Sublight Drive (Star Wars)

Chapter 23

Chapter 23

Quell, Quell System

Nuiri Sector

Twelve titanic warships hovered over the clear blue marble known as Quell-absolutely massive vessels that spanned kilometres and dwarfed anything Barriss had ever seen put to space. She could hardly believe they could even move.

But when you needed mobile deepdocks to facilitate an ever growing number of desperate warships, there was no quicker and haphazard solution than converting freighters and bulk carriers into auxiliary fleet-repair ships. They already had the gantries-once used to load and offload containers-to service ships docked alongside them, and they already had the cavernous inventories necessary to hold fuel, gas, parts, or all three.

And the corporate overlords of the Separatist Alliance had no shortage of either.

Standing on an observation platform aboard the freighter-cum-mobile shipyard Rimma Express, Barriss could just see the communications mast of another auxiliary peeking just over the curved horizon. The huge vessels were spaced evenly across Quell’s surface, strung along the mesopause like a bead of pearls. Being virtually defenceless, they had to hide within what planetary interference there was in an attempt to evade long-range system scanners.

But also being interstellar merchantmen at their core, they weren’t capable of atmospheric flight-they would collapse under their own weight-and so had to literally skirt the fine line that still allowed them to utilise their bewilderingly powerful repulsors to stay afloat. And what large repulsors they were-great jets of cold blue that extended from their ventrals like celestial pillars holding up floating islands.

“You must hasten, Captain Jorm,” Tuff sternly ordered a slouching human captain, “Unicorn Squadron is supposed to make for Ord Tiddell.”

“Nothing I can do about it, droid,” Jorm pinched the bridge of his nose, evidently exhausted at Tuff’s draconian demands, “Are your photoreceptors even working!? Look around you, my Aurora Auxiliaries Division has its hands full with Commander Shive’s and Captain Aviso’s war. Our resources have been earmarked for this Salin Front, not your… your quick response squadron, and definitely not these half-flying Atrakenite junkers!”

Lieutenant Rame Cartroll winced inaudibly at the outburst. Barriss couldn’t help but sympathise-they had been able to retrieve all of their forces from Atraken more-or-less intact, but some of the more anti-Republic Atrakenites had stubbornly refused to submit to Loyalist occupation. Instead, they raided the secret shipyards on Trilos and absconded the ships there, swearing loyalty to Separatist Alliance.

They were already traitors to the Atrakenite government. When the choice was either to take them in or abandon them to the infinite harshness of space, there was no choice in Barriss’ mind.

The problem? Those ‘ships’ of theirs could be aptly described as flying metal coffins. They were unique, to say the least; some were haphazardly repaired warships from the dawn of the war, while others were built from the keel up with what little resources they had. Barriss couldn’t believe any of them were space-worthy.

But they were, if not yet exactly battle-worthy; something Tuff was attempting to rectify.

“You know,” Cartroll said quietly, dragging her off towards the side, “It makes a lot more sense that a tactical droid would be in charge of a squadron- not sure why it didn’t occur to me that a mere lieutenant shouldn’t have that much authority.”

Barriss allowed a wry smirk, “I think it can be forgiven considering the state we found you in."

“Yeah, well,” he heaved, shoulders rising and falling, “I suppose a droid would be bad optics. Not sure how he’s going to weasel our way out of this one though. The Atrakenites trust me enough to follow us this far…”

He trailed off, gaze fixed on something in the distance. Barriss followed it to the bunkering frigates refuelling midair, and the line of impatient Atrakenite corvettes waiting for their turn.

Those are all Horgo Shive’s ships, she thought, remembering the Muun, they’re being rotated from the front to keep up to snuff. Unicorn Squadron must be an unwelcome intruder on their itinerary.

“Captain!” a Siniteen logistics officer stamped into a hasty salute, “Urgent transmission from Vjun. It’s the Commander’s address.”

It appeared as if something had physically gripped Captain Jorm, even as he spoke, “Patch him through.”

Horgo Shive appeared on a monitor above the console, blinking as he took in everybody in attendance. He stated his piece only after ensuring he had the full attention of the crew.

“Your location has been compromised,” the Muun Commander exposed bluntly, “And we’ve intercepted communications suggesting a Republic taskforce is enroute to Quell as we speak.”

“H-How!?” Captain Jorm stuttered, “Our location is supposed to be top secret! It can’t be from my division; there’s been no unauthorised outbound communications from the Quell System since we arrived!”

