Chapter 58

Eastern Veil, Llon Nebula

Itopol Sector

Twenty standard hours is not enough time to forget the words of a man, that much Asajj Ventress learned as she endlessly paced the deck of Dark Rival like a starved acklay. Rain Bonteri’s parting words troubled her, not for that he definitely knew she had been ordered to betray him, but that he also insinuated she herself would be the victim of betrayal.

“Because betrayal is an unhappy hazard of the dark side.”

It was the exact same words Dooku had recited to her, and now it echoed over and over again in her head. She tested the sentence, feeling the Force wrap around it as she stewed in that hated sense of uncertainty. The simple recital of the maxim was proof he knew every detail about Count Dooku’s instructions–but he could have used any section of that transmission, yet purposefully picked out this single sentence for a reason.

Ventress could be overthinking, but if there was one thing she knew about Rain Bonteri, it was that the Onderonian noble only knew how to overthink; whether it be planning a stratagem down to the most minute detail, deconstructing his opponent’s psyche piece by piece, or calculating each and every word in order to elicit the most favourable outcome in a mere conversation. If she wanted to be on the same mental wavelength as the Battle Hydra, it was worth combing through every detail.

And there was one detail that plagued her like a chronic illness; that he had given her the benefit of the doubt on the eve of such a crucial battle being able to. The fact that he chose to ‘believe’ her when Ventress told him she was acting for the greater good of the Confederacy. A single, well-placed missile could have taken out Dark Rival before Ventress and the Storm Fleet ever became a problem, but no such missile came.

Instead, he simply imparted that maxim.

“Betrayal is the unhappy hazard of the dark side.”

Ventress paced the deck, repeating the sentence under her breath like a mantra. Over and over, and in the twenty-first hour, something clicked into place, and Ventress felt like a lucid onlooker in a mad dream. She had focused so much on the sentence itself that she had overlooked the context behind it.

No. He didn’t say that to tell me he knew I would betray him. It was used as a warning. He was warning me that I was going to be betrayed.

And then in her mind’s eye, that sentence was replaced by a single name. Count Dooku.

What if… what if Dooku’s instructions were meant to lure her away from a place of safety–within the most dangerous fleet of the CAF not under Dooku’s complete control–and into a hidden, isolated nebula of the Mid Rim where he could kill her? Did that not mean she wasn’t actually tasked to take command of a powerful, secret fleet to use against their enemies, but instead to sail straight towards her own tomb?

In that frenzied hurricane of thoughts, Ventress had not even considered how Rain Bonteri could have uncovered such knowledge. Or even realised that he had not known at all, and simply wished to unnerve her. Nor did she realise that the very fact that Dooku had told her of that maxim just before ordering her death was incredibly suspect on its own.

That frenzied hurricane of thoughts… came to an abrupt end with her relentless pacing when the hyperdrive alert warbled. Twenty-one standard hours throught hyperspace. She had finally made it.

But made it where? A new beginning, at the head of two-hundred of the most advanced ships of the Confederacy? Or the end, in a ignoble death among the stars, alone and unnoticed?

The astronavigation droid, not being Force-sensitive themselves, and wholly unaware of her thoughts, flippantly disengaged the hyperdrive. Dark Rival lurched beneath her feet, and Ventress braced herself for the blackness of deep space, and perhaps, the blinding light of a thousand turbolaser bolts.

At that moment, a crucial detail slipped from Ventress’ mind. If he had every intention to kill her, why had Count Dooku also reminded her that betrayal was the custom of the dark side?

⁂

“Here we are,” Jedi Knight Anakin Skywalker announced to himself as Pioneer and half a hundred other Venators–battlecruisers and carriers alike–ripped themselves out of hyperspace, “Dead centre in the middle of nowhere.”

Clone Commander Appo stirred from such stillness for a moment Anakin could have believed the trooper had fallen asleep on his feet. To all outward appearances, Appo seemed perfectly normal, perfectly stern and attentive as a Clone Commander should. But beneath that perfectly identical face, Anakin had noticed something else over the past few hours in hyperspace; an underlying thirst, an eagerness for something, a tension that strained to be released.

Released, in battle. It was there now, and as Anakin studied Appo’s face, he could almost visualise those lines of tension in the Force.

The 501st Clone Legion was yearning for some excitement, and their Commander was no different. They had been bred for battle, and their last engagement, on the Separatist world Nam Chorios, was far and away. A deep space boarding action was the perfect vector to unleash some of that pent up energy.

“–I’ll ready the men, sir,” Appo suggested, “At your leave?”

