Sublight Drive (Star Wars)

Serenno Orbit, Serenno System

D’Astan Sector

The skies over Serenno were ablaze with war.

The great, proud world hung like a wounded jewel in the void, its pale surface marred by the fiery streaks of falling debris and the brilliant flashes of battle, silver moonlight blotted out by great behemoths of steel. Above it, the black of space was alive with fire, like a wick burning from the ends of the galactic spirals. The voice of battle was ever raised in a soundless roar as formations collided, broke apart, and reformed in tireless repetition. Turbolasers carved through the black with searing fury, lances of light streaking toward shields that shimmered under the impact. Missiles and torpedoes spiraled in fiery trails, impulse drives sputtering in great purple-blue arcs before erupting against the hulls of warships in brilliant bursts. Tractor beams lashed out invisibly, gripping ships like the talons and dragging them into the crushing embrace of superior firepower.

It was a relentless fight for control over planet Serenno’s orbital zone.

On one side, the Republic Expeditionary Fleet was a spear thrust into the heart of the Separatist line, its vanguard hammering deep into the enemy formation. At its tip, General Plo Koon’s flagship, the Hyperion, bristled with defiance, her shields flaring with each glancing blow as it drove ever deeper into the chaos. Behind her, the wedge-shaped fleet carved through the Separatist defenses like a blade, leaving wreckage and frozen debris in its wake. For every second they held the breach open, hundreds of troopships descended planetside.

But the Separatist captaincies were not without their cunning. With able facility, the Serennian Security Forces promptly turned the situation to their advantage, reforming the two halves of their broken line into an open jaw primed to clench its dagger-shaped teeth and bite off the overextended Republic vanguard. Their flanking wings, composed of Lucrehulk-class battleships and Munificent-class frigates, began to close in, their fire converging on the Republic vanguard from both sides. The space between the ships turned into a cauldron of fire, where turbolasers thundered as starfighters weaved and spun between them, trails of exhaust streaking in hazy lines across the black.

Clone pilots called out frantic warnings, their voices cutting through the din of battle over the comms.

“Vulture droids incoming–bearing three-seven-zero!”

“Blue Leader, we’ve lost shields–!”

Squadrons of Vulture droids swarmed like angry insects, their blasters peppering the Republic Y-wings whilst Serennian bombers launched curtains of torpedoes against warships. ARC-170 starfighters scrambled to intercept, their rear gunners picking off droids as the dogfights spiraled closer and closer to the beleaguered capital ships.

The Separatists were relentless. To their captains, the Republic had just committed a juvenile mistake in the art of siege warfare; they launched their planetary assault before securing orbital control first. Whereas they could commit everything they had to closing the breach, the Loyalists had to contend with both contesting orbit and also protecting their transports and supply lines.

Not that the Republic made it an effortless endeavour for the Separatists. The ‘iron fist’ and ‘steel claws’ of the Republic Navy were the heaviest conventional warships in the galaxy, and easily stood toe-to-toe to the worst the Lucrehulks and Providences could hurl at them. Tector and Victory-class Star Destroyers closed their ranks, iron phalanges with pikes of energy, throwing the enemy back time and time again.

A thousand klicks away, Obi-Wan Kenobi could hardly tell what was going on in the vanguard. At the base of the Republic formation, the reserve ships held their positions with grim discipline, their captains glancing nervously at the holoprojectors. They could see the trap forming in real time, the jaws of the Separatist counterattack threatening to snap shut around the vanguard and isolate the spearhead from the rest of the body. It was no surprise to say that every instinct screamed at them to charge forward, to reinforce their brothers and sisters locked in the heart of the battle.

For Republic Navy admirals and captains, it was an instinct borne out of tactical wisdom. Since the arrowhead formation was wider at the base, whereas the Separatist pincer was at the narrow spearhead, simply charging forward would put them at the enemy flank. In fact, many of the captains could see the open broadsides of Separatist battlecruisers directly ahead of them.

For Jedi Generals, however, it was instinct borne simply out of their natural inclination to save their allies. What did it matter, their internal disagreements, when all of them were being chewed down by the enemy?

Not that it mattered, Obi-Wan clenched his jaws, because orders are orders.

And his orders were to maintain his lines of bearing with the rest of the fleet.

“General Kenobi…” Admiral Block eyed him carefully, “The captains are getting nervous.”

