

"And what are we thinking lies at the end of this trail of jump beacons?" Aladaa asked, beginning to feel that glowing spark of interest herself. The thoughts raced through her mind with possibilities, each more fantastic than the last.

"In a best case, we'd find whoever's hiring out these smugglers to haul war materials to, presumably, the Hutts and where exactly they're getting these supplies from"—Jorj smiled wryly—"but I realize that's unlikely. I'll settle for taking whatever haul they've gathered at this supply depot away from them though," he finished. She gave him a long look, narrowing her eyes suspiciously.

"Since when have you become a Rim Alliance man, I thought you found government distasteful?" she asked. Booster barked a laugh, loud and sharp.

"You ain't wrong, neither of us are friends of authority," Booster replied with a deep chortle of amusement. Jorj looked at Booster and wrinkled his nose slightly, before he sighed.

"Quite, it is true that I have a particular loathing for authority that isn't my own, but this current war threatens to tip the balance of power in a way I don't like. If the Hutts gain ascendancy it is only a matter of time before they begin to exert their control over the underworld even more strongly than they already do. I would not like to be a smuggler under the Hutt thumb," Jorj explained and took a slow, measured sip from his drink.

"You'd be dealing with a powerful Rim if the Hutts lost too, wouldn't you?" she pointed out. Jorj shrugged as if that was inconsequential.

"I suppose, but the Rim Alliance would not summarily execute me for smuggling without their permission. And I find it a lot cheaper to bribe Rim Alliance officials than Hutt when such things are needed," Jorj told her as if that explained everything. She couldn't help but look at him doubtfully until he smirked.

"Hutt officials expect bribes and understand how much they're worth. Rim Alliance officials are a bit riskier to pay off, but I only have to bribe them when I'm doing something legally dubious. I'd have to pay the Hutts to do anything, and that's just no good for my business," Jorj explained further, earning a roll of her eyes.

"So, what's this all got to do with me then? Is Booster going to take the job?" she asked. They could maybe send a team in with Booster's ship to scout out whatever final destination the Black Road was using.

"No, unfortunately, he was told that he would need to accept the job or deny it then and there, and he decided to be safe and say no," Jorj said, before grinning devilishly and leaning back against the chair. He took an old coin and spun it along his fingertips.

"Buut, we do know someone who has been hired. They're heading to Castell to pick up the cargo in a couple of days," Jorj continued casually, inspecting his nails as if looking for dirt.

"Could be, this fellow wears a helmet all the time to filter out toxins, could be he's about the height of Jorj here, with a tendency to be the strong silent type," Booster added with a grin that spoke of evil, evil things.

"Could be, hypothetically," she added with a note of wry amusement and a shake of the head, these two.

"Yup, be a shame if someone found him on Castell and relieved him of his armor and ship. That ne'er do well could take on the job he was doing and traipse along to this secret cache with none the wiser," Booster replied, still grinning fit for the devil.

"And, wouldn't it also be such a shame if this ne'er do well brought along a team to help him infiltrate the cache. Say, a trustable Togruta, her droids, plus the Rim Alliance special forces team she has running around keeping watch over her," Jorj added with a smile.

"Mistress Aladaa, this is a supremely unwise course of action," Morris whispered urgently, giving Jorj a dirty look as if he were a ruffian out to ruin her good name. Maybe he was in a roundabout way.

"My mom would kill me if I went off on my own like this, you too probably. She would not be happy if I did this, even worse she'd be worried sick once word got back to her," Aladaa said immediately. She remembered the last time she'd done something like this. Mom had not been pleased, and it had sucked to see that look of dismay and betrayal on her face. Aladaa almost shivered at the memory, a pang of hurt sparking in her chest.

"She doesn't have to know. Jorj and I can't do this on our own, we'd be killed if we tried anything funny. But the lot of us, plus a special forces team and the Jedi would be fine," Booster said quickly. Wait, what? Aladaa spun about to face him even as Jorj sighed annoyedly.

"Booster, I would have rather you not told her about the Jedi until after she agreed," he bit out with venomous frustration. Booster froze, then laughed and pounded the table.

"That's my bad then, but come on, we can trust her. We've worked with her before and she knows we're both smugglers. She could have turned us in at any time if she wanted," Booster pointed out.

"She doesn't have explicit evidence of any illegal jobs we've done for starters," Jorj countered before turning to her. "We haven't done anything illegal though so don't you worry," he told her unconvincingly, save for the somehow completely straight look on his face.

"The point is, Aladaa, that we have a very short window of opportunity to do this. Imagine the chance to seize multiple smuggling ships and their navcomputers. We could see exactly where they went to pick up every illegal shipment and begin backtracking to the source," Jorj noted with the glee of a man following clues to a buried treasure.

