Wyatdrew Matread
"One more distraction."
I had said, believing at the time that our struggles were almost over. N'zoth would be one last distraction, and then we would be in civilized space once more. The madness that came as an aftermath of the tyrant Emperor's death would be a concern for our superiors, and their superiors in turn. Rivejer, Rius, Aschca, and I would all return to our passive, peace-time positions - expected only to do our duties as part of a larger machine. As I watched the Intimidator spear itself into the shields of that world, I realized those days were now long behind us.
I looked at the crew members near me, some of them older men like me and others young firebrands that caught the eye of Rivejer or one of the other officers. In the command crew, all were chosen - all were the best they could be. Even if these last few months were the totality of their combat experience, they were well-trained and knew what to expect in combat situations. Yet, even with this training, there was not a single unaffected face. Some eyes were wide with horror at such a catastrophic loss of life. Others were shocked, and others still covering the range of emotions between those. It was one thing to see a warship break apart or to hear about the devastating loss of civilian life on the other end of the galaxy. It was another entirely to see a populated world, no doubt covered in civilians, face the inevitable devastation of a city-sized warship crashing into its surface. There was not a single unaffected face… except one.
Rivejer Tullius had returned to his holo table, his island in the sea of the rear bridge's chaos, and was staring at the hologram completely passive. A frown marred his features but beyond that, no reaction.
I had served aboard the Conqueror for nearly as long as Rivejer had been commanding it, added to his crew shortly after the man was given command of the vessel. I had been a washed-up old hangar officer, long past the twilight of his career and waiting for his retirement. A younger Rivejer so full of life (or as full of life as Tullius appears in any case) had brought me up to the bridge for my expertise, my experience in commanding and flying. The Empire was always so quick to leave behind the vestiges of the Galactic Republic, even the men that fought for it, but not Tullius - never Tullius. Men and women, old and young - indeed, if Tullius were from a more cosmopolitan world in the Core, I might have expected to see non-humans on the Conqueror. Tullius cared about one thing, competence - not out of some ambition, the man never preened for the attention of his superiors, but purely out of a desire for excellence. While Tullius had never said as much, I always saw it in his eyes - success was its reward.
Even after these years, I realized I knew nothing about the man I called my superior. Not what he liked, what his past was beyond details like what planet he was born on, or where he got his commission, or what his previous command was. He was always a grey blur at the periphery - reliable, unexceptional Rivejer Tullius. The man who never asked questions so long as he got results, who let old timers get away with breaking regulations or letting a few anti-Imperial words pass their lips, who let younger crew rise above their station.
Annoyance crossed his face now, and at last, Tullius spoke.
"What a waste," The words were muttered, and as always it was difficult to decipher anything from the other man's tone. Yet, from his expression, and how he stared at where the Intimidator had disappeared, I feared his reaction was not toward the tremendous loss of life. I cast my mind back to Bakura, to what I had believed was a bluff at the time. Tullius had been angry then, as near to apoplectic rage as the usually dull man would get. I had never believed for a moment that he could give the order to bombard the world, certainly not out of something as childish as spite. At the moment, he did not appear angry or out of control. He didn't even appear… surprised.
I knew nothing about Rivejer Tullius. Not his past, not his beliefs, and certainly not the lengths he would go to achieve his ends. I looked from the man, who appeared so alien to me at that moment, to the hologram of N'zoth. The Intimidator had vanished from view over the world as it crashed to the surface. Could Rivejer order a world destroyed if he believed it would get him closer to victory?
"Screold, we are drifting from the Intimidation," Like that, the moment was broken - Tullius's annoyance vanished into his usual mild mannerisms as he spoke to Aschca, "Close ranks - our shield readouts are also concerning. I want a report filed within the hour. If we are at risk of losing our shields, I would like to know."
"... Yes, sir." Even Ashca sounded shaken, which was a good sign despite the circumstances. She was not so desensitized or radical to watch the Intimidator crash into N'zoth without a reaction. I watched Rivejer for a moment longer, but he had already fully moved on - speaking to the commander of the other ships with that usual calm, dry voice of his.
As if it were any other day.
