"This is a total failure..."
Almost in real-time, combat operations were unfolding that would later become known as the Stark Hyperspace War or the Bacta War.
The confrontation between Iaco Stark and the Republic government had reached its zenith. By ravaging dozens of convoys carrying scarce bacta, the cunning bastard had forced the Senate into negotiations, clearly hoping to exert maximum pressure on the galactic state...
"Well, what an idiot."
And I wasn't the only one who thought so.
I was sitting in the office of Rick Dicker, who... who would have thought? ... had received a promotion following the sudden death of his superior during Zeta Magnus's attack on the Katana fleet.
The poor senator and chairman of the Defense Committee had almost escaped, but one of the Dreadnaughts lost control and rammed his rescue shuttle, sending nearly three dozen people into the Force.
And so my old acquaintance, now dressed in a rather expensive and high-quality uniform, was habitually lighting up his fruit cigarettes, staring at the screen with an unreadable expression.
The broadcast of the "negotiations" with Iaco Stark—pirate, smuggler, and all-around lucky son of a bitch—was being conducted at the instigation of the militaristic party in the Senate, which was confident in a swift and decisive victory over yet another enemy of the state...
Only, as usual, everything had gone south.
Grimacing, I looked away from the screen, where another of Ranulf Tarkin's ships was being blown to pieces. A powerful Dreadnaught, built on the same model as those in the notorious Katana fleet, was breaking in half, venting still-living people into open space along with tongues of flame that quickly died out without the fuel and oxygen to sustain them.
Stark had outdone himself. I didn't remember this conflict well; over the years, my memories of my first, peaceful life had grown increasingly faint... And how fortunate it was that I decided not to take the initiative in this conflict; otherwise, it would have been my ships flying as debris in orbit around the planet Troyiken.
I don't know where Iaco found such technology, but he had somehow compromised the navigation of Tarkin's entire SBI fleet. Consequently, instead of fifty warships, barely a measly dozen reached the battle site, while the rest rammed into planets or the nearest star!
And even after everything that happened, given the massive losses and the clear presence of spies in his ranks, Tarkin still led his men into battle.
"I don't even know how to put it mildly..."
"Don't bother. Ranulf is a dead man. If he doesn't die in battle, then as a politician, he's already a cold corpse. I'm sure his former supporters have already started carving up his power among themselves." Stubbing out his cigarette, Rick turned off the sound of the broadcast, finally silencing the panicking journalist who was vividly describing the horrors of the space battle. "This changes a lot... But we should extract some benefit from it."
Glancing sternly in my direction, Rick clearly wanted to hear a dashing and spirited response, like those from his numerous subordinates, but in return, I only sprawled more languidly in my chair, brazenly biting into a rare apple from Eriadu, juice spraying in all directions.
Grimacing at my demonstrative disregard and lack of manners, Rick pulled a new cigarette from the pack, and his face took on a much more mundane and friendly look.
"Sorry, Sam. Habit."
"Forget it." I finished the apple in a couple of bites while my comrade managed to smoke half of his toxic stick. Sitting up straight and placing one hand on the table, I mimicked the universal finger gesture for "demanding money," at which Rick rolled his eyes and chuckled softly. "So, what about the payment?"
"Fine. You'll get your prize. I think for the successful completion of this matter, the Republic will be able to pay for part of your purchases from Rendili..." Stubbing out the cigarette again, Dicker pierced me with a gaze, squinting his eyes and pursing his lips. "I need you to save Finis Valorum. The others concern me only so much... But the Senator must survive."
Nodding my head, I cast a quick glance at the screen, where Tarkin's flagship had begun to slowly list to its side, gradually being pulled toward the planet.
"And our old friend Ranulf? I thought you two were championing the same cause?"
"Don't compare us; unlike Tarkin, I have brains." Pointing an index finger instructively, Rick smiled that eerie politician's smile—the one used when preparing to do another dirty deed. "As for Ranulf—he lost his main battle despite having every advantage... I told him to leave this matter and let the pacifists screw up, but he didn't want to—so now he's paying for his mistakes."
"If only he were the only one paying." Stubbing my lips stubbornly, I watched as another ship was consumed by a flash of explosion. The multi-ton behemoth shattered into small pieces when its power reactor blew. "Alright, I hear you. What about the Jedi? There seem to be a lot of them there..."
"It would be better, of course, not to spoil relations with them, but... first and foremost—save Valorum. His family will be very grateful to us all." Raising his left eyebrow suggestively, Rick transferred all the necessary data to me with a flick of his finger across the PDA screen. "If it's possible to avoid a fight altogether, try to do so. No need to provoke the militarists and trample on their pride. Right after the defeat of their fleet and the fall of their leader, they will clearly react very aggressively to everyone... Especially to those capable of occupying their niche."