"There's only so many places they could be getting them from after all, eventually there'd have to be a pattern emerging. What planets were the most common, who had interests on the planet?" She thought back to Kimarin Argyle and TransGalactic's potential role in this whole plot. They were part of the Commerce Guild. Castell was a Commerce Guild world, wasn't it?

Would she find more evidence tying this to him or his there? Doubtful, but maybe something there could then be turned to something else that would eventually lead back to him or enough of his underlings to get them to tattle on their boss.

Zey and Dar were doing their own investigation on Etti IV, and that could turn something up, maybe. But perhaps this would have its own leads she could use to help them? She would love to be able to do her own part in bringing that asshole down. Sata would appreciate the relief she'd get from not having to deal with his attempts to steal his way into her business, and she wouldn't have to worry about her own work being undercut.

And, if a Jedi was going to be there already….

"So, how do you expect me to convince my bodyguards to go with me on an infiltration mission to try and discover potentially the biggest cache of smuggled goods in the galaxy right now?" she asked, ignoring Morris's soft moan of distress as he realized she might actually be going through with this.

"Well, the first part should be easy enough. If you go, they have to follow along, and this would be a major boon to the Rim's war effort. Denying these supplies and this hiding spot to the Black Road would make the Hutt's war effort much more difficult. Also, what soldier doesn't want to be able to have turned over hundreds of tons of war material stolen from the enemy to their bosses?" Jorj said matter-of-factly. That didn't seem like a good justification to her. What was stopping them from just saying no and forcefully keeping her from going along? They could call mom and have her say no, and then Aladaa would need to work very hard to get them to go along with it.

"And if it really matters that much, Castell's a good long flight, they can get in touch with their bosses and you can make your case on the way. We're very short on time, and if they can get a good infiltration team organized by the time we get to Castell, then maybe it will work," Jorj added with a seemingly unconcerned shrug.

"I'd prefer it if it was you though, I'd rather not have to deal with some formal, stuffy soldier asking too many questions about my business and identity. You, I know I can work with," Jorj finished. Aladaa looked from him to Booster

"Castell's not part of the Rim Alliance either, not like they could get anyone there in time to intercept him, this is the only chance we'll have," Booster added, and he wasn't wrong. It was a stroke of luck that had let them follow this black market patron to his next pilot. Without that, their chance of figuring out where the smugglers were going was slim.

She should've declined, wished them luck, maybe suggested her guards go with them. But she didn't. She wanted to help her mother and the energetic girl who called her sister, even if she was a bit of a handful at times.

"There's no way they'll agree to this," was what she muttered instead, reaching for her comlink. Absolutely no way, they weren't going to agree to this dumb plan and risk her mom's wrath.

 

[Calico J]

You know a story's been going on for a long while when the interlude title is effectively a pop quiz on your Roman numeral fluency. Let's see, L is fifty, so...🤔

Eighty seven! Damn, I'm pretty rusty. Also, wow, eighty seven interludes is impressive.

 

[Saphrith]

Dathomir, 31BBY.

"So, has your station been a particularly taxing one?" I ask Colonel Myrandi as she snorts and takes a sip from her caf. A woman in her fifties and a senior veteran of Ranulph's long crusade even before the ROSF's formation, she looks at me with a sort of dull tiredness of a woman having had to deal with more than she'd ever anticipated and does not appreciate all of it.

I can sympathize.

"I am guarding an artifact capable of destroying worlds at the cost of the one I'm standing on while babysitting a cadre of scientists, biologists, anthropologists, and general historians who distinctly lack a sense of self-preservation," Myrandi tells me lightly. There's a distant rumble that doesn't even make her blink. Her datapad flashes, and resignedly, she looks down at it before shaking her head.

"My lead scientist is studying Dathomiri spellcraft in between trying to understand the Kwa technology while my lead anthropologist has been carried off by the locals…sixteen times in the course of his attempted studies. They've brought him back themselves twelve of those times." I almost snort, but it's not that funny. My amusement must have shown because she does not look amused.

"Besides that, I have a base of rowdy soldiers who don't understand the dangers of fraternization with the locals or who don't care," she continues. I think back to the small 'town' near the base of the temple.

I say town, but it's really more of a collection of huts meant to handle traffic to and fro, probably a small permanent presence that grows bigger when seasonal travelers come by. I can guess at what they're coming by for.

"Is there a lot of trade going through the soldiers and the locals?" I ask her. The landing pad they put down is pretty sizable, enough to keep up with the logistics of the base plus a few merchants and other ships. Weren't there some rather sizable mining deposits out in the desert? I faintly remember bringing that up with someone.

"Dathomir doesn't have hot chocolate, but the minute one of my sergeants offered a witch his, they've been clamoring for more of the 'sweet drink'. They've offered hides, furs, and more to convince me to requisition more of the stuff," Myrandi tells me, completely seriously.

