Chapter 78

Columex Approach, Columex System

Vorzyd Sector

There was a battle fought here, now over a year ago and honestly a distant memory, but the largest battle the galaxy had ever witnessed in the last one thousand years nonetheless. There was also little to no physical evidence it ever took place anymore, however.

No more debris fields, no more scavengers and scrap haulers and rescue cutters. In the Confederacy’s rampant thirst for ever more material to fuel its war effort, recycling the trillions of tons of wrecked durasteel and doonium aimlessly floating in space was an obvious decision, and thousands of salvage and breaking contractors had all but jumped onto the figurative gold rush. The Columex hyper-junction was empty.

And we were home.

Diedrich Greyshade had his eyes fixed to the displays as the green-blue pearl known as Columex grew larger and larger, suspended in space like a turquoise star and twinkling with the lights of hundreds of satellite foundries and shipyards. There was silence in Kronprinz’s pilothouse as dozens of officers set their eyes upon their homeworld, through shot and fizzling cameras and scopes, as if thinking just how much of a miracle it was that they were able to embrace the sight of it again.

My eyes were drawn to Diedrich’s expression, internally expecting to see a smile of some sort, even tears perhaps, as surely even I would let them slip should I see my homeworld–my true homeworld–again after my ordeals. Which was why I was so taken aback when I found a slight frown curving his lips downwards instead.

“It’s too empty,” he murmured, audible to all in the pin-drop silence gripping the Kronprinz, “It’s too silent.”

And as I ingested his words, it too gradually dawned on me how discomforting the approach to Columex was. The Columex System, the beating heart of the Commonality’s trade, was quiet. That alone was alarming in itself. The hyper-junction sat at the crossroads of two major hyperlanes; the Perlemian Trade Route and the Salin Corridor. There was trade flowing through here mere hours before the Battle of Columex erupted. By all means, Columex should not even know the meaning of empty and quiet.

“…We’re being hailed, sir,” the comms chief looked to Diedrich, then to me.

“Who?” Diedrich’s attention didn’t move an inch from the display.

Not so enraptured by the sight of Columex myself, I took the chance to slide over to the comms station, eyes gliding over the transponder code scrawled over the console: CNBC_91.42.291.43921.25_1001SM

“Battlecruiser Invincible,” I would recognise the code anywhere, leaning over the chief’s shoulder, “It’s Admiral Trench–put him through.”

“Right away sir!” the comms chief replied hastily, fingers shooting to the toggles.

“Invincible, Kronprinz,” I spoke into the open channel, “This is–”

“–I will hear an oral report in-person, Kronprinz,” Invincible replied with the unmistakable crackle of Admiral Trench, “Shut down your main engines and prepare for docking. Have the fleet hold position and maintain formation.”

Diedrich finally peeled his eyes off the display, as the prowling shadow of Invincible slid onto the scopes and obscured the sight of Columex, “Invincible, Kronprinz, affirmative.”

“Good to have you back, Coalition forces,” Admiral Trench said at last, “Welcome home.”

The channel was closed, and I leaned back with a breath, “An oral report in-person? Something ain’t right.”

“I could tell you that much,” Diedrich murmured, “Something to do with what Celis Mott told us, perhaps? He was insistent we stop for nothing until we reached Raxus Secundus.”

“That’s easy when every Separatist fleet we came across until now were smaller reserve forces,” I peered into a display, counting the numbers of Trench’s personal command arrayed in Columex’s orbit, “Think we can run that blockade?”

The Columexi chuckled apprehensively, “We don’t know if Trench is in Tann’s camp or not.”

“We don’t even know if we’re in Tann’s camp or not,” I pointed out.

The proximity alarms started blaring as the Invincible pulled up beside us, easily dwarfing the Kronprinz as extended her docking tube.

“I think we’re about to find out,” Diedrich snatched his coat off the rack before walking out of the bridge.

I glanced at the comms chief, “Get Admiral Ningo and Captain Dallin on the line. Let’s have them aboard the Invincible as soon as possible.”

