Orbit of Christophsis, Christoph System
Savareen Sector
Sunken deep in the Force, Anakin subordinated what his eyes could see with what his senses told him. Anakin watched Master Gallia and her Blue Squadron savage the Separatist cordon–and watched as the hailstorm of droid starfighters and point defence lasers savage them in turn. Admiral Wurtz’s fleet slashed the deck of the enemy front, sweeping in from a vector that reduced fire from the enemy due to friendly fire, before broadsiding and veering back around, using their screens to kite the enemy fire.
It was a technique primarily used by weaker fleets to slowly grind down a superior force. Slow and tedious, but excellent for conserving materiel and drawing out the engagement. Even then, losses were still going to be heavy. But the plan was working, and that was what mattered. All they needed to do was buy time for the ground assault.
Anakin’s attention was captured by the sudden spike of grief and helplessness from the planet's surface, the torrent of emotions invading his emphatic link. He immediately distanced his connection to the Force, allowing detachment to shield him like armour.
Something is going on on the surface. He tiptoed, glancing over the viewport as if straining to view the battle from orbit. Was Obi-Wan and Master Mundi landing now? Landing was always the most harrowing part of any planetary assault, hapless and trapped in tin birds only an inch away from being blown out of the sky at all times.
Anakin hated contested landings.
He hated not knowing anything even more. Their communications were cut to comply with standard radio silence procedures. After all, even after retrofitted for combat, Banking Clan frigates were still purpose-built communication ships–essentially mobile hyperwave transceivers–meant to supplant the HoloNet. It did not take much effort to transform them into terrifying COMINT weapons.
State of the art comm arrays, jamming devices, frequency scramblers, and listening posts–all meant to give the Banking Clan an advantage against their corporate rivals, now repurposed to help slaughter Republic troops.
“General,” Yularen slinked onto the deck like a predatory cat, “There’s a situation that may warrant your attention.”
Around them, the bridge crew conducted its business with brisk, silent efficiency. There would always be some idle gossip in the pits–wartime speculation, a few jokes, sometimes the commissioned officers would tell stories of back home to the clones–to stave off boredom, and Anakin has always preferred it. It was nothing detrimental to discipline–much the opposite–it built camaraderie, and was good for morale.
Yularen didn’t share his views. The Admiral is present, he didn’t need the Force to know the minds of the crew, no chatter.
“What is it?” Anakin turned around.
Yularen tapped his heels together smartly, “Our passive scanners found biosigns around the moon, General. I fear it may be a Separatist trick.”
“Let’s take this to the Battle Operations Room,” Anakin said quickly, conscious of the people listening in, “Lieutenant, comm Indomitable and Coruscant Sky. Standby for orders, Yellow Alert.”
The comms officer snapped to attention and saluted.
“Give it to me, Yularen,” he said lowly as they marched through the blast doors, “An ambush? Shouldn’t our pickets have scouted the system in advance?”
“Doubtful, sir,” the Admiral replied, “It’s anywhere from six to a thousand biosignatures–we can’t get a sharper number without active scanning.”
Separatists crew their warships with droids. One or two biosigns could be an indication of an organic commander, but up to a thousand…
“Then get them up. All of them,” he ordered, “No chances.”
A cone of light shot out of the broad holodisplay table, and a projection of the local sector fizzled into view. Anakin ignored the flashing lights on the farside of the planet, honing in on the blue marble of Leesis.
“We are focusing our rectennas now, sirs,” a sensor operator said.
Coordinates crawled across the two plotting boards in the Battle Room–one for the X-Y axis and another for the Z-X axis–as Pioneer’s scanners calibrated and ranged. Then, a red sphere appeared on the holograph of Leesis.
“Secondary body detected around the moon,” Yularen sharply inspected the boards, “Surrounded by… what looks to be an asteroid field.”
Anakin pushed him aside as he stalked to the table, leaning over the rim to take a good look.
“Not an asteroid field,” he said grimly, “A debris field.”
It took all of three words for the air to feel heavy for a heartbeat, before the mood lifted back into stale discipline. Everybody knew what Anakin meant; the biosigns were prisoners, and the orbiting body was a prison hulk.
Slowly, the body circled around the moon until it was in direct view of the Pioneer.
“Visual confirmation,” an officer reported, “Lucrehulk-class battleship.”