“A spy has penetrated deeper into our ranks than we have realised,” Commander Shive grimaced, “Either Bonteri employs a far looser hand than he should, or someone with top level access to the tracking of our military elements has fallen in bed with the Loyalists.”

“You mean- from the general staff?” Jorm started pacing the deck, chewing nervously, “This is outrageously-!”

“Neither of us are in any position to fret over a spy, Jorm,” Shive said, “You just have to get out of Quell as soon as possible. Anakin Skywalker was last spotted moving Rimward on the Salin, and I will meet him at Vjun. We all play our parts.”

“You said the enemy is enroute as we speak,” the auxiliary captain accused, “Did you trace the communications? Was it from within the region?”

“Fifteen-hundred parsec radius,” he confirmed, “You only have a day- or less. Look, Jorm, we can’t afford to lose the Aurora Auxiliary Division. Your command is a mobile Ringo Vinda. Sacrifice my Havoc Squadron frigates to make your escape if you must. Nothing is more important than your survival.”

Jorm swallowed, beads of sweat gathering on his brow, “Understood, Commander.”

“Doesn’t sound good,” Cartroll mumbled from their vantage point.

The auxiliary captain swallowed thickly, then firmed himself up, “All ships to Yellow Alert and prepare for extraction!”

Before the Siniteen could convey the order, Tuff stepped heavily, his steel boot thumping against the ground like a gong, “Belay that order, Captain.”

The words spilled out naturally, as if the droid had spoken them a hundred times before.

“You don’t know where they are coming from,” the tactical droid continued, “Acting too early is a mistake.”

Captain Jorm’s eyes fluttered, creases in his face deepening as he absorbed Tuff’s words, “Caraya’s soul. Shive, you useless blaster-brained cur. Fine; why don’t you use that programming of yours to find us a way out of here, droid?”

Somewhat lost on the situation, Barriss unconsciously probed the thoughts of the auxiliary captain, encountering little resistance as his mindscape divulged any information she seeked to know. She only realised her actions after a flood of mild panic and deep-rooted anxiety pooled in her gut, along with the scraps of tactical know-how that still surpassed hers.

Logically, the most obvious direction the enemy would be approaching from was the Salin Corridor. Except, Commander Horgo Shive still held that hyperspace route. Which meant the enemy taskforce was operating behind Separatist lines, and could strike from any direction.

Extracting too early ran the risk of exposing themselves on the wrong side of the planet-or worse, running straight into the people they were trying to escape.

“Yellow Alert,” Tuff dipped his chin, “I will take overall command of Havoc and Unicorn Squadron. Ensure all crews are prepared for a hasty extraction, but for now, we cannot make our move until we see the enemy.”

“What is your plan?” Jorm demanded.

“Sacrifice one or two auxiliaries,” Tuff replied curtly, “And run in the opposite direction.”

Cartroll made a silent ‘ah’ sound with his mouth, eyes shining as if he had been struck by an epiphany.

“What is it?” she whispered.

“Simple yet clever,” the Lieutenant said, “Now I see why the deepdocks are stationed where they are.”

“To minimise their sensor profile?”

“Well yes, but look at this-” he drew up a rough 2D render of the planet on his tablet, with twelve flashing dots placed evenly on its circumference, “-It also means that if the enemy comes from any one spot, like here…”

He tapped the screen, and a new flashing dot appeared on the outskirts of the render. Two dotted lines spanned outwards, running tangentially from the node to the planet’s circle.

“See how their in-system scanners won’t be able to detect all the ships on the other hemisphere?” Cartroll pointed, “Yes, it does minimise our profile, both from long-range and short-range scanners. Bare minimum, we survive with half of our ships. But if we can distract the enemy long enough…”

“We can get the rest behind the tangents, and sacrifice the closest auxiliaries in the process,” Barriss finished.

“The question is; which?” Cartroll looked up.

“That is for the enemy to decide,” Tuff marched past them, “Board your ship, Lieutenant. We must be ready to meet them.”

?

They didn’t have a day. They had five hours.

“Polyphemus reports sensor contact sir,” Taylor said, “Should we begin tracing aft of their inbound trajectory to plot an origin arc?”

