Sublight Drive (Star Wars)

Chapter 40

Onderon, Japrael System

Japrael Sector

Saw wasn’t stupid. He wouldn’t deny that Steela has always been the clever one between the two of them, but that didn’t mean he was dumb. Saw and his sister, they were raised as hunters, and you don’t survive for weeks in the wilds without learning quickly. Steela planned the hunting, and Saw did the hunting. But improvisation was a necessary skill, and he picked it up the first time he stared down a mother grefna standing over her nest.

…The mother was supposed to be gone, see.. Hunts involved dozens of people, and not all knew each other, so something went wrong somewhere up the chain, and two good men found themselves on the wrong end of a grefna’s beak. Or horn. Or claws. Saw couldn’t remember; he barely escaped with his own life.

In any case, he learnt to be observant from that day on. A nifty skill, because that was essentially the one thing you had to be good at on the back of a ruping. And as a rider, let’s just say a rider can’t hide from another the same way a ruping can’t hide its wings.

So the moment he saw Alvera walking like a midday drunk he knew he was looking at a woman who spent more time fifteen thousand feet in the sky than on dirt. He knew what it felt like, when your inner ear was constantly self-correcting for a wobble that wasn’t there because it hadn’t gotten the bloody memo that the ground was solid yet.

Now that got him thinking; Alvera was a rider. Guardsmen were the elites of the Royal Army, and far be it for Saw to presume anything but he wouldn’t be surprised if they could ride rupings far better than any hunter could. There was just one slight problem with that, and the problem is that he didn’t know what it was.

It was just a gut feeling, but Saw has since learnt that gut feelings were more reliable than people gave them credit for. It kept the ancient Onderonians alive, didn’t it? It kept him alive.

He found her in the shadow of a stone column, in the middle of the ruined fortress that served as one of their waypoints. The name of the fortress has been lost to time, but these days it served as a hunters’ camp or simply a traveller’s waypoint for any party coming through this part of the woods. It was easy enough, disguising a rebel cell as another hunting party. But they also couldn’t stay long. First light, and they’d be off to the eastern highlands, where their base–the Nest–was.

This old place? Just the rendezvous location for his and Hutch’s cells. They waited a bit longer for Steela and Dono to show up… but they didn’t, and now they could only hope to the purple king that those two still had their heads on their shoulders.

And see, those two were the smartest people Saw knew. They had a way with words, and could probably manage to get the truth out of Alvera without even making her realise it. Saw… didn’t have a way with words. Which was why he preferred the straightforward approach–the kind with a blaster held behind his back.

“You’re a beast rider, aren’t you?”

The defector snapped up, slowly bringing her arms down from her face, one hand curled in a loose fist. If there was something in that hand, Saw couldn’t see anything in the darkness.

“How would you know if I was?” Alvera returned.

Saw crossed his arms, “The girl up there is my mount.”

He nodded at the mottled ruping nesting in the understory above them. Alvera casted her gaze after him, shifting her balance again,

“There’s a saying, isn’t there?” she huffed, “The one about a ruping and its wings.”

“You’re not a ruping rider,” Saw denied, “You get the stiff from rupings, not whatever you have.”

Her fist clenched–beeeep–and Saw drew his blaster with the speed of a starving pritarr. The blaster purred as its energy pack warmed up, aimed squarely at the shock of rusted red hair visible against the murk.

“And if you’re not a ruping rider, you’re not a guardsman,” he finished, finger curling around the trigger.

“I was not lying,” Alvera said far too calmly, “I was a guardsman.”

“Which one is it?” he demanded, jabbing the blaster forward, “Your Space Force. What warbeast is it?”

“You know quite a bit for an Izizian.”

“Warbeasts aren’t so rare outside the walls. We find them as far as Dox Piter,” Saw swallowed, eyeing for a blaster on her body, “Now what warbeast is it?”

“Dxunian raptor,” she stepped back, one arm against the column to keep herself steady.

