Author - my freedom is coming to an end, got my acceptance letter for uni and the same day the materials for upstairs renovations arrived. Damn, I can already feel my back and head hurting.
****
Four days later I sealed the war room and looked over the only people I was willing to gamble the next war beside
Just the inner circle.
Jaster stood with other Mandalorian clan leaders - Torvyn, Vhett and Bevin along the left side of the table, armour still dusted from morning drills. Atii was beside him, arms folded, expression locked down into something harder than her usual sharp amusement.
Torv occupied his customary place near my shoulder, Captain Karlchlan and Lieutenant Varn represented the stormtrooper command spine. The clone officers Ridge, Vex, and VIper waited in silence, helmets clipped, eyes already half inside the coming logistics problem.
Elara stood opposite me, cloak drawn close, listening with the still intensity of someone measuring not just the words but the cost beneath them, with her is captain Sira of the militia and Thorn from the palace guard.
These were the ones I trusted with the shape of the board before the pieces started moving in public.
"I'll keep this brief," I said. "We no longer have the luxury of treating Jerjerrod's pressure as political theater with a side of rabble thrown at us."
The holotable came alive under my hand.
"In the last four days, two intelligence streams converged. The first came from my own deep-range resources, scout packages that only just completed their pass and returned usable pattern data. The second came from Black Sun intermediaries, sold at what they called a reasonable price. When both sources agree, I paid attention fullz."
The sector map expanded, marked with staging nodes and provisional force estimates.
"Jerjerrod is moving his now limited pieces into position. Current projections put his available commitment as high as three hundred and forty ships of mixed tonnage. That number includes twelve Star Destroyers. Supporting ground elements appear to include roughly half an imperial army group and a full-strength imperial armoured division. The sweep is not meant for Elyria alone. He intends to break opposition across the board, clear out pirate groups that slipped his control, and hit the coalition figures most dangerous to him."
I pause for a bit thinking of my next words.
"If he wins he will kill us all and spin whatever tale he wants, even if we run it will just prove our guilt and we will become enemies and traitors to the empire, and with the empire controlling the galaxy there will be no-where to hide for us reliably, sooner or later they'd come for us.
I highlighted four points in hard red.
"Elyria remains the centre of his plots, after us: Lady Sera Quill, Director Juno Praxx, and Captain-General Brask Luthen. We are the ones he considers difficult to absorb, buy, or wait out."
No one spoke, so I continued.
"Administrator Caled Rynn is confirmed as a traitor, he cannot bring significant formal firepower into the battle, but that is not the threat he poses. He has money, connections and enough soft power to bribe delays into existence and make the wrong people look the other way for a short window. That window is all an opening attack ever needs. Assume saboteurs. Assume leaked schedules, assume one more friendly voice in a room is carrying a second agenda."
Atii's jaw flexed while one of the Mandalorian clan leaders muttered something ugly under his breath.
"Admiral Drel is effectively neutralized for now," I said. "Whether placated, deliberately blinded and bribed or simply unwilling to spend what remains of his career on a sector political war before the first open salvo is unclear. What matters is the result we cannot count on him until victory is already obvious enough that supporting us costs less than ignoring us."
Ridge's eyes narrowed. "Do we know what portion of the three hundred and forty comes here first?"
"No," I said. "That is the problem, we know the larger pool and the bigger picture, but that is about it. We do not know the exact opening allocation against Elyria or any of their plans. Planning for the worst is the only sane option."
I looked around the table."We will also not be informing the mercenaries. I will not gamble this preparation on contracts that can still choose the safer shore before the shooting starts. Once the battle is real, their options collapse. Until then, they remain outside the planning line but with their forces in mind."
A few grim nods answered that, then I opened the sealed side channel. "Grok."
The holo resolved a second later, several people in the room went still.
It had been a hot minute since most of them had seen him. In that time the relationship had inverted.
At the beginning he had drawn material and industrial oxygen out of Elyria just to stand a force up. Now the current ran the other way.
Except for Rusty and, on pure logistics matters, Harlan, I had kept that contact tightly restricted for a reason.
Grok's crimson photoreceptors swept the table once. "Governor. Command cadre recognized."
"Report what you can commit if Jerjerrod brings significant firepower against us, without risking revealing yourself." I said.
