Sublight Drive (Star Wars)

Chapter 87

Ord Sigatt Orbit, Ord Sigatt System

Noonian Sector

Jedi Master Luminara Unduli’s face gave no hint of her inner unrest as she stared through the viewport of the shuttle. The shuttle’s cockpit was silent except for the low hum of its systems and the occasional crackle of the comm. Outside, the void was dominated by the immense silhouette of the Separatist superweapon. Her lightsaber felt heavy at her hip–nay, her entire body did–as if there was a great weight in the air, the very presence of the warship almost tangible force of its own. The Jedi Master could believe it.

She could feel the pilot’s nervous energy as they brought the shuttle closer, Clone Commander Gree’s jaw setting as they were brought alongside the massive behemoth lurking in the void, as if it took all of the clone’s willpower not to gawk like a new like a trooper on his first deployment.

“How generous of the Separatists,” the Clone Commander said tightly, “Inviting us to a tour of their latest superweapon.”

The superweapon was a battleship, longer than a Venator and twice as heavy. It was shaped like a tuning fork, two great prongs jutting out from the bow of the hull housing the two largest artillery pieces Luminara had ever seen put to space. She stared down their hollow throats, each large enough for their shuttle to fly down their lengths, and traced the lines of the hull, the glowing lines of power conduits and faint glimmers of running lights that seemed to pulse like the veins of a living thing.

Repair dogs and their remotes floated about it and crawled in and out of its guns like tiny, furious ants, coordinated by a small army of EVA suited engineers and technicians clambering throughout the network of gangways and catwalks spanning the length of the vessel. External and internal damage from its latest engagement, perhaps? But how so? There was no name plaque, but the mid-section of the dorsal prong bore a distinct emblem: a modified Separatist Hex, but from each of the six faces extended the reared head of a serpent, all snarling in a clockwise arrangement.

The shuttle lurched, captured by the warship’s tractor field, and was drawn closer and closer to the prongs–until they slipped into the space between them, engulfing the shuttle in darkness. The only light source now was the bright horizon of stars bound top and bottom by the prongs, and the small, glowing hangar bay at the end of the tunnel, from which a steady traffic of repair drones buzzed to-and-fro. The heavy weight she felt before was now magnified tenfold, like being crushed by an ocean’s depths.

“Take it as a sign of goodwill, Gree,” Master Luminara murmured softly, “Not all intentions are borne out of hostility.”

Clone Commander Gree was silent, all but pressing his face against the viewports as he inspected the superweapon’s dark underbelly.

“...Something of interest, Commander?”

“–I hate to speculate, General,” Gree replied after a brief hesitation, “But this looks to me like Anx technology.”

Commander Gree took his name from an obscure alien species deep in the Outer Rim, known as the Gree. It was fitting, after all the 41st Elite Corps specialised in far-afield deployments on alien worlds, such as Teth, and Gree himself soon became an expert on rather esoteric alien cultures to better prepare for the hostile environments the 41st became known for operating in. As for ‘Gree’, the clone figured that if anyone recognized the source of the name, he would know they shared his interest in alien culture.

Which was why if Gree figured he had an insight to the nature of the weapon they were dealing with, Master Luminara was more than willing to humble herself to the expertise of her Clone Commander.

“The Anx?” she wondered, “The same Anx of Anx Space?”

“The very same,” he nodded, narrowing his eyes, “Their homeworld–Gravlex Med–is a high-gravity world, and to get off-world, they had to build massive cannons to launch their vessels into orbit. But to counteract their homeworld’s gravitational field, they had to specialise in tech that directly acts against it: repulsors, tractor beams, and the like.”

“You’re saying–”

“This weapon is nothing more than an oversized mass driver,” Gree finished, “As Republic Intelligence has suspected... but to think they would use gravitic technology to accomplish the feats they were able to... I would hazard the Seppies seeked Anx expertise–if the Anx did not have a frontal role in the engineering of this thing in the first place.”

“It appears the Battle Hydra is getting more than he bargained for,” Master Luminara mused lightly, tone neutral as the shuttle drew closer.

“I thought the Seps are doing this out of goodwill, General?”