“Go ahead,” Anakin jabbed out his chin, crossing the deck to the sensor chief. For a moment, he almost called out to Lieutenant Klev, before squashing down that habit with the mental reminder that he was no longer aboard the Harbinger anymore.

Klev, and Avrey and Yularen for that matter, was with Tallisibeth, and hopefully they were doing alright. They must be fighting the Battle Hydra now, that infamous Separatist warlord, if the battle was not already over. Tallisibeth was not dead, that was much was certain to him, nor was the Harbinger destroyed–for he would have felt such a connection severed in the Force, and he had felt no such thing. It was a good sign, one that only reinforced Anakin’s faith in his apprentice, and not just his apprentice but the crews and captains of the Open Circle Fleet.

It was a long way from Christophsis.

“Anything, officer?” the Jedi General questioned.

The sensor chief’s eyes darted up to him, and back down, “Working on it, General. The Nebula ain’t playing nice.”

Anakin nodded sharply but understandingly, nary a blame or rebuke on his lips, and brought his attention towards the viewports. It was a sight to behold; the Llon Nebula were sheets of green and blue and red, and there were stars, newly-formed and newborn, above and below and on all sides. It was an enormous soup of dust and gas, one of many stellar nurseries of the galaxy, and they were within it, soon to violate it with battle.

An involuntary shiver ran up his back at that thought.

“We’ve got contact–” the sensor chief suddenly said, “–Multiple contacts; bearing oh-four-seven, mark two-nine-nine.”

Anakin’s brain spun as he mentally ingested the bearings–below us–before raising a single finger and twirling it. The helm kicked Pioneer into a spin, rolling the mighty vessel a full hundred-eighty degrees longitudinally until the entire ship was ‘upside down.’ Such orientation was tracked as such on the numerous displays and holos, until their operators keyed in for the switch, and thus ‘upside down’ was now the ‘right side up.’

Anakin marched up to the viewports, craning his head up at the supposed contacts that were now ‘above’ them. At first, there was the usual scattering of stars, but as he traced the bearing, it was then that he witnessed an arm of the Llon Nebula, a swirling river of light bisecting the vast void. And within that river of light were dark shapes, shadows, hundreds of them, like barges sailing along the flow of stardust. His eyes traced the silhouettes, and his brain forced a pattern onto them, matching them against the vast gallery of starship silhouettes his memory contained.

“Those are freighters, not warships,” Anakin muttered, then aloud ordered; “Send the scans to my datapad. I want to see everything.”

“Right away, sir.”

The images coalesced on his datapad. The ships were large and geometrical; massive flying boxes exactly eight-hundred metres long and sheathed in dull black durasteel. On their aft ends sat a pair of huge sublight thrusters, arranged vertically, and their prows were dominated by a gargantuan cargo door that spanned port to starboard. Anakin recognised the freighter type; it was one of the most popular and ubiquitous ships classes in the galaxy.

PCL 27, designed by Maxwell & Son. It also went by another more popular name, whether it be in the private circles of shipping magnates, dockhands living paycheck-to-paycheck, or the trillions of spacers who share the hyperlanes with such vessels; A-class bulk freighter. Such a classification was not official, but merely being called the ‘A-class’ was enough of a testament to its omnipresence across the galaxy. Pioneer’s scans reflected as such, with a gleaming ‘PCL 27’ highlighted at the corner of the screen.

There were two-hundred of them, all lying dormant on that river of light. No running lights, no thruster plumes.

So this is it? Anakin had to ask himself in disbelief. The vaunted reinforcements the Battle Hydra was relying on is an abandoned, derelict merchant convoy?

Suffice to say, the Jedi Knight swiftly discarded the thought.

“I want a full-spectrum scan on that fleet,” he instructed, “Search for bio-signs as well.”

As the Open Circle detachment crept closer to investigate, more information poured into Anakin’s hands. His suspicions grew. The thrusters… were too clean. Freight companies and captains loved to skimp out on fuel quality to save costs, and these thrusters showed no signs of that. Either these ships were incredibly new, or they didn’t burn dirty. That was the first sign. The second was the hull itself. Anakin studied the lines and paneling of the hull, the quality of the fittings, then the material composition of the plating. It’s not just durasteel–it’s a military-grade doonium alloy. Then there was the forward ‘cargo door’ that possessed none of the design features of a cargo door and all the features of an armoured bulkhead.

These ‘freighters’ are built like military-grade warships.

So why are two-hundred of them sitting in some middle-of-nowhere nebula?

“That’s strange,” the sensor chief frowned, “There aren’t any bio-signs.”

“Did we accidentally stumble on the Dark Force or something?” another officer half-joked.