"I can dispatch all available armored frames and tanks currently cleared for off-node movement," Grok answered. "Accompanying infantry will include several battalions of B1 battle droids and B2 super battle droids, supported by a limited selection of BX commando units. Aerospace reinforcement will include available Vulture droid squadrons, all remaining Hyena bombers, and seven droid gunships along with all the medical droids we have. Exact transit timing depends on route security and the need to avoid early detection."
That set off a low current of reaction around the table. "Even with that support," I said, turning back to the others, "a conventional stand against even three Star Destroyers ends, at best, as a pyrrhic victory. We would break them only by breaking ourselves. If the opening force is larger than that, pure line combat becomes suicide dressed as doctrine. We cannot fight this as a textbook defense."
The map shifted to Elyria's local web of yards, patrol lanes, and reserve docks.
"All ships from the dockyard are to be brought in, including hulls that are only half repaired. If a ship can hold atmosphere, mount a weapon, or present a threat signature, I want it available. Most outer patrols will be pulled back from the edges and reassigned to concentrated interior defense and deception patterns. Range is useless if the center falls."
I zoomed out from the holo map to show the surrounding sectors and beyond as far as the mid rim. "Ghost transactions will be sent to dead end accounts and stolen credit chips as a way to explain our ships, after that the credits can still be safely recovered back to Elyria. I want scout droids and probes on all available jump points to Elyria and its neighbouring systems, even the ones that are considered safe or empty, if another force circles around to hit us from the back it would be devestating."
I looked to Grok again. "The mine packages previously transferred to you are to be recovered and returned. I know you've begun deployment but pack them up anyway. We need them here more than we need them seeding distant approaches."
"Acknowledged," Grok said. "Recovery will begin immediately. Some dispersal delay is unavoidable."
"Then minimize it."
I rested both hands on the edge of the table and let the whole ugly picture hang there for a moment: twelve destroyers with hundreds more of various sizes, a compromised coalition with a traitor and admiral who would not move early.
If we didnt stand a chance of at least stalling them till higher powers get involved then the Black Suns wouldn't have come back. Thought they probably didnt expect a Moff to loose his cool like that and start an open war in the sector but alas, they betrayed him so they can only side with me now.
How sad, I will play them the saddest song on the smallest violin in the world.
"Start with readiness audits," I ordered. "Ship by ship. Unit by unit. I want real numbers before the end of the day, once we know of all our assets we will start premilitary strategy meetings. Dismissed."
Chairs shifted. Armor scraped. The room began to empty in controlled motion.
****
When the last of them left, the war room felt too large for one person.
I stayed where I was for a moment, both hands still on the edge of the table, and only then let the breath out of my chest. The sealed doors finished cycling and the jammers remained active. Outside this room the palace would look ordinary again.
I opened a fresh encrypted channel and sent the summons.
Urgent coalition conference, immediate attendance.
Holo only.
They linked in one after another over the next few minutes, and there he is.
Caled Rynn, precisely on fucking time with his expression composed into concern.
Its show time.
"I've picked up signs of renewed movement from Jerjerrod's side," I said calmly. "Not conclusive in isolation, but enough that I want everyone elevating readiness. This may be more than another inspection wave, prepare for more pirates and possibility of more searches and seizures."
That produced the expected noise, some wanted details I had no intention of giving while others asked whether Admiral Drel had been notified.
A few immediately turned the discussion toward fuel stockpiles, route security, and whether a joint statement would deter escalation or invite it. I let the conversation run just long enough to look like a real emergency conference sometimes adding in my own 2 cents.
Then I added the bait I had been thinking for a bit. "On my end, several hulls are entering repair cycles after the last stretch of patrol strain," I said. "If any of you can shift even limited screening assets toward the wider approaches around my systems, it would help stabilize coverage while those ships are down."
Like hell they are, if I get additional ships great. If I put my enemies in a false sense of security even better.
I was not exposing a real gap so much as offering Caled something useful to carry away, or anyone else thats with him.
Around the table, the others gave their own updates with convoy troubles, local army posturing, market panic on one of the inner trade worlds, a rumor that two customs groups had been quietly reassigned.
All of it was valuable in the ordinary sense.
I watched everyone but Caled in particular.
He looked… pleased.
Not enough that anyone less suspicious would have named it, but the way he asked in detail what ships were undergoing repairs and for how long was a definite sign. When I mentioned that Iron Reaver is also in need of repairs because its systems are starting to lag I swear I seen him smirk for a second.