The flagship of Admiral Trench had not changed in the months between my appearances on it, save for some cursory battle scars–not many, for I would wager Trench’s command ship wouldn’t often be found in active combat zones. Or at least, it should be what I expect after his near-death experience above Christophsis. Perhaps these scars came from daring base strikes by Loyalist starfighter wings. A Jedi-led wing, very likely if I could speculate, as it would befit their command style.

If that was the case… Invincible was here, and the Jedi was not.

Diedrich and I were the first to enter the Invincible’s conference room, as Dua Ningo and Jace Dallin made the lengthy trek from the aft hangar through-deck. Admiral Trench was watching me closely, even more vigilantly than he was on Raxus during the Supreme Commander’s confirmation vote. He was watching–no, judging me, against a criteria I was blind too. It was not a pleasant feeling.

“Admiral Trench, sir,” I saluted, “I’d thought you were still campaigning in Roche. It is a pleasant surprise.”

“And I thought you were dead,” Trench’s mandibles chittered, “Likewise.”

“I hear that a lot these days,” I said blandly, unsure what to make of the situation.

“You will be hearing a lot less of it, fret not.”

“I will try,” I told him honestly, taking a seat at the table following his cue, “I was hoping to deliver my after action report directly to the Supreme Commander.”

“Your Twenty-Eighth Mobile Fleet is a subordinate formation of my Second Fleet Group,” Trench noted pointedly, “As such, you will be reporting to me, as your commanding officer.”

“The Nineteenth Mobile Fleet–”

“Will be managed by Calli Trilm’s second in command, should she be missing or dead.”

“Her second in command is also missing or dead,” I inserted myself again, more forcefully this time, “And the Nineteenth Mobile Fleet has been transitorily absorbed into the Twenty-Eighth’s operative structure.”

“…The Nineteenth has suffered enough losses to warrant such a severe action?”

“I believe so, sir,” I answered, “As do the Nineteenth’s ranking officers.”

Trench did not even hesitate to ponder the information, “Then the Nineteenth will be subsumed by the Twenty-Eighth Mobile Fleet until further notice. I will still be taking your report.”

I shared a wary glance with Diedrich, our attention lapsing for a brief moment as the Sullustan Dua Ningo entered the compartment with Jace Dallin in tow–the latter visibly nervous about something. Meeting the infamous Admiral Trench, perhaps? I doubt it–Dallin was a combat veteran and survivor of the Stark Hyperspace War. More likely, he was nervous about meeting an enemy admiral in their home turf. He’ll have to get over it, I mused internally, the Republic is his enemy now.

I eyed the man. But that remains to be seen.

“Take a seat,” Trench awarded them a passing look before settling back on me.

“Returning to our conversation, Admiral,” I continued after greeting the newcomers with a brisk nod, “Shouldn’t we have to discuss the matter with Admiral Kirst first? As the Admiral of the First Fleet Group, he is the Nineteenth’s CO.”

“Admiral Kirst is dead,” Trench said bluntly. The atmosphere in the room settled, as if someone had upped the internal pressure in the compartment, “And the First Fleet Group has been decommissioned.”

“Decommissioned!?” Diedrich nearly shot out of his chair, “The entire fleet has been destroyed!? The First commands over two-thousand warships!”

“The final remnants of which were destroyed in the Battle of Celanon,” Trench’s testy voice forced Diedrich back down like an admonished dog, “Along with Admiral Kirst himself.”

“…The Starcrusher should not fall so easily,” Dua Ningo’s gravelly voice made his presence known, and I had to remind myself that the old Sullustan was one of two people in the room who knew Kirst personally, “And Admiral Kirst is a capable individual, if blinded by hubris from time to time, as befits a Tionese native. Tell me, Trench: which Loyalist vermin killed him? A Jedi?”

There was an audible anger in Dua Ningo’s voice, like an ireful disbelief than any Loyalist general could outsmart an admiral of the Confederacy… which, and I would hate to break it to him, was a more common occurrence than anyone in the CAF would like to admit. The Republic was slow to wake up, but they still had tens of thousands of years of martial tradition to fall back upon. The Confederacy had no such luxury, and had to foster its officer corps effectively from scratch.