Captain Rivejer Tullius
I was not sure what I should be feeling. I was annoyed, not so much at the destruction of the Intimidator but at the manner in which it was destroyed. I was expecting sabotage, maybe the destruction of the bridge, engine, or reactor - not ramming it bow-first into the surface of a populated world. Worryingly, I could also respect the moxie - what better way to deny a ship to the enemy than ensuring its total destruction? And ramming it into the homeworld of that same enemy?
I might have called all that inspired were I not horrified by the tremendous loss of life. Even if I were to ignore my confused thoughts on the Yevethans, a mix of pity with a dash of disdain, there had to have been Imperials on N'zoth. However, depending on how the vengeful Yevethans might have been treating their prisoners, perhaps this was a mercy? It was a macabre way of thinking, but it was difficult to quantify and become emotionally despondent toward death on so tremendous a scale. The long-range scopes could see flame and dust clouds billowing out around the bulk of the Intimidator as it made landfall, though the true devastation was impossible to make out.
It was strange, seeing this sort of operation in person while not being the one to make the choice. I did not order the strike team to do this, in no way could my vague orders be interpreted as such. Someone else, Maab or the CompForce operatives, had decided that "denial of assets" meant a reproduction of the Devastation of Pammant.
I looked away, suddenly uncomfortable. It was one thing to see warships destroyed - they were enemies, targets. You did not think of their crews as people but as enemy combatants. This, however…
"Captain, we have identified the Stormcaster - she is on an intercept course with the fleet." I glanced up at the hologram projector again before fiddling with its controls. The deceptively placid form of N'zoth vanished, zooming in as the Marauder Corvette was identified. The hologram did not showcase battle damage, but the smaller vessel was still showcasing her Bakuran identification.
"They survived," I muttered, trying to decide if I was impressed or upset by that fact Still, I turned and pointed at a crew member who did not appear busy, "Scramble a wing of TIE Fighters to escort them in. Someone, provide the Stormcaster a course that does not put it through that dreadnought's firing arcs."
"Sir," Several voices responded before officers scattered in every direction. I pushed off the holotable and headed toward the elevator out of the bridge - it would not do for the Captain not to greet the conquering heroes in person.
The cavernous starboard hangar was cleared in short order of extraneous staff and equipment, all to make room for the new arrivals - be they injured or not. Of the bridge officers and senior staff, only Maab and I were present to greet the strike teams. The Colonel appeared largely bored by this whole affair, and when I brought up how the Intimidator was destroyed, he appeared briefly amused.
"Did you not see this coming, Captain?" Maab had asked, the look he had sent my way confusing and worrying in equal measure. How coy he was being all served to unbalance me, though it all be confirmed to me that he was the one to blame. I had severely underestimated Maab, if he was capable not only this type of planning, but to also treat such a massive number of casualties with a casual amusement.
I did not deign to answer him, merely nodding my head and looking forward again. Shortly after, two ships rose from somewhere beneath the Conqueror, drifting up and toward the hangar bay. The first was a familiar ship, a Sentinel-class shuttle with its elongated cargo bay and three-wing design. If might have been mistaken for the common Lambda, were it not for the gun ports flanking the cockpit and boarding ramp.
The other vehicle was foreign, though vaguely familiar. It appeared to be a bizarre combination of TIE Fighter and Lambda shuttle. Its cockpit was vaguely similar to the shuttle, albeit serving as a continuous piece of the main body rather than a separate portion. The same wide transparisteel viewscreen dominated the front of the vessel. The body itself was similar to that of a Sentinel, but more rounded rather than rectangular - like a half-elipses. The mid section of the ship was enclosed by two black wing-like protrusions, similar to the wings of the TIE family of fighters. At the reat, an addition five wings poked out from the ship's bulbous body - two pointing down from the ship's horizontal axis at forty-five degrees, two more above them at around 20 degrees, and the final wing sticking straight up like the Imperial shuttles. The vessel appeared largely unarmed, save for an alcove cut into the underside of the craft where a single blaster cannon sat.
The shuttle, being the larger ship, entered first, its wings folding up as its landing gear deployed. The shuttle set down heavily as it was directed by the deck crew. A ramp beneath the chin of the cockpit lowered, hissing at it equalized the pressure between shuttle and ship. Repulsor lifts came down first, ladden with the injured as Navytroopers - still adorned in hastily repainted Armytrooper equipment - piled out with their fallen comrades.