He swore loudly. By the Four Moons, this couldn’t get any worse. None of Onderon’s flying warbeasts were easy to handle, but Dxunian raptors were the worst of them all. Rupings were loyal to their deaths, drexls were gargantuan and pants-shittingly terrifying in person, but simple enough to keep appeased if you kept them fed. But skreev? They attacked anything that looked at them wrong.

Adult drexls were dangerous, but cautious. At their size, even a small wound could kill them, due to infection. It was why they loved humans back in the day–small, defenceless humans. When they didn’t have to hunt, they hibernated. Raptors on the other hand, hunted for sport. Saw once saw a raptor pick a fight with a drexl five times its size on a hunt, for no other reason than because it could. He didn’t linger around longer–because he enjoyed his body in one piece–but he figured it wasn’t long before both were run down by either the Beast-Lords or Space Force.

Another raptor that went down in legend was Wodnakki, who was said to have grown as large as a drexl. It terrorised the eastern highlands for years, before Queen Lina was forced to marshal the entire Royal Army in order to put it down. Drexls were predictable, skreevs were not. Vicious buggers.

Most importantly right now, however, is that they had single riders. Which meant, unlike drexls who could have up to twenty or so, that raptor could be following its owner. And stalking them.

“Where is it right now?”

“You shoot me, and you’re going to find out.”

“You’re bluffing,” Saw accused, “Raptors aren’t loyal. It’d sooner fly off before attacking us.”

“You want to take that chance?” she shot back, “Your people are tired. You have pack animals and burdenbeasts. My Red Galia is seventy feet across and starving.”

Stang, she’s right. Alvera had been with them all this while; that meant the raptor was unattended and mostly unfed. Saw involuntarily flinched at the thought, glancing upwards into the canopy, under some illusion that he could find a Dxunian raptor that didn’t want to be found. Could he warn the camp before she could whistle? There were hundreds of them, and only one raptor–but that wouldn’t matter if only a handful were left by the time they put down the monster.

Alvera moved again, and Saw cursed himself for his lack of attention; “Drop whatever you’re holding, now! Hands where I can see them!”

The defector made a childish face, unrolling her palms as she raised them in front of her, letting a small device fall onto the moss. A glaring red dot blinked in the darkness. Comlink. Saw stomped down and crushed it.

“I underestimated you,” Alvera said sourly, with a languish that made him uneasy, “I thought your sister was the hard part.”

“Steela prefers to see the best in everyone. It makes her an effective leader,” Saw circled around her as if she was a wild animal, jabbing the blaster into her back and nudging her towards the camp, “I see people for what they show. You’re the one who planted the idea that we should find help from the Jedi, and now Steela and Dono are missing.”

“It was a good idea!” she protested, “You can’t deny you were convinced a bit.”

“I should’ve realised sooner,” Saw snarled into her ear, “You led the two of them right into your people’s arms– if they aren’t already dead!”

“They have a good head on their shoulders,” Alvera laughed, “If your sister is as clever as I give her credit for, she’ll stay alive by being useful.”

Saw froze, and for a moment it felt as if liquid spice had been injected into him, flooding his bloodstream and hazing into his vision. His finger curled around the trigger, though Alvera wouldn’t know it, and he considered putting her down right there.

“You don’t know what you are talking about!” he roared, “Steela would never betray us–!”

The silence that followed was loud. You idiot, he scolded himself, you let her get under your skin too easily. The branches rustled overhead, and Saw tore his aim away and up, fully expecting to find himself face-to-face with a salivating Dxunian raptor. But there was nothing overhead, except maybe the odd Izizian monkey wondering what they were doing.

“...Wait,” he snapped his blaster back, “Is your skreev even here?”

Alvera snickered, “Your little rebellion means nothing, Gerrera. You are so petty. Billions of men are dying out there, but you would put your pride over the entire galaxy.”

“A meaningless number. We all know that. Why should we care what happens out there?” Saw clenched his jaw, “The galaxy didn’t care about us. We would have lived as we always did, until your opportunistic and greedy nobles bit the first kriffing worm Dooku threw at us. Our own streets no longer belong to us!”

The spy shook her head, “The sooner the war ends, the sooner those droids leave.”

