Chapter 10

Geonosis, Geonosis System

Savareen Sector

I straightened out my Confederate greys, tied my hair back into a neat ponytail, and triple-checked all my effects. For the first time in seven weeks, I actually cared about my appearance.

“How do I look?” I asked Tuff.

“Like you are about to attend a funeral,” the droid dryly answered.

“Sounds about right,” I chirped, before marching off the ship, “Wish me luck.”

“I calculate a sixteen-point-four-four percent probability you will be punished for your failure,” Tuff said for his parting gift.

“I’ll take those chances,” I shoved a datapad into his hands, “Keep the shuttle warm for me.”

“By your command.”

Geonosis was very red. Arizona stretched on as far as the eye could see, the desolate landscape decorated with wildly strewn plateaus and rock spires. There wasn’t any sort of civilisation to be seen, but I knew inside those mesas were sprawling hive colonies. If I squinted I could probably find the glint of the cannon barrel peeking out of a cave… but even then, does ‘civilised’ really apply to an insectoid hivemind?

Hundreds of Federation core ships littered the vast wastelands like grey welts, their spherical hulls half-sunken into the earth to look like gargantuan missile silos from afar. Several klicks south, Guarlara was being dragged into a great ravine by a swarm of tractor tugs like a body being interned into its tomb. As for its crew… I didn’t really know–my job is to take prisoners, and then hand them off to the people responsible for dealing with them.

Honestly, they could be released in a prisoner exchange or turned into grub for the hives, both possibilities were just as likely. Finding out exactly what their fate entails could be a detriment to my conscience, so I decided I will be better off ignorant.

Even though It was only a short trek from my shuttle to the towering spires of the Stalgasin hive-city, I still couldn’t avoid sand sneaking into my boots despite my best efforts. Sand is coarse, rough, and irritating indeed… but sand is also earth, and this was the first time I’ve set foot on solid earth in months. Bad writing aside, I could fucking kiss the ground right now.

A squad of B2-series super battle droids met and escorted me inside. Out of the baking sun, the surprisingly polished halls of the subterranean colony were pleasantly cool, if a bit stale. The passageway abruptly opened up into a cavernous war room, the filtered sound of chatter reaching my ears.

I continued through even as the B2s slowed their pace to a complete stop. The massive holotable that dominated the room caught my attention first, and then the tall, strikingly blue-skinned woman next. Though her back was turned to me, Sev’rance Tann still posed an intimidating figure. Her pitch black cape was ruffled with dust and singed by blasterfire, frayed at the edges, as she spoke to a holographic figure–whom I recognised as Mon Calamari.

“–as I understand it, General,” the aquatic alien pawed his chin, “I will be cautious.”

“Not too cautious, Commander,” General Tann said, “We cannot allow the Jedi to suspect anything. Make it believable–sacrifice a few ships, if you must.”

“That is a tall order, sir,” the Commander replied, “How can I send my men to battle, knowing it is a trap, in good conscience?”

“I expect you to do your duty, Commander,” she said coldly, “Everything else is irrelevant.”

That was food for thought for the Mon Calamari, because there was a lull in the exchange right after. I took advantage of the opening to insert my presence. I straightened, my uniform snapping as I clicked my heels together.

“Captain Rain Bonteri reporting, General.”

The Mon Calamari turned its thick neck, suddenly aware of me.

“Rain,” he greeted politely.

“Merai,” I dipped my chin.

We had worked together before, albeit tangentially. My service career thus far could be described as hopping between General Tann and Admiral Trench–who was Corporate Alliance, same as Commander Merai. Being of similar rank, we were bound to work together sooner or later. Sooner, in this case, as we worked together to establish orbital superiority over Excarga, allowing Alliance forces to seize the mines on the planet.

“I will talk to Magistrate Argente myself,” the General ignored me, “So speak nothing of this to him, do you understand?”

“Loud and clear, sir,” Merai saluted.

General Tann toggled the holotable, and the Mon Calamari’s holograph winked out. The room suddenly felt a lot less safe.

“That was…?” I prodded.

“Kamino, Captain,” she stated, as if that explained everything, “One of our double agents has warned us that the Republic has uncovered the plans for our strike on Kamino.”

It didn’t take much effort to put everything together. Our impending attack on Kamino had been something of a terribly kept secret for some time now. After Senator Esu invoked the Articles of Secession in the Galactic Senate, spearheading Abrion Sector’s withdrawal from the Republic, the idea of attacking Kamino was floated around. From Passel Argente’s firebranding in political circles–something not many of us were fond about–to increased fleet presence on the Triellus, the ‘idea’ was materialising by the day.

This was an attack months in the works, with a disproportionate amount of materiel and effort put into it. Which was a given, considering the target was Kamino. If we suddenly abandon all of it now, the hackles of Republic Intelligence will rise into the sky.

“If we abort, we’ll give away our agents in their ranks,” I surmised.

General Tann nodded shallowly, “I have instructed Commander Merai to fail safely. He will flag a ‘disorganised retreat’ to the Manda System.”

Manda System. I consulted my mental map. The Manda System laid in Republic space–an odd choice for a fallback line. Though maybe it was just to sell the image of defeat, I can’t really tell with General Tann.