Polyphemus. A Corporate Alliance bulk carrier converted into a mobile manufacturing plant to quickly produce replacement parts from raw materials procured by fleet tenders. Six corvettes orbited the giant starship, serviced by Polyphemus’ autonomous limbs and a legion of crab-like repair droids.

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“Do so-” Unicorn jolted as she dislodged from Rimma Express’ cranes, freefalling several metres before her repulsors kicked in, “-And identify who we are facing. Have Lieutenant Cartroll’s light warships move to Polyphemus’ flanks oh-four-five radial degrees from Quell’s core. Begin evacuation procedures.”

Unicorn and Centaur immediately started burning a fiery trail through the heavens, carving a white gaseous scar across the sky. Quell seemed to go on infinitely from the vantage of the bridge, the endless sea of clouds expanding outwards as they chased the horizon.

“Which frigates are closest to Polyphemus’ position?” Tuff demanded.

“Havoc Squadron’s Sanction, Durandal, and Ullalulla,” Barriss checked.

“Can they make the intercept in time?”

She fumbled with the calculations for a minute, “Not… not with the atmospheric drag.”

The Republic taskforce had a nearly eighty degree angle of attack, while the Separatist frigates were sailing parallel to the surface and in-atmosphere. That meant they were not only limited by their atmospheric drives, but also had to travel a longer distance following the curvature of the planet, compared to a straight-shot displacement figure.

“We’ve identified the cruisers as you’ve ordered,” Rame Cartoll’s voice was sharp, “There are three Venators; Liberty, Defiance, and Independence. Only Defiance is in carrier outfit, from what our sensors can make.”

“Liberty is General Aayla Secura’s flagship,” Tuff stated, probably pulling the information from his databanks, “And the trace?”

“An arc in the Perkell Sector. Somewhere around Aargonar, Gromas, or Tancret. Can’t tell any more than that, unless you can rip out their astronav charts.”

Tuff twitched unnaturally at the mentioned systems, as if his behavioural programming was glitching.

“That’s… the opposite direction of where they should be coming from,” Barriss stated, “Has the Perlemian Front already collapsed?”

“Eucer definitely has- no way else for them to get behind us,” Cartroll stated grimly, “We were supposed to rendezvous with reinforcements at Ord Tiddell right? I have a feeling we won’t find them there.”

“I must follow my last received orders, Lieutenant,” Tuff said, “Unicorn Squadron will make for Ord Tiddell. Whether you decide to follow us is irrelevant.”

“That’s not your strategic analysis software talking, droid,” Cartroll chastised, “That’s your loyalty protocols overwriting your logic matrix. Who programmed you?”

If Tuff could blink, Barriss imagined he would have.

“Aurora,” the droid toggled the comms, “Have all your ships except Polyphemus retreat to the galactic bearing oh-three-eight and jump to Kodai.”

“And Polyphemus?”

“Transfer its control codes to me.”

“… I hope you know what you are doing, droid.”

“My programming dictates that I always do,” Tuff replied stoically.

The nearest auxiliary-Winds of Trade-rumbled in the other direction, its sensory masts sticking over the horizon like a shark lurking just beneath the waves. The roar of its engines travelled the distance with time, brightness and heat warping the very sky itself as it rose first like a breaching whale, and then like a mountain range taking flight as the wall of durasteel just kept going-all ten kilometres of it.

“We have a visual,” Taylor reported, “The enemy taskforce is entering the atmosphere.”

“Deploy all available Vulture wings to lure away their combat patrols,” Tuff ordered, “Order Polyphemus to wait until they’re on the edge of their firing envelopes before gradually descending to an altitude of twenty klicks.”

“That’ll… Polyphemus will implode,” Taylor refused ardently, “And there are still hundreds of droids onboard!”

TF-1726’s white eyes were bright and merciless, “I don’t care.”

‘They are not our droids’ went unsaid.

OOM-2200’s pitch black photoreceptors were in stark contrast, the lesser B1 model staring up at his superior in such a way that it must have somehow gone against his obedience module. And yet, he still did.

“Roger…” the B1 drew out slowly, ultimately unwilling-or unable-to disobey, “Roger.”

Polyphemus dropped like a puppet with its strings cut, layer upon layer of shielding concentrating beneath the ship until it appeared like an glowing aurora holding back an infernal hand attempting to crush the ship in its fiery grasp. Even then, there was a visible wobble amidships as the freighter withstood gravitic forces it was never designed to handle.

Hundreds of droid ‘deaths.’ She felt nothing for it.