“Don’t tell me you believe that ‘security’ famba-shit they are trying to feed us,” he scoffed, “Those droids are building bases in our jungles! If we don’t drive them out, they will be here to stay.”

Alvera sighed, shoulders rising and falling. For a second, he thought he had gotten through to her–

“No point reasoning with the unreasonable,” she mumbled.

“Unreasonable!? No, obviously we are unreasonable. You haven’t been in Iziz for a year, you Unifar-damned exile. You don’t know what it's like to live with a droid watching your every move, their boots pressing down on your neck–!”

–BOOM–the forest shuddered, with even the tallest and mightiest sentinels and monarch trees shuddering. A sharp wind pierced through undergrowth from above, followed by a torrent of fruits and nuts, plummeting from up high and thumping against the moss. Saw hastily ducked beneath a low-hanging tree, spying Alvera mirroring his action with a nearby arch.

–BOOM–another thunderous clap echoed through the forest. Their camp’s rupings screamed, blasting off their lofty perches amidst falling leaves ablaze in hues of amber, purple, and gold.

“Saw!” Hutch shouted at him, dashing across the forest floor as he dodged vine nuts large enough to cave his skull in, “We’ve got a situation!”

Saw stared at Alvera, whose grim expression did not bely the tone she had used with him beforehand. His mind flashed to the comlink she had, and then at the rupings who had uncharacteristically scattered like pikobis at the first sign of trouble. Whatever rage he had left in him bled away into a panicked chill. Not frightened–he wasn’t frightened. Just worried.

Because the only thing that can make rupings flee like that were–

“Warbeasts,” he whispered.

Hutch nodded, swallowing thickly, “What do we do, boss?”

“How many are there?”

“J-Just one, but it’s large enough to–”

The world disappeared before his eyes. What rare sunlight there was filtering through the emerald canopy were snuffed out as a soaring shadow engulfed them, accompanied by a tearing wind that raced through the undergrowth, sweeping up everything before it and literally bending the ancient trees to its will. It had always been dark in the jungle, but right then it was as if day turned to twilight, then downright nocturnal. It had only been for a second, maybe two, but when you were beneath a scouring drexl it could’ve been a lifetime.

“Are you sure they are after us?” Saw asked harshly.

“If they weren’t, then they had definitely seen our rupings,” Hutch answered, voice hushed for no reason, “Our mounts still had harnesses.”

Another undercurrent of wind whipped through the brush in the damning silence of the wildlife. Saw could feel a primaeval fear in his bones, as the flying tyrant slowly yawned around, beating its wings a single time like a drumbeat against the world.

“What should we do!?” Hutch demanded, unabashed terror in his voice.

There wasn’t any possible answer. There wasn’t any time to do anything. The warbeast crashed through the forest in a wall of impenetrable scales without end, claws slicing through the foliage while its thrashing tail ripped through gnarled branches and towering trunks in order to carve out space for its colossal form. Unhindered sunlight glared down, illuminating the wavefront of dust and debris, as the forest’s protective canopy found a new dragon-shaped hole in it.

The warbeast writhed behind the dust, tearing up everything in its path as it dragged itself on towards the camp. Saw swallowed. The entire camp was silent as death as the monster’s pincers snapped through the fog, its mouthful of tendrils licking up the bracken in search of prey. Drexls had poor eyesight, and frozen as statues they could only hope it would sense their presence with its disgusting feelers.

“Cityfolk!” an accented voice howled from the top of the warbeast, “Your machines steal our wilds, and now you march an army to our lands! State your piece; would you leave, or have war!?”

Saw snapped his head towards Alvera, whose grim had deepened into a murderous scowl. He could have laughed. The Demon Moon was smiling upon them. These weren't the Space Force, these were Beast Riders, the very people they were seeking out.

He sucked in a breath, and marched out of the shadows, feeling the anxious gazes of well over a hundred comrades fixed on his back.

The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

“Beast Rider!” he shouted up at the monster, “The machines have already taken the city, and we now must seek refuge in your wilds!”

A tall, lithe figure leapt off the warbeast’s back, catching its protruding spines on the way down to slow his descent. A mask carved out of dxunwood, depicting a savage pritarr, regarded him warily. The Beast-Lord hefted his carbine, the gleaming ammo belt slung over his shoulder clanging against his tactical gear as he did.