“Maintain formation,” the Jedi General’s voice was low and taut, “Until we are ordered otherwise.”

“As the commander of this subformation, we are allowed to execute independent action when the situation demands it,” Admiral Block argued, “It could be that General Plo Koon is under no condition to dispatch orders! Acting now could mean the life or death of our vanguard!”

Just as those very words were uttered, as if the stars were playing tricks on them, Vigilance received a tightbeam transmission from the vanguard. Obi-Wan hastily had it ordered through, already expectant of new orders.

“General Kenobi,” in the heat of battle, there was no hologram visual to be put through, only a crackly, stuttering audio. Not the voice of Plo Koon, as he had expected, but that of a young woman, “These are General Plo Koon’s orders. Disregard all future orders, and maintain the Open Circle Fleet’s station at all cost. The situation will soon develop rapidly, and your forces must be there to receive it promptly. Please read back the instructions.”

Obi-Wan Kenobi was sweating, and he glanced at Admiral Block–whose concern and confusion was worn apparently on his face–nervously. In the turmoil of the Force, he could not discern what Plo Koon’s plan was. All he knew was the severity of the woman’s–Jedi Knight Bultar Swan, he suspected–words.

“The Open Circle will disregard all future orders, and maintain station at all cost,” he read back the command, “Understood… may I ask whether this future ‘situation’ has anything to do with the Separatist superweapon lurking in-system?”

“It does,” Knight Swan answered grimly, “Keep as many of the Jedi warships as close to you as possible, for we may receive an attack from the rear–should our agreement with Admiral Trench fall through. We will be transmitting the command key to the Vigilance now–should both Master Plo or Master Windu be lost or uncontactable, it will be Vigilance’s prerogative to lead an orderly withdrawal from the star system. Is this understood?”

“Understood,” Obi-Wan couldn’t help but wonder if this was the right path, so unlike the Jedi way it was. Secrets and plots swirled around the battle as much as lasers and torpedoes did. With so many factions and shadowed allegiances, he understood that the Jedi had to ‘play by the rules’ in order to survive the turbulent era. Nevertheless, was such a drastic departure from the common sensibilities necessary?

Not that it mattered, Obi-Wan closed his eyes, everything had already been set in motion.

All he could do was wait on the bridge, and watch the fate of the galaxy unfold.

⁂

Toprawa Prime Approach, Toprawa System

Kalamith Sector

“Our pickets have detected traffic transiting the Simpla Star System,” Admiral Trench informed us, “It could be General Grievous, if he were to appear now.”

“It is most certainly Grievous,” I replied, closely observing the star Toprawa Prime, “This is an opportunity that that bloodthirsty robot couldn’t afford to miss.”

I was already formulating a strategy in which to confront him, and picking out possible battlefields in the Toprawa System. I had created a mental profile of Grievous in my head, based on my existing knowledge of him both here and elsewhere–and if that profile was even half-accurate, there was a good chance he’d want to finish what we started.

Which effectively means dangling me out as bait.

“Will this affect your grand stratagem?” Trench questioned.

“Who do you take me for?” I kept the taken offense out of my voice, “Of course it won’t. I’ve taken him into account already. Both you and Diedrich will continue on to the Serenno Star System and follow the plan I’ve laid out. Give me three-hundred warships, and I’ll pin Grievous right here in Toprawa.”

“How will we know the signal to execute the plan?” the Old Spider continued incessantly questioning me, as if he couldn’t quite place his full trust in the strategy I had laid out.

Diedrich Greyshade, ever-reliable as he was however, didn’t hesitate to support me.

“I’ll recognise the signal,” the Columexi Admiral cut in, “I’ve got all my comtechs camping PRIESTESS round-the-clock. Just transfer me the firing codes for the Malevolence, and we should be good.”

“Provided the Jedi are exactly where we need them,” Rear Admiral Merai couldn’t help but comment.

“They should be,” I could sense Diedrich’s frown, “Jedi aren’t exactly known for reneging on agreements.”

“These Jedi are betraying their Republic.”

“Not exactly their Republic anymore,” I said sharply, “They consider the Loyalists traitors, just as we consider the Serenno Government traitors. I’ve already sent Task Force Garland to Phindar Station as you advised.”

