Chapter Twenty-Two
“You understand,” Dooku said as he led her down one of the many corridors of the capital ship. “That your coming here and your agreement to assist the Confederacy were both rather unexpected?”
When HK47 was done translating she nodded. “I do. And while I don’t mind lending assistance. In fact, I’m quite eager to do so if it means freeing more slaves and stopping more pirates, I also feel that I’m on the back foot, if that expression translates. I mean to say that I’m unfamiliar with a great deal of the politics and societal rules when it comes to things like piracy.”
Dooku listened to his end of the translation then scoffed. “Rules? There are parts of the galaxy that are little more than hives of scum and villainy. There are no rules to be found there. The strong thrive and only the Force allows the clever to pull through. No, don’t mistake what I am saying. Your mission, if you wish to think of it as such, is to save people, send a message, and remind the galaxy that even if the Republic has forgotten the pain and suffering of so many, the Confederacy has not. The Republic needs the support of its people, as little as the Senators as the top would want to acknowledge it. Show them the ugly truth and their support will be eroded.”
“Thereby paving a path for you to swoop in and take over,” Taylor said.
Dooku gave her a shrewd, assessing gaze. “Indeed. Make no mistake. I want peace in the Galaxy first. But I also wish to grow more powerful, both personally and politically.”
She nodded. At least she could appreciate the honesty.
They arrived in a hanger, a room so grand that she could have fit every ship in the Boat Graveyard in it twice with room to spare. Ships with strage, shell-like bodies sat in berths above them while smaller vessels were parked below. It was to one of those that Dooku led her.
“This vessel,” he said as he pulled out a sort of tablet from his pocket. It was almost like a smartphone, though she doubted it was for the same thing. “Is Gozanti-class Armed Transport Besh-Oh-One. Not a very auspicious name, I’m afraid. Feel free to change its signature before leaving. If things go well perhaps it will become a symbol.”
She looked up to the ship, bugs already shooting ahead to inspect it closer.
It was not the nicest star ship she had seen, but it did look new. No scarring around the engines, no rust on its panels. She wondered if the inside smelled like pine fresheners. The entire thing looked like a bus. Long, rectangular. Two sloped wings stuck out from its bottom at the middle and the rear was taken up by a pair of engine nacelles.
The bridge was but a slit in the flattened face of the ship, a spot just before the top sloped back into the ship’s squarish roof.
“It looks functional,” she said.
“Comment: This ship looks under-armed and under-equipped. I suspect it is also severely untested.”
Dooku made an agreeable noise and HK had to cut off his incoming rant to translate. “The Confederacy has purchased a number of these vessels to serve as anti-pirate escorts. They can carry a flight of our Vulture droids and are well armed for their size. It is neither nimble nor fast, but it is well armoured and shielded. We’ve yet to decide if they will go into full production yet. This one is, of course, is yours.”
Taylor licked dry lips and took in the rather plain ship. It took on a new light when she thought of it as hers. As her own spaceship.
It kind of made her giddy. She wished she could go back and tell her younger self that things like Emma didn’t matter because one day she would have her own spaceship and would be charged with hunting down space pirates with it.
Dooku turned on a heel and began walking away. “Preparations will still take some time. We can outfit you with some of our refurbished B-1 Battle Droids. Not the newest models, I'm afraid, but serviceable enough. They will be able to fly your new vessel around, though I would suggest finding a proper crew.”
“Thank you, Count Dooku. I hope that I can earn you and the Confederacy’s respect, and earn the trust you’re putting in me.”
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He nodded. “The Force is with you. I’ve no doubt that you will do great things for the Confederacy.”
***
“I need a crew,” Taylor said as she walked around the ship. She had to crane her neck way back to take it in properly.
“Suggestion: A crew composed of droids would be more than sufficient and would save you from all the troubles associated with having meatbags in your crew.”
“That would save us some trouble,” she said as she moved under one of the ship’s stubby wings. She doubted they would do much to help the vessel fly. They were probably there to stuff some equipment and such. There was a lowered ramp leading into an equally opened airlock. She sent a few bugs buzzing into it. “But I would like a few meatbags around. Urgh, now I’m talking like you. What I mean is I wouldn’t mind having some people around that aren’t made of metal.”
“Statement: Finding capable organics to assist you will be difficult, especially in our current location.”
“Anyone here might be a spy. I believe Dooku when he says that he wants to use me for propaganda. And that’s about the end of it. The moment we launch we’re looking through this entire ship for booby traps.”
“Statement: A wise precaution. Given the time and infrastructure I can replace the core programming of any droids given to us to better suit our needs and to prevent future tampering.”
HK-47 was, she suspected, rather excited.
Taylor pulled out the datapad Dooku had left for her. It had simple requisition forms on it, or so the Count claimed. “Here,” she said as she handed it over. “Get the things you need to fix droids and such, make sure any workshop we have is well stocked. And request simple bedding and food to feed a few hundred people. Stuff that can be preserved and that doesn’t take a lot of room. We’ll also need some paint. It wouldn’t do if our droids look just like the Separatists.”
“Query: Already designing your own army, mistress? I cannot help but agree to this line of thought.”
“Not an army, HK, an aggressive peacekeeping taskforce.”
“Commentary: Such a beautifully imprecise choice of words.”
Taylor grinned and moved past the ship. She had some people to meet. “Oh, and HK. Find the forms or whatever to rename the ship. It’s new designation is Atlas.”
She turned towards the entrance of the hanger where three familiar people were wobbling towards them. The two Falleen she recognized as slaves she had freed on Tatooine. The Trandoshan was Skarsk Nek, the strange, reserved lizard man she had crossed paths with a few times already.
Skarsk was the only one walking straight, but something about the parlour of his scales said that he wasn’t in the most sober state. “Look HK, the recruits are coming to us now.”
“Comment: What a sorry lot of inebriated sacks of flesh. I hardly think they would serve well aboard our new vessel, Mistress. They will stink the place up with their foul excrements and rub off the fresh paint.”
“How soon do you think you can get all the things we’ve requisitioned?”
***
“Ow,” was the first word out of Xarly as he shifted over to the side. His everything hurt. Hurt quite a bit, in fact.
Fortunately, he had recently spent a few years in college and his tolerance for morning after’s was at an all time high. He had been through entire lectures with splitting headaches, he could endure a bit of pain.
He was still squinting when his hand reached out and landed on something nice and warm and soft. “Huh?” he asked.
“You will remove your hand from my person, or I will remove it from yours,” said a voice that was most definitely nor female enough for his tastes. It was far too lizard-y.
He removed his hand and blinked a few times to take in the room. It was small, with grey walls and a bunk bed at the far end. There was a small bench and desk and what looked like a screen fixed to the wall with a feed from space.
Next to him was a writhing pile of clothes he recognized as Qarry, and in the middle of the room, standing tall and proud and imposing.
“Greetings: Hello you sorry sacks of filth, and welcome to your first day as the proud crew of the Atlas.”
***