Chapter 68

Empress Teta Approach, Empress Teta System

Koros Sector

The Republic didn’t have enough time to scrounge up a sizable fleet, that much was obvious from the some hundred warships inserting just outside Empress Teta’s interdiction net. As our scopes would put it, however, their fleet still possessed an impressive ratio of two score capitals and three score escorts. Truthfully, however, I was uncertain of that ratio. There was a new class of ship in the Republic fleet, one unknown to our registries, and thus unknown to our classifications.

A Star Destroyer, for certain, as their iconic drive wedge could not be mistaken. But everything else? Their physical size was conservative, at under a thousand metres, but their power output and the strength of their drives betrayed their strength. What sort of diminutive vessel required the reactor output of a capital warship? There were at least a dozen of them, and arrayed not dissimilarly to a wedge of storks at the front of the enemy formation, I would hazard a guess at their purpose confidently.

By comparison, the fleet I had on hand numbered no more than fifty, as a quarter of our full might was still campaigning against the GAR’s Deep Core fleets with Commodore Vinoc. The rest, however, were arrayed at strategic locations across the seven Tetan crownworlds. As the Republic ran hard for Empress Teta’s orbit however, ostensibly lured in by the paltry numbers I commanded, the lieutenants of the 28th Mobile Fleet closed in from all directions. Diedrich Greyshade with fifty warships from the outer planets in the northeast; Horgo Shive with thirty-three warships whence his return from the Agricultural Circuit; Krett with a strengthened contingent of twenty-nine warships from the northwestern Deep Core sectors.

Excluding the 4th Battle Division, that left one-hundred sixty warships at our disposal for the upcoming engagement, having been supplemented by the Tetan Guard and Mining Guild Enforcement Fleet. Despite the enemy’s heavier ships, they were trespassing upon Separatist space, specifically and painstakingly drilled for their arrival. They were surrounded.

With any luck, this will be a reenactment of the Battle of Krant, where General Sev’rance Tann slaughtered Jedi General Echuu Shen-Jon’s warfleet with the very same stratagem. Using herself as bait, she lured the Jedi General to make landfall on Krant, whereupon her Confederate Second Fleet pounced from the shadows of numerous orbital bodies in the Krant System and decimated the Republic force.

Fleet flagship Chimeratica disseminated her orders, and the division straightened into a hasty battle lattice the way a command caught off-guard would. In truth, this strategy was borne of the necessity to defeat a larger force with a lesser one, in the case of preparation for the worst. I held my reserves now, however, as the GAR knowingly sent a lesser force against a greater one, in an offensive action no less, and thus it could only be assumed the enemy commander was regarded as extremely capable.

“Set a pace of five-hundred Gs,” I ordered, “Close the distance and prepare to swing to port. Watch for any enemy manoeuvres.”

There was the choice to sit back and wait for the enemy to enter Empress Teta’s artillery range, which would obviously be the eminent decision for any defensive force on their last legs. However, if the enemy commander was as capable as I suspected, then they may realise the precariousness of their own situation. If the enemy commander realises they were not facing our full force, then they may decide to wheel around and strike at the nearest ambush fleet.

In which case, this would not be a reenactment of the Battle of Krant, but rather the Battle of Yag’Dhul. As such, I ordered Chimeratica’s division forward, out of Empress Teta’s range, in an attempt to close enough distance that we would be able to support our allies if such a development arises. This action in of itself may alert the enemy commander of the existence of the ambush, but the prior strategic calculus behind the original plan was more or less disregarded that we now boasted a three-to-two advantage against the foe.

“They’re slowing down,” Taylor commented, “Are they supposed to slow down?”

“Have they discovered the ploy?” Tuff’s photoreceptors flashed, his servo-joints flexing his metal fingers, “Inform the fleets to execute the battle plan. Surround them and grind them into dust.”

If I had disagreed, I would have made my disapproval known. But I did not disagree, because the enemy fleet had positioned themselves right in the centre of the ambush, as if they already knew the locations of all our fleets and were mocking us for even thinking we could get the better of them. At any moment, I expected them to dash off to the east and put Krett’s 5th Division to the sword.

For that reason, Chimeratica pressed on her drives, from 500G to double that, angling herself in such a fashion that her inbound vector straddled the hypotenuse formed by the invisible triangle of herself, Fortressa, and the enemy warfleet. Contrary to expectations, however, the enemy warfleet abruptly shifted right, counteracting against Chimeratica’s deflected vector and translating away from the weaker 5th Division.

It was then I realised the enemy commander was reading my mind–or rather, reacting with such grace it made him control the battlespace rather than giving control to me.

