Chapter 15

Orbit of Ringo Vinda, Ringo Vinda System

Eucer Sector

Trying to procure ships in the Confederate Navy was like trying to wrestle half a dozen cats into a bag. Which is to say, nearly impossible, unless you have catnip.

“Look,” I reasoned, “You know who my sponsor is, after her campaign, she’s going to need ships. Replacements, repairs, refits. She can do that here, if with a bit of convincing.”

Catnip, in this case, was obviously cash. Or clout. While not as great as Kuat’s, Ringo Vinda’s orbital shipyards also served a double purpose as a supply distribution hub. It was in close proximity to the Perlemian Trade Spine, yet also not exactly on it. And that meant it was a hassle and a half to capture, while also able to preside over the entire theatre. All of the major Separatist-backed starship manufacturers had leased out docks here, and were working in close proximity with the Ringo Vindan government.

Think of the manufacturers as franchisors, and the entire orbital station as a single massive franchisee. All the cats were already in the bag; now I only had to wrestle a single bag of cats.

Isquik Tors stroked his facial tentacles, “The Pantoran herself as our sponsor… that is enticing.”

Maybe because I had been out of the social circles for too long–because I was actually fighting the war, mind you–I had missed out on the whole ‘Pantoran’ debacle. See, General Tann’s species was a closely kept secret by… well, even the people keeping the secret were secret. In any case, some cheeky officer started calling her the Pantoran because of her blue skin, and it became a little inside joke.

Pantoran rolled off the tongue easier than Wroonian, you see.

Then some blabbermouth accidentally referred to her as that in a press conference, and it was all over. Anybody keeping up with the war, or even random military geeks, now knew General Tann as the Pantoran. I found it mildly funny. I don’t think she will, however.

“Hmm… very well,” Tors finally said, “I have a feeling the board will be pleased–so long as you uphold your end of the deal.”

“This will undoubtedly be a profitable relationship,” I agreed, “Now, about my ships…”

“Ringo Vinda has eight star frigates on hand,” the Quarren produced a datapad and guided me onto a wheeled transport to tour the graving docks, “Newly built. Two are still going through their trials.”

A data package was sent to my own tablet, which included all the relevant specs and information about the ships in question. Frigate 1027RV, Frigate 1028RV… I scrolled on, noticing they haven’t even received their transponder IDs yet. Tors wasn’t lying, these ships were fresh from the oven.

In comparison, my Repulse and Renown are old women. Old, murderous ladies with a plentitude of kills under their belt, but still outdated nonetheless. That being said, I had no intention of changing my flagship. Repulse is mine, and I have poured too much effort and sentiment into that hunk of durasteel to swap her out for what amounts to a shiny new toy.

Sure, retrofitting her into a C3 frigate took time and money, but my efforts in wooing Senator Singh had paid off well. Repulse was a brand new ship by the time she left Raxus Starbase.

“Is it safe to assume these ships have much of the intel suites stripped away for austerity?” I asked.

They were, because I could see it in the specs. But I wanted to confirm.

“Didn’t expect a field commander like you to ask about backend hardware,” the engineer said, “But you’re right. Most of that space has been replaced with updated sensor packages and fire control systems.”

I tapped the tablet with my fingernails, “How many of the older models do you have? The originals.”

Isquik Tors’ eyes narrowed, his tendrils rustling, “Those don’t have guns.”

Ah. He thinks I’m up to some funny business. Which, granted, I was.

“I intend on using them to spy on Republic military channels,” I clarified, “With the First Fleet absent, it is paramount we stay vigilant.”

Tors nodded slowly, “Hm… if you’re intending on parking them between transceivers, I suppose there’s no need for guns. And it’s not like we’ll miss them… but the higher ups will. I’m willing to buy your excuse, sir, but others won’t.”

I smiled thinly. He thinks I’m going to use the frigates not to spy on the Republic, but to spy on the Confederacy’s government apparatus. He thinks I’m digging up dirt on the politicians. Literally anybody else would buy my explanation without batting an eye, but of course the engineer will pick up on my intentions. It’s his job to know what these frigates can and cannot do, I suppose. Also because he’s into some shady shit regardless.

And he was right. It’s simply that I intend not to spy on politicians, but Sith Lords masquerading as politicians.

The HoloNet was a physical object–countless physical objects, in fact. The HoloNet was the millions of hyperwave relay stations littered across the galaxy and the S-threads that linked them all into one intricate web made of countless matrices. When the only other method of interstellar communication was sublight transmissions, these relays represented the only practical form of long distance contact.

