Damn— I mean, Hutt. That was quite the conversation. Not that I learned anything new — it's all stored neatly in my memory — but hearing it recited so earnestly by a thirteen-year-old somehow makes it unsettling. Over the past decade, the Order has embedded its doctrines deeply into her mind. Admirable discipline. Effective structure. And yet… no one seems to question it. Not even Ahsoka. In the old days, she even managed to lecture Anakin Skywalker on these same principles — ironic, considering he formed many of his own beliefs before ever entering the Temple, and his formal training had its… gaps. I'll leave that on Obi-Wan's conscience.
No, if I want her to think critically, I'll have to teach through experience. Real examples. The war will provide more than enough of those. Maybe then she'll start forming her own conclusions instead of reciting someone else's. Sometimes she's just a child. I glanced toward the corridor where she had run off with her new armor. A new toy, and she's over the moon.
The armor, however, was no toy. I forged it myself, adapting advanced metallurgical techniques — reinforced phrik alloy layering over flexible duraplast, lightweight but resilient. I integrated a compact shield generator derived from droideka technology, calibrated to activate under sudden kinetic or energy surges. If Count Dooku or one of his agents ever targeted her directly, she would at least have a margin of survival. That was the point. Not aesthetics. Protection.
Our arrival at Va'aart was routine. We dropped from hyperspace in formation, the *akagi* descending first, followed by the other five Accumulator-class assault ships. The *Terminus* remained in high orbit for several minutes, its expanded sensor array sweeping the system with upgraded long-range scanners before descending last. During our absence, the landing field had been reinforced with a local concrete analogue — smooth, stable, dust-free. A welcome improvement.
There was ample space thanks to four Pelta-class frigates being deployed on patrol rotations and six light cruisers covering outer system security. Otherwise, even this expanded base would have struggled to accommodate the full fleet.
We assembled in the primary command hangar aboard the *Terminus*. Since her refit, she no longer resembled a standard Venator. Reinforced armor plating had been integrated along the ventral hull. Additional point-defense cannons lined her flanks. The main hangar bays had been modularized for rapid reconfiguration — troop transport, starfighter deployment, or cargo expansion. Internal power conduits had been upgraded to sustain prolonged combat output, and the bridge shield array had been tripled. She was no longer merely a cruiser. She was a mobile fortress.
Commander Blam began his report.
"Sir, no significant incidents during your absence. The landing pad is complete. Contact with the local population remains minimal. Personnel are on combat alert. Fuel deliveries are on schedule."
"Good. I've been informed reinforcements are inbound. Details?"
"Yes, sir. They've reached Lantilles. We'll need to retrieve them ourselves. Command refuses to send unarmed transports into our patrol zone. Increased raider activity."
Makes sense.
"Prepare the *Terminus* for departure," I ordered. "I'll take one regiment, twelve LAAT gunships, and one hundred twenty interceptors. Begin converting the remaining V-19 Torrents into interceptor configuration. Prioritize speed and point-defense capability. Convert all four Peltas using the salvaged cargo modules — reinforce hull plating, integrate anti-starfighter batteries, and reconfigure them for combat deployment rather than medical support. Unload surplus equipment for maintenance; I want every cargo hold free for troop transport. The rest of the personnel get rotation rest. We'll likely begin extended trade route patrols."
Blam nodded and stepped aside as the chief engineer reported.
"Technical status of ships and base: optimal. Repairs proceeding on schedule. One AT-TE and four AATs restored to operational condition. Two thousand seven hundred twenty-two B-1 units activated."
"Activated?" I raised an eyebrow.
"We recovered debris from orbit. Approximately four thousand B-1 chassis and various equipment. Four turbolaser cannons and multiple blaster batteries salvaged from CIS wreckage."
Efficient.
"Excellent work, Captain."
A quick mental calculation. "That brings us to roughly six thousand operational droids."
"Yes, sir. Pending your authorization."
I entered the necessary approvals into the datapad. Salvaged assets were always bureaucratically inconvenient.
"Departure in ten hours," I announced. "That's your preparation window. Commander Blam, you remain in command planetside."
He straightened. "Yes, sir."
"As for fleet disposition: the six Accumulator-class assault ships — *Akagi*, *Kaga*, *Shōkaku*, *Ryūjō*, *Midway*, and *Independence* — will rotate patrols. Each carries three regiments. Leave one regiment per ship at the base for reinforcement rotation. Refuel and rearm immediately."
"Acknowledged."
"*Akagi*, *Kaga*, and *Midway* will maintain high-orbit patrol over the planet. *Shōkaku*, *Ryūjō*, and *Independence* will secure the factory complex and lower orbital lanes. Maintain overlapping sensor coverage tied into the *Terminus* command network."
"We'll have it done in three hours, sir," Blam confirmed.
I nodded — then remembered.
Damn.
"And organize funeral honors for the fallen."
There was a brief silence.
"We'll need to update the memorial wall," Blam said quietly. "Will you be giving the address, General?"
What choice do I have?
"Yes," I answered. "Notify me when preparations are complete."
The commander saluted sharply.
As they dispersed to execute orders, I remained at the tactical display for a moment longer, watching fleet icons reposition around Va'aart.
Second week of the war.
And already we were building memorials.