“–Hard right, hard over!” Tuff was already commanding, “Get us on an intercept and inform Kronprinz to meet us there!”

I shot to my feet, suitably unnerved, “Will we make it time?”

“My calculations posit so,” the tactical droid replied, “I am attempting to identify the enemy commander. There are not many left of a high calibre still remaining in the Core, save for the Admiral of the Home Fleet.”

We had expected the Republic fleet to strike first at Fortressa, prompting us to steer to port and create a gap between ourselves and Diedrich’s 3rd Battle Division. It was fortunate that we had noticed in time, lest the gulf would have been made wide enough that they could have slipped right through us and put the entire 28th Mobile on one side–effectively circumnavigating an encirclement by running straight through it.

Rather, Kronprinz’s hasty manoeuvres saved us from most of the half-committed blunder and wrested control back in our favour. With the Republic threatened to be caught in a nasty pincer from both flanks, the enemy commander once again pivoted, swinging around his dozen-so Star Destroyers around to starboard in a headlong charge into Chimeratica’s division. It was an unnecessarily bold manoeuvre, ordering heavy cruisers at best to delay a much larger fleet. Right then I wished I had half as much faith in my warships as the enemy had in theirs.

But then the flanks of those Star Destroyers yawned open, massive control surfaces rivalling the size of a Venator’s hangar doors, and within those dark canyons were a sight I’d never thought I’d see on a Republic warship. Missile launchers. The Republic Admiralty had, evidently, wizened up to Separatist naval doctrine, and invented a class of warship to match.

“Prepare for evasive manoeuvres,” I muttered, “And fake portside on my command. Prepare our own launchers; first wave countermissiles, second proton warheads. They’re making a mistake. We let them.”

Kronprinz headed the sun and stars of Tionese naval supremacy, and had proven time and time again to be the 28th’s swiftest command. The 3rd Battle Division has always been our pursuit force. As I mulled over my next moves and counted down the seconds to optimal range–of which I had no choice but to nervously press my nails deep into my palms as I wondered the comparison of Separatist and Republic missile quality.

The Confederacy already had its hands full simply producing the warships we needed to fight a war, and save for the Techno Union most of our Outer Rim worlds were appropriated for low-cost production and manufacturing, willingly or not. By comparison, the Core had all the resources and tradition it needed to continuously improve on existing technology. Just looking at the scopes, the GAR’s missile tubes already appear much larger in diameter than our own torpedo launchers. And that meant, possibly, a longer range and more powerful payload.

I hadn’t seen these warships at Yag’Dhul, but if they made it out onto the frontline…

“Admiral,” Taylor’s voice struck me from my fretting, “We’re receiving a transmission from the enemy flagship. Should I patch it through?”

“…They must be extraordinarily confident,” I clenched my fists, “Do you have anything for me, Tuff?”

“I suspect the enemy commander to be a Jedi General,” was all he had to say in that regard, “Their tactics so far, while refined, are primitive at their core. Essentially, allow the foe to trip over their own feet. It requires patience, and a great deal of faith to sit in the middle of an enemy ambush and expect them to make a mistake. Most GAR officers are far too skittish, and I find Jedi Generals possess the sense of self-assurance to make this kind of confident action–or lack thereof.”

“…I will talk to them,” I said at last.

“–Greetings, Admiral Bonteri,” a familiar voice was heard over the receiver, “I am Jedi General Plo Koon, and I have come to you with a proposal of peaceful parley, so that we may continue our conversation cut short a year ago.”

I stared down the twelve disconcerting Star Destroyers in the same, but darker light. Plo Koon. My blood ran cold. This time, I didn’t have a half-built dreadnought to throw at him.

⁂

“He must have recalled our prior engagement,” Jedi Master Plo Koon bemused as they awaited an answer, “Had Metalorn not been a world of shipyards, and thus fodder to wield, the Battle Hydra would have been quite out of options. Alas, he had one head back then, and many now.”

“There is no point in dallying with what-ifs, Master Plo,” Jedi Master Adi Gallia admonished.

“Quite the contrary,” the Kel Dor Master replied, not unkindly, “Retrospection is but the long and arduous road towards improvement. A battle of words and wit may leave naught dead but one’s pride, but a battle of starships and men may put millions to their grave. Drills and games are… adequate for their purposes, but true practice can only be done on the field, and in this terrible art each lesson learnt is paid in durasteel and blood. It is natural that as many lessons must be learnt from as few practical sessions as possible.”

“Then what do you suppose the Battle Hydra is thinking at this moment, Master?” Barriss questioned, truly curious.