Catching the hint in my old friend's voice, I nodded understandingly but didn't say a word. Such a revelation made me seriously consider the opening prospects... and the problems.
"Alright, Rick. We'll save your Senate buddy..."
Without saying a word, Dicker waved me away, then turned the sound back on the screen. Without even seeing me out, the man immediately immersed himself in work, clearly memorizing every event being shown on the screen.
****
"All fleet, prepare for jump." Somnia's voice rang out over the heads of our subordinates. Thousands of soldiers, technicians, pilots, and others scrambled across the decks of the ships, preparing for the imminent departure and jump to Troyiken.
The massive ships began to move. A dozen of our signature cruisers, whose angular forms were now easily recognized across the Outer Rim, at least in the southeastern part of the galaxy. The warships glided smoothly through the void, slowly shifting into cruising formation.
Smaller ships scurried around, while the stout Dreadnaughts crawled forward—we still had a decent number of them... especially for a mercenary unit from the edge of the world.
"Are you nervous? Seriously?"
Sitting down closer, Somnia handed me some papers along with a PDA and promptly set to work, occasionally glancing at me through her thick eyelashes. Curiosity was practically oozing out of her... as was her good mood. I had a rough idea of what caused such changes—considering that no one could answer my question about where Jedi Master Fay had disappeared to after the battle for the Katana fleet.
"Damn, Somi, I hope you didn't shoot her; that would be a total disaster."
Glancing doubtfully at the cheerful girl who was quietly humming something to herself, I was ready to be touched by the scene, but then an image popped into my head of my sweet deputy, with the smile of a literal Satan, sharpening knives while a chair-bound Fay trembled with fear.
"Is something wrong?" Tearing me away from my wild fantasy, Somnia moved closer, looking into my eyes. "Maybe you should stick to bed rest after all? The doctor said that..."
"It's nothing," I said, gently gripping her shoulder with my palm and lightly pressing down on the girl who had started to rise from her chair. "Calm down. I'm not made of sugar; I won't melt."
"But you're still not going into battle," she said, pouting her lips and her cheeks reddening slightly. My dear deputy turned away, still grumbling under her breath like a child. "Your armor hasn't even been repaired yet..."
"Yeah, I heard. A special order came in to make sure everything is double-checked." Glancing suggestively at the girl's reddened ears, I laughed softly at her reaction.
"That's all the Shorty's doing. She wants to install some sensors so you can connect directly to her 'baby.'" Panicking and giving me a whole dose of amusement, the girl bowed her head, hiding her eyes behind her hair. "And there's no rush... We can handle it ourselves."
"I know." My hand almost habitually went to rest on her head, but at the last moment, I changed my mind. Instead, I hid both palms, crossing my arms over my chest. "Alright, better tell me what we should expect..."
"Nothing unusual." Shrugging her shoulders easily, Somnia herself wanted to switch back to a professional tone; our whispering had become a real performance for the greedy audience of friends and subordinates, who were tactfully pretending that nothing unusual was happening. "Stark might be incredibly overconfident, but he's no fool. Throughout his reign in the Outer Rim, he never once encroached on our territories, perfectly understanding the difference in power."
Tapping a few buttons, Somnia brought up a holographic model of the system with Troyiken and the wreckage of the SBI fleet. With her fingers fluttering over the keyboard, she simultaneously described our enemy's forces... and as she listed them, I realized more and more that there wouldn't be a battle.
More like a slaughter, worse than what happened to the remnants of Tarkin's forces.
Even if we were matched in the number of ships...
We had twice as many Dreadnaughts and Adjudicators as Stark—about thirty compared to fifteen large pirate ships. Furthermore, his fleet of small vessels mostly consisted of converted traders or crookedly assembled frigates, cruisers, and corvettes...
In short—no chance. And apparently, we weren't the only ones who realized this.
Because as soon as we moved into the system where Stark's fleet was based, messages about negotiations began to arrive on all channels.
Perhaps it could be called a disappointment, but...
What else could one expect in principle?
The reputation of the Helldivers precedes us, especially among scum like Iaco Stark.
Rising from my chair, I walked closer to the viewport, accompanied by Somnia's dissatisfied snort and the chuckles of my friends. Pensively watching the signaling ships, which still maintained their battle formation, I thought long and hard about how best to proceed to both complete the mission and maintain our reputation...