“You do?” the masked Beast Rider asked, “Then the Amroth Clan welcomes you. The cowardly Clazca and faithless Ezelk have slept with the machine. We will not, and all who fight them are friends of ours.”

Vindication soared in his soul, followed by punishing regret. If only Steela had believed me! If only I had convinced her!

“We seek only safe refuge,” Saw decided to tread evenly. Offending the man with the three-hundred foot devourer wasn’t wise for his health, after all, “Until we can take back our city in the name of the rightful king.”

“There is only one rightful king!” the Amroth declared, offering a weathered hand, “Our Beast-Lords, the Kira Clan, will be pleased by your fealty.”

Kira Clan–the House of Kira!? Saw’s breath hitched, and it took every fibre in his body to not cough out his lungs. Was he talking about the House of Kira, the founders of the royal dynasty? They were vying for the Royal Court? He couldn’t even begin to imagine who the current Lord of Kira was; he doubted even the Houses did… in fact, the House of Kira didn’t respond to the royal summons, did they?

Saw and Steela wanted to return Ramsis Dendup to the throne because he would surely expel the droids, but if there was a Kira who wanted the throne as well… was there anybody in Japrael that could stop them? He could feel the camp cautiously emerging from the brush, their expectations laid on him with all the pressure of a warbeast’s stare. You should be here, Steela, he lamented, you always knew what people were thinking. You would have made the right decision.

Saw could only make what he thought was the right decision. He glanced over his shoulder–first seeing Hutch nod shallowly, then at the empty spot where Alvera once stood. She was nowhere to be seen.

He swallowed. She’s gone, and that means our movement is on borrowed time. The droids will soon come down on us with all the wrath of Dxun. The only way out… to survive…

“You have our allegiance,” Saw announced loudly.

The Beast Rider was grinning beneath his mask, and the warbeast released a low croon that he never realised a warbeast could make; “Then we make for Kira Fortress, warrior.”

⁂

“You’re fucking kidding me.”

The Clazca Warlord, Olko Baz, shook his head, “The Amroth and Dor-Drel have summoned their warriors for battle. They see the Ezelk Clan’s arrangement with your machines as a sign of cowardice.”

“Not a single droid has stepped onto Amroth or Dor-Drel lands!” Vander fumed, “This has nothing to do with them!”

Olko grimaced, “Fear makes men unwise, warrior.”

Vander swore, “By the purple king’s balls! How many warriors do they have between them?”

“The Amroth have at least forty wings of warbeasts,” the Clazca replied, “The Dor-Drel’s numbers are unknown. They settle beyond the highlands.”

“At least two-thousand warriors and berserkers from the Amroth alone,” I mumbled, “...Wait, why have they even summoned their warriors? We have not trespassed on their lands.”

Olko’s expression dropped a shade darker, “The Amroth and Dor-Drel would never unite. War is the only history between the plainsfolk and mountainfolk. For them to have allied could only mean there is a greater power behind them. And there is only one power that can still unite the Beast Rider Clans.”

I seized Vander’s shoulder and spun him around, whispering harshly, “Where are the Jedi!?”

“I sent them back on my swiftest warbeast,” the warbeast Captain slapped my hand away, “They will arrive in Iziz before nightfall. All of them will attend the prisoner exchange, as planned.”

I blew out a breath, “You realise what he means, right?”

“The House of Kira is behind this,” Vander answered, sounding none too happy about it, “Those uppity bastards retreated from Iziz for a hundred years, then come back thinking they can take our throne just because they are Kirans. At least now we know why they didn’t respond to King Rash’s summons–they have their hands full preparing for a civil war!”

It was difficult to predict the House of Kira’s next actions, mostly because nobody knew what the House of Kira even was at this point. Vander wasn’t lying when he said they retreated from Izizian politics; after the House of Dendup displaced them, they withdrew all their bannermen from Iziz and holed up in their mountain city for the next hundred years. Not a single Kira has been seen in the city since then.