“The veracity of my offer,” Master Plo answered, “And how to best defeat me.”

Iskat shifted from one foot to the other uneasily, well towering over every Jedi and officer on the bridge with her lanky height, “He already has us surrounded.”

“He knows that wouldn’t be enough,” the Jedi Master clasped his hands together, and sure enough, they could see the Separatist armada reacting promptly, clearly intent on reforming their order of battle before partaking in any diplomacy.

Barriss inexplicably found her attention glued to the tactical holo as, just as Master Plo had predicted, scores of warships flooded out from the darkest corners of the Empress Teta Star System, appearing like apparitions from the shadows of planetoids and moons and flooding into the battlespace. Beyond the two fleets directly on their flanks, there was another fleet approaching from their starboard quarter–which included an infamous Lucrehulk known to the GAR registry as Fortressa–and a final force approaching from directly behind them, ostensibly the very one preying upon the Core’s food supplies.

Instead of completing the encirclement, however, the four divisions of the Battle Hydra circumnavigated the stationary Republic formation and moved to regroup directly in front of them. Master Plo simply allowed it to happen, his filtration mask concealing a slightly bemused expression as the Perlemian Coalition merged into their notorious battle lattice, eight by ten and two ranks deep. Curiously, the whole lattice was just slightly concave, with thicker flanks and bending back in the centre like a pressed trampoline.

“I see,” Jedi Master Plo Koon said deeply, humorously, “Very clever. I imagine we will receive favourable news now.”

And as if he had willed it into existence, the Separatist flagship finally gave their reply; “I would have your terms, Master Jedi.”

It was an familiarly unfamiliar voice that responded to them, mellow and indecipherable.

“We simply wish to negotiate a treaty with the Tetan Monarchy, one favourable for all parties involved,” Master Plo said peacefully, “As you may well know, the Republic is gripped by troubles internal and abroad, courtesy of the Pantoran’s strategic wit, and surely you would not begrudge us this… desperate measure?”

“And what convinces you of the efficacy of your desperate measure?” the Battle Hydra replied, “For what reason must I humour the Republic that seeks to lay waste to my country?”

Master Plo looked over his shoulder at Master Gallia meaningfully, before purposefully stepping back. At once, Jedi Master Adi Gallia strode forward to take his place.

“You humour not the Republic, but the Jedi Order,” the Tholothian Master said, “I am Master Adi Gallia, and I speak not for the Chancellery. I hope this to be a totally diplomatic affair, whereupon we can both depart without a feeling of loss.”

“Forgive me, Master Jedi, but that seems to me an improbable outcome,” the Battle Hydra paused… before adding on, “Especially with the sad state of affairs in which the galaxy wars.”

Adi Gallia hesitated, as the bridge of the fleet flagship Hyperion was silent and its captive audience hanging onto each and every word, “…If you would have us, we would be open to a convention on Tetan soil. Our delegates would be myself, Master Plo Koon, and Knights Iskat Akaris and Barriss Offee.”

There was stark silence from the other side. My name, Barriss realised, Master Gallia used my name to get to him.

“In exchange for a temporary truce,” Master Gallia continued whereupon the lack of response, “We would submit to any temporary demands you would have of us, in order to satisfy your requirements for a continued cessation of hostilities.”

“…You will bring forward one ship, and only one,” the Battle Hydra said at last, “As would I, and we will make for Cinnagar at once. Your fleet, and ours, will remain here, neither of which is to activate their drives beyond attitude thrusters. The fleet that fails to adhere to this agreement first, for whichever reason, will be considered the oathbreaker.”

“For whichever reason?” Master Gallia clarified.

“I care not if a rogue asteroid strikes or a pirate flotilla appears from the black, the first fleet to have a vessel activate its main drives will be at fault,” the Battle Hydra said clearly, “Inform your captaincies of this promptly, as I have informed mine, and we will meet under a banner of truce.”

Master Plo Koon immediately turned to Hyperion’s captain, and ordered the agreement disseminated across all fleet channels.

“Agreed,” Master Gallia told the Warlord of the Perlemian, and Hyperion fearlessly plunged towards the Separatist battle lattice.

“One point to port!” the Venator’s captain ordered, swiftly identifying a portal in the enemy lattice, created by a single ship vacating its station. Chimeratica, Hyperion’s scopes identified.

It seemed almost as if the ship itself were holding her breath as they ceaselessly approached the yawning jaws of the Perlemian Coalition, until they were right within the enemy lattice and Separatist ships seemingly stretched on endlessly to the left and right, above and below. Barriss could all but hear the pounding heartbeats in the room, many spacers and officers present otherwise reservists and conscripts dredged up from whatever manpower caches the GAR has left, having never come so close to enemy before, much less the most fearsome warlord of the Outer Rim, save the Pantoran herself.