But there was definitely a settled satisfaction under the concern, the ease of a man hearing the room move in a direction he liked. When the discussion threatened to harden into immediate countermeasures, it was Caled who urged restraint.
"We should be careful not to overreact," he said smoothly. "Jerjerrod has already been forced back once. If we appear to escalate first, we hand him the very justification he needs. Measured readiness, yes, open alarm, no."
Several of the more cautious members nodded at that, ff course they did. Wether because they truly believe it or are just cowards or traitors I do not know for certain.
I ended the conference before something goes wrong or people ask questions that I am unable to answer without it appearing openly false.
I just left final reminders only: raise internal security, review loyalty in sensitive posts, report unusual logistics immediately. Then the channels closed one by one until the room was mine again.
Only then did I open three private lines.
Sera Quill.
Juno Praxx.
Brask Luthen.
The message to each was almost identical:
Naval and ground attack is imminent. we aare the primary targets. Administrator Caled Rynn is a confirmed traitor. Do not trust him, do not trust the wider circle with anything operational. Prepare quietly and assume your schedules are compromised, watch out for sabotours or assassins.
For a few seconds afterward the office was silent except for the low activity of Rusty's systems.
"You have improved," Rusty said from the side console. "Less direct force, more controlled disclosure. More structure, you are becoming a real leader of these meatbags. A politician like your parents. Not primarily a warrior, since you are sub-optimal in that regard."
His head tilted. "When you first started anytime you fired a blaster it flew out of your hands or put you on your back, now you can at least shoot without it flying out of your hands, congratulations are in order."
I snorted despite myself. "That may be the worst endorsement I have ever received."
"It was intended as praise."
"I know. That's what makes it tragic."
The brief amusement faded as I looked back at the empty conference projection space and sighed heavily putting my head in my hands and rubbing my eyes.
"I don't know how deep the rot goes," I said. "It may be Caled alone, it may be Caled and one or two others. It may as well be that half of these muppets stay loyal only while the odds look favourable and start reviewing alternatives the moment Jerjerrod appears strong and resolved enough to win."
Rusty continued working, but one photoreceptor cluster remained angled toward me."And after victory?" he asked.
"After we win, I'll need more than military survival," I said. "I'll need durable support inside the sector. People with weight, If the seat at the top opens, power does not pass cleanly to the nearest warm body. It passes to whoever has the biggest stick, already has allies, infrastructure, and a story the rest can live with."
Rusty stopped. "If," he said.
I shot him a look.
He did not amend it, but he did not repeat it either.
"After we win," I continued more quietly, "I will need powerful figures already aligned if the transition is going to happen without the sector tearing itself into five smaller shado wars that will force palpatine to send in vader who will kill us all just to get all of this over with quicker. That means survivors who owe their continued position to the fact that we held under my leadership."
Rusty's head tilted a few degrees more, voice as cold and mechanical as always. "Since when did you decide to take over the sector?"
I froze.
For a second I had no answer prepared, because the truth had arrived earlier than my own admission of it. It had been forming under the pressure, under the assassination climate, under the understanding that local survival would never be enough for long in a galaxy this hostile and its not even the main event yet.
I wanted the sector, I needed it.
Not as a trophy, not only as ambition, though ambition was there and larger than I liked to confess.
I wanted the authority to keep my people from being treated as expendable rim inventory by the next well-fed official with a seal and a family name.
I wanted the same controlled prosperity taking root on Elyria pushed outward until the surrounding systems were no longer soft ground for every Moff, cartel, and scavenger fleet that noticed weakness.
If I could do it, why should I accept a future where someone who has done nothing and is less competent inherited the board simply because Coruscant preferred a familiar kind of man?
The self retrospect had already settled into place, hard and irreversible.
I looked at the dark holotable and felt the shape of the coming war rearrange itself around a new centre.
"Since now,"
The frightening part was how steady and convicted my voice sounded when I spoke.
****
The silence after Rusty's question lingered longer than either of us pretended to notice.
I stood there with the sector map still turning slowly above the holotable, Elyria bright at its center, and felt the new shape of my ambition settle into something denser than a passing thought.
Whether Rusty fully accepted it or not, he did not argue.
He simply remained at my side, systems low and steady, the same way he always had. That mattered more than approval speeches, I had been able to rely on him when he was little more than a stubborn machine with a personality far too large for his frame. I could rely on him now.
