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Chapter 19

Commander Calli Trilm paced the deck of her flagship’s semi-circular bridge, anxiously waiting for Doctor Cratala to board her ship. Every moment the Star of Serenno remained docked to the space station, the greater the chance of some Republic strikeforce appearing out of the black and tearing them to pieces. Not that it was ever likely to happen, but these days Calli found herself harbouring a great deal of caution.

Indeed. Ever since that wargame, she has become eminently aware of exactly how poor her forces will fare against an invading fleet.

“Dark stars,” she grumbled, “What\'s the progress, Tex?”

TX-103 swivelled his head around, “Doctor Cratala insists on transferring all of her staff, patients, and equipment before boarding the ship herself.”

Calli stalked over to the viewport, pressing a palm against the transparisteel as she gazed mournfully at the extended airlock that held her ship against her will, “I’m here to pick up a VIP, not turn my ship into a gods-damned laboratory!”

“Doctor Cratala’s research is, however, invaluable to the Separatist cause,” a gravelly voice reminded.

Calli Trilm spun around, coming face to face with the six-eyed Admiral Trench. Or rather, five-eyed plus one ocular camera. The VIP himself. Because the infamous Harch admiral had lost half his body over Christophsis, and only the timely intervention of a certain Rain Bonteri had saved his life. Three mechanical arms and state of the art cybernetics to replace his shattered visage, the reborn Admiral Trench bore all the trademarks of Doctor Cratala’s exceptional handiwork.

She had to admit, she was impressed. Unlike the stale, bland cybernetics of the modern age, all silvery steel and covered up more often than most. Doctor Cratala had a way of making you proud to display your prosthetics. Despite being brand new, Trench’s new body had character; each individual limb almost like cobbled together with unique parts and tastefully knitted together with gold trim and filigree. The details were well-worn and brushed up, yet not lacking in any regard compared to more contemporary pieces.

Brilliantly efficient, beautiful, and artistic. That was Cratala.

And that was what made Doctor Cratala the most renowned cybertechnician on Coruscant. She was as much a doctor as she was an engineer and archaeologist. Her designs were part brilliance, part ancient knowledge-using buried Old Republic cybernetics research data, combined with her own skills to create unsurpassed cybertech.

It was also partially why Calli had to clear out the entire research site; the place was a treasure trove of Old Republic texts and schematics, and not only about cybernetics. Dooku, much less Cratala herself, would never allow the Republic to get their hands on these, to the point where Calli had orders to scuttle the entire base.

“I know,” she replied simply.

To be truthful, Calli would’ve considered this specific day to evacuate Cratala’s station rather abrupt and arbitrary, if it wasn’t for the fact that Rain Bonteri had insisted on it. That man was anything but arbitrary, in her rather intimate experience. It had her so on guard that she half-expected every little sensor notification to herald a Republic invasion fleet coming out of hyperspace.

So when Tex suddenly stood up and declared the arrival of an unidentified fleet element approaching, Calli could dubiously claim that she wasn’t taken by surprise in the slightest. Nor was Admiral Trench, the unflappable bugger that he was.

“I see…” the old spider stroked his mechanical mandible out of habit, “TX-One-Oh-Three, what is your assessment?”

“A Republic invasion force, sir.”

“What peculiar timing,” Trench mused, his ocular receptor whirring.

“Tex, get the Doctor on board now,” Calli Trilm ordered coldly, her patience dried, “Prep starboard torpedo tubes, and fire the moment we’re clear.”

“By your command.”

Half an hour later, over two dozen proton torpedoes ripple fired out from Star of Serenno’s hull, crashing into the space station in dazzling violet blooms. As its hull was breached, the escaping atmosphere acted like improvised thrusters, ripping out from within and pushing the station away into the void.

Only once Calli was absolutely certain nothing could be salvaged from the station but scrap, did she order Star of Serenno to rendezvous with the rest of the Clysm Fleet over Salvara.

“I will admit,” Doctor Cratala announced as she marched into the pilothouse, “That station served me finer than any institute on Coruscant. I pity its loss.”