“It will be of no concern to us if they are not,” Admiral Trench ultimately decided, as was his prerogative, “Our mission is not to save the Jedi or preserve the ‘true’ Republic, but to secure Serenno and Count Dooku. It is our greatest charge to sanctify the Confederacy by eliminating all of its internal threats. My personal command will take Serenno, the Twenty-Eighth Mobile will secure the Jedi, Merai’s Twenty-First Guards will directly engage the battle and sweep up the remnants–both Loyalist and Serennian.”

“Understood.”

“Copy that!”

“Admiral Bonteri, I will be loaning you three-hundred warships as requested. With the Givin’s seventy Wavecrest, this will bring Task Force Conqueress to three-hundred and seventy warships. Are you certain this will be sufficient to stall General Grievous?”

“If Augur’s maths is correct,” I glanced at the super tactical droid, “It would be enough. And it's not like a ST-series droid is often wrong. That’s why you gave me one.”

“Very well,” Trench chuckled, a terrible, clicking chitter, “I will leave Dooku’s mad dog to you.”

Flashes of Cronau radiation flared all over the holographic repeaters as the Confederate Second Fleet Group inserted into hyperspace, leaving Dodecian Illiet and I alone in the Toprawa Star System, with three-hundred and seventy warships. Augur and I immediately got about scanning the star system for places to battle.

The traditional location would be the orbit of the inhabited planet, in this case Toprawa, but that would only make sense if the planet was the cause of battle itself. In this case, Grievous’ intention wasn't to take Toprawa, but to transit the star system. See, Serenno didn’t lay on any major hyperlane, but was instead a couple parsecs spinward of the Hydian Way, directly west of Toprawa. This meant General Grievous was forced to extract at Toprawa, transit in-system to the spinward egress, and insert again.

Fighting at Toprawa would only incur civilian casualties, something I obviously wanted to avoid.

Another possible location was the spinward egress itself, where I could directly intercept the Grievous Fleet. The problem was that the spinward egress was a massive stretch of empty space, and any engagement would inevitably result in a direct face-to-face brawl for control, which wasn’t my style either. That being said, there was no reason not to prepare the battlespace in advance.

“Dodecian Illiet,” I toggled the comms, “I will have to trouble your division with minelaying the spinward jumpzone to the Serenno Star System. Do not take a reciprocal course upon your return; take the long way around Toprawa Prime instead.”

“Affirmative, Conqueress.”

“Now then,” I slowly leaned back, laying the purple silk of my cape over my lap, “What do you recommend, Augur?”

Augur’s three photoreceptors scanned the system chart closely, internally calculating the best possible astrographical terrain to not only give us the best tactical possibilities but also to strategically block Grievous from simply transiting to the spinward jumpzone.

With all these prerequisites in mind, I was quickly drawn to the obvious conclusion.

“Assessment: Toprawa Prime,” Augur echoed my thoughts, “Its sightlines will allow us to command the entire star system. We can hide Conqueress in its solar radiation, and snipe General Grievous the moment he extracts on the Coreward egress. It doesn’t need to hit; so long as he is aware of our presence, he will understand how dangerous it will be for him to transit whilst in our firing envelopes the entire time.”

I nodded, “Maintain heading to Toprawa Prime.”

It was barely an eight-hour hyperspace transit from Simpla to Toprawa, which meant we were in quite a time crunch to get into position and formation. Soon, I found out, the most difficult part would be convincing the captaincies Trench had loaned me to my ‘madness,’ as they had described it. Fighting with the Perlemian Coalition for so long–which would be no exaggeration to say I had planted and grown myself–I had taken the absolute loyalty and obedience of my subordinate captains for granted. But the steadfast fortitude of Krett wasn’t here anymore, nor the mad eagerness of Horgo Shive. The constant reliability of Vinoc was also acutely missed, fighting a secret campaign in the Deep Core, along with the rational wisdom of Jorm.

And the spacers; the men and women who went through hell and back with me, they were all inherited by Diedrich Greyshade now. These three-hundred warships were captained by strangers, men and women whose names I did not know, and did not trust me entirely. All I knew of them were the specifications of their warships, and all they knew of me was the spelling of my name.

The vast majority of those eight hours were thus spent wrangling all the individual captains to my will, using a mix of reassurances, threats, and leverages of names–both mine and Trench’s. In the end however, I successfully convinced most of them to drive their warships directly into an active star; and the rest fell in line more or less out of peer pressure.