But the pirates made their choice for me. First, a small swarm of missiles flew in our direction, barely managing to reach us, and then the pirates began firing at those same missiles, occasionally hitting our shields...
"Idiots." Turning on my heels, I nodded silently to Somnia and returned to my seat.
****
At the same time, on the pirate flagship Terror.
"Everything happened exactly as you predicted, Lord."
Humbly bowing his head, Iaco Stark nevertheless couldn't rid himself of a sarcastic smirk. A good mood had followed him for the last few days, since the beginning of this whole farce that only a complete idiot could believe... or his "glorious" crew.
Without the industrial potential of a planet from the Core behind you—to seize control of bacta... a naive, almost childish dream.
But his goal lay elsewhere.
A massive and scandalous dossier on the Xucphra Corporation would wait for its hour, and when the Lord needed it, he would bring one of the two companies in the galaxy producing bacta to its knees. The arrogant punks were already living off a golden goose, yet they always wanted more—so let them pay for their stupidity.
The Trade Federation would soon rid itself of its Viceroy, Hask, who had been leaking his own ships' routes to Stark. The incurred losses would be charged to Hask himself, and his reputation would plummet so deep that even those on the Lower Levels of Coruscant would be surprised.
The arrogant bastard had put too many spokes in his master's wheels, and it was only a matter of time before such an unpleasant individual was disposed of.
The final goal, set literally a couple of weeks ago—Ranulf Tarkin—had burned in the fire of his own Dreadnaught, failing to escape the dying vessel in time. A naive fool who believed his military talents could overcome such a massive numerical disadvantage.
Iaco had watched his speeches on the HoloNet. In the Senate, on Eriadu, and at other gatherings of big-gun enthusiasts. Ranulf hadn't held back in his actions or words before, and after the "victory" over the pirates and the Katana fleet, he had completely lost his mind, deciding he had become a great general of the Sith Wars era.
And now, with all the assigned tasks completed, nothing held him on this stinking ship reeking of pirates and other galactic refuse.
In reality, the head of the eponymous syndicate never planned to negotiate anything with the Republic. Who in their right mind would believe that a bunch of outcasts from the Outer Rim had a chance to win preferences and independence from a galactic state?
"Good... good..." Glancing somewhere beyond the lens, the hologram of the Sith in a black hooded cloak nodded, then turned its attention back to Stark, sending a chill down the latter's spine and a subconscious fear of this terrifying individual. "The Helldivers will sweep away all traces, so you'd better leave the ship before you provoke them into an attack."
"Understood, master." Without a second's hesitation, Iaco quickly gave his answer, showing that he didn't care at all about the fate of his supporters and followers. "The computer virus sample is in the bridge, as are all the data on anonymous transmissions. They will soon be destroyed in plasma fire."
"Excellent." Sending his subordinate the final data, the hooded figure gave Iaco a dazzling smile of perfect white teeth. "I suggest you visit the Commerce Guild for now, until all the noise dies down."
"Understood." Stark accepted the new task with enthusiasm, already anticipating how much he could stir up in a place where people like him constantly fought for power. "Departing immediately."
Cutting the connection, Stark made the final preparations and, donning extra armor over his flight suit, left his cabin at a brisk pace, heading toward the hangars.
Right now, most of the crew was at battle stations. Waiting for the resolution... though many of them sincerely believed that by withdrawing for a talk with a secret patron, Stark would solve all the problems that had collapsed upon them.
"Idiots... as if anyone cares about the fate of such trash."
Twisting his lips in a sarcastic smirk, Iaco killed a couple of Sentinels at the hangar exit with a quick shot from the hip, then ran toward his personal ship, which stood slightly apart.
A royal gift, from that same patron, for all the dark deeds he had performed for him. Decades of work, hundreds of completed tasks of varying levels of complexity and danger...
But the result was worth it. Just thinking about the sum of Credits accumulated in his account made Stark break into a satisfied smile.
The money he had would be enough to assemble a proper fleet or buy himself a real palace on Alderaan and live comfortably for the rest of his years.
Jumping into the experimental starfighter, the former head of the Syndicate saluted behind him, symbolically saying goodbye to everyone who had gathered around his charismatic figure over the long years of pirate life.
Flying out of the hangar, he turned for a moment to face the Helldivers fleet and, without thinking twice, fired several salvos of missiles at the approaching ships, then dipped his wings in a turn, instantly disappearing into a hyperspace tunnel and flying as far as possible from the battle flaring up behind him.
And while Iaco settled comfortably in his luxurious little ship, his former subordinates and comrades, panicking and screaming across all channels, entered a hopeless battle, trying either to fight off or escape the advancing horde of warships.
***
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