Chapter 28

Chapter 28

Orbit of Columex, Columex System

Vorzyd Sector

The was a large luxury liner orbiting tightly around Columex, named the Salin Mariner. The poor thing was on one of its routine itineraries from Salin to Botajef to Lianna and back when it found itself commandeered by the Joint Security Forces while transiting through Columex on its return journey. Mostly because there was a war on.

The JSF has since converted the liner into something of its fleet headquarters. The original passengers were long gone, some having opted to return to their port of origin, while others taking up an extended vacation on Columex. Regardless, the only people enjoying the liner’s establishments were spacers and soldiers. Granted, I was too. It was a pleasant reprieve from the spartan comforts of a military vessel, and human interaction was sorely missed.

On a more practical note, having such an extensive fleet headquarters and attached astro control in orbit made governing the some thirteen-hundred warships in-system much, much easier. It eased up the burden on the civilian astro control who still had to coordinate the hundreds of merchantmen transiting the Columex System’s hyper-junction–most of them fleeing from the encroaching frontlines.

It also meant us officers were only a few thousand klicks from our ships in the event the Republic decides to suddenly pop in for a visit. Not that they will anytime soon... depending on the definition of ‘soon.’

I sat in the stateroom allowed to me–bit on the larger side, fortunately. There was an utterly vast bed that was annoyingly softer than a cloud, a desk with a built-in holoprojector, a droid charging bay for Hare, and a four-layered wall-to-wall window commanding a rather jaw-dropping view of the Coalition Armada. All in all, I’d say I deserved it.

I just wish others who deserved the reward were actually here to receive it.

The Battle of Centares was the first major fleet engagement I’ve ever fought; Sarapin and Krant had fleets, sure, but the Second Fleet boasted a measly two-hundred vessels back then–the same amount of warships we lost at Centares. Excluding droid casualties, our death toll was over half a million. I would be lying if I said I could fully comprehend a number that large.

The Confederate Second Fleet was droid-crewed, mostly because there weren’t any organic recruits that early in the war. Don’t get me wrong, droids were many times disturbingly human, and I found it easier treating them as humans, but I still didn’t consider droid casualties as ‘real’ when faced with them. But being told five-hundred thousand people were dead after the high wore off... it was numbing.

Sure, a number that large was a statistic on a sheet of paper until you take the time to read their names and stories. But then I remembered how I saw those people die when their ships exploded in front of me, their deaths as silent and lonely in space as they were far from home. How I would read their corpses pinging off the deflectors and think ‘thank God it was them and not me’ and now actually have the time to realise I thanked God it was them and not me.

Especially when I wasn’t even in the main line of battle–instead a column behind with the frigates. That one warship that shielded Repulse from a fatal blow, was it droid-crewed, or did thousands of spacers just give their lives for me? I didn’t even know the name of that ship, so I’d be asking that question for probably the rest of my life.

I was but one commander amidst dozens. We had agreed the standard exchange tactic was the most reasonable way to go, even though we knew it was one of the most indecisive and casualty-heavy tactics. But we were confident we could give the Republic a thrashing–and we did. Our spacers fought with an ability and intensity none of us had expected, and from that perspective they over-delivered beyond any of our imaginations.

Against that canvas, what was one more nameless death?

A holographic bust of Mina Bonteri shimmered above the desk, eyes closed and hair more dishevelled than I’ve ever seen. Was it night at Raxulon, right now? Night and day have never been more blurred to me. When I was the only living being on my ship, the schedule was whatever I wanted it to be. Self-discipline could only carry so far when you had to coordinate hundreds of other elements and stay up to date with a rapidly evolving theatre.

I sat in the stateroom allowed to me–vast, cold, and silent–arms crossed and tucked into the sleeves of my overcoat in a vain attempt to chase away the shiver that did not want to leave me alone. I was the only one there, breath lodged in my throat. The silence was devouring. For a brief moment I considered screaming just to get my voice out, and then wondered whether anybody would hear me.

The sound probably wouldn’t have even left the room.

That must be what it was like to die in a vacuum. I glanced outside, and could not tell what the twinkling stars were trying to convey.

“When did you find out?” Mina asked, almost timidly.

“...Today–” whatever today means to you, “–One of my squadrons took the liberty of visiting Aargonar to rip the data dump. You have it, now.”

“So I’m holding onto enemy intelligence?” she seemed almost amused by the idea, but sobered quickly, “Gods, Rain. What am I supposed to tell Lux?”

A tiny part of me wanted to say ‘that I told you so,’ but I knew I could put that vindictiveness to better use. Not that I had to–Mina seemed to know exactly what I was thinking by my hesitation.

“Where are you right now?” she was equally content to relegate the question into a rhetorical role.

“Columex.”

“Columex voted against... what was his name?”

“Grievous,” I supplied hoarsely.

Mina looked right aggrieved at that, staring at me darkly, “Of course you’d know. You seem to know everything. I suppose their vote was your... Coalition’s doing as well?”

“You know something was odd with the nomination,” I wasn’t in the slightest surprised that the conversation had somehow regressed back into politics. That was the only relationship she and I had with each other.