Alas, there was a greater issue at hand;

“There’s a good chance a sizable chunk of the Royal Court will side with the Kirans on the basis that they are Kirans,” I grunted, “And we can’t have a planetary political crisis at the same time as a galactic political crisis is being resolved on said planet.”

The way I saw it, we had two real options; hope to God the Kirans had the decency to wait until the Republic and Confederate delegations left before plunging Onderon into Civil War, or nip them in the bud right now. I was leaning towards the second option.

And Vander knew it as well.

“We have five-thousand men in Jyrenne, excluding droids,” he said loudly, inviting Olko Baz back into the conversation, “If the Clazca allow us through their lands, we can reach Kira Fortress in days. It might take weeks or months to siege them down, but at least we can bottle them up far away from Iziz and buy time for the summit.”

“I will speak with my elders,” Olko rubbed his fists, “To fight the Amroth, they will give anything. Our only demand is that no machines are to blacken our forests.”

“No machines,” I promised.

The Beast Rider Clans were mobilising because of the droid threat, and the House of Kira was exploiting that fear and directing it towards the current monarch. Sending droids would only deepen the control the Kirans had over the Amroth and Dor-Drel, and what we needed was the direct opposite.

“Get your riders to Kira Fortress, but don’t engage,” I ordered Vander, “Just keep them occupied until our army arrives. Will the Clazca join us?”

“We have twenty-six wings ready to fly at the horn,” Olko Baz grinned with red-stained teeth.

That was thirteen-hundred riders against the Amroth Clan’s two-thousand. We had five-thousand soldiers ready to march, but had no idea how many the House of Kira could field. Not to mention that to march against arguably the most powerful and influential House on the planet… I was going to need royal sanction, which hopefully also meant the Royal Army would join us.

“We’ll march at first light,” Vander slapped me on the back, “And you… get permission from the Lord General, so that we aren’t declared traitors to the realm.”

As Olko Baz returned to his warbeast, I fished out my comlink, “General Tandin, I’m going to be borrowing your army.”

A fizz of static, then a response; “What are you doing now, Bonteri?”

“I’m not doing anything,” I took in the twilight setting over Jyrenne, as claxons blared and guardsmen scampered to the briefing rooms, “The Clazca came to us. The Amroth have begun making moves against them, and the Dor-Drel are coming down the mountains. We suspect the Kirans are behind it.”

“That’s because you marched the droid armies in the wilds.”

“Don’t argue with me, sir,” I gritted my teeth, “You knew it was the best decision we could make. I want to get the story straight with the Kirans, but they’ve isolated themselves from the world. I need your permission to take the Jyrenne Army and besiege Kira Fortress. At least that way we can occupy them until the summit is over, however many weeks it takes.”

“...I did not expect the House of Kira to act so quickly.”

“You knew they would do this?” I demanded.

“It’s my job to, Bonteri. With this, we finally have a reason to subjugate the rebellious Beast-Lords and ‘reintroduce’ the Kirans to Onderonian society. Iziz’s authority will not be challenged again. Take the Jyrenne Army, and make sure the prisoner exchange tomorrow isn’t interrupted at any cost. I join you at Kira Fortress.”

Asshole. Was this why he agreed to withdraw the droid army so easily, to manufacture a war with the Beast-Lords? I couldn’t believe it, because Tandin was a royalist, not a jingoist. He knew better than anyone that Onderon didn’t need a war. And what the hell did the prisoner exchange have anything to do at a time like this? I could only afford one conclusion; he knew something I didn’t. And he had a plan I was an unwilling participant of.

I wasn’t exactly worried, because if I knew anything about General Tandin it was that he always knew what he was doing. But that didn’t mean I wasn’t pissed, because I don’t know what he’s doing, and in a galaxy as fucked up as this there was little more I despised than not being in control of the situation. Because in a galaxy rife with lethal surprises hiding behind every corner, I needed to be aware of every corner to stay alive.

I was already a piece in General Tandin’s game. I wasn’t about to let my game spin out of my fingers too.