"They're lucky I'm more scrupulous than others. I could easily be exploiting their cravings for my own benefit. Instead I have to put regulations on fair trade with my soldiers and manage the couplings that have sprung up, also against regulations." I sigh in sympathy. I imagine a garrison of RA soldiers looking to blow off steam would only have so many outlets. With traders coming from overland and interacting, it was only natural there'd be unions.

"Any problems with kidnapping?" I ask her, but she shakes her head.

"Not after I put my foot down, my chief anthropologist aside, they've been respectful. No, no, the problem I'm having now is that there are a number of Dathomiri women who have moved into the 'town' below and started seemingly long-term relationships with some of my soldiers. Long distance traders mostly, middlewomen for the trade going in and out of here, but now I have to deal with citizenship questions and consider what happens in five to ten years when soldiers start pulling out or retiring and bringing families with them, if they don't settle down here. Between that and the mine bringing increased traffic, I've got my hands full," Myrandi replies. That's kind of sweet…maybe? I mean, things are changing right. People are adapting and moving out of older ways?

Wait, what was that about mining? I ask her, and she gives me a strange look.

"The Princess didn't tell you? There's an aurodium mine being set up out in the desert. She's got a minority stake in the whole venture. Apparently there's going to be a small port depot there, the two clans involved are poised to be the richest clans on Dathomir," Myrandi explains. No, I did not know that.

I know Sata's been working on a number of projects, but we don't talk about everything work related; we'd be talking about work all day if we did. I'm pleasantly surprised though. I did mention it to her, and it seems she's gone ahead with working on it.

"There's some other mining ventures being bandied about, but right now they're nothing more than pipe dreams, or so I hear," Myrandi continues, and I nod along. There's a future galactic economy here, and we'll just have to see where it goes. Now if only I were here just to catch up on how Dathomir's doing.

"I assume you've been informed of what we're here to do," I tell her, and she nods, face turning grimmer than it already was.

"I am, I've prepared a dossier of what I know about the current clan relations, but I assume you have an idea of that already," she replies. I do, but more information would be appreciated by the Senator at least. She hands me a datastick with the information, and I bow, giving her a brief goodbye as I head out back to my own business.

Duala and Cabur await me outside, talking to a couple of awestruck witches as Duala explains her friend's abilities and skills with an air of pride. The Basilisk War Droid, for his part, is staring at the Rancor mounts of the witches with an unreadable expression, but I tentatively place it as curious anticipation. I wonder if he's expecting them to attack and give him some excuse to fight back?

I remember Duala's suggestion to make him hyperspace capable and shiver at the thought of an army of Mandalorians riding through space on Basilisk mounts. That's a bit terrifying. Those droids are dangerous enough already.

Eventually it'll happen though. She's my padawan now, but there'll be a day she's a full fledged Jedi Knight. And then if she wants to design a modular system to allow her and Cabur to travel the galaxy together, she'll do so, and I'll only be able to watch.

That about sums up half the lessons I've learned this past year or two.
____________________________________________________________________________

Misty Falls Clan, 31BBY.

Reah hasn't changed since the last time I saw her, and neither has the Misty Falls. Though from what I've heard, the defeat of Zalem basically broke the Nightsisters' power on Dathomir for now. There's been staggeringly fewer Nightsister attacks leaving the roads much safer for travel and trade.

Now as I stand before the Clan Mother and her aides and elder witches, I can kind of see what might be the fruits of that boon. There's a little bit more ornamentation and less tension in the auras, more relaxed and at ease, a hint of excitement even.

Then again that last bit could be as a result of the piled up goodies we've brought. There's cloth, linen, silk, and warm woolen garments for the winter, along with bits and baubles of jewelry in the form of rings, necklaces, armbands, and bracelets. There's a crate of blaster rifles with ammo packs to go with, portable water desalination units and food storage refrigerators with power sources to go with. Mixed in are a number of other general goods and items to make the lives of the local witches easier and more fruitful.

The agricultural droids brought sit offline awaiting orders. What with Vexxtal's rebellion and the recent anti-droid sentiment, a lot of worlds were happy to offload their droids to anyone who wanted them for bargain bin prices. I suggested that the witches would appreciate agricultural labor droids that would reduce the manpower they'd need to devote to farming. Now with what I know, I'm wondering if I ought to ask for some mining droids as well.

They're passing covetous eyes at the gifts, and Reah seems almost speechless at the sheer volume and wealth on display. She'll end up giving most of that away, but even her own portion would be substantive. And this is really just the first payment. They're going to be inundated with wealth by the Rim to fill the quotas.

"And all of this is to purchase the service of our enchanters? Jai, you know you can simply put in an order to them yourself? I am not unappreciative of these gifts, but I do not understand why you have given them to me," she asks me with a faint edge of caution. Yeah, there's the greed, but why wouldn't there be? But she's understandably concerned as to why she's being given a veritable fortune in Dathomiri terms.