“Yes. That it failed,” Mina stated, “The Coalition strong-armed thirty senators into its will. The media’s treating you like a rogue group–a bunch of Perlemian warlords who are using the war to press your own agenda. One thirds voted aye to get the war under control, while another voted aye to get the Coalition under control.”

Time to reevaluate exactly how Dooku felt about the Coalition. If he’s pulled out his ace against us already, it could only mean we have him on the ropes. Manipulating public perception was how he held onto the steering wheel. For him to use it not against the Republic, but against fellow Separatists was telling.

“And Dooku exploited that attitude to push an unknown into the second-most important seat in the Confederacy,” I returned, my voice returning like a familiar friend. I hated it. “Grievous can only be his puppet, you know that. I know you respect Dooku, but you know the Senate has a duty to stifle executive overreach when it happens.”

“Overreach? He’s following the proper procedures. You can’t call a single odd nomination overreach,” Mina said mildly, “Especially not when you’re a pot calling the kettle black.”

I looked down, then back up again, speaking slowly, “The vote failed once. It isn’t going to fail the next time. It’s not as if the Coalition doesn’t want centralisation–the Coalition was created due to the lack of it–it’s that we want someone we trust in control. I’m sure you don’t need me to provide you with a transcript of Admiral Trench’s rhetoric. Think about your party for a bit, will you?”

Mina Bonteri wasn’t stupid, just prideful. She knew the vote failed due to purposeful manipulation–nevermind that it was also manipulated to pass–and that it wouldn’t fail the next time. Except, to the Senate, there was little difference between one candidate and another–only whose name was behind the nomination.

The Peace Faction was the only major obstacle left. They could either die on that hill, or concede to a compromise candidate of their choosing. As long as said candidate was not out of left field like Dooku’s, the rest of the Senate will come to the reasonable conclusion that this was their single chance to get a unanimous vote for a Supreme Commander. The optics will be immense; something along the lines of ‘a united front, at last!’

But that, of course, hinges on the will of the Peace Faction. Whether they wanted to hold onto their pride to their dying breath, putting up a token ‘nay’ vote in the next confirmation; or seize the initiative to regain momentum in the Senate, at the compromise of their platform.

“Speak to Avi Singh,” I suggested softly, “He voted with you last time. Not to mention, he holds considerable sway over the moderates. Get him on board, and with the Coalition you’ll effectively double your bloc.”

He will be on board. Politicians had long memories, doubly so when it comes down to favours.

“Trust me on this,” I sprinted the final leg, “We don’t want to risk a politician’s puppet in control of the military. I am fucking begging you, literally because you didn’t trust me the last time I warned you.”

That was low, even for me. I nearly recoiled at my own words. Mina? She was cradling her head, eyes shut as if she didn’t want to look at me and face reality. I waited for several minutes, and then she finally made up her mind, palms still shielding her face.

“...I’ll run it through my party–” my heart leapt up, “–Just give me a name.”

This was it, I realised distantly. I go through with this, and I’m certain my name will finally be within Dooku’s crosshairs. This wasn’t the first step to removing him from power, this was the halfway point. All the little pieces I’ve laid out months ago will have finally created a picture that nobody can miss.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

The best way to convince someone to your side isn’t by telling them to, but by making them tell themselves to. You can do that by dressing a certain way, holding that slight hunch that makes you seem more agreeable, forgoing a night of sleep to be more exhausted... emotional blackmail works. And when you can guilt-trip using someone’s death? Play that card too.

Vinoc, I could trust. His loyalty was ultimately owed to Sev’rance Tann. She and Dooku had been on a collision course the moment Operation Sidestep began, and she knew that.

Rel Harsol... was a bit of a wildcard, but a potentially very useful one. Despite his appearance and general shadiness, I took him as a moral type, if not exactly an idealist. Harsol was originally a captain for a senatorial Consular-class cruiser, but defected to the Separatist Alliance after witnessing the depths of corruption that ran in the Republic. In the process of that defection, however, he rubbed elbows with the galactic underworld, not to mention other like-minded defectors.

The problem child was none other than Calli Trilm, for reasons I shouldn’t have to explain. But truth was, I didn’t really see any other recourse than to convince her to work with me. Regardless of whatever happened before I came in, she now knew I was spying on Dooku–and if I didn't bring her on board, soon he would know.

“Afraid of airing your dirty laundry?” Calli drawled huskily.

You have no idea.

“The information in there will have the Confederacy fall.”

She sat up straighter at the daring claim, eyes sharpening into knives. In direct opposition, Simon Greyshade leaned forward, blue-scanned eyes glimmering in anticipation. He reached out for the holoprojector, curling his fingers halfway as if he had just realised he was a hologram and not actually there.

“Sounds good to me,” he grinned, pulling back.

“Gaib must be waiting for us, Hare,” I nodded.

The LEP droid bobbed her head, dialling an address on her datapad. I reached forward to spin the holoproj until its scanner faced only me, ensuring that the receiver wouldn’t be able to see anybody else.

It didn’t take long–the call was picked up almost instantaneously.