The docking protocols engaged, and the metallic hiss of the landing clamps echoed through the hold. A moment later, the shuttle’s ramp lowered with a hiss of decompression, revealing a welcoming party already waiting at the end of the docking corridor.

Master Luminara stood up, a slight tug at her lips, “That doesn’t mean we should be, Commander.”

Luminara brushed off her dress, stepping down the ramp with Commander Gree close behind her. The air aboard the warship was sharp and sterile, the faint hum of the ship’s systems a constant undercurrent. A tall, stern Human officer stood at the forefront, his grey uniform pristine and sharply creased, and shoulder patch bearing the mark of a commander. Behind him, droids and Skakoan naval commandos flanked the corridor in silent formation. The officer stepped forward, inclining his head slightly in a gesture that could almost be mistaken for respect. ȑ

“General Unduli,” he greeted, his voice smooth but cold, “Welcome aboard the Conqueress. Commander Gnifmak Dymurra, at your service. The Admiral is eager to meet you.”

“I trust this visit will proceed without incident,” she said evenly.

Dymurra’s lips curved in a faint smile that didn’t reach his eyes, “The Confederacy did not unite the Outer Rim in common cause by force, Master Jedi. Diplomacy is greatly valued here, rest assured.”

“Some of the Confederacy’s generals fail to hold that sentiment in high esteem, Commander Dymurra.”

“Which is why you are here, and not them,” the officer replied politely.

They moved deeper into the ship, the Jedi General’s detail of clone troopers falling in lockstep with the Separatist escort. Clone Commander Gree had refastened his helmet, more than likely to hide his roving gaze as he analysed the Conqueress from the inside out. As did Master Luminara, extending her senses out to feel her way through the corridors and make a mental map of the warship’s interior. For a battleship of this size, however, its interior accommodations were surprisingly small, with almost claustrophobic compartments and hallways.

Almost as if all the livable spaces had to be shoved out of the way to make room for something else... something large. Every passageway felt like a compromise, as if the living quarters and operational spaces had been deliberately minimized.

Her suspicions deepened when she noticed the abundance of maintenance doors lining the walls. Each was sealed tight, reinforced with bulkheads and clearly marked with warning signs. Then there were the Skakoan combat engineers stationed at intervals along these corridors, scanning her party through their inscrutable pressure suits as they passed.

Well, it’s now clear what role the Techno Union played in the making of this ship.

Just then, Commander Gree fell into step beside her, his voice a low murmur transmitted through her commlink, “General, I’ve been tracking our movement relative to the exterior hull. According to my scans, we’ve been circling around a massive hollow section that takes up most of the ship’s body.”

“The size is impressive,” Luminara noted out loud. Dymurra didn’t deign to comment.

“And judging by the bulkheads...” Gree continued inconspicuously, “I’d hazard that the space isn’t habitable either. It’s a huge vacuum.”

This weapon’s projectiles aren’t plasma or ionic in nature, Luminara mused silently, they were very much physical slugs. And judging by the size of the barrels we just saw... the vacuum hold was more than likely a gigantic ammunition locker. The ship was likely rearmed through a huge cargo door on the ventral surface, directly connected to outer space. The physical slugs–each the size of a tenement block–would then be stored in a zero-gravity, vacuum hold in the centre of the hull, before being fed into the guns.

“...Hah,” Commander Gree said aloud, likely reaching the same conclusion as her, “What a ‘battleship’ this is. She’s just a shell, and what–seventy, eighty percent empty vacuum? One well-placed shot will rip this warship to shreds.”

Gnifmak Dymurra’s shoulders tensed, but he did not deny the claim, “Which was why Conqueress was target-locked not once at Taris.”

“Does she even have enough room for a hypermatter-annihilator reactor?” Gree pressured further.

The most powerful hypermatter reactors–ones able to sufficiently power a capital ship–were notoriously difficult to house due to their always-spherical shape, and the Republic Navy’s latest warship, the Victory-class, was known for their reactors bulging out from the bottom of their hull. Ironically enough, the Venator-class Star Destroyer–which was also vastly empty inside due to its central hangar–faced a similar issue. Venators did possess hypermatter reactors, however, albeit with similar compromises.

“Restricted information, I am afraid,” Commander Dymurra slowed to a halt just before a turbolift lobby, his posture not betraying a hint, “Please, after you.”