The strike force was separated out into two teams, that being the actual team sent in to sabotage the Intimidator and the second team expected to hold the hangar and provide their fellows time to escape. All-in-all, the injured were fewer than I was expecting, but these men had the easier of the two jobs. A ranking officer approached Maab and I, saluting us before he gave his report.
"Yevs tried their hand at retaking the hangar," He said, "But once the strike team started moving the ship, they gave up right quick."
The other ship came next, the Turbostorm Maab explained to me, and landed on a quartet of concealed landing gears. The two wings wrapping around the sides of the ship moved up, exposing doors on the sides of the gunship. When they opened, it was readily apparent that the strike team was not as casualty-light as their compatriots.
Eight Stormtroopers returned, joined by a staggeringly low five Navytroopers. Only one of the two CompForce representatives followed them, the commander. As the only member of the team without a face-concealing helmet, I could see the almost smug expression on the CompForce operative's face.
The leading Stormtrooper, Navy Commando, and CompForce operative approached us as the rest scattered - either joining the wounded Navytroopers or otherwise leaving the hangar.
"Reporting mission success, sir," The Stormtrooper's voice was modulated by his helmet, hiding his tone of voice.
"And far beyond expected parameters," Maab responded, tucking his thumbs behind his belt buckle as he studied the survivors.
"Casualties?" I asked, though looking at the group told me most of what I needed to know. Still, the Stormtrooper answered all the same.
"Thirteen, two wounded, eleven dead."
"They died well," The CompForce operative said, standing up straighter. His tone was almost mournful as if he were upset he didn't go out in a blaze of glory.
"And they shall forever be remembered as the Empire's finest," I added when the Navy Commando officer stiffened, his men having suffered the worst of the casualties. I turned to Maab now, deciding to voice my concerns.
"I will admit, Colonel, I did not expect you to order a planetary-ramming maneuver." Maab's eyebrows knit together at my words, but before he could speak, the CompForce operative raised his voice.
"As you said, Captain. Denying the asset was our priority. Better than leaving them anything at all. You and the Colonel offered us the freedom we needed to take that option."
"Good hunting, indeed," Maab muttered. I blinked, it almost sounded as if I were getting the blame for this - which I would be associated with, but I did not want "the Intimidator was rammed into a planet" to be linked with my name! I kept my tongue still, deciding not to pick a fight on this front. These men were tired and earned their rest, the time to pass blame would come when we were not fighting for our lives.
"Good work all the same. See your wounded to the med bay and get some rest - we may still need your expertise before this mess is over."
"Not planning to send us to board another Star Dreadnought, I hope? Sir?" I was caught off-guard by the brevity shown by the Clonetrooper who had thus far been all business. I offered an awkward, but polite, smile to the helmeted man.
"It isn't in my immediate plans, trooper."
The Armadia was at last warded off, not by a daring counter-attack by Commodore Dobbatek and his confederates, but by the defenses on the moon's surface. A hypervelocity cannon, firing accelerated solid slugs several times the speed of sound. Unfortunately, we were not so lucky to hope that the gun would damage the Bellator, or even hit it. At that speed, even the miniature Star Dreadnought could maneuver out of the way. What the gun did do was buy us time to make it into friendly space, where even the Bellator would hesitate to fight its way through those defenses.
Another Star Destroyer had joined Dobbatek's forces, though it made the Conqueror look fresh off the dockyard. Half of its conning tower had been blown away and its top armor deck was torn to complete shreds. How the ship was even functioning at this stage was anyone's guess, but it was clear that the Unrelenting had earned her name.
I was seated in my shuttle - reclaimed from Maab thankfully still intact. The passenger bay was fuller than usual, but I did not want to take any chances. The Stormtrooper commander, Talik, was absent - an order that had to come from me, the man had more than proven his worth. Given their continued success and loyalty, I felt I owed it to the men to learn their names - a part of me felt shame that I hadn't bothered before.
Umak led this group, though they were not all 501st veterans. Three of the six were: Umak, Chopper, and Zones. The other three were from the Conqueror's complement instead, and there was a lingering tension that seemed to permeate between the two groups. Smartly, I kept my mouth shut - I did not expect the 501st men to be here much longer, it was best to keep the peace for now.