One and a half million credits in ours.

"If I were seeking one set of robes then yes you're right. I need thousands of sets of robes and tunics, and we need many thousands more of armor enchanted in a similar manner," I tell her. Dathomir just can't fully outfit the Rim Alliance army with enchanted armor. It's not going to happen, so instead we're gaming for commando units and defensive platoons meant to protect sensitive or vital areas in support of Jedi already doing so.

That causes a silence to fall over Reah and her aides and advisors. They look at me, see the complete lack of joking on my face, and then turn to whisper amongst themselves in hushed voices I can barely make out. Even Reah is completely shocked.

"Jai, Viera, I do not wish to disappoint you, after receiving these valued gifts, but the Misty Falls could not fulfill an order like that if you gave us a hundred years. We have only ten enchanters within my clan and your order would keep them busy to the expense of every other need of my clan," Reah says.

"We cannot weaken our clan for an outsider's gain. Even a Jai, even one who broke the back of the Nightsisters, there are more dangers on Dathomir besides them," another witch adds. I think she's the Clan Protector. I cannot remember her name, or I wasn't told. I shake my head, remembering the gigantic fuck off dragon like being that attacked the Singing Mountain during my stay. Plus there's apparently hordes of ravenous giant spiders that come out at night to hunt and a host of other predators and even herbivores dangerous enough to be threats.

"I understand, which is why I am planning to ask the other clans as well. The work would be split up amongst every clan of Dathomir, as well as the riches and payment for that service," I reply calmly.

"Even still, with every enchanter on Dathomir it would be years before this order was filled out. We would beggar the land of Dathomir gathering the ingredients needed to perform the enchantment," Reah continues with a shake of her head.

"What if we could supply the materials? What are they? We have hundreds, thousands of worlds to draw from," Rasana Till pipes in, stepping forward eagerly and bowing her head. Reah gives the Senator a curious look then shakes her head.

"Blood is most common, animal blood to be precise, along with a commonly found plant crushed into paste to bind the blood to the item," Reah responds. That's it? I suppose it's the spell that takes the most time and effort. But animal blood and a plant?

"Does the plant have to be this local one, or would any do? The blood is easy, we can provide animal blood by the ton easily," Rasana says with a growing hopeful excitement. The blood will frankly be the easiest thing to supply out of everything involved.

"The local plant is all we know, I could not say if another plant will do, but if you could provide the blood it would make the enchantment much easier. But even still the time it would take," Reah replies.

"Give us a sample of this plant you use and we'll canvas every known plant in the galaxy until we can find something that matches close enough and have quantities shipped over," I tell her. Hydroponic gardens can be turned over to growing vast quantities to supply them. Money is no object right now, and by the Force if we have to turn entire planets over to producing the materials to make these robes then I think the Rim Alliance will do it.

"Perhaps but we still have the defense of our clan and home to concern ourselves with. Enchantments protect our home and witches from dangers." Reah says, going back to the initial point. Wait, does enchantment do other things? Can you enchant things to just…work better? Thought for later, protection from Sidious shenanigans now.

"We understand the need to defend your homes and people, but the Rim Alliance is prepared to help make up any shortfall or deficiencies caused by taking up your enchanters' time. We have a surfeit of options for you to consider, depending upon your preferences. We already planned to station ships in orbit to defend you from orbital bombardment, but we have a catalog of defensive options for beasts and people alike," Rasana offers smoothly, stepping forward. Reah turns to the Senator, narrowing her eyes at the woman in scrutiny.

"And who are you to speak for your people beyond the stars, Senator? I would know who you are and how I may trust that you have the power to back up your claims," Reah asks. We already introduced ourselves, but I'm sure that Senator doesn't mean too much to them beyond a vague term they've heard to define authority figures. Rasana doesn't take it badly, simply nods her head and begins to speak.

"I have the honor to be the elected representative of Telos IV and the Kwymar Sector to the Senate of the Rim Alliance. I help determine government policy for the Rim on matters of diplomatic outreach and public policy. I have been given authority by the Rim Alliance to make whatever deal I feel necessary to ensure that Dathomir supplies our defense needs." Withheld, of course, is the fact that she has a limit. One billion credits isn't a small sum, but really we shouldn't need to use a tenth of it. It's just for emergencies and to supplement our initial payment for more supplies if deemed necessary.

"You may know and trust Master Sarat here, but I am the one with authority here to negotiate. Please, Mother Reah, if you have doubts I can show you precisely some of the options the Rim Alliance is willing to give to ensure your people are protected," Rasana finishes, bowing with perfect poise and grace. Reah watches for a moment then nods.

"I can accept that for now, later I would have you speak to me in detail about what options you are offering," she replies, then turns serious and looks to me.

