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| - RESIDENTIAL ZONE 88-IB, SUERTH BIOCHEMICALS WAREHOUSE 7184-C CORUSCANT, CORUSCANT SYSTEM The location of the target was rather unusual, for why would a foe attack a particular storage warehouse while there were five other warehouses with mostly the same goods within a two kilometer radius? The media, especially the voracious hounds of HFRC and the Coruscant Newsgrid, had fell upon the scene with the rapture of jinz-addicted nexu, and only a signed judicial order from Judicial had been able to clear out the media spy drones and hoverships. After GAG ships had cleared out the surrounding space once again, Colonel Burseg once again found himself in the midst of a crime so odd to be an enigma. The casualty totals for Suerth Biochemicals: forty guards, fifteen scientists, twenty technicians, and three operator/receptionist droids. Warehouse 7184-C was also unusual in that it was opulent: three stories, its lowest floor decked with splendor: marble, fountains, exotic ferns arrayed across the Suerth Biochemicals logo. Aside was a beautiful receptionist desk laid with gold and silver braidery. Furthermore, from GAG Forensics Division’s preliminary research, the robbery and mass murders had occurred over six hours ago, about 20 minutes after the murder of the two Jedi. Only a routine Suerth delivery droid had found the carnage and reported it. The timing suggested two parties under a single allied command, or with extraordinary timing, the same party striking twice. The possibility of yet a third strike was unlikely, considering that Warehouse 7184-C had been raided a quarter of a standard day ago, but a directive handed down from Homeland Security had ordered all Coruscant-stationed GAG forces on Combat Orange: expectant of imminent combat. What was also troubling was the lack of evidence to lead to the killers: every memory bank, security camera, droid photoreceptor recorder, had been wiped. Magnetized cleaner than an Agamar native’s head. Forensics had found multiple tracks of what appeared to be a variant of the standard paramilitary force combat boot. Aside from that, the murders, and the stealings, nothing could allow Colonel Burseg’s GAG detachment to trace the killers. That was why Colonel Jacen Solo himself had been assigned by Command to find even the slightest sliver of evidence. After HFRC and the others had plastered images of a perfectly untouched warehouse with only crumpled bodies and unlocked doors to the supply storerooms, the public had outcried on the Popular Sovereignty Network - the unofficial “voice of the people” - about the “incompetence” of the GAG. Burseg tutted, Incompetent my ass! By the time that Colonel Solo had arrived on the scene, hundreds of GAG soldiers and analysts were already on-scene, unable to decipher the nonexistent clues, translate them into results that would satisfy the unquenchable, insatiable thirsts of Command. His uniform was not the billowing, dark synthfiber cloak that he typically adapted for field missions. Apparently, he’d listened to Captain Rossan, his tactical advisor, and adopted a more practical tight-cut bodytight jump suit interwoven with titanium armor fibers and radiation-resistant coating. The emblem of the GAG: a valiant silver shield with the Galactic Alliance emblem slightly upraised in the center with two brazen swords crossing over the shield, was affixed to the Colonel’s breast. Beneath were the words: COLONEL JACEN SOLO. There were no other adornments to bring attention to his glory, for the blandness of his two identifiers were sufficient to declare his presence. No, it was not the uniform, but the aura of that Jedi-turned-GAG commander. A GN-6c low-profile high-yield blaster pistol was affixed to his tightened belt, and on his far hip, a dangling cylinder of metal: a Jedi lightsaber. As Colonel Solo neared, Colonel Burseg found some inexplicable heat come upon him, as if he was staring into the majesties of a thermonuclear reactor…drawn closer, closer, an eye birthing from that inferno, its fiery gaze coming upon him…He instinctively drew himself to attention as he was petrified by that glare, but almost immediately, he was rescued from his immersion of fire. “Colonel Burseg, I’m Colonel Jacen Solo, GAG. Command told me you’re the on-site commander?” Burseg shook himself to wakefulness, laying his cool tongue over his parched lips instinctively before responding, “Sir.” Jacen gave an amiable smile. “We’re the same rank, Burseg.” Opening his hands like a virtuoso newscaster, he said, “Well, what do you need me to do? I understand that Forensics can’t find anything?” Colonel Burseg nodded tightly. “Yes…” A pause as he contemplated using that Jedi’s first name in communications. Technically acceptable, as they were the same rank, but… “Jacen. Perhaps you could use your…” A pause, and Solo understood. “Yes, Force powers. I’ll get on it right away. Anyways, has GAG and State set up a media blackout and a perimeter?” “Yeah. I’ll be conducting the perimeter troops, Solo. The rest’s up to you.” IMPERIAL-CLASS STAR DESTROYER MON MOTHMA 63 LIGHT-YEARS FROM KUAT SYSTEM, DEEP SPACE A dozen images, projected across the ethereal realm of hyperspace from the broadcasters of the prowler Voyager, splayed across the Situation Screens mounted on the Tactical Center of the Imperial-class Star Destroyer Mon Mothma, the flagship of Taskforce Green Three. The Mon Mothma was not dissimilar to the Borleias. It was actually, along with the Elegos A’Kla, the first of Galactic Alliance Imperial Star Destroyers to receive concealed gravity well generators. Just six days ago, the Mon Mothma had paid a trip of the Bilbringi Shipyards for a replacement of its Seinar Fleet Systems G-7x gravity well generators, typical for a standard Immobilizer 418 heavy cruiser, to four G-8a gravjectors, what the newer Immobilizer 418a cruisers were being mounted with. The durasteel hull of the Mon Mothma had been worn in further ways than imaginable. The Mon Mothma had suffered over thirty medium or severe hull breaches in its fencing with the Yuuzhan Vong and Killiks. It wasn’t like violent, one could say. More like a maelstrom, just filling the space around the Mon Mothma with liquid fire, burning apart its armor layer by layer. So contemplated Commodore Gavin Darklighter, Galactic Alliance Fifth Fleet. The GA emblem on the fore of the Mon Mothma had been scarred by enemy fire, be it plasma-fringed mini-asteroids, dartship cannon rounds, or turbolasers. The armor replacements had covered most of the emblem, and now, it was withered: a few irregular jags of color over an orderly sea of dull gray. Darklighter eyed the displays again as Ensign Peters, one of his aides, urged, “Commodore, the Tactical Officer wants you at the bridge ASAP. We have seven seconds until the…” Gavin irritably waved, his magnanimous demeanor displeased at the faults in the G-8a gravity well