They were joined by the CompForce operative, one Rik Cardon. He had all but demanded to join me on the station, and I did not have the spine to deny the lone surviving CompForce representative on my ship. They all stood well-armed and ready for a fight, something I appreciated immensely. I had made a promise to myself that the next station I entered would be with an army, and I intended to deliver. Unfortunately, I was the only senior officer going to the station. I did not want to strip my flag of her already exhausted crew, and Nereus had flat-out refused to come - something I did not blame him for.
This time, my operation was simple - get to Black-3, speak with Dobbatek, and find out his plan. I did not know what I was going to do if he didn't have a plan, but I intended to deal with that possibility when I came to it.
"We have entered the hangar, Captain," My pilot announced, his words punctuated by the familiar tingling sensation of passing through a hangar bay shield. I shuffled in my seat, turning my gaze to the gathered men.
"Try not to make a scene, gentlemen," I said with a light smile, hoping to break some of the tension. To my surprise, the men did chuckle.
There was a shudder as the shuttle touched down, its inertial dampeners shutting down. The boarding ramp hissed before lowering, filling the cargo bay with the harsh hangar bay light beyond. My guards rose with mechanical precision, rivalries briefly forgotten in the face of discipline. The first four Stormtroopers marched down, blaster carbines held close to their chests. At the bottom of the ramp, they split, two on either side of the ramp facing in. I shuddered, a part of me perhaps more excited than I should have been.
I never had an honor guard before. Fighting my face back into the picture of neutrality, I stepped down the ramp next, followed by Cardon and then the last two troopers at the rear.
One might have mistaken this for the main ventral hangar of the Conqueror, filled to the brim as it was. TIE racks covered the walls, but the space within the hangar was dominated by shuttles, gunships, cargo crates, and a host of other miscellaneous items. A welcoming party awaited me in front of my shuttle, a small group of grey-uniformed officers. However, their nervous glances were sent to the sides of my shuttle rather than at me directly. I glanced left and right, again fighting down my smile.
A duo of additional shuttles flanked my personal transport, already deploying their complements. Navytroopers filed out onto the hangar deck, far more heavily armed than a security force ought to have been. Though looking at them, one would be hard-pressed to identify them as Naval Security any longer. Armytrooper equipment had replaced much of their naval counterparts, barring tunics and helmets. The man looked more like Naval Security shocktroopers than security personnel - Navytrooper Marines.
Of course, they were no better trained than your usual crop of Navytroopers. A bit more fanatical than I expected, as I had learned over the last few months, but far from the elite fighting force that surrounded me. Still, their presence alone took away some of my tension.
I stepped past the quartet of Stormtroopers and toward the awaiting group, who appeared very uneasy at their lack of guards.
"Captain Tullius," The lead man said slowly, briefly glancing at Cardon before focusing on me, "... Welcome to Black-3."
"My thanks, Captain," I responded, noting his ranking plaques, "Though, and you will have to forgive my rudeness, I'm not partial to staying here any longer than I need to. Are you the commander of this station?"
"No," He shook his head, "Unfortunately, the station overseer was killed in the uprising. Captain Lon Eistern, of the Unrelenting."
"The Unrelenting? You have seen quite some combat," I noted politely. The man stiffened before standing up straighter, a mixture of pride and insult flashing across his face.
"The same could be said of you, Tullius." I dipped my head, one part agreeing with his statement and another an apology for any offense.
"Are the… guards strictly necessary, Captain?" One of the men at Estern's side asked slowly, eyes still glued on the Navy Troopers nearby. I sniffed, putting as much derision into the sound as I could muster, before responding.
"Given the present situation, you mean?" I asked, gesturing to the Navytroopers, "My advisors believe I am being restrained."
They said nothing of the sort, though most agreed with my heavy-handed approach to my personal safety. I would not put my life into the hands of another officer until I knew I was safe behind Imperial lines.
"All the same, Captain," The man continued, "There are no Yevethans on this station. This may be a little… overkill?"
"It is that kind of thinking that got us into this situation in the first place," To my surprise, it was Estern that spoke up, snapping at the junior officer without so much as a backward glance. The man looked affronted, but kept his silence, "I do not begrudge your commitment to security, Captain. The majority will have to remain here when you meet with the Commodore, however."