The ride up was a silent one, save for two Skakoan commandos exchanging terse words in their native tongue. They were watching her closely, or rather Gree, as though expecting him to pry even more. He did not.

Nevertheless, the dorsal superstructure presiding over the warship was far more fitting for accommodations of a warship of this calibre. As soon as the turbolift emptied out, Master Luminara could feel as if she had just stepped out of a mechanical shop and into proper crew quarters. The corridors were more spacious, more brightly lit, with a constant traffic of uniformed personnel rather than combat fatigues and engineering coveralls.

“Is it safe to show us so much of the vessel?” she couldn’t help but question.

“I advised against it,” Dymurra’s answer was clipped, showing her to a door, “I will have to ask for your detail to remain here. The Clone Commander may join you.”

That was acceptable. The door opened, and they stepped into the compartment.

“We intercepted this from Coruscant,” I offered the Jedi Master the tablet, “Read at your own pleasure. It is the exact same thing Trench showed Rahm Kota.”

Master Luminara’s eyes hovered over the front page, and her expression slowly went blank. The air went stagnant, as if the Force was bringing all airflow to a halt. I felt a sudden and urgent urge to increase the ventilation in the compartment, but put the suffocating sensation aside to inspect Luminara’s expression. Unfortunately, if she was a Jedi Master of anything, it was being a master of the poker face. It was as if I was watching a statue, the only evidence of life being her thumb scrolling the tablet.

“General?” Commander Gree questioned.

“I am afraid I will have to keep this from you for now, Commander,” her voice was flat as still water.

“Understood, sir.”

“–And...” Master Luminara’s gaze flicked up to mine, “...how exactly will the Expeditionary Fleet collapse?”

I could tell that Gree was immediately curious about his General’s sudden receptive attitude the the outlandish claim, but had more than enough discipline to remain still.

“I suspect that it will come by way of one of the Grand Army’s contingency’s codes,” I leaned back, far far back, and knitted my fingers together, “I assume you have heard of them?”

“I am surprised you know of them,” Master Luminara replied.

“I wasn’t certain they existed,” I shrugged, but spoke honestly. There was no reason not to. “And besides, I only know one by name and purpose. Order Sixty-Six.”

Both Jedi and Clone Commander paused... or rather, the Clone Commander paused. The Jedi already had all the posture of a lifelike statue. Despite that, Commander Gree waited for Luminara to wordlessly place down the tablet–the manifesto–to speak, heeding an unsaid permission.

“Reason for it aside, only the Supreme Commander could issue that order,” Gree said slowly, as if explaining to a child, “And it would never work besides. Even if there had been some disagreements, the Jedi are still the generals and heroes of the Grand Army, if not the Republic. Nobody in their right mind would betray it.”

“With no disrespect, Commander,” I started, “But I was under the impression cloned troopers were trained to obey every order, as long as they come from the proper authority.”

Bred. Bred to obey. That was left unspoken, but they knew what I really meant.

Clone Commander Gree bristled, “The Clone Army has fought with the Jedi for two years now. I will admit that some may obey, but many will not, and definitely not the Grand Army.”

“I see...”

This complicates things. The only thing I knew about these ‘contingency orders’ was basically a single scene in Episode III, and even then, my memory grows fuzzy. I had entertained the idea of intercepting Order 66 as it left Coruscant with PRIESTESS, but that would immediately blow PRIESTESS’ cover, and there were at least sixty-five more contingency orders, one or two of which Palpatine could fall back on to accomplish a similar feat. For all I could know, there were hundreds, thousands more contingency orders to account for every conceivable... well, contingency.

Then, what about replacing Order 66 with another order, one beneficial to us? PRIESTESS’ existence would still be revealed, but there was almost certainly an order to overthrow the current administration or something... right? Except... we don’t know the authentication key of each contingency order.

For example, Order 66 could only be issued by the Supreme Chancellor... but there were certainly more keys than that. It was simply multiple-factor authentication. The Chancellor was one thing, but what if he was issuing the order under duress, or was unfit for duty? What if the transmission was faked?

The Supreme Chancellor’s voice and image–biometrics–were one key. Was the exact frequency of the hyperwave another key? Was there also a transponder ID, biscuit code, and approval from the Vice Chair? These sort of drastic measures required checks and balances, so that they could not be abused.