generators detected by Engineering several hours ago and the inability of the Engineering crew to repair the blasted things while on maneuvers, “The Tactical Officer, Ensign, is supposed to be in the Tactical Center, not the bridge. Just call the Lieutenant do-” Klaxons wailed, the central computer automatically raised the alert to Combat Red, and three Galactic Alliance Imperial Star Destroyers slung violently several hundred kilometers away from the Voyager, at the rear of the accelerating Kuati taskforce that was readying for a hyperspace jump. Darklighter raised a wrist-mounted COM unit to his mouth. “Firing Control, let ‘em loose. Fighter Command, hold back the birds. They have Lancer frigates.” Referencing to the two other Imperial Star Destroyers in Taskforce Green Three, he further ordered, “Laryn Kre’fey, Peacemaker, open full fire. Full counterforce protocols.” Snapping off an order to a Star Destroyer named after the former Bothan Chief-of-State was seductively satisfying. The twisted crone named Laryn Kre’fey had died in the First Battle of Coruscant of the Yuuzhan Vong War, and even now, Commodore Darklighter bore malice at the Bothan for his stupendously irrational plans for the ailing New Republic. “System Operations, power up the gravity well generators, or this whole show will be a waste.” The energy coils for the G-8a gravity well generators had been at 95% charge during their hyperspace venture. Doing so had snipped off speed for the Mon Mothma, but had given the Star Destroyer a terrible advantage, for 1.5 seconds after the reversion of Taskforce Green Three, the gravity nets had been cast, preventing the ISD Harakeen and her escorts from making the jump for the surprise attack on Battle Group Blue - the main Fifth Fleet group. The plan was for Vice Admiral Brand (hero of the Battle of ILC-905 in the Black Fleet Crisis) of the Borleias to take the dozen Star Destroyers and Mon Cal Star Cruisers of Battle Group Red through the Kuat System for reconnaissance and to test the political waters. If the KDY home fleets opened fire on the Fifth Fleet forces on their little trip, it would notify the Galactic Alliance that the Kuat situation had devolved far worse than the political staff had been expected. However, because of the infamous Kuati information network woven through FLEETCOM, it would be assured that the Kuati would find that Battle Group was just hanging a light-year out-system, and that Bwu’atu fully intended to bring the Pax Galactica and her escorts into the Kuat System after Brand’s Jedi StealthXs confirmed the all-clear and that no major threats were in the system. Of course, Brand had anticipated the jamming dishes that would signal that the Kuat worlds were clean, but that was what the StealthXs were for. As in accordance to Bothans, such a (relatively) straightforward plan, when peeled back another layer, was different and with different intent. Admiral Bwu’atu had no intention of taking Battle Group Blue into the Kuat System and attack. The dozens of Fifth Fleet ships served only one purpose: bait. Because the Kuati thought that Brand and his ships would be jammed and receive the false readings that said that the KDY home fleets were at minimal preparedness, and that they’d signal Battle Group Blue to attack, the only way around this situation would be to ambush the vulnerable flotilla in deep space. That was the plan. Actually, no it wasn’t. Since placing Interdictors in Battle Group Blue would alert the Kuati that the Pax Galactica expected a surprise attack and that’d show the cards in Bwu’atu’s hand, the tactical prodigy had seeded fifteen prowlers in the far perimeter of Battle Group Blue. It was expected that the Kuati had smuggled away most of the newly-produced KDY starships out-system after they learned of the phony part of OPERATION: Roundhouse, and that when their spies alerted them to the presence of Blue lurking on the vestiges of their system’s border, they’d make a microjump to various staging points around Blue, and then make another microjump to the vulnerable rears of the ships of Blue. Battle Group Green, at another staging point near the Kuat system, had been fragmented into fifteen flexible taskforces, of which one was Green Three. When a Fleet Intelligence prowler sounded off a proximity alert and Kuati ships staging nearby, a Battle Group Green taskforce made the jump to intercept the individual Kuati groups before they could jump. That’s why every Green Taskforce had an Interdictor attached - modified Mark I ISD, Immobilizer 418-class heavy cruiser, whatever. The timing had been arranged with such exacting precision that every Kuati group would be intercepted before they made the jump to attack Battle Group Blue. Satisfied of OPERATION: Adamant’s and OPERATION: Roundhouse’s complexnesses yet? 9.21 seconds before the Harakeen, the partially-constructed Rapacious, and the fifteen lighter escorts could make the jump behind Taskforce Four of Battle Group Blue, the Mon Mothma powered up her gravity well generators, so 7.71 seconds before the Kuat ships planned to make its jump, NAV alarms keened on every Kuati ship, alerting them that the transdimensional hyperspace equation was unraveling. In essence, they’d been interdicted. To be candid, Commodore Darklighter was rather surprised at the complement of a dozen Tartan-class patrol cruisers. The design was literally 40 years old, the first ships even appearing near the end of the third year of the Clone Wars: Old Republic era. 800 meters long, and armed with only 20 underpowered laser cannon batteries, with shielding and armor far surpassed by even a 350 meter Carrack-class light cruiser, the patrol cruisers were utterly pathetic and antediluvian. It’s as if rebels were starting to fight the Galactic Alliance Army with slugthrowers. (Which they were.) Lines of fire yawned across interstellar space, gutting the patrol cruisers arrayed at the flanks of the Kuati ISD and Interdictor. As the cruisers sluggishly banked with their array of 8 mini-ion engines, nose cannons flaring to reciprocate the fire from the three aggregated Fifth Fleet warships, a snare of turbolasers and ion cannon bolts danced across the shields of the Tartan-class patrol cruiser Prowess, lowering them. Energy bolts dashed against the vulnerable, unshielded hide of that patrol cruiser, making its bow crumple. As the two matrices of patrol cruisers and frigates arced towards the Mon Mothma and the other two Star Destroyers, seven or eight from either side of the two main Kuati capital ships, their leading edges taking withering fire, Darklighter snapped, “Communications, signal the Pax Galactica that Taskforce Green Three has successfully achieved interdiction, interception, and is neutralizing the enemy.” The Gotal Lieutenant replied, “Yes sir. Over and out.” STEALTHX STARFIGHTER JB-9 “BLOODY JANE” RASAPAN, LOW ORBIT, KUAT SYSTEM Jedi Knight Aao Lanii was Jedi, loving