"Speak true to me Jai, what danger lurks among the stars that would cause you to come so desperately in search of our aid?" Reah asks suspiciously and a bit nervously. This is too much for her, too many gifts and patronages to get her clan to do as we want. I step forward, hands clasped behind my back at rest.

"A Sith Lord, a powerful one, has come up with or discovered a foul magick by which he can cast forth a shade of himself at a great distance. With that shade he can attack and harm at will, but can only be hurt in one specific manner. He is strong enough that even as a shade few can stand against him for long. Our first encounter, the robes I had enchanted here years ago protected me to a degree from his power. We are at war and if we lose then darkness will descend across the galaxy, Dathomir included," I tell her, a bit dramatic at the end but not wrong. He did it once, and he could do it again.

That causes whispers to spread across the gathered witches. Nervous whispers, something in what I've said has spooked them. I look to Ilena briefly, but she shrugs, she doesn't know. Is there a Dathomiri version of whatever Sidious did? God, that would be…handy actually. They could tell us what they do against it. Or they could say there's nothing to be done and oh well.

"This is…troubling, not even Dathomir's greatest foe could attest to such power and magicks," Reah murmurs. Who's she talking about…Gethzerion maybe? I do remember her being talked of as incredibly powerful, but against someone like Sidious who has had access to so much more lore and techniques of the Dark Side she must seem a novice.

"If he defeats us, I think Dathomir might be one of his next targets. He wishes to bring the galaxy under his domination and a place as strong in the Force as this would not go unnoticed," I add. In the EU timeline he settled for having it blacklisted and avoided, but after everything I've done to make connections between various Force-using groups, they won't be ignored this time, I feel.

Reah closes her eyes for a long moment, thinking about what I don't know. Then she opens them and nods.

"If you can make up for the defenses of the Misty Falls, then in this case I cannot fault your desires. We still do not have enough enchanters to make this quick work, but spreading the order out amongst Dathomir's witches will surely help," she says.

"Can you not train up more enchanters to make the work easier? Even if it takes years to train them fully, if they learn enough to make parts of the main enchanter's work easier it could still lessen the load," I ask. Reah nods slowly, seemingly exhausted or distracted by the weight of everything I've told her.

"We will have to, but not everyone is suited to the temperament of enchantment. It requires a steady mind, patience, the ability to focus on the minute artisanal work of laying down an enchantment. There are few of our sisters who would be suited to the task, and of those that are, convincing them to change their focus takes them away from other duties, if they are even willing," Reah explains.

There's a point to be made about more than just their sisters being able to use the Force and cast spells. The agricultural droids will make their farming easier and require less manual labor to get things done. They could get to near industrialization level production depending on how many apprentices they can take and how the work can be subdivided among them.

But I won't mention it, right now. Rasana gives me a warning look. As she mentioned before, we don't have the luxury of angering them right now when we really need their products to prevent the Hutts from dominating the Rim.

Leave that kind of sensitive diplomacy to the corps of diplomats the Rim Alliance is going to send to facilitate relations between the clans and the Senate. They can work on it in a way that isn't going to get us blacklisted.

It fell away in the EU timeline, so it'll fall away here. It took them 40 years originally once they realized the entire basis of their hierarchy wasn't true, and it's barely been two here. The Singing Mountain's adjusted better, but they're a small enough clan that making such a change meant little disruption. Misty Falls is bigger.

"Jai, we will do what we can to provide your enchantments, but there is more we could do. Give us time to consult amongst the clans and we will have news for you," Reah says seriously. I smile slightly, relieved by the news. I don't know what they can offer, but I'll take anything at this point.

"Thank you, mother Reah. I and the Rim will appreciate any aid we may get. With your leave, we will go to speak with your Enchanters about the orders," I tell her, and she nods slowly.

"Of course, Jai. You have done much for my clan and offer more besides. I would gladly offer you and your allies the hospitality of my home," Reah replies with polite dismissal in her eyes. She's still troubled, but at the dismissal her eyes are going to the gifts and considering what must be done with them. I bow and turn to leave with my party.

"That didn't go as smoothly as the Singing Mountain did, but we were successful," Rasana Till says with an upbeat smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes as she casts her gaze across the village. Men and women alike are hard at work, hauling goods or laboring at their jobs, but some are relaxing or playing games with sticks inscribed with symbols I don't hold a prayer of recognizing.

"Yes well, it could've gone better is all I'll say. I'm a little worried about whatever's made them so nervous about the description of Sidious's magic," I muse aloud, nodding or waving to people we pass by. We need to go see the enchanters to arrange shipments and explain more precisely what we need of them.

"I noticed that too, I wonder if they've seen a similar technique before," Ilena adds behind me.

"If they have, then it wasn't a good experience. Mother Augwynne wasn't pleased with the news either but I don't think she showed any fear or worry either." Augwynne was relatively subdued actually. Perhaps Duala tearing through the atmosphere on a gigantic war droid left her a little distracted?

