XII: Partycrasher
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Every minute that passed, Anakin felt more and more out of place. For the tenth, or maybe hundredth, time he wondered why did I volunteer for this? Sure it was boring - but boring he could probably do with after the past half a year - but really it was that he had no idea what to do. It wasn’t like the other times Anakin had been a bridge between the Jedi and others - figuring out the ways of the Melodies had been something that kind of just happened. He had to do it, so he and Tahiri did.
And speaking of Tahiri, like when they went back to her tribe. Cross the desert. Fight a krayt dragon. Anakin always had something to do, something to act on. Here, now, Senator Shesh and Iterator Noskaur talked back and forth with a whole lot of words about a whole lot of nothing. Sometimes other Imperials would ask questions and send the conversation down a whole different path, but aside from sit here and try not to drink so much water he’d have to use the ‘fresher, Anakin had nothing really to add. Mei either, sitting next to him, as she kept up a quiet humming just under her breath, braiding together some of the feathery strands of her armor’s white mantle. Kyp, to the other side, was sitting up so straight his back had to hurt, eyes constantly flicking around. The Jedi were basically ornaments, to sit in their robes - or armor, in Mei’s case - and look important.
Not really his favorite thing to do.
After they’d all spoken last night, it was agreed that there was something that didn’t quite smell right about these Imperials. Senator Shesh, Kyp said, was too caught up in how to spin this as a political win to notice or care, so it was on them, the Jedi, to try and puzzle it out. They couldn’t wander far, restricted as they were to just the main meeting chamber and a small suite of rooms adjoining, but while a Jedi’s body might stay in place, their mind didn’t have to.
They had talked about it before arriving, with Kyp’s point being that they should take the first day without relying on the Force that much. It made sense to Anakin - like Aunt Mara talked about, if you’re always yelling, it can be hard to hear the quiet whispers. And if you were always using the Force, it could become a crutch. So they would hear out the Imperium in just the same way that Senator Shesh and the other diplomats would at first, then see if what they sensed measured up.
Anakin settled his breathing, touching the Force as it responded like an old friend. Eager to surround him, infuse him, buoy him up. Mei and Kyp were flares, bright and shining but controlled. Mei might be humming and fidgeting with her hands, but he sensed her presence alongside his. Amusement hummed from her when he realized this, like a smile in her aura, and Anakin pushed out into the rest of the room, reaching along with the Jensaarai toward the Imperials.
After returning from their recess, now there was talk about military aid. He guessed that Senator Shesh was figuring that if these Imperials couldn’t even leave this star system, she might as well learn what they even had to offer before she bothered committing herself any more. Noskaur led the explanation of the Imperium’s purpose, or at least, this fleet, though at times Vaul and even the usually taciturn Lieutenant Thiel contributed.
“...imagine, if you would, if at the end of your Clone Wars, instead of reforming into an Empire, this ‘Old Republic’ instead broke apart into a thousand thousand little polities. And worse - imagine that all maps of the galaxy for your hyperdrives became at best lost or at worst, maliciously incorrect. Then, imagine that a thousand years later, the inheritors of the Old Republic on Coruscant began to reach out once more to try and birth your New Republic.”
Anakin tried to imagine that. He did. It was a challenge. The Galaxy was just so much the Galaxy. The Old Republic, that he learned about in stories, became the Empire, which collapsed and of course the New Republic replaced it. He wasn’t blind either, his history classes at the Praxeum taught him enough about the way history looked fated in hindsight, and that maybe something worse could have come after the Empire, at least if all those Warlords Uncle Luke and his mom and dad spent years fighting had their say.
But to imagine it all just…swept away? It made him cold and he felt similar disquiet sweep over more than a few of the other ambassadors around him. It felt like a bad omen, like a vision of what the vong had in store if they had their way. Actually, as the Iterator explained more, about the innumerable lost colonies that the Imperium grieved over and the way that other species had turned on one another, it felt more and more like they were describing in some awful way a bleak future of the Galaxy that they had escaped.
