Chapter 23

Twelve titanic warships hovered over the clear blue marble known as Quell-absolutely massive vessels that spanned kilometres and dwarfed anything Barriss had ever seen put to space. She could hardly believe they could even move.

But when you needed mobile deepdocks to facilitate an ever growing number of desperate warships, there was no quicker and haphazard solution than converting freighters and bulk carriers into auxiliary fleet-repair ships. They already had the gantries-once used to load and offload containers-to service ships docked alongside them, and they already had the cavernous inventories necessary to hold fuel, gas, parts, or all three.

And the corporate overlords of the Separatist Alliance had no shortage of either.

Standing on an observation platform aboard the freighter-cum-mobile shipyard Rimma Express, Barriss could just see the communications mast of another auxiliary peeking just over the curved horizon. The huge vessels were spaced evenly across Quell’s surface, strung along the mesopause like a bead of pearls. Being virtually defenceless, they had to hide within what planetary interference there was in an attempt to evade long-range system scanners.

But also being interstellar merchantmen at their core, they weren’t capable of atmospheric flight-they would collapse under their own weight-and so had to literally skirt the fine line that still allowed them to utilise their bewilderingly powerful repulsors to stay afloat. And what large repulsors they were-great jets of cold blue that extended from their ventrals like celestial pillars holding up floating islands.

“You must hasten, Captain Jorm,” Tuff sternly ordered a slouching human captain, “Unicorn Squadron is supposed to make for Ord Tiddell.”

“Nothing I can do about it, droid,” Jorm pinched the bridge of his nose, evidently exhausted at Tuff’s draconian demands, “Are your photoreceptors even working!? Look around you, my Aurora Auxiliaries Division has its hands full with Commander Shive’s and Captain Aviso’s war. Our resources have been earmarked for this Salin Front, not your… your quick response squadron, and definitely not these half-flying Atrakenite junkers!”

Lieutenant Rame Cartroll winced inaudibly at the outburst. Barriss couldn’t help but sympathise-they had been able to retrieve all of their forces from Atraken more-or-less intact, but some of the more anti-Republic Atrakenites had stubbornly refused to submit to Loyalist occupation. Instead, they raided the secret shipyards on Trilos and absconded the ships there, swearing loyalty to Separatist Alliance.

They were already traitors to the Atrakenite government. When the choice was either to take them in or abandon them to the infinite harshness of space, there was no choice in Barriss’ mind.

The problem? Those ‘ships’ of theirs could be aptly described as flying metal coffins. They were unique, to say the least; some were haphazardly repaired warships from the dawn of the war, while others were built from the keel up with what little resources they had. Barriss couldn’t believe any of them were space-worthy.

But they were, if not yet exactly battle-worthy; something Tuff was attempting to rectify.

“You know,” Cartroll said quietly, dragging her off towards the side, “It makes a lot more sense that a tactical droid would be in charge of a squadron- not sure why it didn’t occur to me that a mere lieutenant shouldn’t have that much authority.”

Barriss allowed a wry smirk, “I think it can be forgiven considering the state we found you in.”

“Yeah, well,” he heaved, shoulders rising and falling, “I suppose a droid would be bad optics. Not sure how he’s going to weasel our way out of this one though. The Atrakenites trust me enough to follow us this far…”

He trailed off, gaze fixed on something in the distance. Barriss followed it to the bunkering frigates refuelling midair, and the line of impatient Atrakenite corvettes waiting for their turn.

Those are all Horgo Shive’s ships, she thought, remembering the Muun, they’re being rotated from the front to keep up to snuff. Unicorn Squadron must be an unwelcome intruder on their itinerary.

“Captain!” a Siniteen logistics officer stamped into a hasty salute, “Urgent transmission from Vjun. It’s the Commander’s address.”

It appeared as if something had physically gripped Captain Jorm, even as he spoke, “Patch him through.”

Horgo Shive appeared on a monitor above the console, blinking as he took in everybody in attendance. He stated his piece only after ensuring he had the full attention of the crew.

“Your location has been compromised,” the Muun Commander exposed bluntly, “And we’ve intercepted communications suggesting a Republic taskforce is enroute to Quell as we speak.”

“H-How!?” Captain Jorm stuttered, “Our location is supposed to be top secret! It can’t be from my division; there’s been no unauthorised outbound communications from the Quell System since we arrived!”

“A spy has penetrated deeper into our ranks than we have realised,” Commander Shive grimaced, “Either Bonteri employs a far looser hand than he should, or someone with top level access to the tracking of our military elements has fallen in bed with the Loyalists.”

“You mean- from the general staff?” Jorm started pacing the deck, chewing nervously, “This is outrageously-!”

“Neither of us are in any position to fret over a spy, Jorm,” Shive said, “You just have to get out of Quell as soon as possible. Anakin Skywalker was last spotted moving Rimward on the Salin, and I will meet him at Vjun. We all play our parts.”

“You said the enemy is enroute as we speak,” the auxiliary captain accused, “Did you trace the communications? Was it from within the region?”

“Fifteen-hundred parsec radius,” he confirmed, “You only have a day- or less. Look, Jorm, we can’t afford to lose the Aurora Auxiliary Division. Your command is a mobile Ringo Vinda. Sacrifice my Havoc Squadron frigates to make your escape if you must. Nothing is more important than your survival.”

Jorm swallowed, beads of sweat gathering on his brow, “Understood, Commander.”

“Doesn’t sound good,” Cartroll mumbled from their vantage point.

The auxiliary captain swallowed thickly, then firmed himself up, “All ships to Yellow Alert and prepare for extraction!”

