Chapter 14

The Wheel, Besh Gorgon System

Maldrood Sector

The dining room could be described as a respectably-sized karaoke room, fit with the soft–if dim–lighting and a wall-hugging couch that girdled the rectangular table that dominated much of the space. There was a porthole on one wall, just as I remembered, possessing a commanding view of the docking piers and the sea of stellar lights–from stars and ships alike.

Corellian light sculptures hung from the ceiling on invisible strings, almost like ethereal floating blazes. The cost must’ve been staggering, and was a telling view into just how profitable even unassuming cantinas like the Cosmo Lounge can be on the Wheel.

But my eyes were immediately drawn to the woman hunched over the table, cradling a glass of golden liquor. Calli Trilm’s silver-grey hair shimmered in the warm lighting, creating the illusion of smoky wisps rising from her head.

“You made an entrance,” she muttered as I sat down, “There’s a spectrum between awfully cautious and overly careless, and yet you somehow manage to straddle a line between the two.”

Calli raised her head, half-lidded eyes fluttering. A scar stretched from above her right eyebrow down to her cheek, and glistened bleeding red. I discreetly nudged Hare with my heel, sending her scampering beneath the table.

“I guess that means I know what to prioritise,” I shrugged.

“Clearly,” Calli grumbled, “Commodore, is it?”

I suppressed a smug smile, “Looks like I jumped ahead of you.”

“You’re fighting in the south,” she shot back enviously, “There’s nothing going on here in the north. No chances for promotion…”

She downed the rest of her glass in one go, gasping for air as she slammed it back onto the table. Calli was right, in a way. The quietness on the Perlemian was precisely the reason why General Tann was able to call the First Fleet away. With both hers and Admiral Tonith’s words, the memo sent to Raxus was the perfect bait–two of the top brass confirming there was an absolute certainty of glory and feats to be had in the south.

I’d bet my left foot Calli wanted to go as well, if not for the fact that the Clysm Fleet was an independent entity under standing orders to garrison Salvara.

“Is Dooku not working out for you?” I leaned back.

Calli pursed her lips, “…Well, in some ways. You ought to sell Techno Union stocks–I heard from a contact that Wat Tambor was captured on Ryloth.”

“Shit, their value is going to plummet when the Republic makes that known,” I held my chin, “I suppose I can reinvest in the Retail Caucus.”

“You know something?” Calli’s eyes shone.

“General Loathsom had captured Christophsis,” I said, “You’ll probably see the Caucus announcing the production of crystalware pretty soon.”

No, this wasn’t insider trading; it’s just… acting in advance, on misappropriated information. Alright, maybe it was insider trading–but the Confederacy was just asking for it, with the way its military industrial complex was structured.

Calli nodded shallowly, “Christophsis… that’s big. You were there? You never told how’d you get promoted–who were you assigned to?”

“Trench,” I answered, “General Tann after that.”

“The Pantoran,” she recognised.

“As for why I got promoted… well, that’s why I’m here for you,” I smiled shallowly, “I need your help.”

The Commander of the Clysm Fleet stilled, a painful look growing on her face that blatantly said ‘I don’t think I’ll like what I’m going to hear.’ She gestured for me to continue anyway, loosening the collar of her dress.

“We’re losing the war, you know that right?” I said bluntly, “I need your help getting Tann into the Supreme Commander’s office.”

Calli clicked her teeth, “No.”

I paused in surprise. That was the kind of ‘no’ that meant no to everything; I won’t help you, I won’t even hear it, in fact, just stop talking. The whole package. I knew Calli–I think so, at least–and she was the kind of person to have all the facts before making a decision. To shoot me down so quickly meant she was afraid; to the point that even hearing whatever I was about to say could be dangerous to her.

I narrowed my eyes, “Dooku has another person in mind?”

Calli Trilm was a born and bred Serennian–it was an open secret that she was one of Dooku’s closest confidantes and aides. It was the reason she was chosen to guard the critical stronghold of Salvara.

She chewed on my question for a moment, before leaning forward, “The Second Fleet is in the south, under Tann. The Third is in the north, under Admiral Kirst. Why do you think the First has no nominal commanding officer?”

“Because the First is stationed in the Foundry,” I answered, “Whoever takes that office will have too much power, so there’s a lot of pushback in the brass.”

Calli shook her head, “Spoken like a field officer. That’s Dooku’s excuse, and anyone not familiar with the staff would believe it. A post this significant should be filled by now–by Trench, Tonith, kriff, even Dua Ningo, wherever the hell he is. The reason is because Dooku is saving the First Fleet for someone; he is the ‘pushback’ you are talking about.”

Grievous. The name immediately popped into my head. I can’t think of anybody other than General Grievous taking the office. It would catapult him into the top brass, and put him right on track for the Supreme Commander’s office.

“Do you know who?” I had to confirm.

“No,” she breathed out, “Dooku wouldn’t tell me. But I’m not going to risk rocking the ship so close to whatever he’s planning.”

Calli picked up a tablet and ordered another round of drinks, grumbling something about not being drunk enough for this.

“You know the Clysm Fleet is likely to be absorbed into the First, if this goes through,” I pointed out, concealing my mild desperation, “Don’t you fear losing your independence?”

“My independence has consisted of squatting in Salvara for two months,” she rebuked, “I don’t mind losing my independence if it means I can do something.”

Alright, I grinned internally, if that’s what you want…

“Then why not join me?”

Calli regarded me for a couple heartbeats, before raising an eyebrow, “That’s sweet, but–”

“Like you said, Kirst and Tann are the only real options if you want action,” I grabbed her hand on the table, “Trench and Tonith serve their sponsors first, so you won’t get much relevance from them. But Tann? You know her record. You won’t even need to lose operational independence–Clysm can be an auxiliary attachment to the Second.”