Something twisted in Anakin’s gut when he realised he could still see Resolute’s relative unscathed bridge stalk lifelessly drifting through the sea of scrap. The viewports of her twin conning towers were shattered, and hundreds of puncture marks marred her doonium superstructure.
“The Separatists take prisoners?” someone muttered.
Anakin slung around, glaring across the room. Before the offender could be found, however, a comms panel lit up. What terrible kriffing timing.
“General Koon is breaking radio silence, sir.”
Anakin ground his teeth, “Put him through.”
“Prepare your men, Anakin,” the words left Plo Koon’s mouth before his face even materialised, “I am transmitting you the landing coordinates now.”
“What’s the situation, Master?” he attempted to disguise his impatience with concern–it wasn’t very hard–but had a feeling the Jedi Master saw right through him.
“Master Koth and Master Barrek are dead–” Anakin’s annoyance drained out of him, along with the colour of his skin, “–And Master Mundi is missing in action. They took the industrial sector with minimal casualties, but were encircled by the Separatists afterwards. We have lost contact with the Four-Hundred Sixteeth Star Corps, Seventh Legion, and Four-Hundred Eighty-First Legion. K’Krukh and Tarr Seirr are now in command of the survivors.”
Master Plo Koon was calm. His voice was mild, even unperturbed, as though military catastrophes of this scale happen on a regular basis. Master Mundi was a member of the Jedi Council–what, who could have gotten the better of him? Those were some of the most elite clones in the Grand Army, led by the best Jedi.
Anakin opened his mouth, “is Obi-Wan–”
“Master Kenobi’s forces are making steady progress,” Master Koon cut tersely, “Now, the Twenty-First Nova Corps have fortified a line of refineries in the interior, and are holding against the enemy for now. We aren’t reinforcements, Anakin–this is a rescue mission. Your orders are to land at the last known location of the Four-One-Sixth and exfiltrate them. If they have been confirmed to be destroyed, then attack the rear of the Separatist army until I can evacuate the siege.”
“...And the rest of them?” Anakin pressed.
“We do not have the manpower, and Master Kenobi has none to spare,” Master Koon said grimly, “We must not allow the crystal refineries to fall into Separatist hands. Once we have evacuated the troops, we will bombard the sector from orbit.”
And sign away the deaths of thousands. Tens of thousands. Again. A traitorous part of him wondered if this was going to be a second Jabiim.
“Careful, Anakin,” Master Koon warned, “Our thoughts create our reality.”
“Understood, Master,” Anakin breathed, “I will prepare my men.”
That’s right. I will not let that happen again. I cannot.
Plo Koon nodded sharply, and disappeared.
“Sir?” Appo asked, “What about the prisoners?”
Anakin leaned heavily against the table, drumming his fingers against the rim. Did he really have to abandon his men a second time? What about his orders, or of the men down there on the surface? Were they also not worth saving?
He reached out with the Force, gently coaxing out the thoughts of his men. He wasn’t prying–Anakin didn’t pry. Appo watched him carefully, through Rex’s stony face. It sent a pang through his heart.
All of them wanted to save their brothers, but would not argue if he ordered them to abandon them. But that’s just how it was, wasn’t it? They were clones; all of them were bred to think like that… Anakin hated himself from even having that thought.
How many times will he have to abandon people? How many times will he have to fail? How many times will I be damned if I do, and damned if I don’t!?
Mother, Master Qui-Gon, Master Yaddle, Aubrie, Tohno… Rex. Again and again, other people had to die for him. If this is what being the Chosen One meant, then Anakin wished Qui-Gon had never found him on Tatooine.
What should I do, Master? Anakin felt like a Padawan again.
“Sir?” Appo asked again, “Should I prepare the men?”
Appo… like all clones, he was a loyal soldier, ready to carry out whatever mission had to be done. Anakin smiled bitterly–wasn’t what Rex would say? The mission always comes first, sir.
Why can’t I do both, for once?
“Get the men ready,” Anakin commanded.
Appo locked his helmet into place, “Understood sir.”
As the Clone Commander walked by him, Anakin stopped him with a hand on his arm, “And prepare a boarding party. Our best. Nobody will miss a company or two.”
Appo held onto his words for a long moment, before nodding, “Yes, sir.”
