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Chapter 3

The corpses of Dauntless and Resolute were like rivers of scrap drifting around Leesis, transforming into an artificial ring around the small moon. Repulse’s sublight thrusters eased off as the frigate completed its prograde burn around the moon, finally coming into view of what was left of the Resolute.

The cruiser had been blown open from the inside. From what we could tell, her main hangar had been turned into a combustion chamber by a leaking fuel bunker, and all it took was a single shot to completely slag her. Now, Resolute was shaped more like a tuning fork, with the two ‘prongs’ twisted outwards by the force of the detonation. Her aft superstructure, however, remained more or less intact.

Not much could be said about Dauntless, on the other hand. Most of that ship had careened into Leesis, smashing through its icy, crystalline crust before disappearing into the frozen oceans below. An unfortunate ending for any clone who managed to survive the initial battle.

“At our current barycentre, we will intercept the moon within one and a half local rotations,” the astrogation droid said.

I eyed the astrogation repeater, “We aren’t staying around for too long. Start a finite burn until our apoapsis is far enough for a low-energy transfer to Christophsis’ orbit.”

The B1 punched in some keys into his station. “We will be in range of Battleship Fifty-three for only forty minutes with this burn.”

“More than enough time,” I said, “Good work.”

The vast shadow of Battleship 53 groaned past us, both Dauntless and Repulse mere pygmies in the wake of the massive Lucrehulk’s form. Droch-class cutters were already swarming out of the battleship’s hangar bays to begin the salvage operation.

“Battleship Fifty-three reports that its velocity has matched Resolute’s,” the communication droid reported, “Beginning salvage operation.”

“Our lifeform scanners detect seven-hundred and twelve distinct biological signatures around the bridge stalk,” another droid looked up at me, “Should we rescue them?”

I craned my head up at the repeater display, which indicated that we were also picking up a handful of electronic waveforms and pulses–distress signals. Both makeshift and otherwise.

“We do not have time,” Tuff warned, “The moon is halfway through its second rotation since the battle, and the hyperlane egress is on the other side of the planet. We must complete our raid on Resolute’s data terminals and rendezvous with the blockade as quickly as possible.”

I rubbed my cheek in thought. The Republic will be returning with reinforcements, that was an absolute certainty. Tide of Progress had detected an hyperwave transmission shortly after our skirmish with Obi-Wan Kenobi began in earnest, which could have only originated from a reinforcing fleet enroute to the Christoph System. The Jedi will be returning, with more ships and more fully-complemented carriers. Tuff was right, as he usually was in these situations; from a solely rational standpoint, rescuing enemy soldiers was a waste of valuable time.

Unfortunately, I am not a droid. I am human. A person. And all those survivors trapped in the wreckage of Resolute, on a collision course straight for the surface of the moon–clones as they may be–were people too. I’m not capable of thinking solely in binary and probabilities. I understood, with unnerving clarity, that I will hear the beeping of distress signals in my sleep for the rest of my life if I decided to ignore them here.

But most importantly, it’ll look very good on my record.

I rubbed my eyes, “Shit… patch me into comms, open frequency.”

“Uh…” the communication droid glanced at Tuff, but a quick glare from me had him snapping back, “Roger roger!”

I cleared my throat, “To all surviving personnel of Republic cruisers Resolute and Dauntless

: this is Captain Rain Bonteri of the Confederate Navy. On behalf of the Confederacy of Independent Systems, we demand your absolute and unconditional surrender. By Section Two, Articles Twelve through Sixteen of the Yavin Code relative to the General Protection of Prisoners of War, you have the right to, and will be afforded, humane and privileged treatment which may be accorded to you by reason of your species, age, and state of health–including but not limited to; sufficient sustenance, medical attention as required, and every guarantee of hygienic and healthful climate. I repeat–”

I repeated the demand of surrender a second time, even though I, every droid on my ship, and likely every survivor out there, knew I was full of shit. After all, there was a good chance I was the only Separatist officer who had ever uttered those words in succession. The Yavin Convention was millennia old, and military officers–Republic or Separatist–who still adhere to them were about as rare as tauntauns on Tatooine. I wouldn’t be surprised if this was the first time the clones had ever heard about the Yavin Code.

“Sir,” there was a warning in Tuff’s modulated voice, “I predict that the survivors will think this is a trap. They may resist their rescue.”

Was this his way of trying to dissuade me from a tactically unwise decision? Let it not be said that tactical droids cannot learn. But I wasn’t going to change my mind.