brother, and starfighter extraordinaire. His race was Devaronian, but purpose pure as he and StealthX JB-10, known as Beta Nine, slotted into forward recon position before the bow of the ISD Republica. JB-9 was simply the universal identified for Incom Technologies for the StealthX that they’d produced. The nickname of “Bloody Jane” was born after Aao and the rest of Beta Flight Three had destroyed a Killik-commandeered superfreighter at the Battle of Tenupe that was named Jane of My Eye. Beta Nine was Aao’s callsign for OPERATION: Roundhouse. That’s all. As he slid the acceleration yoke forward, the StealthX leapt with primordial ferocity at the gas giant hanging in space before: innocuous, yet...perhaps...he drew a gentle touch through the Force, and the ping came back distasteful. Possibly hazardous. Jedi Knight Chaonni Kr, a female Rodian and his wingmate, affirmed his suspicions through the Force as Betas Nine and Ten accelerated together: two gentle, yet hard diamonds of deathly black against the backdrop of a dozen advancing Galactic Alliance warships. Beta Eleven, about a hundred kilometers before them and just dancing outside the exosphere of Rasapan, that titan, whispered through the force, “On maximum active sensitivity, I’ve got a lock on something. I’m shutting down active scan and rerouting to passive scan...feeding coordinates of sensor artifact...spectrometer says its metal. According to Astrophysics, Rasapan is just molecular hydrogen, nitrogenous gases, methane, the works.” Through the Force, Lanni pulsed, “That’s right, Junior. Chaonni, you have the longest Force communications touch amongst our flight. Tell Master Sebatyne on the Borleias about our contact. Meanwhile, we’re converging on contact. Go to forty percent thrust and fall into minimal profile formation, StealthXs.” A moment later, Eleven clarified, “Our contact’s hull is mainly dielectric composite with ferric additions. That’s stealth tech, Lanii.” Such material was for high-yield stealth coating, just about the grade of a Prescience-class prowler’s hull...perhaps KDY had yet another prowler? They already had two snooping on Battle Group Blue, so it was a likely possibility. “Okay, Junior. Eleven, Twelve, hold up for us two. Let’s move in...ehh...belay that, Beta Flight Three. Eleven and Twelve, you take an indirect parabolic arc towards our little friend to cut off his escape route, that is, if it’s something. Ten, with me. We’ll take the direct path. Let’s go.” RESIDENTIAL ZONE 88-IB, SUERTH BIOCHEMICALS WAREHOUSE 7184-C CORUSCANT, CORUSCANT SYSTEM The Echani vibrosword went down, a lateral cut, and through the lungs and heart. The guard crumpled, and the visitor pulled a pistol and shot the last one...Jacen’s toe tentatively slid forward a centimeter, his eyes closed, mind in a Force trance as he pulled the strings of matter and time to find the actions of the robbers of 7184-C. Then, the man threw the vibrosword, it intersected the droid’s neck-mounted power umbilical, sent it down, and then began tapping into the wall computer...His eyeballs flicked under his eyelids, as if in REM sleep. His fingers were gloved, slight blood adorning the sides, and -PABB!- His eyelids were thrown open with a slight jolt, and the half-dozen GAG troops escorting the Jedi Knight uneasily shifted the barrels of their blasters. “Colonel?” Jacen muttered, hands moving over the alphanumeric keyboard, fumbling over inarticulate words. For a moment, the GAG Sergeant’s resolve in the integrity of his commander flagged...Yet, Jacen was immersed within the velvet folds of the Force, each layer suffocating, asphyxiating, yet bringing meeting. He delved deeper with his hands, unfurling the fabric, yet all that was concealed was the four-letter word PABB...it was enigmatic, to the point of maddening. His dozens of years of field experience had brought nothing. Torture at the hands of Vergere utterly inconsequential, nor his prowess as a Jedi, for only the word “PABB” remained. Perhaps a Dark Jedi embedded this in the Force for me to find? Or else one is nearby, using the arts to blind my senses with the Dark Side. That was, of course, neglecting the fact that within his heart, there was turmoil and corruption of the fringes: maddening rages that would not exhaust themselves, the nerve-incinerating nightmares and pains, yet the GAG Colonel adamantly refused to meet those manifestations of the Dark Side, for the only purpose he had committed to the violences of the GAG was to serve the Force and the Galactic Alliance civilians. It would not do for him to be... The Sergeant tapped him on the shoulder, and found the lightsaber hilt at his trachea. He whimpered uncertainly, thinking perhaps the Jedi had gone lucid like all those witches did...would he slay his own man? His suspicions were reinforced when Jacen snarled, “PABB. Find PABB.” Almost mechanical, cold words of no sense. The Quarren Sergeant muttered, “Sir? PABB? There’s been some stol-” It was of good fate that one of the technical specialists over from Forensics was lurking nearby, examining the discarded bloodied blade of a vibrosword that laid near a guard corpse. “Colonel Solo, you were mentioning PABB?” Jacen roughly pivoted, brushing aside the Quarren. “Yes, Corporal. Do you know what PABB is?” The Quarren’s thoughts of his commander’s madness and the guilt were wiped clean as the specialist replied knowledgeably, trying to score brownie points and a promotion, “Yes sir. PABB is an acronym for para-aminobenzylbacta, a chemical derivative of the common bacta. Suerth Biochemicals was just deploying the first PABB batches to the Galactic Alliance Army for field testing: the regeneration of lost limbs within the timespans of weeks.” The Quarren Sergeant, not to be outdone, smartly offered, “Like Wookiees.” The GAG Forensics Division Corporal took that in stride. “Yes, sir. Like Wookiees, who can spawn replacement limbs within two weeks. Well, anyways, PABB was proven to be extraordinarily successful in clinical trials in limb regeneration and also cure for common maladies that are cured by standard bacta as well. Suerth is marketing PABB as the ‘third generation bacta’ - the first was kolto, the second gen is bacta, and the third is now PABB.” Jacen replied, almost disembodied once again, “Good work, Corporal. Was there PABB in this storehouse?” The Sergeant replied, “Yes, sir. As I was saying before, there have been twelve PABB units were apparently stolen. We pulled up the Suerth main mainframe and got the manifest for their warehouse. There are fifty units, and a dozen missing from their cryogenic storage tanks.” A insignificant mote of thought wriggled its way through the Force to meet Jacen’s poignant, sweeping presence, and encouraged him to pursue that line of inquiry. “Anything else stolen besides PABB that’s related to PABB?” He pursed his lips, but continued, “Yes, sir. A medium-sized PABB regeneration unit. Used to