"That is something the Jedi can pursue on their own time. Right now, our primary objective is securing contracts with every Dathomiri clan capable of creating enchanted armor and robes," Rasana commands firmly. I almost laugh at the look she gives me…from two feet down. She is a tiny mouse of a woman with the confidence and certainty of a woman twice that.

"As you wish," I reply easily. I'd rather be done with this as soon as possible and be back on the battlefield. The lines are holding, so I hear, but there's been a few more landings at small backwater worlds, more skirmishes. The Hutts are pressing the Dac sector again, launching raids aimed at the Mintooine Shipyards. Rahm Kota is leading a team of Jedi there on the off chance that Sidious tries to go there next. Of all the places, it seemed the most pressing.

"It's regrettable that there is no permanent unitary legislative body to consult directly, so we must be quick," Rasana continues with a slightly exasperated air. I grin.

"Well, that's something the Senate can pursue on their own time," I counter, to a muffled laugh from Ilena and a wry smile from the Senator. At least there's still room for some levity.
____________________________________________________________________________

Duala rubbed her hands along Cabur's uppermost armor with pride. She didn't know if he could feel it like a Rancor would, but she liked to think he did. It made the whole affair a lot less awkward.

Across from them, the Rancor rumbled curiously at Cabur with his scent of oil, metal, and miscellaneous odors picked up through so many adventures. Cabur for his part shifted his photoreceptors left and right from the Rancor in front to the two flanking it. Their Witch riders were keeping a hold on their beasts, just in case things went a little awry. Her clan beasts had found Cabur a curiosity, but not an uncomfortable or unsettling one. Her clan sisters on the other hand had delighted in him, examining every inch while she regaled them with her and Cabur's exploits with pride.

Some of her sisters had even asked about the possibility of getting Basilisks themselves. Duala would have been all for it, the thought of Mother Augwynne descending from atop a Basilisk, slinging spell and Force about with ease was an awe-inspiring possibility. But she'd had to turn them down, as it was the Mandalorians who could build new Basilisks, not her. And they probably weren't keen to share. She and Cabur were only sort of tolerated because she'd proven her worth as a rider.

"I don't think they know what to do," Magash whispered beside her. She'd gotten taller, stronger and quicker too. They'd raced their old route down the Whistling Pass, and Magash had kept up with her easily. She could use the Force like Duala could, studying with the chapter house Jedi and apprenticed to Protector Damaya. She was growing up to be a fine Witch.

"As long as trying to bite isn't the answer they come to, I don't think Cabur would appreciate being a chew toy," Duala mock whispered, and Cabur rustled beneath her,

"I would not, but neither would I seriously hurt the mounts of your people. I would simply wrestle them into submission," Cabur told her smartly. She grinned, what a sight that would be!

"So, you can travel the stars with him?" Magash asked curiously, stroking Cabur's armored shell idly. Duala nodded while Ara tried not to look sick.

"Wouldn't recommend it, going planetside is not a fun experience," the Twi'lek padawan told her plainly, ignoring Duala's helpless giggling. It hadn't been amusing how she'd fallen over and puked after finally reaching solid ground, but the way she insistently reiterated how much she regretted going along for the ride down was beginning to be funny.

"It's not so bad once you get used to it," she tried to argue, but in reality, screaming down through the atmosphere on a multi-ton war droid with only a harness and faint energy shield keeping you from being incinerated was not something most people could be expected to be okay with.

She remembered Castyl, his previous rider, incinerating so quickly she'd barely noticed him die in the red-hot heat of re-entry. A single flash and he was gone. Then she blinked and wondered why she'd thought of that of all things. It'd been a long time since she'd considered the Mandalorian rider of Cabur.

A strange malaise seemed to fall over her until she was left staring ahead, lost in the thought of…being lost in thought? There was nothing particularly going through her mind, at least not for more than a moment at a time. How strange, she felt like something was missing.

"Hey, Duala! You alright?" Ara snapped fingers in front of her face, eyes sparkling with concern for her. It made the whole thing feel worse, as she was distracting them from what should've been a good time.

"Yeah, I was just thinking about something," she mumbled, still feeling that strange malaise slow her speech as if her tongue was stuck in molasses or something equally sticky and heavy. Ara didn't look convinced but let it pass.

"I didn't get the chance to tell you this, but I'm to tame my own Rancor by the end of the season," Magash said, slightly nervously. Duala's torpor faded immediately before a sense of blinding happiness. A crescendo of song carried her aloft as she reached over to hug her friend.

"That's awesome! You're gonna be a full sister of the clan!" she gushed excitedly and squeezed hard. Though as she pulled away finally, a thought did occur to her.

"It's a bit early though, isn't it?" she asked. They still had a year or two to go before they would've been considered for Rancors. Magash's shy smile became a bit more confident, and her back straightened with a faint pride.