And above, the three Jedi cruisers continued to descend towards the mesosphere, apparently too eager to destroy their quarry to notice the trap laid out for them.

How do you not see it, Master Secura? Barriss wondered. It was so… obvious. Was it arrogance to presume that Barriss herself would never fall for a trick like this?

“Habatok,” Tuff called, “Are your corvettes armed with torpedoes?”

There was a buzz of static- “They are.”

“When I give the order, attack the cruisers from dead astern, forty-five degrees upwards on their vertical axis.”

“Understood. The Atrakenites are eager to prove their worth,”

The young Lieutenant’s confirmation was devoid of emotion, as if he was as much a droid as TF-1726 himself.

Just then, a roiling swarm of Vulture droids poured out every one of Polyphemus’ open bays like streams of water from a leaking jug. Defying gravity and converging over the auxiliary in a great mushroom shape, the Vultures locked in their missiles and surged upwards in a single front. As if in anticipation, Defiance deployed a counter-torrent of starfighters.

“Commence your attack run, Lieutenant,” Tuff commanded.

Master Secura’s taskforce must have realised something was amiss by then, as Polyphemus continued its uncontrollable descent into the stratosphere. But it was already too late; the Atrakenite corvettes had burst forward in shimmering clouds of flares and sensory chaff, dashing up and around towards the cruisers’ undefended engine blocks.

With all of their shields focused downwards to absorb atmospheric friction as they descended into the mesosphere, the cruisers were vulnerable to the Cartroll’s higher angle of attack-the extremely lightweight corvettes strafing beyond the speed of sound as they unleashed a flurry of torpedoes that fractured the cylinders of the ion engine chambers and sent them spiralling to the earth in pieces.

Yet still, Defiance heaved its bow upwards in majestic fashion, barely managing to angle its rearmost dorsal turbolasers to bear and thunder off four well-placed shots that popped two corvettes like faulty fireworks. A deep rumble emerged from its hull at the same time as the Venator’s structural integrity was strained to its limit with the high-g manoeuvre.

An explosion from below shook the world. As if it had struck an invisible floor, Polyphemus imploded in a way not unlike a glass of blue milk shattering on the ground. Tendrils of fire burst out in every direction, searing the air and flinging a hail of heavy metal meteorites across the sky that would surely sear leagues of land below into ash and dust.

The loss of one of the Separatist armada’s most vital assets didn’t seem to phase TF-1726 at all, “Habatok, retreat in their blindspot. All frigates, climb one klick and lock targets on their dorsal barbettes. We will pound them into the planet itself.”

Unicorn surged forwards, its superheavy forward batteries blasting out a roaring barrage of bleeding fire that ripped out a chunk of Independence’s gundeck and thoroughly mutilated the interior into a grotesque heap of half-metal machinery. Debris spilled out of the breach, and to Barriss’ own horror, she witnessed a number of white-sheathed clone troopers thrown out and tumbling towards their deaths.

There was no recourse. With all five frigates arranged around Master Secura’s taskforce and even more closing in rapidly, there was nothing for them to do except let gravity work its magic.

It was an empty sight, for Barriss, watching a Jedi Master she respected deeply falling for a trap that was so elementary in her mind. Liberty and its satellite cruisers couldn’t even delay their destruction, with how their shields were preoccupied fending off the onslaught of physics.

“Outbound hyperwave transmission detected,” Taylor reported, “Looks like they are calling for reinforcements.”

“Trace its destination and determine which force is coming,” Tuff turned around, “They cannot be far away.”

“… Considering the direction and range, the closest Republic taskgroup is General Anakin Skywalker’s at Indu San.”

“Inform Commander Shive of this development. He may wish to counterattack at Indu San,” the tactical droid said, “And tell Captain Jorm to double his efforts. We will disengage once the reinforcements arrive.”

?

The day dragged on. The Republic warships were holding on valiantly, but with every new frigate joining the battle, the odds only stacked against them. And finally, the unrelenting firepower of Sanction and Ullalulla finally cracked open Defiance’s already weakened hull at the beam, snapping off the Star Destroyer’s forward half and sending both pieces careening in the clouds below.

Thousands of lives written off just like that. It still surprised Barriss just how fragile starships can be, when it mattered. A pressure built on her mind-first she thought it was from the mounting casualties in those burning wrecks, until she realised it was Force warning of an approaching threat.