And not all contingency orders would have the same authentication keys, that was for certain. A hypothetical order to depose the Supreme Chancellor, for example, should only be issued by another party. A Senate majority? The Security Council? The Supreme Court? The Strategic Planning Amphitheatre? A mix of all four?

These sorts of things were most likely kept on the most need-to-know basis, under heavy lock and key. PRIESTESS was omnipresent, not omnipotent. She can’t do the impossible, such as finding out about every possible contingency order in existence, finding out their respective authentication keys, and forging said keys–at least not in any reasonable timespan.

But most importantly of all...

“Should the Supreme Commander issue such an order,” I looked Luminara Unduli dead in the eye, “The Clone Army will obey. The Grand Army may or may not, but the Clone Army will. I say this with an absolute certainty.”

Both of them opened their mouths to talk, but I pressed forth.

“No, I don’t know how,” I continued, “Nor do I know why. But I know it will happen. I put my faith in this outcome as much as you put your faith in the Force. I have no reason to lie.”

“...If you know about this,” Master Luminara tapped the manifesto with her knuckle, “Then so does Republic Intelligence, almost certainly. Why hasn’t the Supreme Commander issued such an order already?”

Commander Gree shifted, but said nothing. It was actually impressive. If I was in his position, I would be leaping out of my skin in equal parts worry and curiosity.

“I don’t know, Master Jedi,” I purposefully leaked a touch of real, pent-up frustration into my voice, “I don’t know. I can only suspect he is waiting for something, or someone. Waiting for a moment, the moment this... conspiracy is sprung, giving him cause for action. At that moment, he will strike... and the Expeditionary Fleet will fall into chaos.”

“Can we warn them?” Luminara asked, “Or warn the Jedi Temple?”

“They both know, I suspect,” I replied, “Look at the names in that document. Everyone involved knows the risks. They’ve already thrown the coin, and are waiting to see how it lands.”

“Barriss...” she murmured, “Adi had taken Barriss under her wing.”

“So she has.”

The Mirialan Jedi looked at me, “And this was part of your plan as well? Barriss is in the know–to all of this?”

“Master Jedi,” I smiled sheepishly, “Barriss created this plan. The spy network we used to intercept this document–it’s all Barriss Offee.”

“...”

“Master Jedi,” I tried again, “The Jedi Temple is out of our hands, and we can only put our trust in Barriss and Master Gallia to pull through. We are, however, in the position to influence the fate of the Expeditionary Fleet. This is what General Rahm Kota realised, and this is what I hope you realise now.”

Master Luminara’s face remained impassive, but I could see the gears turning behind her sapphire eyes. Her tattooed fingers rested lightly on the edge of the manifesto, unmoving, save for the faintest. Was it tension? Hesitation? Perhaps a flicker of doubt? I wasn’t sure. The Jedi were trained to control their emotions, to mask their thoughts, but even the best of them weren’t infallible. And I had spent my entire adult life learning to read people.

I rested my elbows on the tablecloth, the silk so smooth it took more effort to prevent said elbows from sliding, squinting at her. Her breathing was steady but shallow. The faint twitch of her brow. The way her eyes flicked, ever so slightly, to Commander Gree, then back to the document.

She’s weighing the risk, I thought. The risk of acting. The risk of not acting.

This was the part of the plan that always went wrong. People could be influenced, convinced, but people–even the most straight-laced of them–were also unpredictable. For all my careful planning, for all my confidence in the information I presented, and the way I presented them... everything could be undone with a single rogue thought. I felt a cold knot of doubt coil in my stomach.

There was always the chance I had overplayed my hand.

And all the while, Commander Gree stood like a statue beside her, his silence as deliberate as hers. Yet his tension was palpable, the slight tightening of his jaw and the rigidity in his stance betraying the storm brewing beneath his calm exterior. Like a dog awaiting their order.

Then, suddenly, Master Luminara Unduli straightened, and I snapped upright in response. She handed the manifesto to the clone beside her, her gaze not once straying from mine.

“Admiral Bonteri...” she started, “You are the best naval tactician I know. How do you suggest we save the day?”