regenerate limbs. The full-sized unit is like a bacta tank, and is used for sever systemic...” Jacen waved him away and turned to the Forensics Corporal. “Do you know anything of these mid-sized PABB units?” With a touch of smugness for having outdone the Quarren, the specialist replied, “Yes sir.” Covertly glancing at his datapad, he continued, “Something that might be of use to you is that Suerth Biochemicals ordered a tracer tag on each of these units to ensure that smugglers wouldn’t take the units designated for the GAA, so...” “Congratulations, Corporal...” He felt for the spec’s name through the force. “...Myers. You’ve been promoted to Lieutenant, GAG. Now get me Colonel Burseg and tell him to acquire that particular transmitter’s frequency from Suerth and to contact Fleet to start using its orbital COMSATs to try to find a match.” Lieutenant Myers acknowledged with a humble inclination of the forehead. “Yes sir. I’m getting-” A slight pneumatic hiss, and a projectile’s trajectory intersected Myers’s forehead. Another hiss as his brain tissue and cerebrospinal fluid depressurized from the hole in the back of the cranium from the exit wound, and what appeared to be glossy red paint expelled itself from the back of the Lieutenant’s head. Jacen was already falling backwards, hands forward and projecting Force energy. A second APFSDS sniper round was cleanly deflected. However, that sniper was the least of his problems. Liftships elevated from the base of the mid-rise exorbitant apartment tower, and inclinated sideways, revealing thirty war droids in each ship, each bearing a rocket-propelled proton grenade launcher. All hell broke loose as the windows were eclipsed in brilliance, and their designs etched into the bipolar neurons of his retina from the afterblaze. He hoarsely screamed, “Get down! GET DOWN!” as his world was alit in seraphic flame. STEALTHX STARFIGHTER JB-9 “BLOODY JANE” RASAPAN, LOW ORBIT, KUAT SYSTEM It was Lady Luck herself (no, not Lando’s yacht) that must gave curried her favor upon StealthX Beta Flight Three on the descent of the four StealthXs onto the higher atmosphere of the gas giant. Betas Nine and Ten angled low, their four splayed-open S-foils giving them the appearance of ethereal menaces, while Betas Eleven and Twelve took the high route overhead. A crackle of static as the inner electrics of Rasapan played their havoc over the dashboard of StealthX JB-9, and then a report from Beta Eleven. “My sensors have lost the stealth contact. Wait...we’re reacquiring, but the wind’s crossed direction and is greatly intensifying. Whatever, if anything, is done there, can’t be a normal starship. Probably an abandoned KDY buoy or decoy transceiver to lure us into the great mother that’s stirring our way.” He was definitively and incontrovertibly proved wrong as the gentle cyan light of ion engines shone from recessed thrusters on...Aao Lanni resorted to primitive squinting: his R9 astromech could not magnify the image any further than it already was. A Prescience-class prowler with the Galactic Alliance Fleet Intelligence emblem emblazoned on its side? Such a mystery was so utterly perplexing that the four Jedi of Beta Flight Three were silenced momentarily. The prowler just drifted there, slightly accelerating. Beta Ten, Chaonni Kr, was the first to realize what her R9’s incessant beepings were. “Uh, heads up. Croneau radiation waveforms...the prowler’s jumping.” All heads immediately swiveled to Aao. The impulse to report this to the Borleias and Master Sebatyne was immediately terminated as the Jedi recalled to mind the time for a Fleet Intelligence prowler to make a jump: five seconds on its enhanced hyperdrive. It would be an astronomically long shot to match the exact hyperdrive variables as that auspicious prowler, yet...it was their duty. A KDY-controlled Galactic Alliance prowler? Not a sprite of hesitation as the Devaronian curtly commanded through the Force, “Negative! Reorient starfighters, and activate hyperdrives. We’ll catch that little bastard yet! Get closest angle, acceleration, and position profiles...” IMPERIAL-CLASS STAR DESTROYER REPUBLICA RASAPAN, HIGH ORBIT, KUAT SYSTEM The COM Officer’s words were sullen, yet bearing undertones of alarm. “Captain Rathran, we’ve lost the COM and IFF tags of Beta Flight Three.” Not even the captain of a Star Destroyer could be expected to babysit over the four Jedi-manned reconnaissance starfighters, so Rathran turned to the Aqualish Ensign that had responsibility for tracking the progress of Aao Lanii and his boys. The ensign growled, the translator making his tones grating, “Captain, they were making the run for Rasapan...they did not radio in any new information.” An officer interjected, “Hey, but skipper, if they were closing on a Kuati ship, they’d turn off COM and IFF tags, and would probably report it through the whatcha-call-it Force to that Jedi on the Borleias. They wouldn’t risk a tight-beam to us.” Rathran nodded. “Good. Communications, send a low-profile query to the Borleias asking if Master Sebatyne got anything from Beta Flight Three. Meanwhile, let’s keep that sensor range wide, and keep our ears open in case through Jedi flyboys call for help.” STEALTHX STARFIGHTER JB-9 “BLOODY JANE” 0.2 LIGHT-YEARS FROM KUAT SYSTEM, DEEP SPACE To match a starship’s infinitely precise course through hyperspace, you must have the transdimensional navigational equation’s exact starting variables, obviously. With approximate variables, you can revert within tens or thousands of kilometers from your target ship. However, the stunt that Aao Lanii, if their prowler hadn’t jumped less than 0.2 light-years, would have been utterly futile. For the standard thousand light-year jump, the StealthXs would revert hundreds of light-years away from each other in interplanetary space. To be precise, the prowler didn’t cut out its hyperdrive. It was the Nebula-class Star Destroyer Gzalzi, a KDY starship produced away from prying eyes on an interstellar Corporate Guild Clone Wars-era production facility, and retrofitted with a massively swollen gravity well generator in place of its tractor beams... Ah, but first, let us learn of the Nebula classification of Star Destroyer. It represents the cutting edge of au courant Star Destroyers - far superior to those “technologically outdated” Imperial-class Star Destroyers. The Nebula class was designed as a “pocket Star Destroyer” - small, fast, but also powerful. With technological improvements garnered in the 17 years after the start of the ISD production lines, it was 65% the length of an Imperial-class Star Destroyer (1040 meters long compared to 1600 meters), but carried approximately equivalent weaponries - forty heavy turbolasers, forty turbolasers, twenty ion cannons, eight concussion missile tubes, eight tractor beams, and 60 starfighters (5 squadrons). If anything, it could outgun an Imperial-class Star Destroyer. However, the