So, with a fleet of 300 ships at my back, I ordered them to press dangerously close to the roiling surface of Toprawa Prime, the star's fiery embrace a looming hazard–and a potential ally I hoped to exploit. To their credit, Trench exercised his fleet well, and the fleet moved in disciplined formation, a jagged phalanx that slowly edged toward the searing brilliance of the star. And it was a real testament to their discipline, because at this proximity Toprawa Prime’s corona was spitting streams of charged particles at us, each tendril of solar wind a chaotic whip of radiation and magnetism. The star's electromagnetic field flared unpredictably, creating violent storms of energy that lashed out at anything within its grasp.

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Sensors buzzed with static interference, and shield generators whined as they adjusted to the relentless bombardment of high-energy particles. The electromagnetic radiation from the star played havoc with our navigational systems and communications; encrypted channels devolved into bursts of static and distortion.

But it worked, and keeping a safe distance at which our ray shields could regulate the temperature, our fleet was completely hidden in Toprawa Prime’s embrace, our hulls glinting like droplets of molten metal against the seething backdrop of the star. Even so, I was sweating, and condensation was forming on Augur’s chestplate. The Skakoan engineers were all but boiling in their pressure suits.

Our ray shields were layers of energy fluctuating in iridescent ripples as they absorbed and deflected the radiation, converting it into excess heat as they do most things, heat which was then transferred to the pressure hull. And then to the inside of the hull.

Unlike most fleets, the vessel with the most powerful scopes in Task Force Conqueress was the flagship herself. As such, if any fleet were to extract at the Coreward egress, Conqueress would be the first to spot it–and fire, obviously. The tension aboard Conqueress was palpable, like the charged atmosphere before a lightning strike. The oppressive heat radiating from Toprawa Prime, combined with the claustrophobic anticipation of battle, had transformed the bridge into a crucible of nerves. Officers murmured their reports, each voice laced with a veneer of professionalism masking an undercurrent of unease.

“Radiation levels holding steady within operational tolerance,” reported Chief Engineer Bunt Dantor, his face glistening with perspiration, “But we’re nearing the limit for prolonged exposure. If the shields destabilize…”

I quickly glanced at the repeaters on my left, “Have our fleet move forward slowly until the conditions improve. I want as little interference on our scopes as possible, whilst remaining hidden by the star.”

At the heart of Conqueress, a Skakoan technician was fine-tuning the long-range sensors, an array more advanced than any other in the fleet. The system emitted a low hum as it processed the star's interference, straining to cut through the electromagnetic noise, eyes fixed on a singular spot in the far distance.

“Admiral,” Captain Gnifmak Dymurra finally called out after what seemed like an age, “We’ve got a reading. It’s faint but unmistakable–a fleet emerging from hyperspace.”

I eagerly leaned forward, “Prep the firing sequence for Number One."

The holographic display flickered to life, plotting the emerging drive cones on the chart. Two-hundred, at least, identified to be Providences, Munificents, and Recusants. Then there was the large one, a massive, unmistakable blotch of radiating light that could only belong to the Devastation. It was General Grievous, no doubt.

“Observation: He suspects our presence,” Augur alerted, “The enemy formation has ample space between their lines of bearing. A critical chain reaction is unlikely.”

“My fears were unfounded,” I replied, “Grievous was not able to rally as much of a substantial force that we had prepared for. More likely than not, the systems of the New Territories see the writing on the wall. So long as we can take out the Devastation, we can envelop and sweep the rest of his meagre fleet out of the way.”

Augur paused in calculation, “...Affirmative. Suggestion: Shall we begin the firing sequence?”

“We shall.”

We took another long hour to extrapolate Devastation’s speed and heading, before Conqueress began to shift beneath our feet, accounting for distance, leading her shot. Data was being synced, the kinetic kill vehicle’s onboard computer receiving its intercept plan and warming up its attitude thrusters. There was a heavy clunk, as the autoloader slid the KKV into the firing chamber.

“We may not hit the target, so be conservative about the power,” I warned, “I expect Number One to be operational after firing.”

“Understood sir!”

The spherical distortion at the cannon’s focal point formed, its gravitational pull bending light into an eerie lensing effect. The telltale sensation of vertigo struck me like a truck, as my sight dilated until it was as if I was looking through a magnifying glass. Still, it was not as bad as last time, and I could only presume I was getting used to it.

"We have a firing solution!"

"Data sync complete!"

"Power levels nominal. Target lock acquired," Augur declared like a herald, "Number One is at fifty-percent charge."

I waved a hand, “Fire when ready.”