"Well, Damaya says I've been improving by leaps and bounds and with my training at the Chapter House, Mother Augwynne wanted to tap me for a new role as envoy to the other clans. I'll need a Rancor to travel," Magash explained.

"Like a permanent envoy?" Duala asked. Envoys were sent all the time. Usually one of the experienced sisters was elected to make the long journey to whatever clan the Singing Mountain needed to speak with, but it wasn't something you were appointed to be. Magash nodded.

"Yeah, Mother Augwynne has decided there must be some more permanent conferences between the clans. With Zalem's defeat only Gethzerion remains as the most powerful foe of the clans. She believes with stronger cooperation, Gethzerion may be contained more permanently," Magash said, causing a shiver to run through Duala's body at the thought of the terror of Dathomir.

Her eyes found the skyline until she could be assured there were no gathering clouds that would signify the original Nightsister's wrath. Even the other witches, only periphery to the conversation while they waited for Master Sarat to conclude her business, shivered and whispered prayers at the thought of her.

"Who's Gethzerion?" Ara asked curiously. They must have looked quite strange to Ara who wouldn't know any better, hadn't been raised on stories or dealt with the added fact that the legendary terror was real and from your clan, with a particular hatred for it and your Clan Mother.

Duala'd woken up more than once, growing up, thinking that Gethzerion had slipped inside the village to steal her soul away for her foul spells. Some of the older sisters had taken pleasure in teasing her with tales of how Gethzerion would take her away in the night if she misbehaved.

"Mother Augwynne's daughter, the founder of the Nightsisters and a terrifying woman to this day," Duala explained. She did not have time for the full explanation, but it was good enough to be the summary.

"We could blow her away," Cabur rumbled beneath her, making her laugh at the bravado. No, she would be too scared to face Gethzerion, even with Cabur beside her.

"Zalem drove her from the leadership of the Nightsisters though, and where she is now no one knows. Which is why Mother Augwynne wants a permanent envoy to the other clans. We must make efforts to find her and bring an end to her power at last," Magash added. Duala looked away, back to the small collection of huts and hovels that made up the Dreaming River Clan. They were a small clan even by the Singing Mountain's standards settled alongside the Dreaming River, so named for the herbs and flowers that grew alongside it. When mixed into a drink they could soothe restlessness and at times induce visions if consumed enough.

They were all so small. Even the Misty Falls was small compared to some of the towns she'd seen on Naboo. They had been described as small towns, backwaters that farmed or herded animals, and yet they were bigger than the Misty Falls, a clan that had been the envy of her own clan in size and strength.

She had wondered what it would be like, coming home after everything she'd seen and experienced, and it seemed to be somewhat underwhelming. She didn't realize how much she missed electric lights, plumbing, fresh kept food, and air conditioning until she'd come back home where almost none of that existed to the degree she'd grown accustomed to.

Sobering, to think of how far behind the rest of the galaxy her people were. It wasn't like they were suffering, and plenty of her sisters would say they didn't need the technology of outsiders to survive. Duala wondered what they'd do if she told them outsiders could rain fire upon the land from orbit without them being able to fight back?

It was scary and even more reason to want to protect her home. Master Sarat said the Rim Alliance would be sending ships here to protect the planet from orbit and facilitate the transport of goods more easily, but after Dellalt, how much protection was that, really?

"You're brooding again," Magash said, striking her from her thoughts as she smiled and nodded back to her friend.

"I was just thinking about everything. Dathomir seems so small, now that I've seen as much of the galaxy as I have. And I've seen so little of it!" She laughed at the thought. She had barely been to twenty worlds of more than a million! She couldn't hope to visit them all, but she had hope that she'd be able to see more of them in time.

"It would, given everywhere you've been. But home is supposed to be small, isn't it? Someplace cozy to come back to when the world outside becomes too much," Magash pointed out, and Duala smiled.

"I suppose you're right, the contrast is a little striking is all." This place was still her home. She was a daughter of Dathomir and always would be. She felt her master walking towards them along with the rest of their party. They were locked in conversation, speaking urgently about something Duala couldn't make out.

But when they drew near, Master Sarat smiled and waved. Duala leaped down and approached, eager for news.

"We're good to go, the few enchanters they have here have agreed to carry out orders for us. As many as they can manage," her master announced. Master Xan snorted next to her.

"They might manage ten robes a year even," she said sarcastically. Duala knew they could manage a lot more than that! But this wasn't a war party of a couple dozen sisters to outfit, but over a thousand Jedi and many more thousands of soldiers to protect.

"With luck, once Sidious realizes we're countering his new technique, he'll shift to another strategy rather than risk expending effort on something less likely to work," Master Sarat replied.