yawning gravitic nets cast by the Gzalzi’s gravity well generator ensnared the four StealthXs of Beta Flight Three, and prevented their further travel. For the StealthXs themselves, it was like they were halting stopped, speeding at many times faster than the speed of light, then without warning, their graceful agility stripped from them, and their being brutally shunted to standard 4-dimensional space. The StealthX got it renowned technology from the crosslinking of multiple systems, allowing more tech to be installed onboard each of the diminutive stealth craft. That was why when the NAV computer faulted from the irascibly contorted hyperspace navigational equations, most of the major systems aboard each StealthX trembled for a moment. The Jedi opened themselves to the mind link like beaver surging up and through a sheet of ice above a frosted lake - they had anticipated a turmoiless journey, and did not expect needing to reopen themselves to each other in the event of combat. When Aao Lanii sampled the local Force, it resonated with tones of insatiable fear. As the StealthXs temporarily underwent minor systemic computer errors, the Gzalzi lashed out at the cluster of four suspended starfighters before its bow, each held in abeyance: target practice. Of course, each StealthX’s electronics were EMP-hardened: resistant to a high degree against ion cannon fire, but their protestations within their hallowed cockpits were of no use, as two CR90 Corellian Corvettes sidled up besides them, one from each side. They had evidently been retrofitted with ion cannons as well, as Beta Flight Three came under a withering crosshail of those cyan bolts of coherent light, a beautiful mathematical matrix with one solution: the disabling of Beta Flight Three. After the sensors of the Gzalzi confirmed that the four Jedi starfighters had been rendered impotent for the while, the Corellian Corvettes activated tractor beams, drew in the drifting snubs with those four lovely tapered wings...Aao felt the jagged blade of dismay as in his peripheral vision, the prowler, their target, activated engines to dock with that Star Destroyer...the four Jedi would never learn of its secrets. Yet, even as he was eviscerated internally, knowing that he was of no use and had failed to accomplish his mission objectives, and was even unable to reach out to Master Sebatyne and report his and his flight’s rather dismal status, he found admiration for the conceptors of this plot. What Kuati strategist could have thought of this? Battle Group Green was falling upon the spaced Kuati taskforces with complete success so far, the StealthXs had roamed throughout the Kuat System undetected and their recon data, upon electronic investigation, carried none of the telltale marks of the falsehood broadcasted by jamming dishes...where was the break in his impeccable logic? His StealthX settled into a starfighter-sized berthing port, there was a transfixing detonation of roiling silver-white light, an oppressive stench like exploding R9 droids, and then fire invigorating his nerves...and then plunging him into unconsciousness. RESIDENTIAL ZONE 88-IB, SUERTH BIOCHEMICALS WAREHOUSE 7184-C CORUSCANT, CORUSCANT SYSTEM Of the twenty GAG soldiers stationed between Colonel Jacen Solo, former Lieutenant Myers, the Quarren Sergeant and his guard and the nearest windows, all had been obliterated in trails of vapor, and then rouge, brilliant, undiffusing light. Through the Force, parting the propellent exhaust clouds that were so beautifully preventing the GAG from retaliating, Jacen felt two liftships at the massive panoramic window. The skyscrapers behind were being eclipsed by those murderous gunships... The colonel shrieked as if possessed, “Get out! OUT! Through the door to the supply chambers!” A proton grenade trailed nearby, vaporized two GAG guards, caught the head of one on fire, and blew off two arms off yet another GAG soldier. Meanwhile, Jacen was steadily moving backwards of that computer where he had been alerted to PABB. The Force laid clear the trajectories of those grenades, and it was an uncomplicated matter to begin pulsing kinetic energy in their paths and deflect them. One, two, four, seven of the grenades were repulsed, and over twenty-five droids were caught with their own infernos. As the war droids switched to blasters, recognizing the futility of their grenade launchers, Jacen sprinted for the two triple-layered titanium doors bearing biohazardous warning symbols: the storage vaults of 7184-C. The Quarren barked, “Though the doors, men!” A high-powered bolt caught the creature’s unarmored head, and the water within superheated, creating external blisters in a microsecond before detonating the entire head. Jacen Force-tumbled through the open doors, his lightsaber extended behind him, deflecting several stray bolts. As the droids continued their slurry of blaster bolts, killing all but one of the GAG troopers, Jacen snarled, “Get in here, man! Get a spine!” The soldier, armed in his stormtrooper armor, flinched as a bolt sledgehammered him from behind, explosively releasing the air in his lungs as he stumbled to behind the doors: a sanctuary from the war droids, or at least before they blew through. Jacen sealed the electronic locks, heard the external metal hissing from repeated blaster impacts and superheating, and then turned to the GAG soldier. “What’s your name, trooper?” “Private Daral, sir.” Jacen curtly nodded. “Very well, Daral. Here’s the tactical situation: thirty-five war droids on the outside, two GAG troops on the inside. Even I don’t have the slightest chance of making it, but we’ll do what we can.” He motioned to a reinforced cargo cube wrought of durasteel composite, probably bearing electrolyte fluids or some other innocuous supplies. “Get over there in the cover and give me the suppressive fire. I’ll use my blaster pistol until they get close up, and then use my lightsaber. Don’t shoot me.” The suffocating air of the room did not echo those commands, but Daral affirmed that order with a touch of grim humor. “Yes sir. Shoot machines, not Jedi.” As the droids stopped their relentless assault, probably setting a breaching charge, Jacen eyed the room another time. Irregular clumps of cargo cubes, reinforced walls, no windows, no ventilation vents (for security, see)...A clearly synthesized voice from outside intoned in oddly accented words, “GAG soldiers - desist and do not resist.” Daral harrumphed, even then his face grimacing in agony as he straightened his shoulders, feeling that drop of pain roll around in his back. “Yeah, junk heads, that’s what we’re supposed to say.” The voice reciprocated, “This is your final chance to surrender peacefully.” Rather ironic, considering that they’d just killed about twenty-eight GAG soldiers. Jacen rasped, “Go to hell.” The HK-series Mandalorian war droids outside correctly interpreted this as a prelude to combat, and then hit