Rommamool and Ossarion weren’t an isolated situation. Even with that firebrand Nom Anor gone, the two planets had already gone to nuclear war with each other. Others would, could follow without the moderating touch of the New Republic. And the Jedi were too few to do anything about it. With so much of the Galaxy already in chaos, not even the Order of old, with all ten-thousand Jedi could handle it.
He could feel the way Iterator Noskaur felt about it. Emotions roiled just under the older man’s composed exterior.
“Our galaxy is a dangerous place, you understand. We sought out our lost cousins, but it was only sensible to be able to defend ourselves. And,” the Iterator heaved a sigh, and Anakin caught a flash of disgust directed - toward Tresk. “To be prepared to liberate those worlds that had been preyed upon. The Legiones Astartes are our spear, the Imperialis Armada our shield, and the Army the body behind both.”
“Astartes such as you, Lieutenant Thiel?” Kyp interjected.
“Such as I, Master Jedi. The Long Night was deep and dark and the Emperor, in his wisdom, forged us to be his weapons against the terror.”
“Emperor,” Anakin caught the mutter from his left, barely audible under someone’s breath. Empires always had an Emperor - it was sort of in the name - but even still, Anakin couldn’t disagree with how odd it felt to hear such veneration put on the title.
“Well, I don’t think I could argue that the vong believe in anything but terror, isn’t that right, Knight Solo?”
He felt Senator Shesh’s attention shift to him before she called his name, giving a moment of warning.
“You’ve faced more of their warriors personally than anyone here, isn’t that right? Could you give us your perspective on their way of war?”
He caught Master Durron’s eye and the older Jedi gave him an imperceptible nod and he felt Kyp’s approval through the force.
“They like to fight up close and personal, if they can.” Anakin cleared his throat, feeling Lieutenant Thiel’s sudden laser-like attention. “They - the vong, I mean - are like commanders. They’re the elites. They usually order around a few squads of their slave caste and use them first as fodder. The reptoids aren’t that much to worry about, unless there’s a lot of them, but the vong are…deadly.” Anakin realized he had one hand on his lightsaber and slowly let go, wedging his untrustworthy hand under his thigh. “Their armor can deflect blasterbolts and even stop lightsabers, at least for a little while.”
“How well does their armor fare against kinetic ordnance?”
Anakin paused to consider Thiel’s rumbling question.
“I don’t know? Slugthrowers aren’t that common.” The Astartes frowned, but said nothing more.
“Even Master Skywalker has had trouble with more than one vong warrior. I - we - think they spend their lives training for war.”
“Thank you, Knight Solo,’ Tresk said and Anakin felt the Bothan Jedi/Diplomat’s approval of his summary. Anakin breathed out, settling back in his chair. Dueling some vong in a lightning storm for some reason felt a lot less tense than talking about it to a whole room filled with strangers. “From military analysts, we concur that the Yuuzhan Vong prefer melee and close-ranged combat, but will engage at range if need be through the use of their biont ‘vehicles’.”
Im’nel paused, then with a wry smile, gestured up toward the ceiling. “But most of the war has been in space, as you have already seen. Because of that…”
Anakin settled back into his sense of the Force, letting his nerves bleed off and reaching out again for impressions as the Imperials asked questions about Yuuzhan Vong warships.
Jaina was out there, with Rogue Squadron, fighting coralskippers and capital-ship analogues, the very same ones Tresk was showing off in holographic form. He could feel her, distant and at remove, but alive and well. Jaina would be fine, of course. It was flying - she could take the vong in her sleep, probably. Machines talked to Anakin, but starfighters, those only his sister could make sing.
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“I cannot agree to any commitment of the Thirteenth in particular,” Thiel repeated. Even Noskaur seemed vexed, gently rubbing the bridge of his nose. “That authority lies only with the Primarch, and he has not seen fit to delegate it to me.”
“Perhaps to streamline this, we could speak with the Primarch?”
“The Primarch is otherwise engaged in matters of state.”
“I do believe this would be defined as a matter of state-”
“I will relay that theoretical.”
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Lunch was a simple affair, served to each already seated at the table by more servitors. Kyp bristled as they approached, the Jedi Master occasionally glaring daggers over toward the oblivious Imperium delegation. Viqi enjoyed the strange fare, simple as it was, merely for the uniqueness of it.