"Depending on how these enchantments are done, the Senate might approve some additional investment to speed things along. If preparing the materials for enchanting can be done in a factory system, we could prepare hundreds of items ahead of time to simply have the enchanters do the finishing," Senator Till suggested. If things worked that way, then her sisters could easily fill out the orders within a year or two.

"Well, something to ask the Frenzied River while we're consulting with them. Time's a wasting and we have little enough as it is," Master Sarat said, nodding to Ilena and Colonel Verdi who began escorting the Senator to the shuttle that would take them to the next village. Her teacher looked down at her and frowned slowly.

"You alright?" she asked softly, kneeling down to be level with Duala who shifted awkwardly. Why did everyone keep asking that?

"Yes Master, it's just…strange being home again after everything." Really, it was just weird. She felt like…she didn't know what to feel. Master Sarat placed a hand on her shoulder and squeezed gently.

"I understand, you should've seen my first experience with the galaxy outside the Temple. I'd never been beyond the main courtyard. I'd seen the tall skyscrapers of Coruscant and the passing speeders and ships. But it's like when you looked out from the Singing Mountain and saw all the lands of Dathomir spreading out. There, but distant. And now you've gone out into them and even more beyond," Master Sarat began, then ruffled her hair affectionately.

"This place is still your home, your experiences have just broadened is all. Don't linger on the anxieties, focus on what you've learned and what it means for you," Master Sarat pointed to her.

"You still mean to be Watchwoman of Dathomir, right?" she asked, and Duala nodded slowly. She did, after she'd become a Knight and experienced the galaxy. She would use her training to look after her people and help guide them along the path to the Light and the outside galaxy. That hadn't changed.

Merely the scope of what that meant.

"So long as you still know what you want, You gonna fly by yourself or are you taking Magash and Ara with you?" she asked. Duala glanced over to the other two. Ara was shaking her head vigorously, but Magash seemed interested.

"Good, then follow behind us and keep watch for any dangers," Master Sarat said, standing back up and heading for the shuttle. Duala leaped back up on Cabur and settled into the saddle, Magash sidling up after to sit behind. It was a bit cramped, but they made it work. She waved to the Dreaming River Witches who waved back, looking somewhat relieved that they were leaving. One of the Rancors raised an arm and sorta waved which was so cute!

"Cabur, wave goodbye," she said quickly while she ran through the preflight checks.

"Why would I do that?" Spoilsport!

"It'll be cute and he's clearly waving goodbye, it'd be rude not to," she told him urgently. Come on, just do it!

Reluctantly, Cabur raised one of his arms and waved awkwardly. The Rancor made a pleased sounding rumble while she giggled happily. So cute.

"We are taking off now," Cabur rumbled as he rose into the air after the shuttle. It oriented south, slowly ascending and taking off with her behind. It would be a short flight, no more than an hour if that. But the scenery was always worth it.

The tips of the trees made a carpet of green, with some red and orange mixed in here and there that scattered every which way while mountains jutted up from the landscape, the Singing Mountain tallest of all. The wide desert in the far south, the long stretch of river that flowed beneath them.

Duala looked left just as a flight of birds took off into the sky. One of them much bigger than the others, leathery wings carrying it aloft on powerful gusts and flaps. Its head turned to them with a face far more human than it should have been. It might have smiled at her, almost whimsical but with a hidden promise of danger beneath it.

Then it plunged down with a snarl beneath the canopy and didn't rise up again.

She spent the rest of the trip searching, but saw no sign of it.

 

[Fellow Human]

Or is there another plan, to worm their way back into power in the Core and then take command of the Core and do what? There's no clone army to command Order 66, and they can't take out the Jedi in the same manner.

Click to shrink...

I thought there was clone army here, but they aren't used except for waving the stick at the Rim Alliance. I don't remember how it went, maybe Palpatine found someone else to go to Kamino, if Viera saved Sifo Dyas and Dooku?

Doesn't Dathomir have only a few thousand people? Why not some theater shields instead of the whole planetary?
What's stopping ships from getting inside the shield and still raining death from above, even if it's not as high?

Doesn't Force Projection require and an accurate image of where one goes? So Sidious had to have pics of the flagship bridge of the same model. I hope Viera figures out limitations while on Dathomir. If Sidius needs to be in the enemy fleet to be in range, and he goes boom with the ship, that would make things a lot better for the galaxy and give some balance to his ability. Probably not climactic...but there are other Sith now...dunno not an author.

Would be nice if someone compiled the list of arcs with a couple lines describing major events in them. I could also use it convince readers scared of 2M epic, as they seem to think this a run away story the likes of Worm, Robb Returns, An ISOT in Grimdark...

 

[Johnreiter]

I hope Viera figures out limitations while on Dathomir.

Click to shrink...

Dathomir is probably one of the best places to research it, since the Jedi archives turned up nothing. They are experts in weird ways to manipulate the force