Chapter 87

Ord Sigatt Orbit, Ord Sigatt System

Noonian Sector

Jedi Master Luminara Unduli’s face gave no hint of her inner unrest as she stared through the viewport of the shuttle. The shuttle’s cockpit was silent except for the low hum of its systems and the occasional crackle of the comm. Outside, the void was dominated by the immense silhouette of the Separatist superweapon. Her lightsaber felt heavy at her hip–nay, her entire body did–as if there was a great weight in the air, the very presence of the warship almost tangible force of its own. The Jedi Master could believe it.

She could feel the pilot’s nervous energy as they brought the shuttle closer, Clone Commander Gree’s jaw setting as they were brought alongside the massive behemoth lurking in the void, as if it took all of the clone’s willpower not to gawk like a new like a trooper on his first deployment.

“How generous of the Separatists,” the Clone Commander said tightly, “Inviting us to a tour of their latest superweapon.”

The superweapon was a battleship, longer than a Venator and twice as heavy. It was shaped like a tuning fork, two great prongs jutting out from the bow of the hull housing the two largest artillery pieces Luminara had ever seen put to space. She stared down their hollow throats, each large enough for their shuttle to fly down their lengths, and traced the lines of the hull, the glowing lines of power conduits and faint glimmers of running lights that seemed to pulse like the veins of a living thing.

Repair dogs and their remotes floated about it and crawled in and out of its guns like tiny, furious ants, coordinated by a small army of EVA suited engineers and technicians clambering throughout the network of gangways and catwalks spanning the length of the vessel. External and internal damage from its latest engagement, perhaps? But how so? There was no name plaque, but the mid-section of the dorsal prong bore a distinct emblem: a modified Separatist Hex, but from each of the six faces extended the reared head of a serpent, all snarling in a clockwise arrangement.

The shuttle lurched, captured by the warship’s tractor field, and was drawn closer and closer to the prongs–until they slipped into the space between them, engulfing the shuttle in darkness. The only light source now was the bright horizon of stars bound top and bottom by the prongs, and the small, glowing hangar bay at the end of the tunnel, from which a steady traffic of repair drones buzzed to-and-fro. The heavy weight she felt before was now magnified tenfold, like being crushed by an ocean’s depths.

“Take it as a sign of goodwill, Gree,” Master Luminara murmured softly, “Not all intentions are borne out of hostility.”

Clone Commander Gree was silent, all but pressing his face against the viewports as he inspected the superweapon’s dark underbelly.

“…Something of interest, Commander?”

“–I hate to speculate, General,” Gree replied after a brief hesitation, “But this looks to me like Anx technology.”

Commander Gree took his name from an obscure alien species deep in the Outer Rim, known as the Gree. It was fitting, after all the 41st Elite Corps specialised in far-afield deployments on alien worlds, such as Teth, and Gree himself soon became an expert on rather esoteric alien cultures to better prepare for the hostile environments the 41st became known for operating in. As for ‘Gree’, the clone figured that if anyone recognized the source of the name, he would know they shared his interest in alien culture.

Which was why if Gree figured he had an insight to the nature of the weapon they were dealing with, Master Luminara was more than willing to humble herself to the expertise of her Clone Commander.

“The Anx?” she wondered, “The same Anx of Anx Space?”

“The very same,” he nodded, narrowing his eyes, “Their homeworld–Gravlex Med–is a high-gravity world, and to get off-world, they had to build massive cannons to launch their vessels into orbit. But to counteract their homeworld’s gravitational field, they had to specialise in tech that directly acts against it: repulsors, tractor beams, and the like.”

“You’re saying–”

“This weapon is nothing more than an oversized mass driver,” Gree finished, “As Republic Intelligence has suspected… but to think they would use gravitic technology to accomplish the feats they were able to… I would hazard the Seppies seeked Anx expertise–if the Anx did not have a frontal role in the engineering of this thing in the first place.”

“It appears the Battle Hydra is getting more than he bargained for,” Master Luminara mused lightly, tone neutral as the shuttle drew closer.

“I thought the Seps are doing this out of goodwill, General?”

The docking protocols engaged, and the metallic hiss of the landing clamps echoed through the hold. A moment later, the shuttle’s ramp lowered with a hiss of decompression, revealing a welcoming party already waiting at the end of the docking corridor.

Master Luminara stood up, a slight tug at her lips, “That doesn’t mean we should be, Commander.”