“When you accompany us to Coruscant, Iterator, I simply have to introduce you to Kuati dining. I’m sure we can work dinner into the docket.”
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Kyp Durron glowered next to Mei, who slowly bounced up and down on the balls of her feet. Viqi glanced between the two older Jedi, then to Anakin who looked like he’d rather be anywhere else and back again.
“That’s your judgment, as a Jedi?”
“It’s, well, it’s when Master Im’nel talks that we can really feel it,” Anakin said.
“They hate him, Senator,” Kyp bluntly cut in. “They cover it well but it drips off them.”
“As the aggrieved party, shouldn’t Ambassador Im’nel be party to this?” The Bothan in question was conferring with Victor, the two of them sharing a single datapad. An afternoon break saw them in an adjoining chamber, set aside for ‘privacy’ of the New Republic delegation to retire to without having to go all the way back to their shuttles. It was probably full of bugs, of course.
“He’s already aware, and your use of his position tells me you know why he isn’t. Tresk isn’t here as a Jedi, he’s here with you. We’re the Jedi you asked for and this is the advice you’re getting. The Imperials hate non-humans. Anyone with eyes can see it.” Kyp shook his head in disbelief. “What do they really have to offer? A few ships that can’t fly anywhere? I think this is a mynock chase.”
“Knight Taral?” Shesh asked.
“It’s like Master Durron said. They sure seem to hate nonhumans. Is it because they want to kill him? I don’t think so. They’re controlling themselves, right? Our Imperials didn’t bother to do that, huh? Maybe it’s like I’m thinking, they just aren’t used to nonhumans that aren’t nasty.” Mei shrugged. “It sounded like they came from a pretty bad place.”
“I’ll take that under advisement from both of you.”
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No maps the Imperium could use. Their Magos dithered and spouted off a thousand excuses about why they couldn’t use hyperdrives. Lieutenant Thiel disavowed allowing the New Republic to provide transportation for the Thirteenth Legion or the Imperial Army to embattled worlds. Shipmistress Vaul looked like the Senator had personally kicked an ewok cub when she had magnanimously offered the full services of the vaunted Kuat Shipyards in repairing the Imperium’s warships. And apparently there was a full fourth branch of the Imperium Exsilius’ military that no one had any authority over and who had just not bothered to show up.
She wasn’t positive, but at one point, Lieutenant Thiel may have fallen asleep with both his eyes wide open, standing upright.
The only two things realistically on the table were the offer to accept refugees and interest in procuring some raw materials and foodstuffs from the New Republic. And even the latter was strained, because no one knew what ‘adamantium’ or ‘promethium’ was, adding up to yet more things to be relayed back to Coruscant.
Apparently she needed to have brought along a sithspawned materials physicist to a first contact - who knew?
Watching the chronometer tick deeper into the evening and the cessation of the day’s planned sessions, Viqi wanted to crawl over the table and beat someone half to death. Or entirely to death; she was not picky at the moment.
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Perfumed air snaked through the hookah and Beqi Shesh sighed. Command of Malaghi Shesh! Working under her cousin, the pride of the Shesh dynasty! Emissaries to a powerful new ally for the New Republic! Boring, boring, boring. Finally given leave to take the dreadnought out of Kuat and here she was, parked in orbit over some backwater world with nothing to do but wear a hole in space. Cousin Viqi got to go and meet these Imperials, she got to dine with them on exotic delicacies, she got to snap her fingers and make everyone jump.
Across her chambers, roughly the square footage of an entire shockball court, her telbun levered himself up out of a sumptuous armchair, stretching in front of a floor-to-ceiling transparisteel window in such a way as to outline his entire physique. Beqi threw a sock at him, which made it barely a third of the way.
“Go bathe,” she glowered and he bowed his way out. She took another drag of the hookah, flopping her head back and following the joins of the wood paneled ceiling two stories above. Yesterday she’d sat on the bridge all day, because decorum demanded a Shesh always be at the helm of Malaghi, but after Cousin Viqi returned in the evening without a single word, summons or decency to let Beqi in on anything at all, she hadn’t bothered rousing herself today. Cousin Tiphane could handle it today.