A small projection of a man and an astromech burst out of the holoprojector. He wore a professional–if shaky–smile, clearly unsure of something.

I tilted my head, “I did pay you to keep quiet, yes?”

“It’s in the bill,” he reassured, “In my line of work, customer trust is the top priority. Whatever you tasked me with finding is safe in here–”

He patted the dome of his astromech–black steel or black painted, I couldn’t tell through the subpar resolution.

“And what exactly did I ask you to find?” I asked for the benefit of his unseen audience.

“Uh, well. You gave me a little under two dozen comm frigates–which must’ve made me the most powerful bounty hunter this side of the galaxy for a bit–” Gaib joked to lighten himself, before sucking in a breath, “Uh... right. You wanted me to tap into the HoloNet relays spanning Coruscant and Serenno, and look out for anything odd.”

“Coruscant and Serenno?” Calli demanded sharply, while the Greyshades were looking more intrigued by the second.

This is where I had to spin a story. I couldn’t just say I was suspicious of Dooku in particular–that wouldn’t look very good, and would only raise even more unwanted questions. I cracked my mental knuckles.

“The Non-Communication Act passed by the Republic Senate,” I said, as if it explained everything.

“Uh– is somebody else there?” Gaib prodded.

“Ignore it,” I told him, before addressing them again, “The Act; somebody was bound to break it. Serenno and Raxus–you can’t blame me for wanting to dig up some dirt, right?”

“Using military resources?” Harsol raised an eyebrow.

“Consider it Naval Intelligence,” I replied simply, blinking, “It was on General Tann’s budget. Continue, please.”

“Yes,” Gaib inserted a datachip into his droid, “Sorry for the delay, by the way. It took some time for me to find updated relay maps, and even more time to chart them out. The first few dumps were nothing interesting. Some politicians were reaching out to their contacts in Separatist space to check on their interests... but then I found this little fragment.”

The astromech transmitted the file to Hare, who then forwarded it to our datapads.

“I... don’t know what I’m looking at,” Vinoc commented mildly.

“These are addresses,” Diedrich mused, “Let me guess, the sender split up the transmission and made them all sightsee around the Mid Rim before arriving at the receiver.”

Gaib didn’t hide his appreciation, despite being unable to see the speaker, “Correct. Whoever the sender is, they must be absolutely loaded to afford doing this. This is the sort of precaution not even the most paranoid senator could afford to take. But these addresses; they’re waypoints between Coruscant and Serenno. This was worth reporting, but customer loyalty means a lot to me and–”

“You wanted to give me the full picture,” I finished for him, “Thank you for that. Continue.”

“Right,” he nodded knowingly as his droid beeped indignantly, “The reason this took so long was because I had to track down all these relays and figure out the most efficient way to use twenty frigates to cover all of them. Turns out there were ‘junction relays’ where the fragments recompiled, which made things significantly easier.”

He took a deep breath, “And well, see for yourself. I couldn’t catch everything, but Teekay here put it together to the best of his ability.”

The droid’s–TK–photoreceptor flashed, and in a couple seconds our datapads were pinged again.

Vinoc rubbed his eyes tiredly. I had an odd suspicion he was also ‘hungover’ after Centares–and I couldn’t begin to imagine how terrible it must be for a Force-sensitive to feel that massive amount of death, considering my own experiences. Even more so for him, as Vinoc himself inflicted the most of the enemy casualties. He might have even felt the deaths of his former Jedi colleagues.

As the fallen Jedi slowly read the file, his eyes widened, then clamped shut again. The room temperature plunged, and I could almost make out the wisps of steam curling off his arms like a shimmering, spectral aura. The Force, made visible. Made tangible.

Simon was subtly looking around, trying to figure out why everybody else was looking at Vinoc as if he had been suddenly replaced by a wild acklay.

“Locations and movements of Separatist naval elements in the Near Perlemian,” Rel Harsol said slowly, disbelievingly, “And this was from where to where?”

“Carannia, the capital of Serenno, to Sector Nine-Fourty-Three, on Coruscant,” Gaib translated a series of beeps and whistles from TK, “This isn’t the only one. I managed to catch at least two more complete transmissions, and several more fragments. The sender and receiver on Coruscant is always changing. The Works, the Senate Building, even Five-Hundred Republica–but the other end on Serenno is always the same; Carannia’s castle district.”

I pointedly not spared Calli an inkling of attention, letting her stew in her own quiet conclusions. Rel Harsol was still inching away from the volatile ex-Jedi, mumbling something sharp under his breath. But the most severe of them all were the two Greyshades, any and all humour slowly bleeding from their attitude as they realised just how serious the implications were. I noticed Diedrich shot his cousin a pointed look.

“This was sent from Serenno, not received?” Simon questioned again.

Gaib nodded shallowly, “Sent.”

Bleak amusement bubbled up within me, “Next one, please.”

The slicer was clearly torn between satisfaction at a massive job well done, and ill-restrained dread at the enormity of what he had uncovered, “Next... a report on the Separatist Parliament’s recent legislation...”

Simon Greyshade chuckled derisively, “You were wrong, Bonteri. The Confederacy won’t fall with this. The Confederacy will break.”