Luminara brushed off her dress, stepping down the ramp with Commander Gree close behind her. The air aboard the warship was sharp and sterile, the faint hum of the ship’s systems a constant undercurrent. A tall, stern Human officer stood at the forefront, his grey uniform pristine and sharply creased, and shoulder patch bearing the mark of a commander. Behind him, droids and Skakoan naval commandos flanked the corridor in silent formation. The officer stepped forward, inclining his head slightly in a gesture that could almost be mistaken for respect.

“General Unduli,” he greeted, his voice smooth but cold, “Welcome aboard the Conqueress. Commander Gnifmak Dymurra, at your service. The Admiral is eager to meet you.”

“I trust this visit will proceed without incident,” she said evenly.

Dymurra’s lips curved in a faint smile that didn’t reach his eyes, “The Confederacy did not unite the Outer Rim in common cause by force, Master Jedi. Diplomacy is greatly valued here, rest assured.”

“Some of the Confederacy’s generals fail to hold that sentiment in high esteem, Commander Dymurra.”

“Which is why you are here, and not them,” the officer replied politely.

They moved deeper into the ship, the Jedi General’s detail of clone troopers falling in lockstep with the Separatist escort. Clone Commander Gree had refastened his helmet, more than likely to hide his roving gaze as he analysed the Conqueress from the inside out. As did Master Luminara, extending her senses out to feel her way through the corridors and make a mental map of the warship’s interior. For a battleship of this size, however, its interior accommodations were surprisingly small, with almost claustrophobic compartments and hallways.

Almost as if all the livable spaces had to be shoved out of the way to make room for something else… something large. Every passageway felt like a compromise, as if the living quarters and operational spaces had been deliberately minimized.

Her suspicions deepened when she noticed the abundance of maintenance doors lining the walls. Each was sealed tight, reinforced with bulkheads and clearly marked with warning signs. Then there were the Skakoan combat engineers stationed at intervals along these corridors, scanning her party through their inscrutable pressure suits as they passed.

Well, it’s now clear what role the Techno Union played in the making of this ship.

Just then, Commander Gree fell into step beside her, his voice a low murmur transmitted through her commlink, “General, I’ve been tracking our movement relative to the exterior hull. According to my scans, we’ve been circling around a massive hollow section that takes up most of the ship’s body.”

“The size is impressive,” Luminara noted out loud. Dymurra didn’t deign to comment.

“And judging by the bulkheads…” Gree continued inconspicuously, “I’d hazard that the space isn’t habitable either. It’s a huge vacuum.”

This weapon’s projectiles aren’t plasma or ionic in nature, Luminara mused silently, they were very much physical slugs. And judging by the size of the barrels we just saw… the vacuum hold was more than likely a gigantic ammunition locker. The ship was likely rearmed through a huge cargo door on the ventral surface, directly connected to outer space. The physical slugs–each the size of a tenement block–would then be stored in a zero-gravity, vacuum hold in the centre of the hull, before being fed into the guns.

“…Hah,” Commander Gree said aloud, likely reaching the same conclusion as her, “What a ‘battleship’ this is. She’s just a shell, and what–seventy, eighty percent empty vacuum? One well-placed shot will rip this warship to shreds.”

Gnifmak Dymurra’s shoulders tensed, but he did not deny the claim, “Which was why Conqueress was target-locked not once at Taris.”

“Does she even have enough room for a hypermatter-annihilator reactor?” Gree pressured further.

The most powerful hypermatter reactors–ones able to sufficiently power a capital ship–were notoriously difficult to house due to their always-spherical shape, and the Republic Navy’s latest warship, the Victory-class, was known for their reactors bulging out from the bottom of their hull. Ironically enough, the Venator-class Star Destroyer–which was also vastly empty inside due to its central hangar–faced a similar issue. Venators did possess hypermatter reactors, however, albeit with similar compromises.

“Restricted information, I am afraid,” Commander Dymurra slowed to a halt just before a turbolift lobby, his posture not betraying a hint, “Please, after you.”

The ride up was a silent one, save for two Skakoan commandos exchanging terse words in their native tongue. They were watching her closely, or rather Gree, as though expecting him to pry even more. He did not.

Nevertheless, the dorsal superstructure presiding over the warship was far more fitting for accommodations of a warship of this calibre. As soon as the turbolift emptied out, Master Luminara could feel as if she had just stepped out of a mechanical shop and into proper crew quarters. The corridors were more spacious, more brightly lit, with a constant traffic of uniformed personnel rather than combat fatigues and engineering coveralls.

