Chapter 77

Geonosis, Geonosis System

Arkanis Sector

As the warship plunged into the arid atmosphere of Geonosis, Asajj Ventress struggled to shut out the staggering cacophony of sensory input and focus on finding her centre amid the chaos. Not from the turbulence, no, for the faux-freighter was solid of form and build and there was hardly a shudder as they whipped through a thundering sandstorm, but from the commotion on the deck. The flagship of the Storm Fleet, Storm-001 and the ships it led were all designed with the cover of a PCL 27 A-class freighter in mind, to disguise their true nature as warships.

Which meant they all possessed utterly massive bow cargo doors that spanned flank-to-flank, ostensibly to facilitate the off and onloading of the vast volumes of freight these ships fueled the galaxy with. Cargo bay doors meant cargo bays–smaller ones, not on the scale of a real A-class freighter–but large enough to be repurposed into a modest hangar bay. If hangar bays didn’t need airlocks or atmospheric containment shielding, that was, since the doors opened directly to the outside.

Except, the cargo bays weren’t being used as hangars–not in any traditional sense, at least.

From the railings of an observation platform above, Ventress silently watched the Onderonians scamper about on the bay deck–like ants scurrying in the shadows of giants. In the dim lighting, enormous wyverns writhed and grated against their steel prison, snapping and clawing in their restraints. Dxunian warbeasts, Ventress rubbed a phantom itch on her newly acquired mechno-arm, and lunar dragons. The dark side of the Force was thick and heavy in the bay, as if the gargantuan warbeasts lived and breathed it, as they should, spawned from the Demon Moon of Onderon.

In fact, there was more turbulence from inside the ship than outside.

Asajj Ventress absorbed their emotions, their frustrations, their pent up rage, accumulated over weeks and months cooped up in these metal cages. Ventress never thought of sympathising with monsters, but she did now. Plucked from their homeworlds, herded aboard warships and taken to where none of their kind have ever gone before. The stars in the sky.

The assassin felt a tinge of nostalgia. She was like them too, once.

Relating to beasts are you now, Asajj? Dooku’s voice asked her, look at how far you have fallen.

But they are not so mindless, are they Asajj? Ky replied, the Force flows through all living beings.

Are you? Ventress thought quietly, anybody would be resentful, trapped in a cage where they could not spread their wings. And as if the dragons heard her, they settled down; tamed, apparently, for at least just the moment. Immediately sensing the unnatural lull in their warbeasts, the Onderonian handlers seized the opportunity to scramble their caparisons and harnesses over the mighty creatures, affixing equipment for battle.

“I don’t know how you keep doing it, but damn me to Dxun if I am not grateful,” Captain Vander clambered up the gangway with two women in tow, “I don’t think these warbeasts would last another day in here.”

All it would take was one going on a rampage to kill all of us, the thought had never been more present in Ventress’ mind. Just the idea of a single brutal, hundred-thousand pound dragon finally snapping in the middle of hyperspace transit…

“There’s only so much you can do,” Kavia Slen shrugged, bearing a frivolous grin that conveyed nothing of the weight of the situation, “My engineers had already retrofitted all these ships into flying menageries. This is as ‘home’ and ‘home’ gets out in space.”

There was a bed of dirt and vegetation on the deck, ivy and blooming flowers on the bulkheads, and drooping willows and vines cascading from above, concealing the roosts of Dxunian raptors and devourers. The shipboard artificial environment and gravity systems had been hijacked to imitate the climate and gravity of Onderon as much as possible–an oppressive, sultry boil that made Ventress’ skin slick with sweat. And of course, everything else necessary to transform a freight bay into a rainforest vivarium, and maintain it. They’ve done an incredibly impressive job of it, considering most of the work was done in-transit, considering–

“You’ve done a fine job of it,” Naradan D’ulin rested her hands on her hips, “Considering the smell.”

The smell. It smelled like what a rainforest vivarium would smell like; except inhabited by half a dozen lumbering dragons and a score of smaller flying warbeasts that inhabited the canopy, eating and sleeping and shitting and everything else that monsters do.