“Kirst held on admirably, but suffered unavoidable losses defending against General Denn Wessex of the GAR Ninth Sector Army and General Vanko of the GAR Eighth Sector Army,” the Harch Admiral explained, “What occurred next is unclear. As far as we know, he retreated to the Separatist stronghold of Celanon, seeking further reinforcement from Count Dooku’s personal fleets under Admiral Pors Tonith and General Grievous.”

“We lost Celanon?” I asked tentatively.

“No,” Trench’s fingers curled tighter around his cane, “We don’t know. Kirst’s fleet was destroyed, but so were the Loyalists’. Soon after Celanon, Admiral Pors Tonith lifted the sieges at Axxila and Vinsoth, launching a counteroffensive back up the Salin Corridor to Shaum Hii. Meanwhile, General Grievous has launched his first major operation of the war; an offensive down the Hydian Way. He has conquered the Quelli, Meerian, and Belmuth Sectors, including the worlds of Dathomir, Botajef, and Bandomeer. His fleets now threaten Taris and Mandalore.”

“…I have been updated by the status of the war by Admiral Bonteri,” Dua Ningo drew circles on the table with his finger, “I take it you suspect foul play from Dooku’s commanders?”

“That is hard to say,” Trench bluntly danced around the question, “That bodes the question; who do you support, Dua Ningo?”

The Sullustan laughed bitterly, “So you say, so you ask, without giving me the information I require to make my fair judgement, as if I would decide based on name alone! I know Dooku, but I know not our dear Supreme Commander–forgive my prolonged absence. And I know that the Supreme Commander has overthrown the Separatist government.”

Diedrich, Dallin, and I were as quiet as wallflowers. In a debate between two old admirals, we felt no place to insert ourselves, for we would never be on equal footing. Despite Dua Ningo’s diminutive form–especially compared to the great Harch–the Sullustan held himself to the same weight as Admiral Trench. It was a conversation between equals, and ever since joining the CAF, it was something I was rather unaccustomed to. True equals. Not just equal in rank, but equal in age and experience and simply, standing. Even Trench’s meetings with Sev’rance Tann didn’t quite hold the same tension as this.

“Who I support is of no concern to me,” Dua Ningo’s wandering finger curled into a hard fist, “For my fate, as is the fate of every man in this compartment, depends on who you support. Who are you fighting for, Trench? What happened? Why, in a span of three months, did the Confederacy devolve from its greatest all-out offensive, to a bickering spit of a state? What has the Supreme Commander up in arms, to the point of overthrowing the government? What is conspired that is so dangerous we could not risk this conversation over secure military comms?”

I really couldn’t say it better myself. I would have to dance and tiptoe to bring up the issue to Trench, especially if the Admiral was in no mood to humour anything of such, but a peer admiral like Dua Ningo had no qualms about cutting straight to the bone.

Trench rested a pair of arms on the table, rubbing his knuckles. His mandibles clicked in thought, a somewhat rhythmic chitter that filled the space like a ticking clock. The spider raked his six eyes over the four of us, and after what seemed like an age, finally leaned back, ready to divulge what he knew.

“What I know is limited,” he started by warning us, “And rife with speculation. The Supreme Commander prefers to limit contact between the military and state, with herself acting as the solitary bridge between us. In her mind, the business of government is no business of the military.”

“The business of government is every business of the military!” Dua Ningo slammed his fist down. Even Jace Dallin looked appalled by Trench’s statement, “The military fights for the state! Who comprises the government? What are its goals? Who and what is the military fighting for!? With all due respect to the Supreme Commander, which half-brained nerf herder gave her the idea that war is but a particularly violent extension of politics, but politics nonetheless!?”

I internally winced. Unlike those of us who have grown familiar with the Pantoran’s rather unique view on war and politics, Dua Ningo and Jace Dallin haven’t yet been exposed to such. It was a dangerous position for us to be in for sure, with both officers losing confidence in the Supreme Commander by the ounce every passing second their fears weren’t alleviated.