Dark Force. A rush of memories flooded Anakin’s mind. The officer was talking about the Katana fleet, a task force of two-hundred Dreadnaught-class heavy cruisers built ten years ago. The Katana fleet was meant to herald a new era for Republic military warships, each ship outfitted with a then-advanced set of full-rig slave circuitry. When the system malfunctioned, the whole fleet jumped to lightspeed together and disappeared forever.

Ten years ago, Rendili Dreadnaughts were ludicrously crew-intensive, requiring upwards of sixteen-thousand spacers in all. The bespoke slave circuitry implemented cut that number down to little over two-thousand. These days, slave circuitry was even more advanced, but hardly utilised due to the great scare caused by the scandal. Despite that, slave circuitry was absolutely ubiquitous in the Separatist navy; present and essential in basically every Separatist warship ever built. The joys of droid crews, Anakin decided, and organic manpower deficit.

Ten years ago, full-rig slave circuitry was the next evolution in starship technology. Advanced, but untested. The Dark Force was supposed to be the Republic’s grand demonstration of how effective a slave-rigged fleet could be.

Before the slave-rigged fleet took half a million men to their graves.

“A-class bulk freighters only need a crew of sixty,” Anakin recalled aloud, “If these are warships like I suspect, maybe a couple hundred. If we assume slave circuitry, and droid crews… one could run a completely secret fleet. Think about it; there’s no need for a home port or even ports of call, and when they’re on the move, the ordinary spacer would think it’s a freight convoy.”

“So you think this is it, sir? The Storm Fleet?”

“Yes,” Anakin said decisively, “This is it. There must be a reason why they are all deactivated, but we’re not here to poke the sleeping krayt dragon. We’re here to kill the sleeping krayt dragon. Inform the secondary bridge; launch all starfighters! Bring us in–destroy them all!”

Sorry, Appo, but if we’re lucky your men won’t have any fun at all. If we’re lucky.

Anakin Skywalker wasn’t a lucky person.

“New contact!” the sensor chief alarmed, “There’s a Providence almost right above us, headed on the same vector!”

That’d be Asajj Ventress. Anakin traced the vector–it was Ventress’ ship, indeed, Dark Rival, and it was racing towards the safety of the Storm Fleet.

“–How close must she get to transmit the control codes to the fleet!?” Anakin demanded in a rush, his every muscle straining to dash to the hangar bay and leap into his starfighter.

“We’re in a nebula, sir,” the sensor chief replied as calmly as he could, “You can ask the stars and they’ll likely give you a more accurate answer than I.”

Anakin twitched, “Then belay that last order and bring Pioneer to bear on Ventress! Have all starfighter wings target that ship–the Dark Rival! The rest of the fleet will proceed at pace!”

As long as those fake freighters don’t get activated, this spot will mark Ventress’ grave. Anakin’s scar burned. And it’s been a long time coming.

⁂

Ventress found herself within her Ginivex-class fanblade before she knew it, the Banshee screeching out of Dark Rival’s through-deck hangar bay with all two-hundred droid starfighters and a hundred more landing shuttles as soon as Anakin Skywalker’s Open Circle appeared right below her. She hardly even had the luxury of wondering how or why he had followed her, only that she had to reach the Storm Fleet before he caught her.

Because a Providence, for all of its advantages, could not outrun a Star Destroyer, or the blistering masses of Republic fighter-bomber wings for that matter. Within a matter of moments, the Pioneer was right below Dark Rival, both ships longitudinally spinning perpendicularly to bring their broadsides to bear. Without her combat escorts, however, Dark Rival couldn’t effectively stave off the hungering squadrons of BTL-B Y-wings that dove beneath her shields and unleashed their deadly payloads of proton torpedoes down her spine.

Dark Rival, knowing her end was at hand, overloaded her turbolasers, turning into a cylinder of blazing laserfire and torpedoes, lashing out in one final tantrum against death before her capacitors blew out. Pioneer responded in kind, leveraging an almost comical number of starfighters–well over four-hundred–against the single Providence. Ventress hadn’t the luxury to watch her flagship’s end either, as she kicked Banshee’s drive to full power and set off towards the indicated Storm-001, flagship of the Storm Fleet, on her panel.

Close behind her, another 49 Venators, and 5,000 hostile starfighters out for her blood. A familiar drive trail appeared on the panel, one unmistakable to any pilot of the Confederacy–the piercing dagger of a Jedi Aethersprite.

Skywalker.

One of the Vulture droids warbled, the translation scrawling across the holodisplays in Banshee’s cockpit.