the detonator for the neutron charge they’d set on the door. Aquamarine brilliance, and then: “Go. Go. Go.” Blaster bolts of such profuseness never seen before poured like a storming typhoon through those two doors that had betrayed the two GAG soldiers within. Jacen regretted even considering the use of his GN-6c pistol. A cone of Force lightning erupted from his gloved right hand, each snaking tendril roiling outwards like a turbulent wave. It adhered to three of the point droids, breaching the armor and then superfusing the internal mechanisms. Those war droids stood there, immobilized. Other war droids uncaringly shoved them aside onto the ground, and continued their blaster rifle fire. Private Daral, while taking a potshot behind his cube, found a dozen droids alternating sustained fire on his position. The moment he eased aside to fire a shot, three bolts caught him in the head, instantly downing him. That left approximately thirty-two Mandalorian war droids against one lone Jedi at close range. Jacen’s lightsaber blade snapped up with reassuring speed, a weaving, dancing wave of purifying cyan whose movements snuffed out the assailants one by one. A forward stab through the chest, reversal, beheading the first, lashing sideways, Jacen arcing into the air...a tangle of light and plasma. The blaster bolts came uncertainly now, for the gunners were hesitant to fire full automatic salvos in risk of immolating themselves in the crossfire. After Jacen had claimed his eighth droid without so much as a wound of any sort, it came as a welcome surprise as most of the droids emptied outwards, leaving just a pair behind. The retreating droids had fired repeated salvos behind them to make good their escape, and Jacen eliminated that problem by taking cover, lest he deflect a bolt, hit one of the war droids, and incite them to come back into the supply room and fight it out. After they had left, it became a game of cat-and-mouse, as the two Mandalorian war droids went tactical, bracing themselves and sweeping the room with their blasters behind their own cargo modules. The slight, almost unhearable scraping of slightly unlubricated joints was amplified a hundredfold by the Force, so therefore, Jacen had a bearing on both of the droids within moments. He sprinted low, panther-like, at the closer droid. Inevitably, the machine had picked up the Jedi on thermals, and therefore was already firing its automatic blaster from behind cover. Jacen angled his lightsaber across his chest, deflecting the first volley back into the droid’s helmet, and destroying it. Its motors whirred for a moment, and then click sounds came through: it was down. The second peeked out, fired, but was cautious enough to roll back behind its cluster of modules before Jacen would deflect them back. Curiously intelligent, remarked Jacen as he advanced, not even bothering to crouch. With the Force as his aide, none would resist his terrible rampage. Eyeing the bloodied, beheaded body of Private Daral on the floor, copious blood freely lubricating the grimy floor besides the GAG soldier, Jacen had a far better idea on how to execute the last droid. With a flick of his hand, the blaster was tossed out of the hidden droid’s grasp and onto the floor. Then, the Jedi raised a hand, his vision slightly trembling as the memories of Lieutenant Myers, the GAG guards, the Quarren Sergeant, all rose to his mind...blood vessel dilated in his fury as the droid was levitated, head touching the ceiling as its limbs flailed in useless protest. It was almost like a living being in its contortions as Jacen brought it closer to his face, observing the angular helmet, the recessions were its photoreceptors rested...its arms and legs were now twitching frantically now, like a slava dancer in the lower vestiges of Coruscant. Jacen held the Mandalorian war droid in the air, and four bouts of sparks erupted: one at each articulation point where a metal limb connected with the main body. Once those powered down, the vengeful Jedi straddled it, hand coming to clench that electronic throat, throttling it as if it was a living organism...his contracting hands constantly raising his fury, which in turn amplified the madness that seized his fingers...a positive feedback cycle. That came to a stop as the droid solemnly declared, “Humans. What wastefulness.” Jacen was even taken aback for a moment. The droid had been disarmed, was unable to bash him, as all its limbs had been severed, then...the droid, if it had a mobile mouth, would’ve smiled. “The self-destruct charge, Colonel. Do not forget next time.” Colonel Solo was hurled against the wall from the brilliant concussive force. Every bone and inch of cartilage was strained as blood ran free from his teeth and nose, and sprawled against the fast-setting concrete, had his jaw partially disconnected from the base of his mouth, and it hideously hung agape as a dozen war droids entered the room once again, now analyzing the situation. Jacen summoned every roaming scrap of resilience within him, but that was useless as his organ systems began shutting down like a virus-infected computer, and death advanced insidiously. Or perhaps not, whispered Jacen. With that, he surrendered all free will and consciousness, and lapsed into darkness. IMPERIAL-CLASS STAR DESTROYER REPUBLICA RASAPAN, HIGH ORBIT, KUAT SYSTEM It was understandable that after Master Sebatyne denied any Force communications with Beta Flight Three before their disappearance, that the Republica had been thrown into disarray and under Vice Admiral Brand’s personal scrutiny from aboard the Borleias. The ordinary response would have been to call local forces to emergency readiness for recovery operations, but what would the Kuati react with if they recovered four intruding Jedi-manned StealthXs snooping around one of their planets? Before now, Admiral Bwu’atu had given a direct order not to launch any starfighters or shuttles unless under a command from himself or if Battle Group Red came under fire (cleverly worded so that officers that disobeyed this would have no escape in the pretense of ambiguity in the wording of that order), but the Bothan now had relented. XJ3 X-wings and Series IV E-wings flooded forth from the aggregated Galactic Alliance war vessels, scouring space for the StealthXs. However, it would come to no end. Sebatyne had reported that their Force presences had been alit with brief battle excitement for a while, turned into sullenness and dismay, and then deadened. The Jedi Master herself could not get in contact with the motes in the Force that represented each of the four Jedi fliers, and within that was considerable apprehension, and a direct HoloNet transmission to Site-H back on Coruscant and the Jedi Temple. As the COM officers furiously conducted their search, flaunting their full authorities in the time of crisis, Republica received a triple-redirected extreme low power HoloNet link