Chapter Eighteen

Time: Forty minutes after the start of the Denon-Ryloth Hyperspace incident.

Even after giving the order and having a good idea of what to expect, seeing the empty void of space filled with blue beams of light that rammed into the Hutt ship was startling.

Taylor gripped the rails holding her back from the bridge’s window and watched as the tincan-like ship, the one HK-47 called a ‘DP20’, started to weave and duck away from their attack. It didn’t do much good, with most of the shots hitting across the ship’s hull.

She narrowed her eyes at the DP20. “HK, is there a bubble around that ship?”

“Affirmation: Indeed Master, that is the ship’s shield. It is visible on account of our inadequate firepower. Had we a proper warship those shields would have been bypassed by now.”

“So that’s a thing,” she said as she watched forks of lightning skitter across the DP20’s surface. The pirate craft was beginning to move in earnest. Turrets sprouted out across the hull and started tracking them as they moved. Soon, the space between the two ships was filled with a veritable lightshow.

She flinched as the first impacts rocked their ship. The cascading ripple of a shield warped past the bridge window, calming her beating heart a little. “Can you give me an idea of what’s going on?” she asked HK47.

“Concession: Very well, Master, seeing as how your plebeian organs are unable to even begin to comprehend the events transpiring around you, I will attempt to simplify things to a level where even you can understand.” The droid’s head turned towards the bridge, then back to her. “Simplification: Enemy ship go zap zap. We go boom boom. Therefore, we go zap zap first.”

She sighed as the ship rocked underfoot. At least the crew, battle droids excluded, were taking things seriously. She saw a few of the ex-slaves looking up from their consoles to look her way once in a while, as if reassuring themselves that she was still watching them to make sure they behaved.

“Were you programmed to be so annoying?” she asked.

“Statement: I will have you know that I have perfected my social protocols over millennia of use.”

The ship shook again and she turned to follow the action, but they had turned around at some point and she couldn’t see their foe.

“Commentary: The enemy has launched concussion missiles at us.”

“Damn,” she said. She could guess what that meant.

“Reassurance: No need to fear, Master. Our point defence turrets are still fully operational. Enemy fire has been reduced by thirty-seven percent.”

“We took out some of their guns?” she asked.

“Correction: This waste of resources is equipped with Ion weaponry. Its cannons are designed to fire ionized particles that disrupt delicate electronic components. Even through the enemy shields we are slowly rendering their vessel useless. Given the level of maintenance most pirates practice it will only be moments before our victory is assured.”

Taylor watched as they rolled again and the DP20 came into view off to the side. One of its engines was trailing smoke, another had failed completely. Even if fewer hits were landing as it ducked and weaved, those that did caused cascades of blue lightning across the hull.

The guns scattered across its hull sputtered and the launchers flinging missiles that left white trails across space stopped firing. Soon the ship was drifting across space, the lights within flickering on and off, its engines dead and its shield completely gone.

“Assertion: One enemy vessel down, Master. Four more to go.”

Taylor nodded and spun on her heel to walk to the middle of the bridge. She went the long way around, trying to avoid getting anyone stuck in the grasp of her power if she could avoid it. There was a hovering display there on which she could see over-sized representations of every ship in the region. The largest pirate ship was still attached to the Profits of Merchandising, as was the transport vessel that had come with them. Small flashes between the two showed how the Profit’s meager guns were slapping at the ship’s shields.

The Vulture droids were moving around on a course to intercept one of the two frigates, the one nearest the ship she was on.

“HK-47, let’s leave the area. We can’t take on that big one, I don’t think. It’s got guns that are bigger than anything we have, and I don’t doubt they would tear us apart if we got too close.”

“Query: Master, while your observation is most astute, how would you suggest we eliminate this enemy?”

“We won’t, not yet. Those other two,” she said, pointing to the two other ships, “They look small enough that we could take them on like that DP20. Maybe. But probably not at the same time.” She leaned forwards, hands gripping the edge of the console displaying the floating, semi-transparent images.

“HK, this was a tax ship, right?” she asked. “We should have an idea of what all the civilian ships in the area are carrying. Anything that might be useful?” She hoped that the sort of cargo manifest that existed on Earth was similar in deep space.

“Checking,” HK-47 said. “Answer: Indeed Master, I have found one thing that might be useful.” He gestured and one of the ships in the distance flashed a few times. “Answer: This cargo vessel, registration Besh-Osk-Osk-Mem 9817, is transporting 506,000,000,000 liters of liquid Tibanna gas.”

“Tibanna gas?” Taylor repeated, trying the word out. “Is it dangerous?”

“Suggestion: It is highly explosive and used as a primary fuel in nearly all blaster-type weaponry across the galaxy. Let’s blow it up, please.”

Taylor narrowed her eyes. “How many people are aboard that ship?”

“Prevarication: It is likely that there are no sentient crew members,” HK-47 said.

“Right,” she replied. She watched the blips representing the pirates on their tail flashing a little closer as the holographic display refreshed. “HK, recall those Vulture droids. Get a few of them on the other side of that tanker. Set course to loop all the way around it. We’ll see if they take the bait.”