Like all Arkanians, Cratala could’ve passed for human if not for her four-clawed hands and milky white eyeballs-though in Cratala’s case, one of them was replaced with what looked like a translucent blue marble inserted into a dull gold eyepatch embossed into the right side of her face. It would not surprise Calli if the Doctor had experimented on herself first to prove the concept before operating on Trench.

“That’s great and all,” the Commander responded blandly, not even pretending to care, “But we have a battle to fight.”

“Battle?” the first sign of alertness appeared on Cratala’s aloof face, “I hope this ship will not be involved. My equipment is very delicate.”

“Indeed,” Trench hobbled to the viewport to catch a better sight of the planet, his cane striking the deck, “It is as you had known this attack was coming.”

“I was,” now that the tooka’s out of the bag, Calli had no reason to hide it, “The Pantoran commands a very thorough intelligence unit, as it seems.”

If Admiral Trench had opinions on that matter, he did not voice it as he silently observed the dark shapes eclipsing over the stars. Doctor Cratala’s fingers curled over the headrest of the captain’s chair worriedly as she observed the battle lines being drawn on the planetary approach.

“What do we have, Tex?” Calli asked

“Over a hundred ships,” the tactical droid navigated the sensor readouts artfully, “From the signatures; at least fifty capital ships, but twelve of them are a new type of Star Destroyer not found within the registry. I would hazard that this is their first deployment.”

Her lips drew thin, “Pulling out all the stops this time, huh? Give me details, Tex.”

The droid shook his head, “The distance is too great for our sensors to detect hardpoints, but I calculate they are at least sixteen-hundred metres long.”

“We’re not finding any hangars either, sir,” a B1 tacked on, “But we’re seeing carriers of the Open Circle Fleet behind them.”

A great swarm of signatures suddenly poured out of the carriers in what looked like an exotic fountain, the readout flashing as it struggled to render the hundreds of new entities on the tactical holo. Starfighters.

For a brief moment, the bridge darkened as the Star of Serenno drifted beneath a Lucrehulk. Calli quietly observed the Republic fleet moving into attack formation, the hangar-less battleships taking point like the tip of a beskar spear. Sweat formed on her brow like a crown-1600 metres long-despite her misgivings, the CO of the Clysm Fleet felt oddly pleased the Republic High Command considered her such a threat.

Because I am a threat, Calli told herself, I’ve been preparing for this for months. It’ll be a dry day on Jabiim before I let myself falter before some upjumped Star Destroyers.

“Portside, hard over,” Calli called out, “Admiral Trench, I’m transferring you to the Salvaran flagship, heavy cruiser Sarissa

.”

Calli held up a holoemitter for his sake, and an old Rendili Dreadnaught-class model appeared. The Salvaran Defence Fleet bolstered her Clysm Fleet by some twenty odd ships-there used to be less, but the Salvarans harnessed their strategic location to convince the central government to reinforce their standing forces. Albeit, high command was damn close-fisted about the whole affair, but even old warships were warships nonetheless.

“I hope to make it clear that while you may be an Admiral, I’m in command here,” she continued, “I’ve already negotiated with the Salvaran government, and I’m not about to have you botch my showing. You are going to take orders from me, and try not to make any independent actions if you can help it. Least you can do is inspire the Salvarans crews.”

Admiral Trench slowly turned around, stroking his mandible as his spiny teeth chittered in consideration. Slowly, agreement flashed over his five eyes, and he bowed politely.

“I smell a plan…” the Harch smiled-or what looked like a smile, “I will place my trust in your command, Commander Trilm.”

Doctor Cratala watched as the Admiral hobbled his way out of the cabin, before turning to her with a flat stare, “Get me off this ship as well.”

“You? I can,” Calli lowered herself into the captain’s chair, shifting her weight to a comfortable position, “All your things? I don’t have the time. Where’d you rather be?”

Cratala scowled, sneering as she spun on her heel, “I’ll inform my staff.”

Haughty, that one. But then again, all Arkanians were that way.