Especially with what I was about to do.
"Rusty."
His photoreceptors lifted. "Yes, Kael." For half a second, under the polished modulation of his current voice, I could have sworn I heard the old beeps underneath the rapid, familiar chatter from so long ago, from the round-shelled companion my father and I had built together.
The memory hit clean and sharp, then passed as quickly.
I closed my eyes, breathed out, and opened them again. "Bring me the leaders," I said.
"Ship captains. Cell commanders, every top pirate, slaver, and smuggler we still have under sentence. The ones with authority among the rest. I have a proposition for them."
Rusty tilted his head. "Define proposition."
"A chance at freedom." I looked back down at the slowly rotating image of the Elyria system. "But freedom always has a price."
Three hours later, under the official pretext of renewed interrogation, roughly thirty of them had been gathered into one of the larger lower holding blocks.
I changed before going down.
The ceremonial armour was not parade theater today. It was a statement, dark plates fitted cleanly over the uniform, rank markers polished, cloak falling straight, blaster worn openly at my side.
When I left the upper levels with Rusty beside me, the corridors near the detention tier were conspicuously empty of organic guards. Only droid sentries remained, silent and armed.
The moment the cell doors unlocked and we stepped inside, every conversation died.
Thirty hardened criminals watched us enter: Weequay, human, Gran, Nautolan, Rodian, and half a dozen other species marked by old burns, faded tattoos, and the particular stare of people who had spent too long surviving by violence and now by doing hard labour.
They were still strong enough to be dangerous. In pure numbers, they could have rushed us, there were only Rusty, myself, and ten B1s with blasters.
But numbers were never the whole calculation, they all understood the unspoken math. Someone would die in the first second, probably several someones.
And none of these had risen to leadership among pirates and slavers by being eager to absorb the opening volley for everyone else, thats why these ones are still alive.
I walked to the single chair set in the center of the open space and sat as if I had all the time in the galaxy.
As I did, Rusty sent a silent command, the B1s snapped into a sharper stance in perfect unison, the blasters rising to cover the room.
Establish the hierarchy first.
Fear second.
Offer third.
"Welcome," I said mildly.
"I imagine you are wondering why you are here. Whether this is another interrogation. Whether I am bored. Whether I brought you up from labour so I could shoot one of you as an example and send the rest back downstairs."
I let that sit in the air long enough for a few of them to stiffen.
"I am here," I continued, "to offer you freedom."
That got their full attention. "If you complete a task for me, you walk out of this place. Not back into a cell. Out, your sentences can be set aside. Afterward, if you want honest work in my systems, you can have it. Want to fly? Possible. Want to aim for a crew post or even a command track? Earn it and we will see. Want to disappear into civilian life and sell your body under red lights for all I care? I will make sure you have best whore attire, rubbers, and a roof before I send you on your way. But none of that begins until the job is done."
Silence stretched.
One minute.
Then two.
A Nautolan with old binder scars around his wrists finally spoke. "What job?" I smirked inwardly at the speed of it.
"Nothing overly complicated," I said. "There is a pirate armada moving toward my systems, meeting them in a clean conventional fight would be costly and irritating. I would prefer them crippled before they ever settle into formation. That is where you come in."
A Gran near the left wall shifted. "What do we have to do?"
I nodded once Rusty activated the ceiling projector. A rough tactical image resolved overhead: an outer jump assembly zone, a dense asteroid cluster, and a marked attack line.
"You will be given modified gunships and skiffs," I said. "Loaded with proton torpedoes. You will lie quiet behind the asteroid field near the jump point on the approach to Elyria. When they begin gathering for the final jump, you hit them. After the strike package is away, you withdraw. No heroic pursuit, no glory runs. In and out."
A human with a half-melted ear frowned. "There's more. Even if you give us thirty ships and fill them with launchers, that is not enough to break an armada from range, not even cripple them."
My smile widened a fraction.
"Correct. One droid-piloted vessel will go first. It will be packed with EMPs and high-yield explosives. When it hits their formation and detonates, that is your signal. You launch into the chaos and maximize the damage then you leave."
They turned inward after that, voices low, arguments sharp, old hierarchies asserting themselves under pressure. I did not interrupt, men like this always needed a minute to convince themselves that the risk was survivable and the reward real.
Eventually the noise thinned and they agreed.