“Believe me, I wish to know as well,” Trench did none of the sort, unfortunately, “However, her strategy has done exceedingly well until now. Before her ascension, the Confederacy’s war effort had been muddled and sabotaged by internal strife and frankly, politics. Her efforts in separating the two with the Militia Act had done miracles for the CAF. This, I must admit.”

“Then I would say she has gone too far,” Dua Ningo grumbled, “Well, I do hope she isn’t so foolhardy to fail to deliver an official statement on the matter?”

“She is not, thankfully,” Trench inclined his head, “As her claim of the events put it; Count Dooku attempted to murder her in her suite whilst she was sojourning on Raxus Secundus attending senatorial affairs.”

The heavy atmosphere crashed down even harder following that proclamation, if it was even at all possible. A stifling silence gripped us, and I was only able to choke out: “W-What?”

I knew Count Dooku was… twisted, by what ever dark side sorcery he had his fingers dipped in–but attempting something so tantamount to political suicide was beyond anything I could have imagined. Did he just… give up?

“Suffice to say,” Trench continued tartly, “This was precisely Parliament’s reaction to her claim.”

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

“S-She must have evidence, y-yes?” Diedrich stammered out.

“Recordings, both audio and visual,” the Harch confirmed, “And she doubled down will all the Serenno Transmissions and even more evidence of systemic corruption. Every foul thing Dooku has done, she dug from its grave and handed it to the Parliament. To top it off, thousands of staffers–everybody in the Parliamentary Palace that day–witnessed Dooku and Tann duelling through its corridors. It was agreed, this was no mere friendly spar; both of them were out to kill.”

“Then the matter should be settled–cut and dry–shouldn’t it…?” I wondered, then caught onto Trench’s final sentence, “Wait– both of them were out to kill?”

The Harch Admiral nodded grimly, “Both of them. I speculate that this is the primary issue of contention. First is the sheer unbelievability of the claim, even with everything the Supreme Commander has put forward. Accusations of foul play, forgery–every excuse and justification under the stars that you could imagine.”

Of course! I wanted to facepalm. Count Dooku was not only the Head of State, he was also a former Jedi–a beacon of virtue!–and the very founder of the Confederacy itself. He’s had decades to build up his reputation and cause. By comparison, Sev’rance Tann has only been a household name–if even that–for little over a single year! It was like comparing an underground idol to a superstar.

I wanted to say that Tann could have acted with more tact, to say the least, but I feared that she had little other choice. Their duel on Raxus had been a very public affair, by Trench’s rendition of events. If she had not acted immediately and decisively to press her version of events, she would have been ruined by Dooku’s vastly superior PR legions. Dooku had effectively forced her into a corner–and this was her only way out.

“And Dooku’s Serenno Government accused the Supreme Commander of attempting to murder the Head of State during his visit, I would hazard,” I said, trying my damndest to resist rubbing my cheek.

“Precisely,” Trench agreed with my assessment, “It is now Dooku’s word against Tann’s. Who tried to murder who?”

“But Tann seized the Raxus Government, which means Dooku lost?” Diedrich wondered.

I groaned out loud, surrendering any pretext of composure, “Which only lends more credence to the Serenno Government’s claims that the Supreme Commander was attempting to seize power by killing the Head of State. Because she did seize power.”

“Continue, Trench,” Dua Ningo grunted, shutting us down.

“Dooku escaped,” Trench supplied, clicking his… tongue, “The Supreme Commander immediately convened the Parliament and Senate and presented all her claims and evidence, demanding an immediate impeachment and indictment of the Head of State, along with a warrant for his arrest. Parliament told her they would investigate, as they were in their rights to do, but the Supreme Commander was unwilling to allow Dooku to escape from the Tion Hegemony.”

“So she suspended Parliament with military force and declared martial law in the Hegemony, blocking all traffic in and out of the oversector,” I finished, “Which leads us to where we are now.”

“I would like to have these documents,” Dua Ningo mused, “If only for the entertainment value they provide.”