Through his helmet, Appo’s voice was flat. As Anakin watched him walk away, he wondered if ‘yes, sir’ was an agreement, or merely a confirmation. He found that he didn’t want to know.
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Geonosis, Geonosis System
Arkanis Sector
Sev’rance Tann was not made for kneeling. Her knees were stiff as she knelt before the holoprojection of Count Dooku, in accordance with the rites of his Dark Acolytes. A mild irritation, indeed, but Dooku has never failed to remind her of the role she played, as the foremost of his band of Dark Side apprentices.
She felt the presence of Vinoc and Karoc echo her in their actions. They were brothers–twins– gifted to her by Dooku to serve as her bodyguards, as they too were of his Acolytes. They were middling, at best, with the Force–though she may admit they would make for good fodder, Sev'rance would never let a situation degrade to that level in the first place. They were loyal to her, if nothing else, and quick learners.
It mattered little to Sev'rance Tann. Dark Side, Light Side– what was it worth to a Chiss? All this business with esoteric mystics and religious fatuity meant nothing, for it was all pure affectation in her opinion. To the Chiss, the Sight–or the Force, as Lesser Space would know it–has never possessed more value than its base functionality; they saw no dialysis between ‘Light’ and ‘Dark.’
Because the Sight was perishingly rare to them, only ever manifesting itself in female children, and the mysterious phenomena only faded with age–completely gone by fourteen years. The Sight, unlike the Force, did not manifest with displays of eye-catching theatrics, but with powers far more subtle, and more useful. Sev’rance was gifted with the Third Sight, the ability to peer into the future and divine events before they come to pass. When she was a child, Sevserved her nation as an ozyly-esehembo–a sky-walker–as to navigate the treacherous unmapped hyperroutes of the Chaos with any degree of safety requires the talents of the Third Sight.
When it became clear that her Sight did not fade even as she grew into her maturity, the Expansionary Fleet wasted no time boarding her in the Chiss Academy. After catching the attention of her superiors Captain Thrawn and Admiral Ar’alani, she learnt that her presence was creating an unwelcome stir within the Defence Hierarchy–and more troubling, the Aristocra–and she was ‘exiled’ to Lesser Space as a military attaché in the Confederacy of Independent Systems.
“Your report, General?” Dooku asked.
“Geonosis is in our hands,” Sev’rance answered, “The Republic garrison has surrendered unconditionally.”
It was her second time on this red wasteland, and she did not miss it anyhow–though the industriousness of the natives were central to the war effort, and for all their uncultured society, Sev’rance still found herself impressed by their work.
“We must make a show of force to the Republic,” Dooku commanded, “Execute them how you wish.”
Admiral Ar’alani would weep blood at such crude tactics, especially with valuable assets like prisoners. It wasn’t as if there were only those hive-bred drones called clones, there were commissioned officers as well. Sev’rance fondled the idea of protesting, but decided better of it.
“By your command,” she complied, “I have also captured a Jedi Commander alive.”
She made no mention of either Ventress or Captan Bonteri. Ventress did not intend on informing Dooku in the first place, so she would keep quiet. Sev’rance’s reason was twofold; claiming the capture of a Jedi would advance her bid for Supreme Commander, and to hide Bonteri’s existence from Dooku as long as possible.
The Captain was so far the only being in the galaxy capable of eluding her Sight, and Sev’rance had no doubt it was the same for the Force. She was able to see the consequences of his actions, but never his actions themselves, leaving her in a state of perpetual speculation. Not that he appears to realise it, and it kept her mind sharp anyway–overreliance on the Sight was a threat she had to balance. Curiosity aside, it made the human an invaluable asset against any Force-sensitive, including enemy Jedi and even Count Dooku and his pack of apprentices.
His loyalty would be a priceless resource to have.
“A Padawan?” Dooku’s eyes widened fractionally, “That is impressive, Sev’rance. You will send them to me immediately.”
To either be converted into another of his apprentices, no doubt, or killed. Currently, his Dark Acolytes were the Confederacy’s only response to the Jedi–but it has since become apparent to Sev’rance that they will never have a true counter. There were thousands of Jedi, and only a few handful of Acolytes. She has been convinced that there were efficient ways to employ the Padawan to their advantage.
This was worth protesting over.