Calli’s shoulders rose, then fell. She tightened her grip around my hand for a heartbeat, before pulling away.

“Dooku’s a Jedi, Rain,” her voice was strained, “He’ll see it. Clysm is arguably the most important fleet on the Perlemian; I can’t move without his direct approval. He’s going to introduce the new admiral, and Clysm will be folded in. Riding the wave is my only option right now.”

I leaned back pensively. Glancing out of the porthole, I could make out the inimitable silhouettes of my star frigates, their massive skeletal hulls dwarfing the luxury craft around them. There wasn’t any sign of the Star of Serenno, the flagship of the Clysm Fleet. That means her presence here was as off the books as you can get in the most heavily militarised sector of Separatist space.

I pinched my cheek, deep in thought. I had not known of her predicament–and for a brief moment, I felt somewhat flattered she would sidestep the rules to meet me. I heard the door sliding open, and a service droid fleetingly appeared for no more than a couple seconds to drop off a round of liquor.

–And then I remembered who exactly Commander Calli Trilm was. The same person who sucked up to Count Dooku for years to ingrain herself with the top wasn’t exactly an icon of sentimentality. This was a calculated decision. She wasn’t here for me; she was here for what I could give her.

That was almost more comforting.

“That can’t be the reason you called me here,” her voice was sharper, more controlled–what warmth and mellow it had bleeding to leave behind cool objectivism, “What is it you want from me?”

And what do you have in return?

“…I want to organise a wargame,” I inspected the porthole, tracing its rim, “Just a simple… pastime, for the naval commanders remaining in the Foundry. I’m bound for Ringo Vinda to refit my ships, and that is where the wargame will take place.”

“Via holoconference, I presume?”

I turned around, “That’s right.”

“If I’m asking, they’ll accept,” Calli crossed her arms, “But after they’re patched in? How are you going to make them stick around?”

“The scenario will be,” I replied smoothly, “A hypothetical all-out Republic offensive from Lantillies, spearheaded by the Open Circle Fleet, backed by the entire Cerulean Spear Command. The First Fleet, coincidentally, is nowhere to be found. All that’s standing between the Republic and the complete capitulation of the Confederacy is the skeleton forces remaining on the Perlemian.”

I kept a completely straight face throughout the entirety of it, but I could tell Calli wasn’t convinced.

She raised an eyebrow, “Hypothetically?”

“Hypothetically,” I confirmed, “Ah– right. The objective is to hold back the Republic long enough for the First Fleet–and the Second, coincidentally–to return from a mission and reinforce us. That’ll pique their interest, don’t you think?”

She nodded slowly, a single slender finger tracing something imaginary on the table. Then she snatched a glass and chugged the entire thing before slamming it down. Something heated up inside of me, seeing that.

“I… see,” Calli hummed, as if nothing had happened, “Tell you what–I know a girl. Cratala. Brilliant scientist and engineer, though she styles herself a doctor. Expert in cybernetics and droidwork. Word is she fell in hot water with the Chancellor’s staff and defected to the Separatists. She runs a deep space research station in Salvara–”

“Cybernetics?” I interrupted, “Did she receive any important visitors in the last week?”

Calli eyed me carefully, displaying her impressive alcohol resistance, “There was a medical pinnace, but I couldn’t say.”

Galaxy’s a smaller place than I thought.

“As I was saying,” she glared, “Cratala knows another defector; a captain named Rel Harsol. And Harsol got contacts in the Confed’s underground. I’d wager some shops on the Wheel have ties with him–but he also knows just about every naval officer in the Foundry. He specialises in black market parts, you see, and captains like to rig their ships with… let’s just call them unsanctioned hardware. Nobody’s clean in this patch of space.”

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“So you can get me my wargame,” I reached for a glass.

Calli raised what I liked to call the eyebrow of expectation. I dropped a hand beneath the table and beckoned Hare up, who hopped onto the couch. Calli’s eyes widened at seeing the droid, before narrowing to shoot me a look somewhere between annoyed and amused.

Hare’s storage hatch opened, revealing an indistinct black box, small enough that I could hold it comfortably in a hand. I set it down on the table.

“I can give you this,” I started.

Calli picked it up and inspected it closely.

“A Republic Starpath unit,” I answered the wordless question, “Ripped right out of a Jedi cruiser. Every Republic Navy asset within six radial parsecs is tracked on that thing in real time, and it’s a one-way uplink. Untraceable.”

She suddenly held it as if it was a block of solid gold, her mute grey eyes flashing into a storm.

“You have more of these?” she asked quietly.

“Starpaths? No,” I leaned forward, “But I have an entire cruiser’s worth of data on my ships. Is that enough for you?”

Calli smiled–the widest and most genuine I’ve seen in a long time–and I took a sip to hide my expression. Nearly choked on it, too, when Hare surprised me with a tap on the shoulder.

The droid tried to whisper, bless her soul, “The girl contacted Master-Com.”

“Go.”

Looks like the Jedi’s already run into trouble–which was typical as far as my limited knowledge was concerned. Trouble always seems to find Jedi, and I didn’t have the energy to worry about it. If she’s caught by Republic agents, she won’t be able to divulge anything anyways. I made sure of it.

Calli tracked the droid as she slinked out of the room, but didn’t mention it, “I’ll throw in something else for you. I know an engineer on Ringo Vinda, an Quarren named Isquik Tors. Works for the QFD. If you have names you can throw around, he’ll help you out.”