“Then we’ll start with the escape pods,” I said, “And use those rescued survivors to convince the rest. Order Battleship Fifty-three to divert some cutters from the operation. And have them jam the distress signals–if the Republic hears them, they may be prompted to return sooner than later.”

Several cutters had already made their way to the twin bridges of the Resolute, punching into the cabin and disgorging their droid payload. Soon, whatever salvageable data the ship had will be mine–hopefully along with the timetable and roster of the incoming reinforcements.

“Have them work their way down the superstructure,” I ordered, “We’ll keep Battleship Fifty-three in orbit here until the operation is complete. Should enemy reinforcements return within the two rotations as predicted, then Leesis should be over the blockade when they arrive anyway. If not… we’ll have to make do with one less–”

“Sir,” Taylor turned around, “There is an incoming transmission from planetside. On our frequencies.”

“I’ll take it here.”

The hunched form of General Whorm sprung up from the holoemitter. More animal than man, the Kerkoiden was still more pleasing to look at than Trench regardless, though I would say he needs some serious dental work. Maybe it was my Earth-centric sensibilities, but that underbite is nasty.

“General Loathsom,” I fixed a smile, “An unexpected pleasure.”

“The pleasure is all mine, Captain Bonteri!” Whorm seemed to bow, though I can hardly tell from his hunch, “I am pleased to inform you that the last remnants of Republic presence on Christophsis has fallen. Crystal City is completely in my hands.”

“A pleasant surprise indeed,” I was genuinely taken aback, “Earlier than scheduled.”

“The circumstances you informed me proved that haste was in order,” General Whorm was visibly pleased with himself, “However, I regret to inform you that the Jedi Anakin Skywalker had escaped with Senator Bail Organa and a contingent of clone troopers. As my planetary rectennas could not locate them, they must be using that stealth ship you reported.”

My smile tightened, “I see. Thank you for your work, General, I’ll attempt to locate and intercept the Jedi.”

“I hope we can speak further afterwards, Captain.”

“Of course,” I closed the connection, and breathed out.

Obviously Anakin Skywalker would escape. With Bail Organa too! Isn’t he Princess Leia’s father? Wait… no he is her adopted father, after Obi-Wan pawned her off. In any case, I couldn’t blame the General for losing them. Competency, no matter how much, did little good in this kind of case. I wouldn’t blame myself when I lose them, either.

“Where is Chaleydonia now?” I asked.

“On the night side of the planet,” Tuff said.

As Leesis’ orbit around Christophsis was on a near-perpendicular inclination relative to the solar plane, Chaleydonia was ‘downwards.’

“Belay the orbital manoeuvre,” I sighed, “Downward pitch by ninety, starboard roll by ninety. I want an anti-normal burn until we’re 'round the pole before heading on a direct vector for Chaleydonia. Plot it.”

As the droids punched in the numbers into the astrogation computer, Tuff twisted his head down towards me, “I calculate the probability of intercepting the stealth ship will be nought-point–”

“Yeah yeah yeah,” I waved him off, “I know, Tuff. I know. We are fishing for a minnow in an ocean. But we need to make the effort for the record. Have Resistance and Shadow Price start making their sweeps for the magnetic signature.”

“Yes, sir.”

Resistance and Shadow Price were two ships amongst others that I stationed at the ‘bottom’ of the planet so that when the enemy reinforcements jump in, they can pounce on their defenceless undercarriages and rip them a new asshole. It was simply good fortune they are in the right place at the right time. Not that it would be any help.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

Realistically–or pessimistically, from a point of view–it was perishingly useless to find anything in space unless you already knew where exactly they were. A tiny space submarine capable of hiding itself? Forget it. Our sweeps will amount to little more than screaming in random directions hoping something will scream back. If I were Anakin Skywalker, I would fly within the planet’s atmosphere where refraction would scramble the scanners, before breaking out where there were no ships and skipping off into the sunset.

And indeed, half an hour later while Repulse was surging towards Resistance’s position, the readings on one of the sensor readouts spiked.

“Cronau radiation detected, sir,” Taylor said, his voice pitching down, “There was a hyperspace jump a couple light-minutes away.”

It was telling that we couldn’t even pinpoint the general direction of the jump, only the approximate distance.

“...Inform General Loathsom to prepare planetary defences in anticipation of the Republic taskforce. Hopefully, they will be convinced to give up the effort now that they don’t have a beachhead, but I doubt it,” I said, “Hm… very well, return us to our station. Then I’ll see what the General wants to say.”

⁂

“What is Admiral Trench’s condition, Captain?” General Whorm asked.