Gawking at the strange and gaudy Imperial ships didn’t even hold her attention for all that long. Yes, yes, they were large, yes they were built along a design theory she found absolutely wild, but really, unlike the rest of her people, she’d not quite inherited that single-minded obsession with all things that plied the stars. No, Beqi cared more about what that industry could provide her and from the looks of the damage and scarring on those Imperial ships, they were one foot in a scrapyard already. Cousin Viqi was howling up the wrong wroyshr, so to speak, and now Beqi was stuck with only the delights she’d packed away in her private chambers. Malaghi was so woefully spartan now, just the way Viqi liked it.
She blew a raspberry and rolled onto her elbows, kicking her feet in the air. In the same broad transparisteel window across from her, her slightly-blurry vision caught sudden flecks of movement. Probably another one of the endless snubfighter patrols or some of those heavy lifters she saw shuttling around yesterday, continuing the completely uninteresting traffic of this pothole of a star…
Until klaxons began to scream and she launched off her palatial bed, clutching her bathrobe tight to keep her heart from bursting from her chest. Her telbun, Beqrane, burst back into the robe, soaking wet, naked, a holdout blaster in both hands.
“Cousin! You’re needed on the bridge right away!” Tiphane sounded panicked and all over her twelve standard years just then. Beqi froze - the bridge was at least fifteen minutes away if she ran out right now, which she absolutely could not do, not in this state of undress - Beqrane had to dress her, she had to be presentable, Cousin Viqi left her in charge - she was in charge, yes, she was in command-
“Tiphane,” she snarled, snatching up her commlink and holding it close to her mouth. “Tell me exactly what it is you can’t handle, right now.”
“Cousin, there’s - cousin there’s ship. A Star Destroyer! And a squadron with them, they just jumped in, almost on top of us.” Ships? A Star Destroyer? The New Republic would never send reinforcements without warning. Pirates? No, no, no pirates could afford to operate a Star Destroyer, especially so close to the Core, not without everyone knowing-
“Tiphane, shut up and think. Who are they?”
“Plooroid Sector Self Defense Force! They’re already broadcasting their idents…”
Beqi immediately sat back down, relief washing over her. Idiot provincials. This wasn’t a problem at all.
“Tiphane, tell them to stand down and prepare to be boarded, by the authority of the New Republic Senate. And shut off these blasted alarms, you’re going to drive me mad.”
“Cousin,” Tiphane whispered, voice trembling through the commlink. “The Imperials are breaking formation, there’s energy spikes-”
The voice Beqi most and least wished to hear cut off the young Tiphane, dominating the comm frequency.
“Beqi, you ass, if you aren’t on the bridge of Malaghi in five minutes I’m going to shoot you myself. Get up there, take command from Tiphane and shoot the morons that just showed up.”
Tiphane’s gasp was tinny and Beqi gawked at the commlink in her hand.
“Shoot them?”
“One ion across the bow, another into their shields. Let them know they mucked up and when you get whatever voidbrain is in command on the line, you pass it to me, you understand? To me, Beqi. You do this right now and you do not delay one second. Repeat it back to me. Let me know you heard me.”
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Trembling, Beqi hunched over, holding the commlink to her lips.
“One ion across their bow, one into their shields. Then connect you with their commander.”
“Yes, that’s exactly it. And do it from the bridge, where you should be, idiot. And if the Imperium decides to blow up every single one of those ships? You’re going to sit there and watch. Understand? Malaghi Shesh is not to move an inch. You are not to activate a single weapon aside from that ion cannon. Repeat it back to me, cousin…”
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“...and if the Imperium starts shooting those ships, I’m supposed to watch and do nothing. I’m not to activate any weapons other than one ion cannon.”
Viqi dared not look at anyone else in the room aside from Iterator Noskaur. All around her was a frozen tableau that felt as fragile as a spun-sugar, liable to crumble into madness at the slightest touch or breath. The Iterator was scowling at her, half out of his seat. Shipmistress Vaul’s mouth was a thin white line. Lieutenant Thiel had revealed the half-dozen swords hanging from the wall were not ornamental at all and had one as tall as a man in one fist, the blade humming and cracking with licks of azure lightning. No one had even seen him move to grab it. Outside, they could hear hooting, mournful horns blaring across the fortress.