A fair enough compromise, I turned and waved over at the Navytrooper officer. The man bobbed his head before beginning to bark orders. At the words "E-WEB", the previous station representative whimpered.
"Let's not keep the Commodore waiting," I said.
Like Black-15, the interior of Black-3 followed a familiar Imperial design philosophy. Unlike the previous station, however, the interior had not been refit or modified for civilian usage. Black-3 (or Black-3-B as each gun platform was technically an independent station internally) was a standard military affair - chokepoints and defenses meant to assist the defenders, sectioned-off hallways that could be sealed or vented with ease, unlabelled doors that only the crew would know.
Blaster scoring was present, but not to the same degree as Black-15. Whatever Yevethans had been here did not have the same level of success, and were clearly routed far sooner.
Security was present in far larger numbers. Navy Commandos and Navytroopers marched this way and, even with the immediate threat taken care of they were preparing to ward off boarders.
We arrived at the command center, a large octagonal room with tiers of platforms that led up to a command throne at the top. The seat was empty, but the room was filled with staff and security as they worked to keep the massive station online.
I was led by Captain Estern to the highest-ranked person in the room, Commodore Dobbatek.
Dobbatek reminded me of Maab, although taller and clear-shaven. Wide shoulders, a thick neck, and a mustache that seemed to bristle with barely repressed fury. The man's dark eyes almost seemed to ignite with anger as he stared at me, recognition flashing in his expression before being immediately followed by that same fury.
"Captain Tullius," His words were pushed through clenched teeth, "I suppose I should shake your hand?"
Even as I saluted the man, I suspected that was the last thing he wanted to do to me with his hands. I smartly kept my mouth shut, years of experience avoiding attention returning in a flash.
"A complete collapse of our command structure, a total rebellion of the Yevethans, and the loss of nearly the entire Black Sword Command First and Second Fleets," He started, his voice carefully low though it was clear he would rather be yelling, "Yet, by some miracle, you have managed to entirely destroy any attempt to retake control of this system. I might have applauded your gall, were I not furious over your lack of thought."
"Sir?" I asked carefully, keeping the expression of practiced confusion locked on my face as anger briefly flashed through my mind. That was not good, these last few hours had weighed on me and the last thing I needed was some do-nothing Commodore telling me how I was the root of all evils in this system. I kept my anger in check, though.
"Crashing the Intimidator into N'zoth, not just sacrificing the flagship of the fleet in what I can only assume was a radical misjudgement born of fanaticism, but also destroying the only way we could reassume command of the fleets."
"Respectfully, sir," I jumped in, catching the man while he was taking in his breath, "The destruction of the Intimidator was-" Not my fault. No, I could not lay the blame on my men - they were my responsibility, no matter how temporarily. Not only was it my duty to ensure that their orders were clear and concise, I would not sacrifice them to save my own skin. Politically, sacrificing men was part-and-parcel of naval combat. What's more, I doubted the Commodore would believe me or care either way, "... Deemed a necessity, we could not secure it and attempting to move the ship ran the risk of warning the Yevethans that we had retaken control."
"I don't care if the Intimidator survived or not, Tullius," The man spat, completely at odds with what he was saying before, "The Intimidator held the one way we could shut down the fleet. All ships in the First Fleet were slaved to the Intimidator, and a solid remainder of the Second. Losing the Intimidator was the only way to remotely retake control of the fleet - which you blew up!"
"It what?!" I spluttered, pure bemusement breaking through my mask as I turned an astounded stare to Dobbatek. That was… perhaps the single worst thing I had ever heard in my life. Slave-rigging a few ships to a capital ship? Sure, it allowed easier coordination of frigates or corvettes. I didn't do it due to my style, ships were independent operators as much as they were part of my operations, but I understood the concept. But rigging not just a capital ship to another, but a fleet of them was the height of madness! It was a wonder Paret hadn't tried this before, when he had an instant fleet at his hands! That was to say nothing of the other issues that could arise in these types of fleets, or had we all forgotten the Katana Fleet?