“Sync feeds with the fleet,” Calli allowed herself to relax, now that all her ‘guests’ were out of the way, “Send forward our Vanguard-class pickets and begin a deep scan of the enemy fleet. I want a single Munificent ready to relay data to Columex.”

“Roger roger.”

Calli bit her finger as she inspected the vectors of the enemy fleet, watching as their formation stretched into an extended cone as the twelve unidentified Star Destroyers accelerated faster than the rest of the fleet. The Venators, at the rear, kept their steady vectors as their starfighters filled the volume of the cone behind the battleships.

“I cannot compute the strategy of the enemy fleet,” Tex commented, “Sending battleships ahead of the screens is a tactically unsound decision. I advise we must remain vigilant for a potential gambit.”

Her eyes narrowed, watching the starfighters struggle to remain behind the slower battleships, “It isn’t meant to be tactically sound. It’s meant to be politically sound. The damn bucketheads are trying to use me as the proving grounds for their new toys.”

Perhaps they meant for her to feel insulted instead, to think that she would crumble to such hare-brained tactics.

“-Sarissa reports Admiral Trench’s shuttle has arrived,” the comms droid said.

“Very well,” Calli nodded, “The plan doesn’t change. Lock relative bearings. I want two modified bow-and-quarter lines port and starboard of the planet, standard screen formations. Keep a Pathfinder pinnace up front to act as a spotter for the ground-to-space batteries.”

Their unwelcome guests might have shiny new battleships, but Calli Trilm had the planet of Salvara. Living stars know how many favours and credits she had to spend transforming the frontier world into a fortress without equal. Rain, you have no idea how much you owe me for this.

Calli Trilm watched as the enemy vectors split in two to compensate for the Clysm Fleet’s unexpected manoeuvre. Within minutes, Salvara bore its cloudy atmosphere as if it were the silvery robes of an angel, two fleets extended from its hemispheres like wings. She bore little heed to the first strands of data flowing in, trusting her crew to parse it out, instead zealously focusing on the enemy battleline extending out their starboard wing, vectors narrowing onto an intercept.

“Here they come,” she breathed.

She licked her lips in anticipation.

⁂

Metalorn, Metalorn System

Talcene Sector

You know, from the way some people spoke of climate change and global warming, you would think Earth was going to look something like Metalorn in the far future. A ruined jungle world, now filled sky high with industrial plants and pervaded by subterranean factory-cities that took the place of once-expansive ore veins. Coming in from the smog-filled atmosphere, you could even make out where those underground cities were, by the industrial magma pits and flue gases that rose to the surface. In some places they created mock volcanoes, in others, they rose from the polluted seas in a patch of boil.

Fortunately, this visage of hell isn’t likely to come to Earth, unless we somehow caught the attention of a galactic megacorporation. Somehow.

Because while there was a whole buffet of corporations with stakes in Metalorn, most of the planet had been bought out by the Techno Union prior to the war. The planet was virtually unconquerable-not because it was well-defended, but because it was simply too big to fail.

Once, the industrial might of Metalorn served to endow the Core Worlds with a bountiful supply of goods and luxuries. Now, its licensed shipwrights churned out warships by the hundred. Its ordnance plants manufacture enough explosive yield to level cities by the hour, and world-conquering numbers of droids marched out of its foundries day in and day out. To the Confederacy, Metalorn cannot fall.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

Which is why, I supposed, the planet’s board of directors didn’t take my warnings very well.

“I am sorry, Commodore,” Overseer Umbrag mollified, sounding completely unsorry, “But there is simply no tangible proof of this upcoming attack you speak of.”

Like all Skakoans off-world, Umbrag had to wear his pressure suit in order to survive outside his homeworld. Unlike most Skakoans, Umbrag’s pressure suit had to fully enclose his head and body to endure the terrible environments of all the foundry worlds he had to visit. As a side effect, his great helmet clanked whenever he moved his head, and his voice sounded significantly more droidlike than most of his associates. Which was great, because I didn’t have to look at his ugly mug.