"Brilliant," I said, clapping once with deliberate brightness. "Including you thirty, I will need fifty more to crew twenty-four ships of mixed size. You will help identify which of the remaining prisoners can actually fly and follow orders under fire."
I rose from the chair "Escort these gentlemen to new quarters," I told the B1s. "Proper ones, feed them well. Give them alcohol they are my men now, and my men are not housed like refuse."
That landed exactly as intended. As Rusty and I turned for the door, a rough cheer broke out behind us, its the ugly relief of predators suddenly offered a door out of the cage.
We left them to it, only when the final blast door sealed and the corridor air turned cooler did the public warmth drain from my face.
Just being in the same area as these animals, talking to them like they are actual sentients instead of the animals they are made me almost throw up.
Rusty gave a low mechanical chuckle. "These meatbags should celebrate while they still can."
I glanced sideways at him, a small smirk touching my mouth. "They should," I said. "They may as well make the most of it."
Because if the strike worked, the armada would reach Elyria already bleeding, and if it did not, then the only thing I had truly spent on the gamble was people the galaxy would never miss.
****
We were still halfway down the detention-level corridor when Atii came around the corner as if she had been timed to intercept us.
I barely had time to register her before she punched me in the arm.
It was light by Mandalorian standards, but it still had enough force to make me stumble half a step sideways.
"Fucking hell woman, that hurt." I rubbed the spot through the ceremonial plating and scowled at her.
Mandalorians and their stupid fucking beskar clad ridiculous strength.
"What was that for?"
She grinned, far too pleased with herself. "I know what you're planning. Honestly, I didn't expect that from you. I thought you were more of a goody two-shoes. Not that vicious."
I snorted and kept walking.
Behind us, Rusty gradually drifted a little farther back, giving the conversation space without fully leaving it. Atii fell into step beside me, hands folded behind her back like she was on a pleasant afternoon stroll through a weapons locker.
"I have no idea what you're talking about," I said.
Her grin widened and she leaned in slightly as we walked, her hair framing her head. "Really? Then what was that request about stuffing a couple of old ships full of explosives and EMP charges, all wired for remote control?"
I sighed and rolled my eyes toward the ceiling. "Of course you spied on me."
"That's my job."
"I'm pretty sure you don't have a set job. You just annoy me constantly."
"That counts as a job."
"No, it doesn't."
"Yes, it does. And you like it when I annoy you."
"Nuh uh."
"Yuh uh."
"Nuh uh."
"Yuh uh."
"Nuh uh."
"Yuh uh."
By the fifth Yuhs and Nuhs exchanged I was starting to regret every life choice that had led me into an elevator with her.
The doors slid open, we stepped inside, and the car began to rise with a soft mechanical hum. Rusty entered last and took a position near the back panel, silent as a judgmental statue.
I glanced sideways at her. "Don't Mandalorians value honour in battle or whatever? Isn't sending people out as the opening act for a suicide detonation against your warrior code or something?"
She laughed under her breath, light and sharp. "Are you talking about the Supercommando Codex?"
"I'm talking about the part where this feels like the opposite of honourable combat."
"Then no," she said, shrugging. "The Codex talks about fighting with honour and courage. You're not a Mandalorian. And the ones you're sending aren't warriors keeping faith with anything. They're scum. Different standard."
I chuckled despite myself and shook my head. "That's a very convenient interpretation."
"That's a practical interpretation."
The elevator slowed, chimed, and opened onto one of the upper palace levels. We stepped out together, the heavier atmosphere of the detention block falling away behind us. Whatever dark calculation still sat in the back of my mind, it loosened by degrees as Atii immediately launched into commentary about how obvious my lying face was, how bad I was at denying things, and how if I was going to start running black operations I should at least learn to look less guilty when cornered in a corridor.
I shot back that she was inventing authority from thin air.
She answered that natural talent needed no appointment.
By the time we were halfway down the hall we were talking over each other, animated and half-smiling, the conversation drifting from the mission into smaller, safer nonsense that felt almost normal.
Behind us, Rusty did not.
He remained near the elevator threshold, one mechanical hand resting against the frame as the doors began to close.
Through the narrowing gap he watched us continue down the corridor still arguing, still smiling, still moving in the same direction without either of us needing to check that the other was there.
As the doors sealed, Rusty gave a small nod.
Then the elevator carried him onward alone, leaving the two of us to the upper halls and whatever brief stretch of lighter air the day still allowed.