“I believe there are more efficient ways to utilise the Jedi, sir,” Sev’rance reported, “Instilling in them anti-Republic instead of anti-Jedi sentiments will open up wider possibilities. For example, we could employ them as a propaganda figure that the Jedi cannot refute, as they remain one of them–or we could use them as a spy inside the Jedi Order.”
As she expanded on her–and Bonteri’s–ideas, Dooku’s face tightened. The old man still maintained that outward expression of calm seniority, but a swift glimpse through her Sight told her everything she needed to know.
“That is not for you to decide, General,” Count Dooku glared, “Do not overstep your bounds. You will either kill the Padawan, or bring them to me. Do you understand?”
Sev’rance Tann stared into the Sith Lord’s face, unmoved. She could feel the Force swirl around her, like lapping waves admonitory of an oncoming storm. Dooku was powerful enough that she could feel his disapproval lightyears away, but too weak to actually affect her. She faced worse from her lecturers in the Academy, Sev’rance decided.
“Do you understand, Sev’rance?” Dooku warned again, to her silence, “Do not force me to replace you.”
Sev’rance did not care if she was replaced. She was a military attaché, but Dooku has either forgotten or misconceived her purpose. The only reason Sev’rance continued to entertain him was because the knowledge he possessed of the Force was valuable to her. Even if she will never be able to choke a man or move ships with her mind, every ingot of knowledge she obtains leads her one step closer to discovering the truth behind the enigmatic Second Sight–a secret kept so well hidden by the Hierarchy few even knew of its existence.
She was a black sheep among his Dark Acolytes. Sev’rance was no warrior, she was an officer. She was skilled with her lightsaber, no doubt, but even she knew she was not talented with it. She saw her lightsaber as little more than a weapon. A tool. Not like the extension of her arms that truly talented duelists insist they are. Sev’rance did not hold a candle to the likes of Count Dooku or even Asajj Ventress.
“By your command,” Sev’rance relented, “I will prepare to advance on Kamino.”
Her calling was as a general. Sev’rance would never be able to accomplish what she has here back in the Ascendancy, where she would be tugged around by competing families by merit of her Sight. Now, she commands a force larger than anything the powers of the Chaos had to bring to bear, including the Ascendancy. And when the armies of the Confederacy are unified under her banner of Supreme Commander, this girl will command the largest military might in the entire galaxy.
Sev’rance Tann will live up to that post. She had something to prove.
She had to win this war. The Separatists held the advantage for now, but as the war continues to drag on the Republic will be able to mobilise its industrial powerhouse. For this reason, they had to strike the Republic’s primary source of manpower–because hardware is worthless without the bodies to man them.
“You will not,” Dooku firmly denied, again, “One of our double agents has informed me the Jedi have obtained the specifics of our invasion. Our plan has been compromised.”
Years of training flashed through her mind, entwined and dancing with visions from her Sight. A tumult in space, above a great deep blue. Faces, some she recognised from her research, some completely unknown to her. Landing parties, battle lines–a brutal firefight through blinding white hallways. A sleeping army awakened, a desperate final stand. A strategy built upon clay, reinforced with deceit. Ambush. Defeat.
“Then we must push the offensive,” Sev’rance met his eyes, resolve strengthened, “It is far too late to call off the attack–the Jedi will realise we have agents in their ranks. Now that I know they know, I can build a strategy they will never expect.”
She wasn’t valedictorian of her year back at the Chiss Academy for nothing. Sev’rance Tann was the greatest general in the galaxy– how could she not be? She wasn’t just another sky-walker anymore; she had refined her Sight under a Sith Lord until she could see every move before it was made in her mind’s eye. Sev’rance will always be a hundred steps ahead; she lived her life in hindsight. When she lived in the future and planned for the past, who could keep up? Over the battlefield, she has not met her match yet.
“No, Sev’rance,” and again, Dooku denied her glory, “Magistrate Argente pushed for the attack in the first place, and the Senate appointed him as the ranking officer of this operation.”
What was some coin-counting tycoon doing leading a military operation!? Sev’rance internally raged at the absurdity of it all, before untensing herself. She should have gotten used to the… unorthodox manner in which the Lesser Galaxy seems to hybridise political and military issues. If this had happened in the Ascendancy, somebody was going to get court-martialed and exiled.
In fact, Captain Thrawn was nearly sacked after he rescued eight-thousand lives from a crashing civilian liner, simply because he overstepped military protocol. His trial made headlines throughout Csilla, and Sev’rance still remembered the days when it was the only talk in the Academy.