And it was expensive to operate. We’re talking about millions of space stations strewn throughout the galaxy here, can you imagine their upkeep? It was affordable all considered, thanks to economies of scale, but the service gets pricey quickly.

Then, by process of elimination, who could send messages from Coruscant to Serenno; a distance that was essentially halfway across the galaxy? Voicemails were cheap, voice calls were accessible; videomail and you’d have to be middle class, middle-upper for live video; holograms on the other hand? Ah, now we’re reaching population percentages you can count on both hands.

Then, who can send full resolution, low latency, full-body rendered live holocalls across that same stretch on a regular basis? That’s getting into the super rich territory, or at least those with government privilege.

And now, what if the galaxy was at war, and the HoloNet was cut right down the middle? And with the Non-Communication Law recently passed by the Republic Senate, which outlaws any form of communiqué between Republic and Confederate officials? Know what you were looking for, and it’s remarkably easy to find it by elimination. That’s why transmissions were typically encrypted–even more so for the privacy conscious–and usually nobody has the time, money, or effort to crack them.

And that’s where the Munificent-class star frigate comes in. Originally designed by the IGBC to serve as what was essentially a mobile hyperwave transceiver. Mass produced, and they created their own comms matrix isolated from the HoloNet in order to securely process financial transactions. That matrix was still being employed by the Confederate military, in fact.

It’s impossible to tap into S-threads, but I can still take a page out of the IGBC’s playbook and park a Munificent right next to a relay, and listen in–or more daringly, redirect the transmissions through the ship itself. All I had to do was find the most direct S-thread between Coruscant and Serenno, find one of the relays it runs through, and slice into it. Fuck, common bounty hunters can do it, why can’t a literal espionage frigate fitted with state of the art tech?

Palpatine and Dooku can encrypt their transmissions as much as they’d like, but that’d just make the thread easier to find. Shit, I don’t even need to be that specific. Dooku contacting anyone on Coruscant? With my frigates, I can crack open any amount of encryption. The automation was just icing on the cake; I can just leave them there and check in once in a while.

I have three years. I have time. I have money. And I’m more than willing to put in the effort.

Truthfully, I was making it up as I went along. But building up a case against Dooku to present to the Senate was a good start–and so was crafting new command codes for my fleet, as I didn’t want to get Mustafar’d. I’d need to get my hands on some engineers for that… another task for the bucket list.

“Then turn them into warships,” I suggested, “The first wartime frigates were those with barbettes taped onto their hulls. I’ll tell the board we need as many ships as we can get for defence.”

Tors hummed in agreement, “We won’t be able to fit the superheavy cannons, but you won’t need that. The comm packages will also need some touching, but we can make it work. You have the credits for this?”

“Dare to ask General Tann that?”

I don’t think General Tann will pay much attention to a few million more credits in the bill… but if she does, well, I’ll let future me deal with that.

He laughed, “Right, right. Does the Pantoran want Lucrehulks to go with that order?”

“Providences,” I corrected, “Not the dreadnought kind. Should be cheaper than battleships.”

The Quarren checked his stock, “You’re in luck, sir. We have two old destroyer models, and one carrier. But if your pockets are deep, QFD is running trials for three of our latest carrier-destroyer variants right here in the system.”

Not sure if I like the whole combining niches thing. In my experience, when someone tries to have their cake and eat it, it leads to overengineering, unreliability, and worse performance in both aspects.

“These carrier-destroyers,” I leaned back, “Are they reliable?”

Tors’ eyes shone, “I see what you’re asking. Trust me, they’re more expensive for good reason. More hangar volume, but not by sacrificing emplacements. I’ll tell you a secret; all we did was revise our design, installed new automation systems, removed vestigial hardware, and ended up with a lot of wasted space.”

“So all you had to do was shuffle around the internal systems a bit to get more hangar space.”

“That’s right,” he grinned beneath his tendrils, “Everything aft of amidships? That’s all birdnest now. Tell you what; buy these, and I can get you a discount.”

Right. This was a business to them. These new carrier-destroyer variants were a new product, and they needed advertising. Many captains will likely have the same doubts as I do, and wanted to use me as a flying billboard. Selling out it is.

“…Alright,” I finally agreed, “I’ll get the three.”

“Great, great…”

I tuned him out as we passed by the prow of a half-built Recusant-class star destroyer. Its frame was still skeletal, and huge mechanical arms hanging from the ceiling were lowering a massive dome of armour onto the warship’s spine. Kind of looks like a magnified version of fitting together a plastic model… which I suppose was the point.

“How does fitting a droid brain into a warship work?” I asked.