Before the Siniteen could convey the order, Tuff stepped heavily, his steel boot thumping against the ground like a gong, “Belay that order, Captain.”

The words spilled out naturally, as if the droid had spoken them a hundred times before.

“You don’t know where they are coming from,” the tactical droid continued, “Acting too early is a mistake.”

Captain Jorm’s eyes fluttered, creases in his face deepening as he absorbed Tuff’s words, “Caraya’s soul. Shive, you useless blaster-brained cur. Fine; why don’t you use that programming of yours to find us a way out of here, droid?”

Somewhat lost on the situation, Barriss unconsciously probed the thoughts of the auxiliary captain, encountering little resistance as his mindscape divulged any information she seeked to know. She only realised her actions after a flood of mild panic and deep-rooted anxiety pooled in her gut, along with the scraps of tactical know-how that still surpassed hers.

Logically, the most obvious direction the enemy would be approaching from was the Salin Corridor. Except, Commander Horgo Shive still held that hyperspace route. Which meant the enemy taskforce was operating behind Separatist lines, and could strike from any direction.

Extracting too early ran the risk of exposing themselves on the wrong side of the planet-or worse, running straight into the people they were trying to escape.

“Yellow Alert,” Tuff dipped his chin, “I will take overall command of Havoc and Unicorn Squadron. Ensure all crews are prepared for a hasty extraction, but for now, we cannot make our move until we see the enemy.”

“What is your plan?” Jorm demanded.

“Sacrifice one or two auxiliaries,” Tuff replied curtly, “And run in the opposite direction.”

Cartroll made a silent ‘ah’ sound with his mouth, eyes shining as if he had been struck by an epiphany.

“What is it?” she whispered.

“Simple yet clever,” the Lieutenant said, “Now I see why the deepdocks are stationed where they are.”

“To minimise their sensor profile?”

“Well yes, but look at this-” he drew up a rough 2D render of the planet on his tablet, with twelve flashing dots placed evenly on its circumference, “-It also means that if the enemy comes from any one spot, like here…”

He tapped the screen, and a new flashing dot appeared on the outskirts of the render. Two dotted lines spanned outwards, running tangentially from the node to the planet’s circle.

“See how their in-system scanners won’t be able to detect all the ships on the other hemisphere?” Cartroll pointed, “Yes, it does minimise our profile, both from long-range and short-range scanners. Bare minimum, we survive with half of our ships. But if we can distract the enemy long enough…”

“We can get the rest behind the tangents, and sacrifice the closest auxiliaries in the process,” Barriss finished.

“The question is; which?” Cartroll looked up.

“That is for the enemy to decide,” Tuff marched past them, “Board your ship, Lieutenant. We must be ready to meet them.”

They didn’t have a day. They had five hours.

“Polyphemus reports sensor contact sir,” Taylor said, “Should we begin tracing aft of their inbound trajectory to plot an origin arc?”

Polyphemus. A Corporate Alliance bulk carrier converted into a mobile manufacturing plant to quickly produce replacement parts from raw materials procured by fleet tenders. Six corvettes orbited the giant starship, serviced by Polyphemus’ autonomous limbs and a legion of crab-like repair droids.

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

“Do so-” Unicorn jolted as she dislodged from Rimma Express’ cranes, freefalling several metres before her repulsors kicked in, “-And identify who we are facing. Have Lieutenant Cartroll’s light warships move to Polyphemus’ flanks oh-four-five radial degrees from Quell’s core. Begin evacuation procedures.”

Unicorn and Centaur immediately started burning a fiery trail through the heavens, carving a white gaseous scar across the sky. Quell seemed to go on infinitely from the vantage of the bridge, the endless sea of clouds expanding outwards as they chased the horizon.

“Which frigates are closest to Polyphemus’ position?” Tuff demanded.

“Havoc Squadron’s Sanction, Durandal, and Ullalulla,” Barriss checked.

“Can they make the intercept in time?”

She fumbled with the calculations for a minute, “Not… not with the atmospheric drag.”

The Republic taskforce had a nearly eighty degree angle of attack, while the Separatist frigates were sailing parallel to the surface and in-atmosphere. That meant they were not only limited by their atmospheric drives, but also had to travel a longer distance following the curvature of the planet, compared to a straight-shot displacement figure.

“We’ve identified the cruisers as you’ve ordered,” Rame Cartoll’s voice was sharp, “There are three Venators; Liberty, Defiance, and Independence. Only Defiance is in carrier outfit, from what our sensors can make.”

“Liberty is General Aayla Secura’s flagship,” Tuff stated, probably pulling the information from his databanks, “And the trace?”

“An arc in the Perkell Sector. Somewhere around Aargonar, Gromas, or Tancret. Can’t tell any more than that, unless you can rip out their astronav charts.”

Tuff twitched unnaturally at the mentioned systems, as if his behavioural programming was glitching.

“That’s… the opposite direction of where they should be coming from,” Barriss stated, “Has the Perlemian Front already collapsed?”

“Eucer definitely has- no way else for them to get behind us,” Cartroll stated grimly, “We were supposed to rendezvous with reinforcements at Ord Tiddell right? I have a feeling we won’t find them there.”

“I must follow my last received orders, Lieutenant,” Tuff said, “Unicorn Squadron will make for Ord Tiddell. Whether you decide to follow us is irrelevant.”

“That’s not your strategic analysis software talking, droid,” Cartroll chastised, “That’s your loyalty protocols overwriting your logic matrix. Who programmed you?”