“What!?” Ventress gritted her teeth, kicking out her engines and whirling Banshee around so she could see behind her–and saw a second fleet extracting out of hyperspace. Separatist frigates shot out of lightspeed and slugs from a chamber, each deafeningly silent thud seemingly vibrating the dust clouds of the Llon Nebula, “Bonteri followed us!?”

The Vulture warbled again, alerting her to the twenty spearhead destroyers blazing a golden trail towards them, outpacing the frigates and even the Republic Star Destroyers. Mistryl destroyers. Why? Did Bonteri send them after Skywalker? To help me? But he knows I’m not here to bring him reinforcements… just what is he up to?

Regardless, it was a welcome reprieve. The Mistryl fleet had appeared almost laterally across the Open Circle, with Dark Rival and Pioneer dead centre between them. Almost immediately, half of the pursuing starfighters peeled off Ventress’ tail and brought themselves around in a tight one-eighty, now on a tight intercept with the Vultures released from the frigates–

Only to be ignored by said Vultures, the droid starfighters blowing right past Dark Rival and Pioneer.

Or, Ventress narrowed her eyes, whirling Banshee back around and pushing its drives to their limits, Bonteri sent them to track me after all. The Llon Nebula was, like all nebulae, utterly vast, spanning many light-years. Only Ventress knew the exact coordinates of the Storm Fleet, courtesy of Count Dooku, and Bonteri had likely sent the Mistryl to track her.

Regardless, her situation had just gone from bad to worse.

Banshee barrelled between the first two Storm-class destroyers, weaving through the tightly packed formation towards the centre of it. Her fighter wing followed closely as she did, zigzagging in and out so closely Ventress could count the rivets on the front panels.

“Storm-One,” Ventress punched the comm panel, “This is Asajj Ventress!”

If she thought her name was enough to make the slumbering giants wake, Ventress found herself sorely mistaken. As Separatist and Republic starfighters clashed right over her, stray bolts spearing through empty space, the Storm Fleet continued to lie unmoving. Another of her Vultures chimed, its chassis quivering as it did.

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“Dooku,” Ventress hissed, slamming his contact into the panel, “Count Dooku!”

As if awaiting precisely this moment, Count Dooku’s hologram appeared before her, a regal eyebrow raised, “Why the rush, Asajj? It is unbefitting.”

“Master, I need the codes, now,” Ventress told him as urgently as she could without shouting, “There is a– a situation.”

A Vulture droid warbled–damn you!–and Dooku’s eyes narrowed. At that moment, it took every fibre in her body to not wheel on the stupid droid and blast it to pieces.

“So both the Hydra and Skywalker have tracked you and learned about the Storm Fleet’s existence,” he murmured in disappointment.

“I can still destroy them, Master!” Ventress insisted heatedly, “All I need are the codes!”

“You have lost, Asajj,” Count Dooku sighed deeply, but composedly, “Against one or the other, perhaps the Storm Fleet could prevail. But both? The Storm Fleet will no longer be yours to command.”

At that moment, Rain Bonteri’s words returned to the forefront of her thoughts like a vengeful prophecy. At that moment, Asajj Ventress’ pride and ego shattered, her weaknesses and insecurities flooding her thoughts, and thousand questions and one repeating in her head. The promises she made, the promises she broke. The lifetime of battles she waged, the years of service she kept. The dark side of the Force reigned over her, her eyes bleeding into a baleful shade, her blood darkening, her pulse quickening.

And yet, Asajj Ventress was as lucid as she has ever been.

“You are betraying me,” she stated with a calm certainty that surprised Dooku as much as it surprised herself.

Count Dooku met her hateful stare, “I am afraid it is–”

“Do not give me that tripe!” Ventress snapped, the roar of laserfire and thundering torpedoes overhead fading into a background lull, “What was it all for, Dooku!? Rattatak, Geonosis, the war!? What was the Confederacy for!? I believed in you, when Sev’rance didn’t! I believed in your promise of a better galaxy! Tell me! Why am I no longer part of the galaxy you envision!? What did I do!? Where did I go wrong!? What does the Confederacy mean to you!?”

“Nothing,” Dooku replied simply, the single word like a vibroknife in her gut, and the next words twisted it mercilessly, “The Confederacy means nothing to me. Your mistake, Asajj, was not realising this, and not realising you were but a mere piece in a greater game you know nothing about. I truly regret this, Asajj. You were my finest creation, and there was nothing I looked forward to more than your presence at my side whence I built my New Order. I had hoped for… much from you. In the end, you couldn’t accomplish something as simple as secure a fleet I had all but placed at your fingertips. This failure will be your last.”