Three bars of plasma hummed behind Viqi: blue, indigo and silver. Tresk, bless him, had not drawn his own lightsaber, though he still carried it as was his right.
“Correct, Cousin. Now do what I said, and do it quickly. And forget what I just said about not moving Malaghi.” Viqi spared a look at Vaul. “If whatever colossal idiot is in charge over there starts shooting at Imperial ships, you are to put Malaghi in between them. If you need to shoot them yourself to make them stop, do it. Do you hear me, Beqi? Do you hear me? I’m trying to keep us all alive here.”
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Samothrace surged away from her position at anchor, the battle-barge trembling under the force of her titanic engine-blocks. Turetia Altuzer did not notice the way she was breathing harder, long, deep breaths through her nose as she leaned over a flickering, green-shot hololith.
“Are there any others?”
“Negative, shipmistress. Augurs do not indicate any further signatures.” Altuzer whirled away, shouting down to rouse macrocannons and double check integrity of hastily raised voids. Then she stabbed a finger back, glaring at the tech-adept plugged into his station.
“Auspex didn’t detect these ships until they were already here!”
“Apologies, shipmistress. The supraluminal drives of these xenos defy detection.”
She scowled and flung herself back into her command chair, reassuring herself that Samothrace was already under way. They would not be caught out, not again, not ever. This ‘New Republic’ could fill the sky with ships and she would burn them all away. They should never have been trusted to come to treat as friends, no civilization that consorted so openly with xenos and abominable intelligences could ever be trustworthy, and now they proved it so baldly…
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Excillius grinned at his counterparts, floating like ghosts around his throne. Born of Ashes led the squadron as they tipped and fell inward toward Eboracum. Tyber Sogan of Son of Iax looked murderous and Ebireke Langour of Sorpenton wavered slightly as he gently rocked in place, as if to draw a modicum more speed from his command.
“They’ve played their hand too early,” Sogan declared, voice rendered monotone by transmission. “This must be an uncautious vanguard.”
“Samothrace alone will wipe them from the sky.” Langour groused. The three cruisers were on close picket patrol, circum-orbiting the world at far remove and now were dozens of minutes away from where the New Republic battleship still sat quiet and unmoving. “But even Altuzer won’t take down that other prize so quickly.” Part of the Shipmaster vanished from view as he half-stood, but the other two Captains still heard his cries to divert further power from voids to propulsion.
“Easy, Eb. This surely isn’t all those savages have sent. We’ll get our pound of flesh, just be patient…”
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Though the little Warhound still bore a terrible scar and its center of gravity was off-balance from the lack of its arm, Dawn’s Reave managed to backpedal swiftly, bringing a forest-crowned hillock between itself and the far larger Warlord. Traces of light on auspex lit up as Sanguinum Oculi still vented ineffectual ‘fury’ from its carapace lascannon. There was too much earth and stone in the way to overpenetrate to strike the fleeing engine and Noriomi knew it. Princeps Inemmeso did too. As did Mortarch Abandon, the titan beneath and around her shaming such a wasteful display of irritation.
Beneath her thoughts, close enough to grasp but unfocused, she felt Tol and Nossem Tolu, twin Moderati, as they guided the great spirit’s tread. Savannah tore and mulched beneath splayed adamantium claws as Mortarch Abandon kept pace with the hunting pack, maintaining a kilometer of distance as the Princeps observed.
It was a conversation of feeling and images, linked as they were in the Manifold. Dawn’s Reave continued its retreat, loping hard to try to circle to flank the slower, larger Titan. Even missing its left arm, the Warhound still bore a blastgun on its unscathed right arm, enough to strip a layer of voids with a lucky shot. Inemmeso pressed Sanguinum hard, backtracking, pivoting at the waist, but without his lascutter, he was restricted to only shoulder mounted lascannon and his gatling blaster. The latter would make short work of the Warhound, if it could be brought to bear, but Semmochian had been masterful in keeping the much smaller Reave on the opposite side of the Warlord, where the ruined lascutter was instead so much dead weight.