“But you will be open to talks if there is tangible proof?” I challenged.

See, I had a plan. Well, less of a plan and more of a vague outline of my general goals so as to convince myself I knew what I was doing-but that\'s besides the point. First, I had to preserve and build up the Coalition Armada. Calli Trilm, being half-politician, made an impressive first step by somehow convincing the Salvaran government to lend her their entire defence fleet. I had to do the same for Metalorn.

Harsh truth was, there was no way for Metalorn to avoid being invaded, as ARENA so effortlessly proved. The planet was simply too important and too close to the border not to be. I’m not a strategic mastermind like General Tann; hell I wasn’t even in the position to make strategic decisions until a few months ago. Most of my training came from my time in the Onderonian Space Force, where I mostly learned how to fight the fucking drexls of the Demon Moon.

Why Onderon needed an interstellar navy solely to fight an existential war with our closest natural satellite was another matter entirely.

Second, I needed to deprive the Republic of as many logistic hubs as possible. That part was self-explanatory.

As such, my shitty plan was to tear down anything important on Metalorn, then getting the hell out of here with every ship in the system. Maybe putting up a token resistance at the same time, for the record.

“Your word alone is simply not enough, officer,” Overseer Umbrag intoned, “The Techno Union-”

“Then what about Commander Trilm?” I pivoted, “Is her word enough?”

The Skakoan paused at the mention of her name. Calli Trilm was my trump card. She had enough connections in the Foundry to turn Salvara into her personal castle, and it was an open secret that she had the ear of Count Dooku. Her word was worth its weight in gold.

I just prayed I got my timing right.

“… Why would Commander Trilm-”

My comlink beeped loudly. I could make out an annoyed glare through the glassy holes of Umbrag’s helmet.

“Uh sir?” a Techno Union droid piped up, “We’re receiving the emergency signal from Salvara’s early warning system.”

Salvara’s arguably most important purpose was to raise the alarm the moment an enemy fleet entered the system. Every major world on the Perlemian would be receiving the warning. The board of directors stared at the droid in shock, then back at me.

“I… don’t think I need to explain why Metalorn will be in the Republic’s sights,” I said slowly, internally screaming in relief, “You know what it means if Commander Trilm raises the alarm.”

“… Our security forces will suffice,” an official tried to convince himself.

Hare wordlessly handed me the datapad.

“Vanguard force of one hundred warships,” I read aloud, “Fifty of them capitals. Twelve unidentified Star Destroyers, at least sixteen-hundred metres long. Another three hundred ships spotted in Talcene and Orleon. Do you want to take that chance?”

A director glanced at Umbrag in fear, “W-What should we do?”

The Overseer leaned forward, “Commodore. If we give you command of Metalorn’s security forces, will you defend this planet?”

“No. My offer remains the same,” I answered simply, “Metalorn is in a terrible position, and I have no intention of fighting here. Evacuate to your ships and Commander Vinoc will escort you to Columex. The droid armies can wage a war of resistance in your absence.”

We may not stop the Republic from capturing Metalorn, but we can sure as hell fight them over it. Endless industrial parks span the landscape, each one made from baffling complexes and nexuses. And if those fall, then beneath the surface were the labyrinthine factory-cities, so vast and so automated that no single map could include all of it in its entirety.

Overseer Umbrag considered my words from his high table, before shaking his head, “That is impossible. Metalorn is too valuable to be captured.”

“Metalorn is but one of hundreds of foundry worlds in the Separatist Alliance,” I retorted, “It is by and large the most productive, undeniably, but one of hundreds all the same. Once my allies gather enough ships for a counterattack, it will be back in our hands and you may resume your business.”

“You do not understand, officer,” another director said, panic leaking into his synthesised voice, “We cannot let Metalorn fall into Republic hands!”

“The only reason we are here is because of your contribution to the Separatist cause,” Vinoc finally made his mind known, “This is our only offer. We do not have the time to argue; Commander Trilm fights a hopeless battle, and we must come to her aid as soon as possible. If you will not work with us now, then we will take our forces and leave you to your fate.”