I don’t think this is what Dooku imagined his secret fleet would be used for, Ventress thought humorlessly at the sight. Not that it would even be on his list of grudges when I’m done with him.

“We space the waste regularly,” Kavia patted the mercenary’s shoulder without fear, leaving a greasy glove-print on the Mistryl’s purple robes, “So it could be worse.”

“I can imagine,” D’ulin replied drily, “And I’d like it to keep it that way, thank you.”

Ventress silently agreed. She looked around the ship, which juddered and shook as it plummeted toward the planet’s surface. The air was thick and still, reeking of dirt and sweat. The last Onderonian warbands were hooking themselves onto the bridles of their warbeasts–actions that the lunar dragons recognised. The ship shuddered again–this time as the largest warbeast roused from its dormancy, shaking off the dust from weeks of inactivity.

The Force tensed, like a rope strung taught and ready to snap. Soft, guttural snarling filled the hold, followed by clicking mandibles and rustling wings.

“The Geonosians won’t be fooled by the Storm Fleet’s signature for long; their bioscans will immediately blow our cover,” Naradan D’ulin began her final brief, as the warmaster of the operation, “Sharihen and the Mistryl fleet will be stationed in low orbit to cover the operation in case the Geonosians scramble fighters from other hives across the planet. We’ll reach as low as possible before the bugs start shooting–these ships can take a pounding, so we might as well use their armour. Are the Beast Riders ready?”

“More than ready,” Vander crossed his arms, “They’re… well, they’ve never even set foot in a starship before. Right now? The Clazca and Ezelk Warlords are as pent up as their warbeasts, and just as eager to spill alien blood.”

Naradan nodded sharply, “Good. They’ll spread out across the dropzone, engaging the Geonosian defences. At the same time, the Storm Fleet will execute a saturation bombardment of the Stalgasin Hive, where we have discerned the master codes to be. While the bugs are occupied being bombed back to the Old Republic, Captain Vander’s commandos will lift us down to the factory. From there it’s a standard infiltration operation. Got all that?”

Vander grinned, “Clear as day.”

Ventress voiced an uncommitted confirmation, fingers–flesh and steel both–wrapping around the cold metal railing as she closed her eyes and concentrated on the Force. There was still a phantom itch on her mechno-arm, despite her best efforts, but the steady hum of servos became a comforting rhythm in counterpoint to the ship’s engines, a focal point that brought her consciousness into a state of calm. Focus. Find your centre, Asajj.

“Your hand alright?” Kavia asked curiously.

Asajj lifted it and flexed its bearings, listening to the whirr.

“It’ll serve,” she decided.

But it’ll never be the same. There was no replacement for flesh, nerves, and blood. The mechno-arm was crude and improvised, crafted out of what limited materials were available aboard the Mistryl destroyers. General Grievous proved that mechanical reflexes could be a league above organic ones–but not with a brain that’s already been trained and honed for years. Not unless you started from the beginning again.

And that’s where Asajj Ventress was yet, she was afraid. She would have to learn her signature dual wielding form–Jar’Kai–all over again. The Mistryl had done their best to wire the mechno-arm, but they were not Arkanians. The reflexes, the control–they would all be so different from what Ventress knew, and even the most minute difference could mean life or death in combat.

She counted her stars; she wasn’t about to duel a Jedi, or anyone for that matter. Just kill some bugs. That’s easy enough, isn’t it?

“Anytime now…” Kavia murmured, unconsciously bracing.

Storm-001 whined and shook as it slowed, gravity pulling at Ventress’ bones. The metal under her boots trembled, and as if she could already feel the hot sun outside, sweat beaded on her lip. They must be close to the surface now, and she imagined that if the hold had a viewport, she would look upon a familiar world of sand and spires, bright orange striped with harsh black shadows.

A distant explosion rocked the ship.

An even closer one knocked it off its vector.