Stolen story; please report.

***

Time: Forty-two minutes after the start of the Denon-Ryloth Hyperspace incident.

Sib Nark fretted, hands tangled with each other, back bent forwards like an overworked clerk’s and sweat glands pouring out a sickly sweet mixture that smelled to any Neimoidian like desperation.

He would never have allowed himself that much loss of control before a group of subordinates, not in any other circumstance. This entire situation was so beyond the pale that he stopped giving a damn.

The other Neimoidians of his retinue were faring little better. Some sat and stared out of the bridge window at the massive curved shape of the Mon Calamari pirate vessel stuck to the Profits of Merchandising like a mynock on a power cord. One of his adjutants was screaming at a battle droid, demanding things of it that were far beyond its capabilities.

Sib Nark had installed himself in the captain’s seat, as was his right, and had tried to look confident and assured. He reminded his subordinates that they had an entire army of droids, small as it may be, between them and any borders. That the slaves still aboard were armed as well as they could be, and wouldn’t allow themselves to be taken without a fight. That the Jedi and her homicidal droid were on their side.

All words that he reminded himself of every minute, even as reports trickled through. The forces running into his ship were being stymied, for now, the laser cannons the Profits sported were still picking away at the pirate ship, the slaves had sustained few injuries and were still roaring for a fight.

All pretty things that wouldn’t help him in the end.

He just had to hope that the Hutt would be reluctant to make enemies of the Trade Federation. He wasn’t so important as to cause the Federation to back him up with this amount of trouble, but maybe the Hutts didn’t know as much.

“Sir, the Republic ship is moving away from our local area,” one of the nearest droids reported. Its voice sounded loud on the bridge, enough that it shut up the screaming adjutant.

“I see,” Sib Nark said. “Where is it moving?” he asked. There was an uncomfortable weight settling in the pits of his stomachs.

The droid paused for a long moment, the screen before it flashing through three dozen readouts in as many seconds. “The ship is heading to the edge of the system on an escape vector. Two of the pirate vessels are chasing after it. Both are catching up. It will reach jump range in two minutes.”

He leaned back into his seat, the shaking in his hands, the rumbling in his gut, all fading as he resigned himself to his faith. This was it. The moment where the Jedi, his only real hope, abandoned them.

He couldn’t even blame her, not truly. Every Neimoidian knew when to cut their losses and run. It was a survival skill they valued greatly.

A single escort vessel, one probably maintained as well as all the other ships in the Republic, up against ten times its own tonnage in pirate warships. There was nothing anyone, not even a fabled Jedi, could do.

“We should arm ourselves,” he said. The words were delivered without a quaver of fear or a hint of the resignation he felt, but he could see the colour drain in his subordinates’ faces nonetheless. This was him telling them that they would soon need to fight.

They were bureaucrats, not combatants. That would not end well.

“The Republic ship’s repulsorlifts are coming online. It is decelerating,” the droid spoke.

“Why would it do that?” he asked it. There was a minuscule kernel of hope left.

“Unknown,” the droid said. “It is passing within kilometers of a convoy of heavy freighters. It is possible it is using them as cover.”

“Bring it up on the holo,” he ordered. The same holo he had ordered shut when the number of enemies on it had seemed so daunting moments before.

The projector came online and quickly shifted to show the Republic ship spinning on its own axis to bring its engines in the direction it was still moving in, a rapid deceleration maneuver, he recognized. Instead of using its inertial dampeners to slow down and its repulsors to turn, the ship was using pure kinetic energy from its many engines.

“Verify if its hyperdrive is coming online,” he demanded.

“Roger roger,” the droid replied. It would be difficult to tell from so far away, but hyperdrives, especially ill maintained ones, tended to rob a ship of its computational power, which in turn had a negative impact on a ship’s shields, engines and repulsor systems. Not enough to be obvious, but enough to detect. “Inconclusive,” the droid returned.

“What is she doing?” he muttered, a hand rising to hold over his mouth as he narrowed his eyes on the screen.

The two other pirates ships were catching up, especially after the Republic ship slowed down as much as it did.

“Sir, the Republic ship is opening fire.”

So, she was going to fight after all. Perhaps the run had been a ruse to make distance between her smaller ship and the one anchored to the Profits.

Then the lines representing outgoing fire hit the freighters.

“I don’t unde--”

The Profits of Merchandising shook, the bridge going from the pale blue of a room lit only by monitors to a shocking white.

The windows onto the world beyond tried to polarize, but it wasn’t fast enough.

Sib Nark brought his hands up to cover his face as a new star was born just within the sector.

As suddenly as it appeared the light faded and the Profits stabilized.

“Shields at ninety percent,” one droid said.

“Rebooting sensors.”

He did not need to wait for the holo to refresh to see what had happened. Out in space, some light seconds away, a ball of phosphorus white fire the size of a small moon was expanding across the system.

“She is mad,” he said.

***