A bit blunt, I decided, but it got the point across quite effectively.

“You must not!” another director shot to his feet, “There are- there are weapons the Republic must not discover!”

Overseer Umbrag yanked him back into his seat, “Keep quiet, you damn fool.”

I crossed my arms, “Well, Overseer?”

Umbrag knitted his fingers together, “… This is a highly secretive project. Can we trust in your confidence?”

“You may,” I answered, curiosity piqued.

The Skakoan waved at an aide, “Bring in the cortosis battle droids.”

Vinoc and I shared a look as what appeared to be a standard B2 super battle droid was escorted into the audience hall. But upon a second glance, I noticed there were some key differences-for one, their chassis were crafted from a darker metal, and they lacked any prehensile hands, instead replaced with double laser cannons.

“Commander Vinoc,” the Overseer said, “Would you attempt to cut this droid down with your lightsaber.”

Vinoc raised an eyebrow, but shrugged and did so nonetheless. In a swift motion, a bleeding red blade burst out and slashed straight into the droid, making me flinch. But in an unexpected twist, upon contact with the chassis, his blade fizzled and shorted, retreating back into the hilt in a flash. Vinoc attempted to reignite his lightsaber, but all that came of it were some pitiful sparks from the emitter.

“Black cortosis plating,” Umbrag was audibly pleased with the result, “Weaker tensile strength compared to duranium, but its unique chemical structure makes it very energy resistant- and more importantly, lightsaber resistant. Once struck, the lightsaber cannot be reignited for several minutes. This is the secret weapon Metalorn is producing; anti-Jedi droids.”

Vinoc was visibly unnerved now, mindlessly pressing the ignition key of his lightsaber in vain attempts to restart it. As for me…

“How many people know of its production?” I asked giddily, “Can these battle droids be mass produced?”

“Foreman Tambor commissioned these droids in secrecy,” Umbrag said, “Unless he has divulged the information to the Republic, only the highest ranks of Techno Union leadership know of their existence. They cannot be mass produced, due to the cost and scarcity of cortosis refinement.”

“Do you understand now, officer?” a director pressed urgently, “These droids can win us the war. They don’t need to be mass produced; we only need a few strike teams to assassinate Jedi leadership on the battlefield. They are effective, we guarantee it.”

I wetted my suddenly dry lips, “Tear down everything unimportant for the production of these droids. Transfer everything that is necessary, and cannot be replaced or rebuilt, onto the freighters. I will relocate you to Boz Pity, in Hutt Space. The Halla, Suolriep, and Kastolar Sectors all bear Separatist sympathies. The Republic will not be able to reach you there, and with some luck, a new Techno Union branch in the region will sway the northern Hutt sectors to our side. Is that agreeable?”

Overseer Umbrag slowly warmed up to the idea, “We will need some time, Commodore. On behalf of the Techno Union, we thank you for your service.”

“You have until the Republic reaches here, and until then we will not be going anywhere,” I assured them, “For now… Hare, give them the treaty.”

Hare snatched the datapad out of my hands and hopped up to the table, giving them the document with an expectant look.

“What is this?” Umbrag held up the datapad warily.

“Until the Admirals return to the Foundry with their fleets, we stand alone,” I explained, “I and half a hundred other officers have agreed to a pact of joint defence, in order to effectively defend our homeworlds in an event just like this. Salvara, Centares, Ringo Vinda, and Raxus Secundus are all already signatories of the Perlemian Coalition. I would like Metalorn to be next.”

The Overseer scanned the document carefully. But honestly, there was not much to look at. It was simply an understanding to not backstab each other until the fighting was over-anything too binding and nobody would have agreed to it.

After some brief, quiet discussion, Umbrag cleared his throat.

“Very well. Metalorn will join your Coalition.”

I breathed out, “Thank you, Overseer. Vinoc, contact Commander Trilm; there’s been a change of plans.”

⁂

Salvara, Salvara System

“Transmission from Salvara communications satellite, sir,” Tex raised his head, “From Metalorn.”