“Is it safe to show us so much of the vessel?” she couldn’t help but question.

“I advised against it,” Dymurra’s answer was clipped, showing her to a door, “I will have to ask for your detail to remain here. The Clone Commander may join you.”

That was acceptable. The door opened, and they stepped into the compartment.

There was a small table draped in the most vibrant purple silk tablecloth waiting for them, and a dead man standing on the other side.

⁂

There wasn’t anywhere on Conqueress acceptable to entertain guests. Most of the ship beneath the bridge module was reserved for the ammunition hold, and what’s in the limited superstructure was already crammed with all the necessary crew accommodations necessary to maintain the vast engineering corps keeping this overdesigned piece of shit running properly.

Seeing how I couldn’t very well host a Jedi Master in a mess hall or a command bridge, I compromised by commandeering one of the larger unused cabins. There was a table, but nothing to cover it with. Seeing as I wanted to make a good impression on the woman I’m hoping would turn the tide of the battle at Serenno later on, I had to improvise.

The single most expensive piece of cloth onboard Conqueress was my purple Onderon silk cloak. These days, I’m not really in the business of sucking up to superiors as I was before, so I might as well give the disused piece of silk some purpose. Besides, the House of Bonteri was in the business of silk back on Onderon anyway, and I was planning on pivoting to Ootoolan weave for personal fashion after the war too.

Don’t ask me how the stupid thing survived the Battle of Rendili. I don’t know. Hare magically procured it from her dimensional storage at Manaan, with something along the lines of the thing being with me since I was a child. I glanced at my feet, and the LEP droid in question stared up at me. What a little incomprehensible thing you are.

I heard the door open.

“Welcome!” I snapped up, beckoning in my guests, “Come, come! Sit.”

Master Luminara sat, the Clone Commander did not. What’s his name, again? Shit.

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

“I am Admiral Rain Bonteri,” the words rolled off my tongue easily, “Though ‘Admiral’ is a new addition.”

“I am Jedi Master Luminara Unduli,” the Jedi Master reciprocated, “And this is my Clone Commander, Gree. Gree, you can take off your helmet now.”

The clone removed his green-painted helmet, revealing… well, a clone, but with two thick stripes of reddish-brown atop his head rather than the usual black buzz most cloned troopers wore. I’m guessing this one is more individualistic than most.

“Nice to meet you,” I vaguely waved a hand, “I’m afraid I don’t have any refreshments…”

“May I ask how you survived Rendili?” Master Luminara leaned forward, a gleam of curiosity in her eyes, “Everybody in the Republic thinks you’re dead. Is Calli Trilm alive too?”

With dumb luck,” I answered honestly, having reimagined that horrible affair over and over again every time I slept, “And with the help of some extremely capable droids. As for Calli Trilm… you would know more than I in that regard, I’m afraid.”

“The HoloNet reported her dead,” her lips twitched, “But then again so were you… Rendili was a messy affair, you understand. Especially the post-battle clean up.”

“You have captured my interest,” I narrowed my eyes, “How so? If you would, of course.”

“The Jedi and the Navy don’t exactly cooperate nicely, but you would know that,” Master Luminara explained, “The less said about the prisoners Home Fleet took, the better; Admiral Honor Salima had ordered the capture of prisoners-of-war, but… Calli Trilm’s mad assault had broken the Home Fleet’s communications, and ‘pockets of fighting’ still persisted hours after the battle ended. At least, that’s the official narrative.”

In other words, those unlucky enough to be recovered by the spacers of the Home Fleet were likely summarily executed on the spot. I could just imagine it–the accumulation of pent up frustration, anger, and rage. The Battle of Rendili was one of the bloodiest and chaotic of the war, at least relative to its size, mostly thanks to the 19th Mobile Fleet. Whose to stop some vengeful gunners from popping escape pods? What about hangar crews claiming prisoners were resisting capture and thus killing them ‘out of self-defense’?

They were exercising revenge. Who was going to call them out on it? Who was going to try to stop them? Their dead comrades?

“On the other hand…” Master Luminara continued, “The prisoners taken by Obi-Wan Kenobi’s Open Circle Fleet, though few, I have it on good authority Jedi Command offered them asylum so as to escape the horrors of whatever Republic Intelligence had waiting for them.”