Then, the strangest feeling. Storm-001 shuddered violently, creaking and groaning as it strained against some invisible pressure. A vibration carried through the hull and into their bodies, travelling through their bones and veins. Ventress’ pulse quickened to dangerous levels, despite her disciplined breathing. Leaves fell from the canopy as Dxunian raptors squawked and yelled in surprise. The larger wyverns on the deck rustled, but otherwise seemed wholly unmoved.

Just as quickly as the sensation came–it was gone.

“Sonic wave artillery,” Ventress gritted her teeth, “Geonosian tech. Their blasters use the same technology. You get hit dead on, and your heart will explode.”

“The ship didn’t get affected much,” Vander looked around, eyebrow raised, “Considering we aren’t dead.”

“This ship is big,” Kavia pointed out, evidently realising the implications, “The damage will be spread out. But get hit a couple more times, and the ship will be disintegrating under our feet.”

“How many more times is a ‘couple?’”

“Two to a hundred,” the engineer shrugged, looking towards the Mistryl warmaster.

Naradan D’ulin paused, meeting Vander’s gaze, “Get them out there.”

“You got it, lady!”

The Onderonian Captain wasted no time bolting off onto the hold deck, animatedly waving his arms and hollering commands in a tribal tongue. The Beast Riders recognised the commands–as did their wyverns, and the warbeasts all stirred in anticipation.

“Open the doors!” Kavia shouted into a comlink, to a faint reply.

The flood of sunlight poured in like liquid fire, overwhelming the eyes with a searing, blinding white. A torrent of blistering air followed, blasting through the open hatch with the force of a gale, carrying with it the arid scent of scorched earth and dust. She expected the vessel beneath her feet to buck at the sudden change of air resistance, as she had experienced on many dropships before, but the Storm-class destroyer was built like a doonium brick, and didn’t shake easily.

Unlike the ship, however, its passengers were much more affected. Inside the craft, the temperature rose instantly, stifling in its intensity, while the wind blasted out the humidity along with tonnes of vegetation and brush, sending them aloft and sprinkling onto the sandy dunes. Warlords and warlords alike whooped and crowed, pumping themselves up for battle, whilst Beast Riders strained their mounts against immediately leaping into the clouds.

“Are all the warbands ready!?” Naradan shouted over the winds, her Mistryl squad assembling around her whipping robes.

Kavia squinted against the glare, trying to cover her datapad with her sleeve, “The engineering crews are coming down! Once we’re all here, we’re good to go!”

“–Wait, coming down?” Ventress couldn’t help but ask, “You’re joining us out there?”

Kavia looked at her as if she was out of her mind, “What? You want us to stay here?”

Ventress resisted the urge to run the woman through with her lightsaber, “I don’t see what purpose you’d serve on the ground. You’re an engineer. We don’t need extra weight.”

“I can ride a warbeast with my eyes closed and both arms tied behind my back, egghead,” the engineer rebuked, “I swept this old bucket top to bottom, and it’s all automated, provided the right programs. Beyond that, it’s a giant steel coffin. No sane person would want this to be their grave.”

“Dead is dead,” Ventress snarled, “What does it matter where you die? I fail to understand; it will always be safer here than out there.”

She pointed out to the skies beyond the open doors, filled with fire and flak and black smoke. Before the engineer could retort again, the turbolift chimed and the bridge crew of a handful engineers poured out, armed with disruptor grenades and carbines.

Kavia huffed, waving over her men and shooting Ventress a glare that seemed to imply she was insipid.

“Live fast, die young!” Kavia vaulted over the rails and landed squarely on one of the dragon’s tails without even looking, “Leave the world with a curse on your lips and sky in your lungs! That’s what I always say…!”

Kavia’s voice drowned out as she skillfully scaled the ridged tail all the way up to the caparison, joining Vander and the rest of the commandos there. As the bridge crew followed her lead, Naradan leaned closer to Ventress’ ear.