from the Pax Galactica. The header code was Bwu’atu’s personal one, and the crew sniffed rancid blood. Rasdan tapped the control to receive the COM link, and then said tersely and with humiliation, “Admiral Bwu’atu, Master Sebatyne.” Nek, that crafty master of war, simply demanded, “Where are those StealthXs?” The bridge’s ambient volume decreased to one-fifth as the crew began diverting their attentions to the dressing down. “Sir, ma’am, we haven’t found them yet. However, our X-wings and E-wings are still...” The Jedi splayed her tongue over her pebbly lips and snarled, disregarding Rasdan, “Admiral, thiz one thinkz that they were killed.” Bwu’atu, resplendent in his gold braidery and sterling white uniform, merely shrugged. “Yes, Master Sebatyne, but this is not the main topic under consideration here. What’s on the table is that Captain Rasdan and the crew of the Republica have just lost four Jedi and their StealthXs! How can those tactical assets go down the sewage tube, Captain?” The seething diatribe was thankfully interrupted as a sensors officer reported tentatively, lest interrupt the Admiral’s words and find his own head on a roasting pike, “Captain, we’ve got an inbound contact. CR90 Corellian Corvette. It dropped in from hyperspace just behind our battle group and is inbound to Kuat.” Bwa’atu was sensible enough to crucify him on a cross of thorns after the conflict had ended. He snapped, “Get Brand on the line now.” The aging, unorthodox Vice Admiral came on the HoloNet conference net. “Admiral, sir! Master, ma’am!” Nek irritably replied, “At ease, Admiral. I called you because the Republica just picked up an Corellian Corvette that just hyperspaced behind you and is inbound to Kuat.” Brand averted his eyes, probably glancing at the constantly updating status feed beneath his command monitor, and then nodded. “Yes, sir. It’s been modified. Three of the Taim & Bak H9 dual turbolasers had been swapped out for four ion cannons. Attack configuration of those weapons is calculated to be highly effective in terms of firing arc and angles.” It was a little-known secret that the Galactic Alliance Fleet paid major manufacturers of civilian and pirate craft lofty sums of credits to deliberately place weapons for minimal effect, in case one of them went rogue and did a face-off with the Fleet. Rasdan scoffed with false confidence, “With all due respect, Admirals, it’s just a smuggler ship probably with good technicians.” He found himself once again the receiver of brazen anger as Vice Admiral Brand piped, “No...there’s a second one dropping out, same weapons configuration. However, it’s not a pirate ship. The IFF transponders read them as the Demagogue and the Mediator III. They were two Kuati diplomatic ships sent to Chandrila to ask them if they’d join Kuat in revolt.” As Bwu’atu glared again at the captain of the Republica, recognizing his rather failing efforts to regain his respect, Rasdan noted, “The entrance vector isn’t consistent for Chandrila, though. More like Bothanwui.” Brand defended himself, responding, “It’s possible that the two corvettes also made a leg to our Bothan friends to see if they’d enlist in their cause, and then ran back home.” The Vice Admiral stiffened as Bwu’atu picked out his faux pas. “The Bothans would not rebel against the Galactic Alliance, Vice Admiral.” “Yes sir. I stand corrected.” Sebatyne broke the ice, her Jedi status making her untouchable to military power jockeying. “Well, Admiral, what does you wantz to do about those shipsz?” Brand glanced at Rasdan. “Well, since they’re running diplomatic colors, if a GA starship shoots one down...it’ll just incite more rebellion and will be in violation of the Right to Free Navigation of the Constitution, anyways. Since they bullshitted Fleet Intel and told them that those two corvettes were just doing some dance that didn’t concern the GA, our only viable action would be to let ‘em go.” Bwu’atu insouciantly said, “I’ve confidence in State and Fleet Intel that if we blast down of those corvettes, they can keep it off the nets. Are they still in range, Vice Admiral?” Brand curtly nodded. “Yes sir, but they’re nearing maximum range.” A single command as the Bothan Admiral’s body straightened to hamrod attentiveness. “Intercept them, Vice Admiral. Full firing permissions granted.” The first salvoes were tidal waves of liquid energy, as if heaven’s stockpiles of lightning had been deposited at once. No hesitation at the repercussions of destroying a Kuati diplomatic corvette, for the one that administered the firing orders was Admiral Nek Bwu’atu, the one who had never been proved wrong, indomitable in spirit and tactical skill. As if telepathically linked to the ailments of the two corvettes, the KDY Home Fleet surged towards the Demagogue and the Mediator III. The sterns of no less than ten Imperial-class Star Destroyers and an attendant cloud of twenty-five escorts: Carrack-class light cruisers and Dreadnaught-class heavy cruisers reoriented towards Battle Group Red as the shields of both corvettes were downed and armor plating superheated, detonating. Sebatyne, oblivious to the tactical chatter, a full light-year away, make an exaggerated frown. “Admiral, thisz one thinks that these corvettes are specialz.” The Bothan Admiral curtly nodded. “Yes, which is why they have been targeted for destruction.” XJ3-wings and E-wings aggregated like locust swarms, forming by the squadron and the wing, rushing forward like a mob unleashed towards the two Corellian Corvettes. Hundreds of electronic confirmations of proton torpedo guidance calculations rippled across space as the Galactic Alliance starfighters readied their explosive missiles... XJ3 X-WING STARFIGHTER RANGER FIVE INBOUND TRAJECTORY TO KUAT, KUAT SYSTEM “Target locked, Five. They’ll be coming up in our crosshairs in twenty.” Lieutenant Argos Jensson, Ranger Five and commander of Ranger Flight Two, affirmed, “Copy that, Seven. Revert to S-foil strike mode in case that KDY fleet launches starfighters after our torpedoes hit...” The electronic chronometer set by R9-EQ21, his astromech droid, unaffectionately known as “Toolkit”, had its digits meld together in synchrony as the seconds ticked down without remorse for the Corellian spacers and diplomats. Eleven, ten, nine... Starfighter Control on the Borleias warned, “The KDY Home Fleet is launching retaliatory starfighters, but you’ll be outta there before they intercept you boys.” Five, four...