"You would have me believe that you did not know that the Intimidator, the strongest ship in the fleet, was not the link that bound this fleet together?" Dobbatek demanded with a disbelieving tone.
"Why would I have known that? How would I have known that?" To be fair, I had never bothered to ask, "Sir, if I was aware of this capability, we would not be having this conversation. I would be busy flooding the Intimidator with every man and woman I could put a blaster into the hands of. Whose brilliant idea was this? All that did was open the door for people like Paret to plan a-"
My jaw slammed shut with a click, realizing too late that I had said more than enough. Dobbatek, who had begun pacing, stopped dead at my words. His intense expression suddenly became frozen before vanishing, remaining in that now eerily placid state as he stared at me.
"Admiral Paret was planning what, Captain?"
"I-" I started, but the man cut me off again.
"Admiral Paret was planning nothing, Tullius. Or if he was, you and I knew nothing about it. I was here for fleet exercises, you were here at the behest of Paret - nothing else. That is all we know as far as we are concerned, and that is all we know as far as Grand Moff Weblin is concerned."
I bit my tongue, meeting the man's gaze head on as I tried to figure out a response. Now, while I wasn't the most politically active officer, I knew how to identify politics when they were unfolding around me. Commodore Dobbatek was in all likelihood the highest ranking officer in the system, and when the Grand Moff came asking questions it was he who would need to answer. Hiding Paret's plans served him to a certain extent, as then he could pretend ignorant if or when anyone brought it up around Weblin. I glanced around at the many heads conspicuously not looking at us, there were too many people that could talk - accidentally or intentionally. Lying would only make us look worse, not better.
"Sir, I don't think-"
"There's the problem, Captain, you don't think. What do you think happens when news of what happened here reaches Coruscant? Weblin loses the entire N'zoth system and two fleets to rebelling slaves. It doesn't matter how, it doesn't matter why - all that matters is that it happened. And then, on top of that, the Admiral overseeing the fleet - a man that was selected by Weblin himself - planned a coup not against the Grand Moff but against the Ruling Council themselves. Weblin would not survive that fallout, and he can not let that news escape the fleet," Dobbatek pointed a finger into my chest and then to himself, "And if he learns that we know about it, then it is in his best interest to ensure we are not alive to speak of it."
I opened my mouth to counter him, before closing it again. There were holes enough in his logic, but I realized I was arguing a moot point. Dobbatek was playing a dangerous game, hoping that Weblin would either not notice or notice too late to silence us both.
There's also the possibility he plans to tell Weblin anyway and use me as the fall guy.
It mattered not, I did not plan to see either man again the moment I escaped N'zoth. When I was on Coruscant, I could blab to every ISB agent, COMPNOR operative, and Fleet High Command official I could find. Taking my silence as acquiescence, Dobbatek nodded.
"Am I understood, Captain." He demanded all the same. I let out a quiet sigh, before-
A blaster bolt barked, a bright flash flew just past my injured left arm and hit Dobbatek dead in the chest. The man barely had time to widen his eyes comically before he toppled on the spot, a black mark burnt into the chest of his tunic. I stepped back and whirled on my heel, good hand fiddling with my holster as I stared, wide-eyed, at the source of the bolt.
Agent Cardon had his blaster pistol held up at his hip, having quick-drawn it from his holster. His expression was one of annoyance, not moving from the fallen form of Dobbatek even as Chopper and Zones - Umak had a pauldron - raised their carbines on him.
"That's one traitor dealt with," Cardon said as calm as could be, holstering his pistol after giving it a spinning flourish. He turned that dead-eyed stare from the fallen Commodore back to me, appearing to expect something from me. I swallowed nervously before putting on my best, annoyed officer voice.
"Try not to shoot someone when I am standing directly in front of them, Agent." I snapped, hoping I sounded more angry than terrified. The man inclined his head toward me in what I hoped was an apology, before turning that same expectant stare toward me. I realized quickly what he was waiting for as I noticed every eye in the command center on me. Even the security officers - thankfully Navytroopers instead of Navy Commandos, or else we would have had to fight our way off the battlestation - could only stare wide-eyed. Not eager to be shot next, I stepped forward.