The Warhound dashed out of the forest, snapping trees aside like matchsticks, coming clear into the savannah and unleashing a flaring dart of sunfire from its blastcannon. Sanguinum Oculi, still in motion, was able to take a further step and let the screaming plasma instead just barely scrape along its outermost voids. Indicators sprung up in Noriomi’s vision as she watched, declaring void strain and etheric discharge from energetic conversion.
A decent attempt, but not enough. She saw the heavy lascannon turrets atop the other Warlord begin to pivot, to track, lighting up hot in the auspex as energy pooled into their capacitors. At this close range, there was no way Reave would be able to dodge.
Then the Warhound vanished in a sudden burst of white fog.
No doubt surprised, Sanguinum discharged all cannon immediately, six lower-powered lasbeams ‘stabbing’ out through the fog. But no shock of shattered voids, no screams from an overloaded reactor.
This time Noriomi recognized the texture of Nossem’s surprise.
Now Reave emerged again, streamers of smoke trailing behind it and from emptied launchers atop it’s carapace. It fired it’s blastgun again, managing a convincing strike on Sanguinum’s voids. But that final shot was all it would get, as Hongulsa burst out of a nearby lake, water sheeting down glistening adamantium armor as the Warhound immediately opened up with both mega-bolters.
Reave immediately bloomed with tags for void shield rupture, then superficial damage, then motive damage, then-
All Titans came to rest, ceasing movement. Honor pennants waved in the air. Damage and warning signs vanished from auspex. Outside, aside from torn up savannah and broken trees, the world was calm and quiet.
was the reply of the Praesagius princeps, now adopted into her own maniple.
The two other titans slouched away, Warhound loping alongside the longer strides of the Warlord. As a sort of mirror, Dawn’s Reave approached her own towering mount, the little hurt Warhound barely reaching Mortarch’s waist. With a pulse of intent, Noriomi/Mortarch walked and she felt each thudding stride in her own, ghostly feet and calves.
Evening was drawing in and Noriomi watched the darkening sky through true color and false color both, overlaid and kaleidoscopic.
Reply from Semmochian was long in coming, but Noriomi didn’t mind. She enjoyed any time immersed in the great Manifold, floating with her lesser angels Tol and Nossem as they bent the god-mind of Mortarch to their wills. And Mortarch enjoyed it too, the Titan grown irritable and vexatious in quietude since Calth.
Then the vox came to life, data inloading from Samothrace high above and all humor blew away like chaff in the wind. Noriomi widened her/Mortarch’s stance, anchoring in careful position.
An orbital fire mission. How long it had been since she had been honored so. That it was ships of the people come to parlay barely registered. She and Mortarch had a target. That was all that mattered.
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Victor dropped the small holo onto the table, moving slowly, carefully, pale with nerves. It flickered to life, revealing a rugged Fluggrian in a rumpled uniform, whose scowl quickly melted off his face.
“Senator Shesh!”
“You’re surprised. That ship does have my name on it.”
The Fluggrian blinked rapidly, glancing out of the boundaries of the holo, fidgeting. He hissed something the projector didn’t pick up, then swallowed visibly.
“We weren’t - we didn’t realize the New Republic had, uhm - that you were -” he said something again, too low for the comm to pick up, and Viqi snapped her fingers, jerking his attention back to her.
“You’re talking to me. Name, rank. Now.”
“Commodore Fthiss Lak. Plooroid Sector Self Defense Force. I didn’t know you would be here!”
“It doesn’t matter!” A woman, square jawed and bald, barged into view, leaning in front of Fthiss and pointed a holographic finger at Viqi. “It’s even better that you’re here! These people conquered a whole planet and they’ve done horrible things to the people! Justice demands that these Imperials give up control immediately!”