“Why can’t we plan our assault around the Republic knowing?”

It was a simple enough question, and really I was asking the obvious. Wasn’t that the point of even having a double agent? If we know that they know, then what they know is now bad intel after all. The General obviously didn’t think so, because her face darkened at the mention of it.

“My hands are tied,” she all but hissed, “Someone wants Magistrate Argente to fail.”

Oh. Passel Argente was the main backer for this cause, investing massive amounts of resources and clout to pull it off. This ‘someone’ must be very important, if even Sev’rance Tann couldn’t do anything about it… wait, oh shit.

My lips thinned; better not press this. I was only a Captain–not even a flag officer!–no need to dip my fingers in matters I do not understand, and likely harmful for my health. It was reassuring enough to know that General Tann was in damage control mode, unmistakably attempting to mitigate the scale of disaster the upcoming Battle of Kamino is going to be–and also roping Merai into her own plans, because she was sharp like that.

I coughed, trying to claw myself out of the hole I dug into, “May I relieve myself of the prisoner here?”

I wanted the Padawan out of my hands as quickly as possible. Not only did I not feel safe with a Jedi down the corridor–albeit in a cell–just keeping a Jedi painted a bright red target on my back. If Barriss Offee wasn’t about to escape via some Force trickery, someone was bound to rescue her sooner or later.

“What is her condition?”

“She is– uh, meditating in her cell,” I said hesitantly, “For several days now, actually. She is eating, if minimally. I have her lightsaber here.”

After taking it, General Tann ignited the lightsaber, producing a short blue blade. The glow almost seemed to sink into her opaque red eyes as she carefully inspected it, adjusting her grip on the handle. Then, with a flick, she shut it off.

“I forwarded your ideas to Count Dooku,” General Tann walked over to a wall–intriguingly smooth, unlike the rest of the cavern–and I followed her, “But he expressed the apparent necessity of converting Offee to the Dark Side. Or, if that should prove impossible, her outright death.”

Her tone of speech told me everything I needed to know of exactly what she thought of that. I cringed at the thought of executing a child–not an adult, for certain–but I supposed that was preferable to another Sith.

“I, however, disagree with his assessment,” she weighed the lightsaber, “I will present this lightsaber as proof of her death, while your orders are to turn her into our operative.”

I– what? This is fucking insane; what am I, a babysitter? Not an intelligence agent, that’s for sure. I was actually speechless.

“You appear reluctant,” General Tann observed.

“I– I don’t have any training in this field, sir,” I gasped, “I am sure someone else–”

“The girl is dead, Captain,” her eyes glinted, “Count Dooku doesn’t even know her name, or even sex. Only three people in Separatist space know her true identity, and you will keep it that way. I do not care about the specifics of your process, only the success of your results. Let me handle the rest.”

“With all due respect sir,” I protested, “What makes you so certain of this operation? My suggestion was merely an uninformed counterargument to what I believed was a poor use of an enemy prisoner of war.”

Sev’rance Tann’s lips twisted wryly, as if she knew something I didn’t, “Well done.”

God damn it.

I restrained a sigh, fixing polite–if cautious–acceptance on my face, “Yes, sir. My next orders?”

I’ll have to think of something later.

The General regarded me carefully for a couple heartbeats, before disappearing Barriss’ saber under her cape, “How would you describe the state of our progress?”

“Progress, sir?”

“Progress towards winning this war,” she clarified.

Well– I don’t really know. If we managed to cripple the cloning facilities on Kamino, then that would be a massive step forward, but right now we just… exist. The secession of the Independent Systems was anything but organised, or even coherent. In some sectors we were striking at key resource worlds–Excarga, Christophsis–and in others Separatist aligned systems were fighting for their very existence against Republic thrusts.

Every theatre saw a different war, with different commanders and different goals. I wasn’t a staff officer–my job was to win battles, not pore over maps.

“Varying,” was the word I opted for.

We were winning some and losing some as far as I can tell from my circles. Us lower ranks weren’t much more than acquaintances of acquaintances, but we liked to stay up-to-date, as well as shit on the top brass.

General Tann made a signal with her hand, and the wall suddenly shimmered–revealing itself to be a vast observation viewscreen. For a brief moment, it was like staring into a portal to another dimension. A factory– no, a factory city, because the chasm was large enough to fit the entire Royal Palace of Onderon whole, so that I could not even see where it ended.

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Machines pounded heaps of armour into shape, while flapping Geonosians carefully carved focusing crystals before fitting them inside huge spheres of crimson metal. Manufacturing stations attuned repulsorlifts before twisting alignments of conveyor belts carried all the pieces towards assembly areas to be fitted together by wingless workers.

This isn’t a droid foundry, I realised, this is a tank plant.

“I would describe our war effort as directionless,” General Tann commented, “Geonosis is now manufacturing droid divisions around the chrono, and this will be the first of many Decimator foundries on the planet. Tell me; what can a hundred Decimator brigades do?”

“Conquer the galaxy,” I answered immediately.

A single Decimator was a terror on the battlefield. A battalion can take a planet, a brigade a star sector. A hundred brigades? Forget tactics, that many and you had a brute force great enough to bludgeon any government into submission.