"It should go without asking, but is there anyone else that believes we should hide Admiral Paret's attempted treason from Grand Moff Weblin?" I demanded, and no one raised their voice. I wagered that had less to do with me and more to do with the trigger happy CompForce operative I had brought with me, but any lack of resistance was good enough in my book.
Unfortunately, that meant I was faced with a new problem.
"Who is in-charge now?" I asked aloud before turning toward Captain Estern, who stared back with narrowed eyes. After a heartbeat, he shook his head before speaking.
"For the Navy? You and me now, with a few Junior Captains scattered across the station and ships. Colonel Bragg commands Black-3," He pointed out one of the green uniformed Army Corps men, who seemed to be trying to shrink behind the console he was working at. Realizing the jig was up, the clearly terrified man stood and answered with a warbling voice.
"Ah, yes. Commander of Black-3. That's me, uh, Colonel Bragg, that is," The man's eyes darted to Cardon before returning to me.
The man joined us shortly after, a meeting of the minds in the middle of the floor as the crew rushed to pretend to be doing something.
"I don't suppose Dobbatek had a plan to escape the system?" I asked, doubtful but hoping all the same. Unfortunately, Estern shook his head.
"Not unless he was hiding some other trick, you sent his plan into the surface of N'zoth."
"Yes, let's move past that," I nearly snapped before waving my good hand to Colonel Bragg, "Colonel?"
"I wasn't aware of any other plan," The man appeared calmer now that Cardon had wandered off to menace someone else. He was older than me, with greying hair and lines criss-crossing his face, "But we should find one and soon. Black-3 can maybe repel the Armadia with the forces present, but not the Rampage, and certainly not the rest of the fleet."
"The rest of the fleet seems busy evacuating their world," Estern pointed out.
"For how long?" Bragg countered.
We were silent for a long moment, all internally debating the situation. Or I was, in any case. The easy answer was throwing the weight of our ships at one of the jump points, and hope to overwhelm them before the Yevethans could muster a large enough response. Were it not for the Bellator, that may have even been viable. Unfortunately, the star dreadnought would harry our steps up until the moment we could run no longer - going that it didn't catch us first.
"Uh, sirs?" A new voice turned our attention, one of the junior officers having approached, "We have reestablished communications with Grand Moff Weblin."
I turned a questioning stare to the other officers.
"Dobbatek set up a bunch of short-range relays to the edge of the system and then deployed a larger communicator, to get around the Yevethan jamming," Bragg explained before turning back to the officer, "Is he waiting?"
"Yes, sir." The young man nodded. I sighed again, turning back to the two men.
"Well, who wants to speak to the Grand Moff about the loss of his fleets?" I asked rhetorically, only to find the other two men sharing a glance. After a heartbeat, they turned to stare at me.
"Now, the connection isn't great. There will be about a five second delay from when the Grand Moff hears you and then responds. Any visual glitches are expected, it's a miracle we're getting visual at all," The technician quickly explained to me as we walked to the main communication room. I kept my mouth shut, merely nodding along as I ran through what I was going to say to Weblin.
"Now, our long-range scopes tell us a Yev force has already picked up the communication, so they estimate you've got anywhere between half an hour to a day before we lose connection - so try to be quick."
At the door, we stopped. It was open, and though the lights were still on, an "incoming communication" warning light was flashing. The two of us looked into the room for a silent moment before he turned to face me again.
"Good luck, sir."
"Thank you." I hoped I didn't sound too bitter. The man nodded and walked off, letting me enter the room and close the door behind me. The lights immediately dimmed as the holoprojector came to life. It flickered and tore before the form of Weblin appeared.
He did not look great. The ostentatious shawl he wore in our first meeting was gone, though he still wore the uniform of his station. The expression on his face was far from the easy smile he wore then as well, and one of his eyes was covered now in a bacta patch. Silence reigned for several long seconds before Weblin spoke, his voice barely understandable through the communicator.
"Hello? Admiral Paret, are you there? This is Weblin, respond." I swallowed, before stepping forward, letting the projector pick up and display me across to wherever Weblin was holed up. I assumed he was somewhere out of the system, though given his wound I couldn't be sure.
"... Captain Tullius?" The man asked, his good eye narrowing, "What are you doing here? Where is Admiral Paret?"
"Governor…" I said slowly, picking my words carefully, "... There's an ongoing situation."