She was likely never going to get used to it, but the best she could do was conform.
“Does he at least know of the situation?” Sev’rance frowned, “I can still advise the Magistrate for the highest likelihood of success–”
“He has been told everything he needed to know,” Dooku replied smoothly, too smoothly, “And you will do no such thing.”
Sev’rance Tann steadily rose to her legs, catching the attention of the two Dark Acolytes behind her. She squared her shoulders, and smiled wryly.
“What is the status of my bid for Supreme Commander?” she hazardously changed the subject.
Dooku froze, but rallied admirably, “The Senate is still too divided to make up its mind.”
“Has enough time not passed to put the motion on the floor again?” Sev’rance challenged, “Even if it fails, we would still effectively gauge our progress.”
“Do not overstep, Sev’rance,” there was now a sharp edge to his voice; Sev’rance had prodded as far as she could, “Continue to see success on the front, and leave the Senate to me.”
Dooku’s holographic figure winked out of existence, leaving her staring at the empty red wall on the opposing side of the room.
How can she continue to see success when the military was as disordered as it was? There was no clear command structure, and flag officers like her had to vie and jostle with other flag officers over capable subordinates. It took the near-death of Admiral Trench just to bring Captain Bonteri back into her sphere. And with meddling political powers in the fray, it was as if every officer was pursuing their own goals or those of their corporate masters.
There was no single vision. No unifying mission to consolidate the Separatists. That was why a Supreme Commander was needed now more than ever. The CIS had a four-to-one advantage over the Republic, but with every week wasted as Confederate officers spent pursuing their own short-sighted ambitions and misadventures… they were going to lose, Sev’rance realised. She didn’t even need to Sight to see it.
It was clear Dooku wishes to humiliate Magistrate Argente with a botched invasion of Kamino, and it was clear he is delaying her Supreme Commander candidacy for reasons known only to himself. This was concerning to her, because Sev’rance was the only real choice for the office. The other Dark Acolytes had too little recognition in the Parliament, and every other flag officer in the military was subservient to some corporate oligarch or the other.
Sev’rance despised the fact that the military was beholden to politics, and not separated from it. She despised the idea that she had to participate in politics even more–it was a solid iron rule hammered into her brain the moment she became an officer cadet–but Sev’rance was no longer in Chiss Space, was she? If she had to succeed in the Lesser Galaxy, then she had to play by their rules.
“Mistress?” Vinoc asked.
“Who do you serve?” she asked simply.
There was a long pause–and Karoc answered; “You, Mistress.”
“Good,” her bleeding red eyes narrowed, “Dooku has disregarded you because you are weak in the Force. That will not be your undoing. Walk with me, and I will prove that there are more substantial ways of displaying power.”
The twins bowed, “We are with you, Mistress.”
“General,” Sev’rance corrected, “Now. How shall we win a war?”
Sev’rance Tann clothed herself in the Force, as Dooku had taught her, and expanded her Sight. Further, further, until she could see the entire galaxy contained in the palm of her hand. Sweat dripped down her purpling cheeks as she observed from outside herself, as if detached from the living world. Detached. Serenity.
Sev’rance closed one pair of eyes, and opened another.
Soldiers; a shroud of darkness at the heart of the galaxy. Scissors; squabbling politicians ignorant of the pale white hand tightening around the throat of the Republic. Spoils; a fortress built on bones, ruled by a beast more machine than man. Slaughter; crystals blue and green–drenched in red.
She blinked, struggling to stand on limp legs. Her own skin felt like an unfamiliar set of clothes, as if she was once more an officer cadet in ill-fitted uniform. Sev’rance had indulged herself, and seen too much. But there was one thing Sev’rance did not see: herself. Whatever future she observed, Sev’rance Tann was not part of it. And she wanted to know why.
I need to find out what Dooku is planning, and end it. I will not have him ruin me at my moment of triumph!
But to that, she had to take the plunge into politics. A feat not even the infamous Captain Thrawn dared to do. Sev’rance had her Sight on her side, but even her Sight was not absolute, instead only relative to herself. With her military genius, her Sight could reliably predict almost every strategic and tactical action in advance. But politics? The Confederate Parliament had never even been graced with her presence before.
This was beyond her field of expertise.
I need someone to be my eyes in the Senate.