“Cronau radiation detected at planetary bearing two-two-seven,” Taylor calibrated the sensors, “It’s the Harbinger… and two more ships; Redeemer and Defender.”

Tuff slashed down with a stiff arm, “Unicorn Squadron, withdraw! Captain Jorm, what is your progress?”

“Four ships are still in-system,” Captain Jorm replied, “Winds of Trade is lagging hard. We need more time.”

The droid paused as he silently computed their next course of action. Suddenly, he turned to stare at her, as if she had become a new factor in his equation. Barriss stumbled as Unicorn swerved away, firing its thrusters to escape the planet’s grasp-and the pressure continued to build in her mind.

“Habatok, have your corvettes escort the remaining auxiliaries to Kodai,” TF-1726 decided, “Am I correct to presume you will not be following us?”

“Sorry,” he sounded truly apologetic, and Barriss wondered just who he was saying it to, “But I can’t lead my men into what is almost certainly enemy-occupied territory.”

“Very well,” Tuff acknowledged curtly, “Havoc Squadron will exercise independent command from now on.”

The sky faded away like watercolour washed off a canvas, just as the sound bled away into deathly silence. The roar of turbolasers and ion drives faded like a distant dream as the vacuum of space swallowed them once more.

“Harbinger’s bearing down on us on our starboard bow,” Taylor announced.

Master Skywalker’s Venator was on a straight vector bound for Master Secura’s mark, on a slight angle from Unicorn Squadron’s outbound heading. Barriss steeled herself for another battle, fully expecting Unicorn and Centaur to bring their guns to bear and finish what should have started at Atraken.

Except… they didn’t. Even as the five warships came within firing distance of each other, they passed harmlessly by, guns aimed and ready, but quiet.

“We aren’t intercepting them?” Confusion spilled from her lips.

“Havoc Squadron is still present planetside.”

“I mean… won’t they go after the auxiliaries?”

Tuff stopped and stared at her in what looked like surprise. He tilted his head like a cat, then shook it.

“I have calculated the possibilities,” he said, “Jedi compassion makes them predictable. Anakin Skywalker would rather rescue Aayla Secura than downing four auxiliaries.”

Barriss frowned, thinking, “But Liberty is doomed. Master Skywalker might not even make it in time, not if he needs to fight through Havoc Squadron.”

“He will take that risk,” Tuff declared confidently, “Even if it means fighting Havoc Squadron instead of eliminating the Auxiliary Division and achieving an easy strategic victory. A rational thought process dictates targeting the auxiliaries is the wiser action because as you had posited, Aayla Secura is unlikely to survive. But Aayla Secura will survive, not even with our best efforts, due to plot armour. With this knowledge, Jedi will always prefer to surrender a strategic objective if the price is the rescue of one of their comrades, simply because a rescue has a much greater probability of success than it logically should.”

Jedi will always prefer to surrender a strategic objective if the price is the rescue of one of their comrades. The droid’s robotic words rang in her head over and over again like an incessant bell, and the building pressure felt like a hammer and chisel attempting to split her head in two.

What was the Force trying to tell her?

That Master Luminara was wrong on Teth all those months ago?

The mere thought was blasphemous. Barriss knew her Master had always been one of the more detached Jedi Masters, and had always taught her to rely on her own wits as much as the Force. Sacrifice was a sad necessity in some cases, and a Jedi must always be ready to let go.

Would I have done the same thing were I in your shoes then, Master? Barriss did not know which answer was worse.

Is it your fault I am now trapped and fighting for the enemy? Barriss herself had told her Master to leave her. What Rotta the Hutt could bring to the Loyalist cause was far greater than anything she could contribute. Her sacrifice had been her contribution.

Were you wrong, Master? Was I wrong?

An ugly sensation of jealousy bubbled in her stomach. Why couldn’t I have been saved too?

TF-1726 took her silence as disagreement, “Just as our definition of victory is not the death of a Jedi, but the safety of the Aurora Auxiliary Division; General Skywalker’s definition of victory is the safety of his comrade, not the destruction of the Auxiliary Division. As our means and goals are parallel, we have no cause for conflict. Your proactive mindset is laudable, but unnecessary in this situation.”

I wish I never had one, she grieved. Serenity was the Jedi way, and yet, Barriss continued to battle her own oppressively traitorous thoughts. Master Luminara would know what to do-she always did.

Would she?