The prisoner exchange… right, the Jedi. After the Jedi left, the prisoners were sent to Iziz on barges after them in preparation for tomorrow. Maybe… maybe Tandin was telling me to stay in my field. While I was charged with the overall security of the summit, I don’t think I was supposed to expect an honest-to-God civil war. And yet, that’s what I now had to prevent

Which brings me back to the Jedi, and the rebels, which was my situation to control. And, man, Anakin Skywalker has a Padawan? Since when? Who in their right mind would give this homicidal child an apprentice? Obi-Wan was a surprise too, but I could buy that. I was under no illusions, the galaxy was not the same as the movies anymore. Something changed to give them Padawans–I was probably the cause, through some inconceivable long domino chain–and now Anakin Skywalker was a mentor.

From what little I could glean off the girl, Tallisibeth, he’s grown to care about her… which is good, but caring too much was also the exact thing that turned him into a nuclear bomb in the first place. As for Obi-Wan and Ahsoka… I didn’t really care, I only asked her because I didn’t want to raise the Jedi’s suspicions, and wanted to pass off as a naturally curious person wanting to know more about child soldiers.

I dialled Verala’s comlink, and waited for a response.

In any case, the Kiran plays were out of my hands–General Tandin made sure of that–but I could still do my job and manage the situation with the Jedi and rebels. Bloody rebels. I still had to think of a fitting punishment once I had them in chains. Preferably something ironic, so at least my unpaid overtime could be recompensed by a dose of emotional catharsis.

Onderon was a monarchy, and public execution would be the norm. But that was what I was trying to avoid. The rebels knew if they got captured, the only fate that would await them was their heads rolling down the steps of Yolahn Square. I had to give them a way out, yet also dispense punishment severe enough for the Royal Court to swallow. A hard ask.

My comlink flashed red. No answer. My gut sank; it wasn’t ‘no response’ but ‘receiver unavailable’ which either meant Verala’s comlink was out of juice, or it had been broken. The latter was more likely, and could only suggest that she had been compromised by the rebels.

Nothing’s going my way, it seems. Which means its time to improvise.

Verala was an old friend, and grappling with the idea that I may have just sent her to her death was not an easy one. She was in trouble, no doubt about it, but I also doubted someone of her calibre would allow herself to be captured by some ragtag rebels. If nothing else, she had that Dxunian raptor of hers. Nasty creature. Almost had my right arm for breakfast, once.

Alright Rain, time to use that brain of yours. If you were a rebel with limited resources, trying to overthrow a government, what would you do? Well, I would seek allies right…

Allies? Jedi? A lightbulb flashed in my head–Verala warned me that the rebels were going to contact the Jedi! Which could only mean there were still rebels in the city. Would the Jedi accept? They would be foolish too, and Plo Koon and Obi-Wan seemed to have good heads on their shoulders. The wildcard was Anakin Skywalker. I thought I had a handle on his character, but my brief and enlightening exchange with Tallisibeth brought me back to the drawing board.

And if they couldn’t bring the Jedi into their insurrection, their next move would be to align with the only other power on Onderon; the House of Kira and the Beast-Lords.

This time, I dialled Kavia Slen. Please be awake, please be awake, please be awake.

My comlink beeped green. Yes!

“...?” Kavia made a vague noise from the other end.

“I need you to do something for me,” I immediately said, in a tone that would brook no argument.

“If this has to do with the Kirans, the Lord General told me to tell you–”

“Nothing about them,” I hastily rebuked, “I need you to find the rebels. They are going to show themselves tomorrow, during the exchange.”

That, at least, made Kavia pause, “...Is this confirmed?”

“Yes,” I lied bluntly.

“Understood,” a hard edge crept back into her speech, “I will personally eliminate them.”

“Uh, no you won’t?” I coughed, “You can capture them, but only after they contact the Jedi.”

“...Permission to speak freely?”

I sighed, “We need to know the rebels’ plan, Kavia. Their first option is to ask the Jedi for help, and their second is to seek asylum at Kira Fortress. They’ll ask the Jedi, and if the Jedi bite, you can swoop in and arrest them all. Create a diplomatic incident if you prefer–though I’d rather you not–and get us the upper hand in the negotiations. If the Jedi don’t bite, then that’s one loose end tied up, and I can focus on the Kiran problem without having to look over my shoulder. Does that answer your question?”