To her credit, despite how furious the Shipmistress looked, Katryna Vaul swept her hand out to the side, half-turning in her seat to glare at the other Imperials as the skull-droid translated the woman’s words. Muttering among the Imperials quieted at Vaul’s unspoken demand and though this was probably the last place Viqi wanted to have this conversation, well, it was all she got. Solo, Taral and Durron all flanked her, ‘sabers out and hissing, held at guard. She might have felt nearly invincible with three Jedi at her back, but for the entire army camped right outside this building.
“Fascinating! I’ll be sure to report to the Senate that a sector police Commodore supersedes the authority of the New Republic Senate. You know, I do believe I remember that being an important addition to the New Republic charter.”
“The New Republic represents justice, Senator, which is-”
“Shut up. Shut up before I tell Malaghi to blow you out of space, which I am well within my rights to do.” She couldn’t remember that last time she’d been this angry. It wasn’t just the adrenaline that yes, she might’ve died, right here, right now, cutting short the story of Senator Viqi Shesh way too soon - Viqi violently pushed that thought down - it was the audacity. To yell in her face, after kicking in the door and basically pissing on the floor.
Kyp Durron held his lightsaber to the side, but leaned closer so that the holo could pick him up as well. When it did, the woman next to Commodore Fthiss looked shocked.
“Master Durron!”
“This is kind of a mess, Rhonabeq,” he observed, as dry as ever.
“She’s one of yours?” Viqi didn’t recognize the woman on sight, but she did know of a Mugaari Knight among the Order. Oh, if this was the Jedi, she would eat her words to the Senate. She’d take them back so fast Coruscant would spin backwards and they would have no idea what kind of an enemy they had made- She could just imagine it. Some bleeding heart Jedi, hearing about some horrible conquerors, going and rallying a few laserbrained local hicks in the sector defense forces.
She almost laughed. Of all the things to upend it all, it had to be a pack of provincials taking their responsibilities seriously for once.
“Harlan said that you would be here but I didn’t really believe her-”
“Hold on,” Taral spoke up. “Harlan’s with you?”
The woman, Rhonabeq, looked mortified. “Yes?”
Kyp shut off his lightsaber and scrubbed a hand over his face. Viqi thought she caught something like “-luke feels like-” from the tall Jedi.
“Senator, I’d like to apologize on behalf of the Jedi Order.”
Tresk sighed and slumped back in his seat, staring blankly at the ceiling. Kyp gestured toward the Iterator and the Imperials also.
“Actually, make that to all of you. This is all an enormous misunderstanding. I promise we’ll get to the bottom of it. Rhonabeq, is there anyone else coming?”
“No,” she said, voice small. “It’s just us.”
“Thank the Force. Let Senator Shesh’s flagship take control from here.”
“That means I’m taking you all into custody, you know,” Viqi spoke around a very fake smile. Behind Rhonabeq, the Fluggrian commodore just nodded. “And your ships are all impounded. Just so you know.” Still vibrating with nervous energy, Viqi brushed her hair behind her ear, composed herself, and then shut off the holo. She truly hoped Senator Segg, representing the Ploo Sector, was unaware of it all. She’d had little to do with him, but he seemed a decent enough sort and killing the career of another Senator was a lot of effort.
“Iterator Noskaur, Shipmistress Vaul, Lieutenant Thiel-”
“We heard, Senator,” Noskaur cut her off. “I want to trust your word. It would be best for you if you left. Return to your shuttle and to your ship. I will need to speak to the Primarch before anything else. Be glad he countermanded any violence before it could occur.”
Viqi opened her mouth to say more, read the room, and delicately closed it. The Lieutenant was nearly bouncing his crackling sword in his grip and she shivered at the expression on the enormous man’s face. Durron said something, but it was lost in the roaring of her blood in her ears. Dimly, she noticed the glow from Solo and Taral’s lightsaber vanish, Victor gently directing her with a discrete hand to the small of her back. Very quietly, the New Republic delegation gathered themselves and filed out, all the while watched by the Imperium. Flat, blank, dead stares from men and woman both watched them go. Lieutenant Thiel did not lower his blade the entire time, keeping it at a ready guard.
“The Imperium will be watching, Senator,” he rumbled, as she and the Jedi were the last out of the conference chamber.
The trip back up to Malaghi Shesh was a blur.