Despite my attempted nonchalance, nothing ever quite prepares you for the bone-rattling feeling of a gravitic wavegun opening fire. A moment of absolute silence fell, as though the universe itself had drawn a breath. Then, a cascading pulse tore through the void, causing distant stars to warp and shimmer.

⁂

“Would you look at that,” Diedrich Greyshade laughed, “All lined up nice and neatly for us.”

“Malevolence is yours, Admiral Greyshade,” Admiral Trench told him, referring to the massive Separatist dreadnought in the rear.

Almost five-thousand metres long end to end, the Subjugator-class dreadnought was the Separatist Alliance’s response to the dreadnoughts fielded by the Galactic Republic, equipped with a pair of massive mega-ion cannons located on the warship's port and starboard beam, directly powered by the her solar ionisation reactor and its plasma rotors. Last wielded at the Battle of Columex, Malevolence successfully disabled the Legacy of the Founders, opening up the opportunity for it to be destroyed and turning the tide of the battle.

After two long years, she was finally being wielded again. This time not to destroy the Jedi, but to save them.

“Duly received, Admiral,” Greyshade said, before ordering his fleet; “Twenty-Eighth, forward bow-and-quarter line!”

Battlecruiser Kronprinz deflected her vector towards the Republic starboard quarter, the warships of the Perlemian Coalition following after whilst they shifted into formation, their movements synchronized with the ancient war machine. Behind them, the Malevolence followed, its massive form like a shadow in the vastness of space. Its mega-ion cannons, the most feared weapon in the Second Fleet’s arsenal, seemed to glow with dormant energy.

Even Admiral Trench could envy the absolute loyalty the commanders of the Perlemian Coalition commanded over their captains and spacers. One day, the entire Confederate Armed Forces will be held to that standard, he promised himself. It would be that day, he decided, that the CAF would be the greatest fighting force in the galaxy–past, present, and future.

The Old Spider turned his attention to the task ahead. The Republic had already begun their invasion of Serenno, but Trench would not permit Serenno to fall into Loyalist hands. Serenno was a galactic symbol of Separatism, and it would not do for it to fall to the Republic. Rain Bonteri’s stratagem only covered the rescue of the Jedi, and Trench had no qualms about destroying the rest of the Loyalist fleet.

In fact, he wouldn’t mind destroying the Jedi either. It was only Rain Bonteri’s argument that gave him pause for thought; saving the Jedi here from whatever Coruscant had in store for them would indebt the Jedi Order to the Confederacy of Independent Systems. As much Admiral Trench knew how to win the war, the Confederacy must also win the peace that comes after victory–and that was a monumentally more difficult mission to accomplish.

The Confederacy was a star nation born out of necessity, out of the need to unify against a common threat; the Galactic Republic. Once the war was won… was there a need for a Confederacy of Independent Systems? He already knew many leaders and senators were already asking themselves that question. And unlike the Republic, there was no bylaw preventing the star systems from seceding. Of course there wasn’t! That was the ideal the Separatist Alliance was built upon!

Admiral Trench did not know whether the Supreme Commander, Sev’rance Tann, had already found an answer–but he could certainly find his own. The Jedi Order. The Jedi Order defecting to the Confederacy would be a massive boon in legitimacy, especially in the light of the Republic’s impending collapse.

Certainly, the Old Spider ultimately decided, it would be no harm indebting the Jedi Order to the Separatist Alliance.

“Admiral Merai,” Admiral Trench commanded, “Clear the way!”

“With pleasure, Admiral,” the Mon Cala Rear Admiral replied, “All ships; maximum combat velocity!”

The 21st Guards Fleet, courageous veterans of a dozen fronts, from Bothawui in the south to Mon Calamari in the north and everywhere in between, lined up the noses of their battleships and charged forward in a tight formation. The Expeditionary Fleet’s right flank immediately noticed the introduction of new Separatist combatants to the battlespace, and braced for impact. It must have been a surprise, then, when the 21st Guards raced alongside the Republic flank, their turbolasers swivelling to track an entirely different target:

The left flank of the Serennian Security Forces, helplessly pinned mid-envelopment around the Republic vanguard. Their Lucrehulks hardly had the time to rotate around just in time to see a barrage of missiles thundering out fleet flagship Prosperous’ launchers, crashing through its exhausted shields and tearing the torus-shaped hulls to shreds and rapidly expanding vapour.