“...Yes sir,” she replied somewhat flatly, “I’ll see what men are still awake at this hour and arrange a rebel hunt. If we start the search tomorrow, it may be too late.”

“Sorry about this,” I apologised, genuinely. Because I was now the one handing out overtime, and I could imagine Kavia dragging herself out of bed right at this moment to carry out some dumbass order her superior was demanding at an ungodly time, “I’ll recompense your squad later.”

“We’re guardsmen, sir. Things may have worked differently in the noble castes and Space Force, but try not to insult us. Duty has little to do recompensation.”

“I doubt getting pinned onto a Separatist admiral has much to do with Onderonian duty.”

“I volunteered.”

Now that took me by surprise– “You did? I assumed Tandin just assigned you to me. Why did you volunteer for this thankless role?”

“...This may be unpatriotic of me to say, sir,” Kavia started after some initial hesitation, “But I want to get off this world. Me and my squad. The Royal Court dished out Ov Taraba scholarships and credit grants for engineering, astrography, planetary science, and similar courses.”

“I know,” I answered, “After the Treaty of Iziz with the Confederacy, they had the funds to finally get to work on their uplifting program. They started with the basics, didn’t they? Education. It’s a good plan.”

“It started the year you left,” Kavia admitted, “And a lot of us in the Army were granted military scholarships to return to Ov Taraba for them. Thing is, sir, all this knowledge is useless on Onderon. I have a degree in starship engineering, but what in Unifar’s name does that have to do with taming rupings? My buddy has a degree in astrogation, but he’s never even entered orbit before. Some went to the Space Force, but most of us didn’t–you must know its reputation.”

“The involuntary home of exiles and outcasts,” I agreed sympathetically.

“And look, with all these damned droids in Iziz now? We want out. You coming back? It’s our chance to leave. So we volunteered. If you’re still up on that compensation offer–” she barked out a wry laugh, “–Then I hope you consider saving us a place on your ship before you leave.”

A low thrum reverberated through Jyrenne Base, gravel quivering at my feet. Suddenly, the forest exploded into light, flocks of birds erupting into the air as waves of force boomed outwards. The thrum rose into a whine as pump drives roared to life, blinding searchlights scouring the treeline with artificial daylight.

Screeching warbeasts took to the air first. Large drexls and skreevs, who could fly for days without rest with their massive wings. Next came the troopships, more alike repulsors and thrusters taped onto cargo containers than actual starships, despite their low orbit capabilities. Then came the patrol carriers, with their wide open hangers–more accurately on-board stables–filled with smaller rupings and raptors, resting for the battle ahead.

Last came one of Onderon’s few bonafide fleet carrier, escorted by two orbital monitors.The device of the Space Force emblazoned on its beaten hull, Amanoa’s Wrath graced the stars with her complement of Aurek-class interceptors. Her antiquated thrusters belched fire and dirty smoke as she hauled herself into the sky.

There was no other starfleet like it in the galaxy. What starfleet, after all, would bear marks of close combat? Amanoa’s Wrath proudly bore her battle scars. Scratches from claws powerful enough to tear its hull, and bite marks large enough to swallow her interceptors whole. I couldn’t name the last time she was modernised, but she was still fighting. Only, this time she’ll earn scars of a different calibre, as her destination wasn’t the Demon Moon.

It was Kira Fortress.

“Tell you what, Kavia,” I said lightly, “I’m watching Onderon’s starships fly to war right now. If you get what I asked for done, I’ll have you a place on my flagship.”

“Don’t eat your words later, sir.”

I won’t. Not for something this trivial, anyway. First things first, though; making sure the summit remains unmolested for the foreseeable future. God, I hope someone was appreciating our efforts. Not just mine, but for all the sorry Onderonians having to pull out all the stops for a war that meant nothing to them…

Whatever. Kavia will mop up any rebels still in the city, and I will catch the opportunistic rebels trying to take advantage of whatever the Kirans were planning… just couldn’t make it easy for me, could you?