“That he’ll survive is a certainty, sir,” I quietly beckoned for the medical report, “Whether he’ll make a full recovery is still in question.”

Taylor registered the report on my datapad before handing it over, and I couldn’t help but wince upon looking at it.

“Your expression tells me that his state is troubling, Bonteri,” Whorm observed.

“Uh… well, it looks like the Admiral is going to need some cybernetics,” I said weakly, “We will need to get him to a planetary medical installation as soon as possible. His condition is stable, but he isn’t going to be waking up anytime soon.”

“Then it is unfortunate we do not have the time,” he said.

…Oh. So that’s what this is about. I scratched my head–honestly, I should have expected this. It is clear that General Whorm wants Trench… out of the way. Both of them were accomplished officers, and rather famous within Separatist ranks, and direct competitors for the office of Supreme Commander. No doubt Whorm hoped that with Trench incapacitated, he would have a leg up in the bid. This must seem like a fortunate accident for him.

“Am I right to assume the Retail Caucus will now administer Christophsis?” I tried to change the subject.

“Yes, I imagine so…” Whorm dragged it out, before suddenly saying– “Captain Bonteri, how can I convince you to support my bid? You know what I am speaking of.”

I resisted the urge to slump, “Sir, I believe this is hardly the time–”

“I think otherwise,” his holograph leaned forward, eyes narrowed.

Shit, this guy just isn’t going to let this go, is he? I chewed my cheek. Tuff was pointedly ignoring me–busying himself organising the shift rotation–and I appreciated that. But that still left me with this overambitious army general trying to convince me, a navy officer, to back his faction. I knew exactly why Whorm was troubling himself over a mere captain like me, but I didn’t want to think about it.

“With all respect, sir,” I said stiffly, “I am only a captain– my support has hardly any weight among the staff. Besides, everybody knows General Tann has the best shot at it. She is Count Dooku’s handpicked nominee!”

“Count Dooku can only nominate a candidate, Captain Bonteri,” Whorm said mildly, as if lecturing me, “It is the Senate that must ratify the appointment. General Tann’s candidacy does not yet have a majority support in the Senate.”

And there it was: the Senate. When is the cyborg fellow, General Grievous, going to show up? I remembered him being the Supreme Commander in the movies… hopefully that guy reveals his ugly mug soon and sweeps this problem away. I’ve had this conversation like, three times already.

“I do not have as much say in the Senate as you think I do, sir,” I protested.

“I will owe you a great debt if you could arrange a meeting between me and Senator Bonteri,” Whorm insisted again.

This vapid bitch. I wanted to shout: I’m not going to jeopardise my career for your ‘favour!’

The Confederate Senate could be divided into three rough factions. There was Voe Atell’s, who I liked to dub as the hardliners. They would support any competent officer who could give the Confederacy a real shot at crushing the Republic, including Trench and Whorm. Then there was the corporate faction, who really only supported their own candidates. Being a member of the Retail Caucus, General Whorm’s main support base is found here.

The real sticklers were the moderates, widely agreed to be led by Senator Mina Bonteri. My aunt. I’m not exactly sure what they wanted, but it was something along the lines of ‘swift and bloodless secession from the Republic.’ They didn’t support any candidate currently, with their philosophy being that if they admit the Confederacy needs a Supreme Commander, then they admit total war with the Republic is inevitable.

Which for some reason, they still think hasn’t come to pass yet.

But I haven’t spoken with Mina since our argument over my decision to transfer from Onderon’s Royal Army to the CIS Navy, so what do I know? Which is exactly what I keep saying whenever these idiots keep pestering me over the Senate.

“I am afraid Senator Bonteri and I have been estranged for quite a while now,” I said apologetically, “My involvement may just make your chances of convincing her… worse.”

“My apologies, Captain Bonteri,” General Whorm finally relented, “I had not know of your circumstances.”

“It is no–”

“–Uh, sir?” Taylor tried to whisper, and failed to do so, “The Invincible is receiving an incoming hyperwave transmission, and is relaying it to us.”

I’m saved! This conversation was getting more awkward by the second. I offered the General a sheepish look, and he graciously excused himself, disappearing from view.

“Very well,” I coughed, “Patch it through.”

The holoimagers blinked on again, bursting out a bright blue-white light against the pilothouse’s green scheme–displaying, to my muted horror, a stiff woman in cleanly pressed uniform. She could, in fact, be mistaken for a human, if not for her flat, monochrome eyes. Solid, opaque, and iris-less, it was like staring into a soulless void.