The beaked prows of Providences grinned down at them, the scarred Hexes adorning their shells customised and patterned in all sorts of identifications. Some marked tallies of battles fought or enemy ships downed, others symbols of homeworlds. Hyperion passed silently through the portal, sliding right past the concealed gunports bearing on either side of her flanks, and quickly caught up to the Chimeratica.

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Someone behind blew a profuse sigh of relief. Barriss shared the sentiment, and though they may not show it, she knew the Jedi Masters had too. Master Gallia’s shoulders lowered slightly, but tensed once more as they matched velocities with the Chimeratica. Barris and Iskat followed the Master’s gaze, and paused at the sight of the Separatist Hex adorning the flagship’s side.

It was a Separatist Hex indeed, with six faces, but from each face extending a curved serpentine neck, each identically S-shaped and facing a clockwise direction altogether in a whirlpool of teeth and scales.

Barriss’ keen eyes spotted a tiny signature off to the side. Artisan.

She suppressed a smile. Seems like he was still enjoying himself.

Nevertheless, within what felt like moments sailing alongside their enemy, approached the capital of the Tetan Monarchy, Empress Teta herself. They passed the orbital deepdocks of the Koros Spaceworks, then descended into the atmosphere towards the iris of Cinnagar’s eye. Before long, Barriss found herself thundering down towards the Royal District in a shuttle, viewing the nine golden spires of Cinnagar–each representing one of the nine worlds of the Empress Teta System, seven of which were inhabited–and circling above the landing zone of the ostentatious Tetan Royal Palace. Golden minarets glinted like torches in the sunlight, dozens of spires thrusting valiantly towards the sky and connected below by a network of walls and arcologies.

It seemed as if they were whisked away into the palace complex by an august wind the moment they stepped off the landing pad, the armoured Tetan Guard quickly surrounding and ushering them inside with the haste that could assume sunlight to be deadly. Notably, they made no effort to bereave them of their lightsabers, or even check for any other weapon they may possess.

“The Tetans have been longstanding allies of the Jedi Order,” Master Gallia murmured to their benefit, “Our relationship dates back to Empress Teta herself. These days, the Mining Guild rules this system in all but name. However… we may still find ourselves friends among the Tetan Monarchy.”

“Hopefully,” Iskat expressed pessimistically, glancing around in awe of the gilded halls of the Royal Palace.

The already spacious hallways opened up into a truly cavernous throne room, the floor dancing with frescoes and a ceiling so high it appeared mired in mist and hanging clouds. There was a metallic tang in the air, mixed with the heavy scent of spices. At the very far end of the hall was an empty throne, and in the centre was an obviously hastily arranged table, spartan save for a gilded vase in the centre filled with local flowers.

Rain Bonteri met them at the foot of the table, accompanied by two droids–Tuff the tactical droid, and Hare the servant droid–and a sword at his belt, which subtly drew the attention of the two Jedi Masters.

“That sword is pure cortosis,” Barriss leaned towards Iskat’s ear, or rather her shoulder, though the tall alien was kind enough to bend down to save her the embarrassment, “It’ll short out your lightsaber upon contact. Expect cortosis droids too.”

“So that’s why they didn’t ask us to surrender them,” Iskat straightened back up, cold blue eyes already analysing the room, “Good to know.”

Rain Bonteri stepped forward with narrow Onderonian eyes, smelling distinctly of silk and lavender, “Welcome to Empress Teta. May I introduce our host?”

His hair was a mess of locks and bangs, Barriss noticed, and had seen much better days. When she first met him, Rain Bonteri sported a short and neat ponytail that barely hung past his shoulders when worn low. Now, he wore a veritable mane of brown hair that messily framed his face and a ponytail–that despite being worn high–fell right down to the back of waist, frayed and ill-kempt. Barriss supposed that years of constant campaigning left little luxury for hairdressing… but surely there was enough space aboard a warship for a simple barber?

The Separatist Warlord gestured to the head of the table, where Barriss head missed a rather diminutive woman with refined features and a dainty coronet weaved into her hair.

“Princess Eara Lota,” the Admiral introduced, “Heir Presumptive to the Tetan Monarchy.”

The Jedi immediately bowed in unison, the diplomatic courtesies ingrained into them since their induction to the Order rearing its head, and the Princess seemed pleased enough at the due respect, at least. She seems easily pleased, Barriss thought, she can’t be any older than… eighteen.