“You’ve crossed the galaxy fighting Dooku’s war, but you’ve never fought with the people Dooku claims to be fighting for,” the Mistryl told her, “It’s a whole galaxy out there, not just contained in battle maps and soldiers. You’ll find that when you’ve lived in the shadow of a Demon Moon all your life, the only thing that would terrify you is a boring death.”

In no mood to continue the argument–death is death–Ventress made her way onto the warbeast. Boarding it was trivial, with the Force, as she crossed the gap with a single well-time leap.

“Welcome aboard!” Vander shouted, his hair whipping in the wind. Sand was pooling on the far corners of the cargo hold. “Hold on tight or you’ll be blown right off!”

Ventress graciously decided to heed his advice, “What are we waiting for!?”

“The Warlords know best when to jump!” he jabbed a finger over to the neighbouring warbeast, one naked of any harness or saddle. Carbine-armed savages were lodged squarely between the spines on the monster’s back, “We have a saying; the clansmen learn to ride before they could walk! The best of them are born on the backs of their warbeasts! That’s why we call them the Beast Riders!”

Vander barked in laughter as artillery fire roared around them. Ventress ignored the madman and took stock of their warband; six Dxunian warbeasts each carrying as many as twenty men, and three times as many smaller flying wyverns with single or dual riders. While the Beast Riders of the massive warbeast on her right were cheering and shaking their blasters and lances in the air, the passengers of the one on her left were more grim–some were shaking, others had the fear of death engraved in their eyes.

“Don’t mind those,” the Captain told her as D’ulin’s Mistryl squad climbed aboard, “That’s the Penal Battalion. The punishment was permanent exile, but they took their chances fighting for the right to live.”

“They’re more likely to die here,” Ventress shook her head.

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“The punishment’s exile, but we don’t want a band of grudgeful traitors gallivanting around the galaxy, do we?” Vander asked rhetorically, with a sly smile, “They’re here to die.”

“A cruel joke.”

“You seem like the type to enjoy that sort of thing,” Kavia suddenly piped up.

“I am.”

“Cloud cover’s clearing up,” the Captain sat up, “I’d wager we’re about to go.”

He was right. A familiar desert of red sand and stark sunlight came into view, tall spires piercing the sky like melting candles, and somewhere below, ranks of artillery and cannons buzzed and boomed and screamed. The air felt as if it were charged up with lightning, for all that the sky was clear.

The Clazca Warlord lifted his carbine and fired three shots into the sky, roaring out wordlessly–

And the warbeasts roared in reply, a deafening chorus that made the thunder of exploding flak sound mute. A rush and lurch–and they were in the air. Ventress wrapped the rope around her arm tight, though her natural balance kept her steady nonetheless. All around them, hundreds of dragons and wyverns and warbeasts were taking to the skies over Geonosis, all screaming out as if to claim their new domain.

Ventress felt the pull of the beast beneath her, its wings beating against the storm of dust and flak, rising higher and faster with every surge of its powerful body. The air was thick with the smell of scorched sand and burning plasma, but it was the roar of the warbeasts that dominated the senses, how its muscles rippled beneath her feet. The sky was a swirling maelstrom of chaos. Dragons, wyverns, and other monstrous creatures–each ridden by warriors of the Onderonian army–cut through the air, their scales and hides glinting under the harsh desert sun.

Now isn’t that a sight?

Geonosian beak-winged starfighters rushed up to meet them, their comparatively diminutive forms completely dwarfed by the massive warbeasts. Blasts of laser shot up from below, but were completely ignored by the riders. Those that came too close–the warbeasts reacted with shocking speed for their size, scorpion-like tails cracking the air as they whipped up and smashed the buzzing starfighters with their spike-tipped ends.

“Drexls can shrug off worse than lasers,” Kavia declared seriously, “If they couldn’t, the Demon Moon wouldn’t be called what it is. It’s the sonic projectiles we need to watch out for.”

“I’ve relayed it to the other warbands,” Vander replied, concentrating on steering the monster through the hail of blooming fire, “We got a target?”