I swallowed, hastily shooting out of my chair and saluting. Speak of the Devil…

“General Tann.”

“You are not Admiral Trench,” General Tann said, a slight rise in her lips.

“Captain Rain Bonteri, sir,” I held my salute, “Admiral Trench was incapacitated two rotations ago, in a battle against Republic forces. His condition is stable, but I provisionally taken command of his flag–”

“What is the state of Christophsis?” she cut me off.

“General Loathsom has completely occupied the planet, sir!” I reported, “We have driven off a Republic relief effort, but there is a high possibility the enemy will return with a counterattack.”

“...And you have not requested reinforcements, Captain?” General Tann raised a single eyebrow.

I concealed a wince. How could I say that I wanted to secure my promotion by hoarding more achievements?

“I had… not deemed it necessary, sir,” I said.

“Whoever controls Christophsis controls the Run in the Outer Rim, Captain,” General Tann replied coldly, “Republic military buildup has been detected on the Run, a taskforce far greater than your current command is capable of handling. Do you understand that your pride could have placed our combined efforts in this entire region at risk? I do not want this to happen again– your entire career will depend on it, am I making myself clear?”

General Tann’s expression had tightened into the definition of frigid, disciplined fury–her eyes narrowed into slivers of burning ice. There goes my promotion, I could feel it in my bones. Literally, because my arm was starting to seriously ache.

“Understood,” I swallowed thickly, “Sir.”

“Good,” she snapped, “At ease, Captain.”

My arm dropped limply.

“Detail everything in your after-action report, I’m sure someone will be interested in reading it,” it could be my imagination, but it looked like General Tann’s face softened a little, “Your remarkable conduct after the incapacitation of your CO will be noted. I have already dispatched Admiral Tonith to reinforce the system.”

“Thank you,” my throat was dry, “Sir.”

“I also have a new assignment for you, Captain,” she continued.

“For Admiral Trench, sir?” I clarified.

“No, for you,” she smiled thinly, “This task is too insignificant for a flag officer… and too important for someone I do not trust.”

Oh no. This is going to just like the Sarapin Campaign, won't it? These kinds of missions were the worst of both worlds. I’m even going to go out on a limb and guess I won’t be able to put this on my service record.

“This… assignment,” I said gingerly, “It isn’t going to be in the registry, will it?”

“Afraid not,” the edge of General Tann’s lip lifted, “The official story will be that Repulse Squadron is out of rotation for a refit. But I am sure that if this mission is completed smoothly, your promotion will be considered.”

“I am at your service, General,” I didn’t exactly have a choice.

“Good. When Admiral Tonith arrives to assume command of the blockade, you will escort Admiral Trench on Invincible to Falleen,” she ordered, “Afterward, take your Squadron to the Molavar System and await further orders.”

“Anything else I must be aware of, sir?”

General Tann paused, “...I suppose this must be an important detail; you will be working with Asajj Ventress.”

She said the name as if I was supposed to recognise it, but I didn’t. I do admit the name did sound like one an important character would have, however. I can almost imagine their character from the name Ventress alone, so they must be important. Maybe they appeared in a show or comic somewhere.

“Will they be my commanding officer for this operation, sir?”

“I will be your direct superior,” General Tann corrected, with a tone I can only describe as professional distaste, “Any order you receive from me will supersede any you receive from her. She is an… independent agent. I will make sure Ventress does not touch a hair on your head.”

That was enough information for me to put together that this Asajj Ventress was a Force user. A space wizard. Probably working for Dooku– so like the CEO’s daughter. Not exactly part of the hierarchy, but too important to ignore. I am hating this assignment more and more already.

“Understood, sir,” I saluted again.

General Tann returned the gesture, “I will send you the brief when you are at Molavar, Captain Bonteri. I look forward to favourable news.”

The holographic display fizzled out of existence, leaving me alone in the bridge full of droids again. I slumped back down on my chair like a sack of bricks, feeling incredibly tired. General Tann had the kind of… presence… that compels you to listen with every fibre of your being. And the way she speaks is exacting yet impelling, urging you to carry out her word to the letter. I couldn’t tell if it was the Force at play, or simply how she held herself.

It was terrifying. No wonder Christopher Lee chose her to be his nomination.

“Tuffy,” I waved, “Be a darling and purge the recordings from the ship’s archives.”

“Which ones, sir?” Tuff finally acknowledged my existence.

“The ones with Sev’rance Tann and Whorm Loathsom,” I grumbled, “I’ll be damned if either gets leaked, God forbid.”

I held my head in my hands, and heaved. At least my promotion is still on the table.