“Instructions?”

“Change of plans, Commander,” the droid buzzed, “Our mission is to delay the enemy for as long as possible. Metalorn has agreed to join the Coalition, and the planet is being evacuated.”

Calli Trilm waved him off dismissively, “I was intending to anyway.”

No, the Commander of the Clysm Fleet barely even registered his words, so fixated she was on the tactical holo. As expected, the enemy Admiral had split his battleships into two sections-five ships sluggishly driving towards the Clysm Fleet’s battleline; and seven ships in wedge formation, intent on smashing straight through the weaker Salvaran Defence Fleet line. Unbeknownst to them, a single pinnace watched their movements from below, relaying their positions planetside in good order.

“Transmission from the Sarissa, sir.”

“Tell Trench to hold his line,” Calli said firmly.

“Understood.”

“Enemy contacts in active scanning range,” the sensor officer reported, working his console, “They’re intensifying forward deflectors.”

“Aft quarters?”

“Wide open, sir.”

“Very well,” Calli inflated with eager anticipation, dragging her gaze to the lone Pathfinder stalking the enemy.

Then, the battleships crossed an unseen threshold. A shortburst transmission exploded out of the pinnace, invisible to all who weren’t listening for it. Before Calli could even comprehend the message, Salvara unleashed a torrent of ion bolts, crashing through the atmosphere and flaying the enemy battleships\' engine blocks. Arcs of blue electricity wreathed the Star Destroyers like dancing dragons, ripping into anything they could get their teeth on.

“Bombers,” she ordered, then added; “Their countermeasures are down-get our frigates pulling out data dumps immediately. I want to know everything.”

Thousands of Hyena droid bombers leapt off the rafters and locked their S-foils into attack position, like a flock of bats swarming out of their dark caves, accompanied by their Vulture fighter escorts. The effect was mirrored on the other side of the planet, Admiral Trench evidently having understood her strategy. The two facets of the enemy fleet were soon assaulted by a maddening fury of starfighters, each attack wing picking their targets with cold calculation.

Vultures weaved through the stricken fleet like shadowy ribbons, avoiding whatever still functioning weapons as they swarmed around to engage the enemy starfighters. And then the Hyenas cast their spells on the lead Star Destroyer, opening bomb chutes and sweeping upwards, proton payloads ravaging the length of the ship and turning it into high velocity junk.

They doubled back around to rearm, a Captor-class munitions carrier-the Jerejak-already moving ahead to service them.

“Enemy bombers approaching,” Tex notified.

Calli’s eyes flickered to the display. To their credit, the Republic carriers had reacted in a timely manner; surging forwards from their static line to help the vanguard. Squadrons of NTB-630 naval bombers poured out of the hangars like an exotic fountain, sailing around the chaos in front of the planet to target the Coalition’s main formation directly.

“Screens,” she mumbled.

Star of Serenno’s crew understood her tacit command perfectly. Four Diamond-class cruisers raced forward to cover the line. Calli clenched her jaw as she watched their point defence cannons shifting fire to the mass of naval bombers closing in. In all of her experience, there was little sight more alarming than an incoming bomber formation. It only took a handful to slip through the net, after all.

“Divert power to particle shields,” she ordered just to be safe, “Redeploy our bombers to target those carriers.”

Tex’s pitiless photoreceptors scanned the tactical holo, “The carriers still have their combat patrols. I calculate that this will result in heavy losses for our snubfighter assets.”

Calli rubbed her chin, resting on an arm, “Unfortunate. But it will draw away the enemy starfighters; they cannot risk their carriers. That should give us the opening to deal with these battleships… did we pull anything from their databanks?”

Tex’s servos whirred as he clanked towards the comms droid, leaning over its shoulder, “Tector-class Star Destroyer, flagship Gibbon. You were correct, Commander, these ships weren’t supposed to be deployed yet.”

“Mmh,” she hummed quietly, watching the Hyenas stream out of the Jerejak in a protective swarm, rearmed and dashing towards the unguarded Jedi cruisers, “Relay all of it to Columex.”