As Admiral Merai’s swift assault struck the Serennian warships from an unexpected angle, the 21st Guards first attack was quite literally a blistering one. Its firepower was concentrated to an almost excessive density. When a single battleship–and a single spot on the hull of that battleship–was struck by half a dozen proton torpedoes, how could it possibly defend itself?

The region surrounding the Republic vanguard was made an enveloping swarm of fireballs, and amidst the chaos, Hyperion unleashed broadside after broadside, its guns blazing like the wrath of the stars themselves. Flanking it, Torrent and Judicator poured fire into the advancing Separatist wings, their hulls scarred and shields flickering under the sustained assault. The Republic vanguard certainly felt the sudden relief in pressure, as the Serennian attack crumpled from an outside intervention.

General Plo Koon, sensing a sudden weakness in the Serennian left, commanded the vanguard’s heavily armored battleships–Tectors–lined up in vertical columns to form a protective wall against enemy fire. From the gaps between them, Victory-class Star Destroyers–more weakly armored but with mobility and firepower to spare–laid down a ruthless barrage of return fire.

Just as the captains of the vanguard dared to believe they were seeing the light at the end of the tunnel however, their internal hopes were dashed when they saw exactly who their presumed saviours were. The 21st Guards Fleet roared past, dashing the Serennian remnants against the Loyalist phalanx and curving around the pointed spearhead of the vanguard, as if to interpose itself between the Expeditionary Fleet and the planet Serenno.

General Plo Koon, observing the actions of the Separatist fleet, quickly came to a conclusion of their intentions, and ordered a general withdrawal back to the main body of the Expeditionary Fleet. He was met with an ample amount of protest, certainly, and claims there he was abandoning their ground forces–but it was soon made abundantly clear the situation had been irreversibly thrown head over heels.

It was a testament to Merai’s skill as a tactician that he was able to mold his fleet into a cordon of warships pushing the Republic away from the planet, and opening a new corridor for Admiral Trench’s fleet to pour into the silver-cloud atmosphere of Serenno. To the Republic captaincies–who had been broadly briefed about the relationship between Raxus and Serenno–it must have seemed like Admiral Trench was stealing their grand prize from right under their noses.

A thousand klicks astern, Rear Admiral Diedrich Greyshade’s Twenty-Eighth Mobile Fleet coasted along its vector, inertia carrying them effortlessly alongside the Republic’s starboard beam–where the Open Circle Fleet stretched in a broad line abreast across the entire rearguard. The battle’s chaos raged ahead, distant enough that the Kronprinz’s CIC remained eerily silent, save for the low murmur of officers exchanging updates and the ever-present hum of the ship’s systems.

Greyshade sat at the comms station, a half-eaten sandwich resting on a metal tray beside him. His eyes flicked from the sensor readouts to the decrypted telemetry feed from PRIESTESS. He had been monitoring it casually while eating, skimming for any of the keywords Rain Bonteri had warned them about. But something wasn’t right.

“Is PRIESTESS glitching?” Greyshade murmured, setting his sandwich down slowly. His gaze sharpened. “What is this?”

One of his comtechs frowned as he sifted through the garbled transmissions.

“Sir, it looks like the Coruscanti satellites are…” he hesitated, then swiped across his display to bring up a broader diagnostic, his brow furrowing further, “...transmitting junk data. Corrupted data. Some of it is decryptable, but most of it–look at these packet sizes–it’s deliberate. The sheer amount of bloat is staggering.”

Greyshade’s mind began assembling the pieces, “Someone’s flooding the network. A denial-of-service attack?”

The technician nodded. “That’d be my guess, sir. The intent is obvious–to overload the satellites with artificially bloated data packets, forcing them to choke on their own bandwidth and preventing legitimate transmissions from getting through.”

“How long before Republic Intelligence cleans this up?”

The technician exhaled, rubbing his temple as he considered it, “Hours, at worst. A cyberattack like this isn’t permanent, and they’ll figure out a way to bypass the affected nodes eventually. This is Republic Intelligence we’re talking about.”

Greyshade leaned back in his chair, the gears turning in his mind. This is it!

He pushed himself to his feet, grabbing the intercom handset from its cradle.

“This is Rear Admiral Diedrich Greyshade,” he announced, his voice clipped but firm. “Launch all boarding cutters and dropships. Prep the tractor beams! Malevolence–acquire target lock on the port-most warship of the Open Circle Fleet. Have the portside ion cannon standby for enfilade fire!”