Tors side-eyed me, “A Recusant’s superstructure is specially designed to house the droid brain. It’s not as easy as installing software, so you can’t just rig it to a frigate, if that’s what you’re asking. Just buy a Recusant, if you want a droidship.”

“They don’t have a very good reputation,” I commented, “I hear they perform well in wargames, but not on the field.”

“Because people keep using them wrong,” the Quarren grumbled, “You can’t ask a computer to act on the fly–you have to program it in advance, which is why they work in wargames. Formation flying, lines of battle, any manoeuvre that needs high levels of coordination between vessels; you won’t find a better ship. But you can’t just charge them in and start brawling, because then you’re asking the brain to program itself while in battle.”

I eyed the ship again, noticing how its bow was so much more heavily armoured than its rear. Coordination, huh? I wonder how they would perform in a battle lattice… or–

“What about on the strategic scale?” I probed further, “Synchronised jumping, hit-and-fades; stuff that’s taxing on the astronav.”

“Read the documentation and write the code for it,” he shrugged, “Like I said, as long as you don’t overstep their operational parameters, they’ll perform perfectly. That’s how it is for all droids.”

…Huh. Is that so?

“Get me four Recusants–” Tors looked at me in surprise, “–And your best software engineers. I want to try something.”

⁂

Coruscant, Coruscant System

Corusca Sector

The sun was rising over Coruscant, twilight’s gloom chased away by the glory of a new day upon the strumming heart of the Republic. Even amidst the greatest conflict the galaxy had seen in a millenia, the blazing soul that was Coruscant never faltered in its relentless march onwards. Life goes on.

Anakin stood in the centre of the training grounds, surrounded by ornate tiling and drifting leaves of gold. The ancient tree that stood there was a comforting presence, but Anakin did not feel it then. Just as he did not realise dawn had once again graced the capital.

Unlike the capital it nested in, the Jedi Temple stood like a solemn mausoleum over the sea of transparisteel. The Clone Wars was a mighty hand that had flung the Jedi throughout the stars, leaving only a few senior Jedi Knights in the temple at any time. How many of those fighting out there would never return to this place? Force knew. Anakin felt like he did too.

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

The answer was too many.

The Jedi Temple was mourning. These days, it seemed like it always was.

Anakin was mourning too, in his own way. For his Masters, his fellow Knights, and for the brothers-in-arms he fought besides. He had thought to clear his mind by working off his stresses in these grounds, but ended up standing vigil the entire night. If Obi-Wan saw this, the Jedi Master would undoubtedly say something along the lines of ‘so you finally found a way to meditate, have you Anakin?’ His lips quirked at that thought.

But war was like a cog–it went on unceasingly, mercilessly. His time was consumed by meetings, debriefings, press conferences, endless paperwork, banal bureaucracy, and… funerals. Too many funerals. Master Mundi, Master Koth… two councilmembers lost in a single battle. It was a sobering affair. If the war wasn’t yet real enough, it was now.

And when Anakin wanted nothing more than to visit his recently freed men, he had to find out they had been transferred to a deep space medstation. Visitors unallowed, presumably because it was being swarmed by Republic Intelligence.

I’m a Jedi General, Anakin fumed silently, if anyone has the right to see his own soldiers, it’s me!

“Anakin,” a familiar tone awoke him from his reverie, “Have you been standing there the entire night?”

“Obi-Wan,” Anakin holstered his saber and swung around, “…And, who’s this?”

A young Padawan, a Togruta girl, and yet a tween from the length of her lekku. And her height, Anakin added dryly, and her height. She’s tiny. A child. Dismay rose in his throat like bile.

“Anakin, meet Ahsoka Tano, my new Padawan,” Obi-Wan gestured, “Ahsoka, meet Anakin Skywalker.”

Ahsoka looked up at him with large, starry eyes, and it made him feel sick, “I’m at your service, Master Skywalker.”

The girl tried to be restrained, but couldn’t help from giving a broad smile. All teeth, too. Sharp, dagger-like teeth. Because Togruta were natural predators, and she bore the vestiges of her ancestors.

I’m no Master, he wanted to say, and I’m not who you think I am. Anakin’s stomach sank even more. But it distracted him from his brush with darkness, and he seized the chance. A change of problem was as good as he’ll get.

Anakin ignored her, “We’re at war, Master. This is the worst time to train a Padawan; they’re a liability.”

“Hey!” Ahsoka protested, her eyes narrowing, “I’m not a liability!”

The little Togruta drew herself up to her full height to make herself look larger, which wasn’t saying much.