“Hold your fire. HOLD YOUR FIRE! Strike elements, disengage, disengage!” Jensson eyed his tactical display. The Kuati TIE Interceptor squadrons were over three minutes away, and they had three seconds left until firing on the corvette pair. “Ranger Five to Watchtower. What’s the problem?” A slight popping sound, and a second voice came on-channel: the weathered tone could only belong to Admiral Bwu’atu. “All starfighters, hold off. This is Bwu’atu.” Exasperated affirmatives answered the Commander of the Fifth Fleet, for those that opposed him would probably be neutered. “Copy that.” His last words were abuluted in bitterness and sarcasm. “Very good, sir.” Bwu’atu continued hoarsely, “Get back to your carrier ships and switch to channel Civilian Three, complete with video feed as well.” A sharp intake of breath... MILITARY COMMAND CENTER “SITE-H” CORUSCANT, CORUSCANT SYSTEM At the advice of the Secretary of State, the second highest-ranking political office in the Galactic Alliance and the personal advisor to the Chief-of-State in all matters, Cal Omas had convened all the major political and military leaders of the Galactic Alliance via HoloNet conference transmission. Amongst these gathered officials were the Secretary of Defense (the State’s liaison to the military), the Supreme Commander (Gilad Pellaeon, commander over the Galactic Alliance Defense Force), the Fleet Admirals, the Director of Galactic Alliance Intelligence, the Director of Fleet Intelligence, the General of the Galactic Alliance Guard, the Jedi Masters, and so forth. Once the Secretary of State, a Mon Calamari by the name of Taraan, had confirmed that the dozens of leading Galactic Alliance officials were all present, Taraan motioned for the uniformed aide to play the clip being broadcasted on Kuat Civilian Three. Poor camera quality, quietly remarked Cal Omas. He and the Secretary of State had been the last to see the tape - the others had learned of it through their typical backdoor methods or had been tasked with confirming its legitimacy. A sallow voice off-screen began dictating over the Kuat government seal, “Citizens of the Galactic Alliance, we of Kuat bring you a message: visual evidence of acts of Galactic Alliance treason against our independent government.” The static-laced emblem faded, revealing the jittery picture of four disheveled aliens pinned against a nondescript ship bulkhead, each limb cuffed to the wall, IV lines arcing into their articulation points. Most were unconscious, but one of them, a male Devaronian, had his eyelids fluttering. The speaker stepped into the field of the camera, just right of the rightmost alien. “What you see before you are four Jedi of the Jedi Order. They were just captured in a recent Galactic Alliance espionage operation hosted in the Kuat System.” The camera switched, panning around four aggregated starfighters painted a heavy, almost midnight black: angular, conical fuselages with four tapered wings at the rear. StealthXs. “These Jedi were using these spy ships to conduct malicious activities, and were using illegal recorders and methods to take footage of innocuous Kuati civilians and law enforcement emplacements all across our planets. They are incontrovertibly planning for war against our people!” One of the cameras greatly zoomed, showing a closeup of faint text besides a nose-mounted proton torpedo tube on one of the StealthXs. It read: GALACTIC ALLIANCE STEALTHX JB-8, and slightly underneath in even fainter lettering: “Bloody Jane”. Omas whispered under his breath, “Good lord”, waiting to finish the clip before dressing down the commander that had allowed such priceless stealth technology fall into the hands of potential renegades. StealthXs across the galaxy conducting reconnaissance operations would have their identities unveiled if KDY had several hours to spend with those Jedi starfighters... The scene switched back to the four drowsy Jedi. A lightly armored guard slapped the Devaronian across the face, demanding, “Identify yourself, spy!” Taraan hissed, “No! No! Don’t give away that you’re...” Alas, but the fluids they were secreting were potent drugs to lower mental resistance and to encourage vocalization of the truth - truth serums. “Lanii, Aao, Jedi Order, Galactic Alliance Fifth Fleet. Serial number 819-581-158-LAN. Under the Corellian Accords, that’s all I have to tell you.” Cal now no longer wished to preserve the awkward silence prevailing in the room and over the HoloNet channel. “What? He admitted that he was a Jedi? Surely we can attack that - he was someone being forced under duress to lie that he was a Jedi, the StealthXs were digital fabrications, that...” General Rieekan, that old warhorse that had requested reassignment from the Defense Fleet to Intelligence after his tactical triumph in the retaking of Coruscant in the Yuuzhan Vong, advised, “Please wait, Chief-of-State.” The Corellian trooper scoffed, stepped back, and then the original speaker advanced again, four silver-tinged cylinders in hand...lightsabers. As if it was a physical blow, some of the more melodramatic attendees groaned in sympathy. “Galactic Alliance citizens, make no mistakes. These were Jedi, spying and sabotaging us Kuati.” The view switched to an external camera, showing the dozen capital ships of Battle Group Red. “Even now, they send a dozen battleships to recklessly destroy us! See your rulers’ deceit! With one hand they feed, but with another, they slit your throats? Are they planning a strike against your homeworld as well?” The speaker stepped forward with a touch of menace. “Yes, we will of course return the Jedi unharmed as per the Corellian Accords, but under one condition. Leave. Kuat. Now.” A swift show of the Kuat seal, and then all faded to darkness and the lights were raised again. Before any of the aggregated officials could speak, Cal Omas snapped, “We are as sure as hell not negotiating with those bastards back for our Jedi.” Forestalling Luke Skywalker’s inevitable comment, the Chief-of-State said assuredly, “Grand Master Skywalker, please be sure that the Galactic Alliance will do all in its power to return back those four prisoners, but diplomacy is not an action!” His hands ferociously banged against the table, drawing their attention even more. “The whole plan was to show the Kuati attacking Battle Group Blue, catch it on tape, and show the public so that we’d have a rationale to go to war! Now what? Since the entire fragged Galactic Alliance has seen this, when we say that Blue came under attack, the Kuati will say that it was in response to the four StealthXs! Then what? We’re going to pull out the mission logs and tell the public the chronologies of the StealthX recon runs?” He turned to General Rieekan. “You, work with Fleet, the Army, and the GAG, and get those Jedi back! No mistakes! We’ll show the Kuati that we will not be bullied! Get to your stations!” After all the military and political officials had drained away from the Site-H Situation Room and off the HoloNet links besides the Secretary of State, Omas turned to Taraan, demanding, “Well?” The Mon Calamari insouciantly shrugged. “With all due respect, Sire Chief, you might want to contact the Kuat ambassador, try to stall until we’re in a position to retake those Jedi.” “Good. Call him and tell him I want to see him here within the hour.”
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