⁂

That’s the Perlemian Coalition, Obi-Wan Kenobi recognised. He knew the painted hulls of the Perlemian from anywhere; just as he could never forget the sight of the Kronprinz. There was, after all, no other warship in the galaxy quite like it. Except, that all paled in the shadow of the Separatist dreadnought, just outside the range of the Open Circle’s turbolaser batteries. He wasn’t at Columex two years ago, but he had certainly heard the rumours surrounding the massive dreadnought, and knew what it's superweapon could do.

“All ships!” Obi-Wan knew Plo Koon had ordered the Open Circle to maintain their stations, but the situation was too severe to ignore, “Divert all power to retrothrusters!”

“They have a target lock on us!” one of the sensor operators cried.

Vigilance strained under its own inertia, desperately pulling back, but Obi-Wan could only watch through the starboard viewports as the Separatist dreadnought pivoted, aligning its colossal ion cannon. The weapon’s circular emitter glowed with a spectral blue radiance, crackling with energy that distorted the very space around it. Streaks of electric fire–like coiled dragons–danced along its circumference, their spirals accelerating, faster and faster and faster–

The ship’s sensors screamed as power levels spiked.

“Divert all shields to the starboard beam!” Admiral Block barked.

Vigilance obeyed, sealing its viewports, their transparisteel darkening to protect against the incoming discharge.

The ion cannon fired.

A deep, soundless roar rippled through space, and a vast disc of energy surged forward–at first only a kilometer across, but expanding rapidly, growing to six kilometers, then twelve, as its charged particles spread outward in an unstoppable tide.

The first to fall was Selfless.

The Open Circle Fleet’s starboard-most vessel tried to resist, its shields flaring in defiance, momentarily brightening as they absorbed the incoming charge. But resistance was futile. The shields buckled, then shattered, as though the ship had been struck by an unseen colossus. Lightning surged across the hull, lancing deep into its systems, frying circuits, overloading relays–engines sputtered and died, leaving Selfless to drift, dark and powerless, a dead vessel in the void.

The ion wave did not stop.

Albedo Brave. Laudable. Tenacious. Each warship in succession convulsed under the impact, their shields collapsing, their systems spasming with erratic discharges. Lights flickered and died. Fire erupted along their hulls in desperate, choking bursts as power grids shorted out. Engines guttered, leaving the proud fleet adrift, their once-formidable formations reduced to helpless wreckage.

Then it was Vigilance’s turn.

“Brace for impact!” Obi-Wan’s voice rang through the bridge, coloured with urgency.

The crew scrambled, locking down their stations, strapping in where they could. The deck trembled beneath them. A rising hum filled the ship, the frequency climbing higher, the air itself growing thick with static. The Force whispered its warning. Obi-Wan felt it reverberate in his chest, but nothing could have prepared him for the sensation of electricity coursing through his blood.

The ion wave hit.

Vigilance’s shields erupted in a blinding cascade of light, overloaded in an instant. Obi-Wan staggered as the ship groaned, its hull vibrating with the sheer force of the impact. The bridge plunged into darkness for half a second–then flickered with failing emergency lights.

And then, the shields collapsed.

Electricity surged through the ship’s circuits like wildfire, overloading every system. Consoles exploded in bursts of sparks, comm stations burst into flames, and the bridge filled with the acrid stink of burning insulation. The reactor’s automatic safeties engaged, preventing a catastrophic overload, but the damage was done.

“Power failure across all decks!” an officer shouted. “Sensors down–weapons offline! Shields won’t cycle!”

Obi-Wan exhaled slowly, the sharp sting of static clinging to his skin, every hair on his arms standing on end. The ship’s hull had held, shielding them from the worst of the ion discharge, but inside? Inside, Vigilance was dead.

Not that weapons and shields mattered now.

Would the atmosphere hold? The artificial gravity? The inertial dampeners?

“Everyone, equip vac suits, now,” Obi-Wan ordered, steady despite the tension thick in the air. “Try to hail our allies–see if anyone can assist.”

The blast doors clanked behind him, and Commander Cody strode in from the Battle Room, his armor smeared with soot, the static charge lingering in the air crackling against his pauldrons.

“General,” Cody saluted, his voice grim, “We’ve got a damage report. Comms are fried. We won’t be sending or receiving anything for a while.”

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