As she had planned, the Republic’s V-19s hastily peeled off their dogfights, taking significant losses as they raced to intercept the marauding Hyenas before the carriers could be struck. From the corner of her eye, Calli saw the NTB-630s flinch at the torrent of laser fire unleashed by the Diamond cruisers, their commander electing to circle around and regroup. She smirked in satisfaction.

One that fell soon after, as Sarissa and three more cruisers surged out of the Salvaran formation, drive signatures intensifying as the Dreadnaught pounced on the Tectors, turbolaser batteries thundering.

“What is he doing?” she frowned severely, “Get me direct comms with Sarissa’s bridge.”

“Roger roger.”

A miniature of Admiral Trench appeared in front of her, his arachnid features visibly pleased, “Well done, Commander! Shall we put these Star Destroyers to rest?”

“Return to your battle line, Admiral,” Calli did not share his enthusiasm, “You are jeopardising our entire strategy!”

Admiral Trench tempered his features, clicking his mandibles, “And what is our strategy, Commander, if not the destruction of the Republic fleet?”

“To hold this planet as long as possible,” she forced out, “And ultimately, lose. Salvara must fall if Commodore Bonteri’s plan is to proceed.”

The plan to put his master on the chair of the Supreme Commander. Calli had put herself in an advantageous position. Nobody expects her to win here; as long as she savages the Republic vanguard at Salvara, she will be hailed as a hero. If Rain’s plan ultimately succeeds, she will undoubtedly receive a high position in the Pantoran’s general staff. If his plan falls apart, however, then nobody can impugn the honour of an officer following orders. Quite brilliantly to boot, if she might add.

One outcome was favourable over the other, but Calli Trilm wins either way.

“Rain Bonteri?” Admiral Trench’s five eyes narrowed, his single ocular camera extending to inspect her face, “A capable, if reckless, fleet officer. But I have my doubts about his strategic wisdom. Must I question this plan? How much do you trust this man?”

“Trust?” Calli echoed blandly, “As far as I can throw him.”

“Forgive me,” Trench seemed to lean back in mild surprise, “Not trust. How much do you know him?”

How much do I know Rain Bonteri? Absolutely nothing, Calli decided humourlessly. She dared say nobody did, not truly. Rain always kept his ambitions, his wants, and his true faces under a tight leash. He always made sure nobody saw anything more than what they wanted to see in him.

But how much does she know about him? Everything. How his resting face was a blank sheet of paper, when he thought nobody was looking, and how he draws his expression the moment he wants something. How he pinches or scratches his cheeks when he was nervous, or deep in thought. How he keeps braids his hair on normal days, but ties it into a neat ponytail when meeting someone he wants to please.

Even how he can’t help that adorable surprised face when put on the spot. Or how he loathes his homeworld, right up until somebody dares to besmirch Onderon, and he turns into a vindictive pillar of ice.

“Well enough,” she boiled a complicated three year long relationship into two succinct words, “To speak of his judgement, he realised you were here after a mere mention of Doctor Cratala. Is that enough?”

Trench watched her carefully, before finding whatever he was looking for.

“Very well,” he conceded, “I shall trust that your Coalition has the Confederacy’s best interests in mind.”

His holoprojection shrunk, and Calli drew her gaze back to the tactical holo, where she could observe her bomber wings being whittled away by a withering starfighter assault. Closer, Admiral Trench brought his heavy cruisers around, but not before presenting broadsides and unleashing a spiteful hail of crimson bolts into the Tectors.

“Tell Ground Control to hold their fire,” she commanded, “How many battleships did we get?”

“We aren’t picking up any signatures from three ships,” Tex dutifully relayed, “One ship, the Condor, is still active, but isn’t able to restart their engines.”

“Let the rest retreat,” she said, “Have the Tirones prep missiles and aim for Condor’s pilothouse.”

“By your command.”

“Reform the line,” she stretched her back like a languishing cat, “Now we wait for their second assault.”