The order had come down quietly.
Not from the Senate.
Not from High Command.
From the Force.
Which, in my experience, tended to be far less negotiable.
Boz Pity.
I leaned back slightly in the command chair of the *Terminus*, the faint hum of the kyber-fed reactor vibrating through the deck beneath my boots. Outside the viewport, the shipyards of Coruscant glittered like a galaxy trapped in durasteel scaffolding.
And somehow, despite commanding a fleet large enough to flatten continents, I felt the familiar irritation crawling through my thoughts.
"Great," I muttered under my breath. "Just great."
First Jablim.
Now Muunilinst's neighbor.
The Banking Clan's doorstep.
Because of course it was.
My fingers flicked through the holographic archives hovering above the tactical console. Ethan's projector emitted a soft blue glow as streams of Republic intelligence files unfolded in the air.
Boz Pity.
An unpleasant little world.
"Confirm planetary record," I said.
Ethan's voice answered instantly.
"Affirmative."
A rotating hologram of the system appeared.
Boz Pity was situated in the **Boz Pity system**, deep within the **Halla sector**, straddling the uncertain boundary between the Mid Rim and the Outer Rim Territories.
Not a place most people visited willingly.
A thin star—**Cama Coll**—burned weakly at the system's center.
Boz Pity itself was locked in synchronous orbit with its sister planet **Mourn**, a toxic world permanently shrouded in smoke and ash. From orbit the two looked like ghosts circling each other.
Only a single reliable hyperlane touched the system.
The **Ilosian Spur**.
A narrow trade artery connecting the **Lesser Lantillian Route** with **Pabol Sleheyron** out in Hutt Space.
Meaning anyone who controlled Boz Pity controlled a backdoor into half the Mid Rim.
Which meant the Separatists were absolutely going to use it.
In my previous life…
Or timeline.
Or whatever cosmic joke the Force had decided to call this mess.
I remembered exactly what happened.
Later in the war, the **Confederacy of Independent Systems** turned Boz Pity into a major staging ground. A massive military base rose across the ash plains, and more than a hundred warships used the system as a launch point for raids along the Republic border.
But right now?
Month four of the Clone Wars.
No one suspected anything yet.
The archives confirmed it.
Ten major factories.
Isolated from the main population centers.
Droid foundries, logistics depots, and ship component plants.
Military infrastructure.
Not civilian industry.
Which meant something important.
If I destroyed them cleanly…
If I avoided the cities…
The planetary government would have only two choices afterward.
Neutrality.
Or joining the Republic for protection.
Either outcome weakened the Separatists.
And most importantly—
It stopped the future raids before they ever began.
I exhaled slowly.
"So," I murmured, folding my arms. "We take Boz Pity."
Ethan's photoreceptors flickered.
"I calculate a ninety-two percent probability that statement was rhetorical."
"Correct."
Because the decision had already been made.
The only question now was how hard we would hit.
A new tactical overlay expanded across the holo-table.
My fleet.
Even I had to admit it looked impressive.
The **Imperious-class Star Destroyer *Terminus*** dominated the formation like a steel predator.
Behind it sat the rest of the force currently under my command.
Six **Acclamator assault ships**.
Three **Pelta-class frigates**.
Four **Consular-class light cruisers**.
Eight **Aegis Hammerhead cruisers**.
Not bad.
But that wasn't the real strength.
Reinforcements were coming.
Ten additional Acclamators were already en route to join us.
Then there were the fleets commanded by **Dittmar** and **Kinaun**.
Individually they controlled:
Thirteen Acclamators.
Five Peltas.
Twenty Consular cruisers.
Each.
And sitting at **Lantilles**?
Fifty more Acclamators held in reserve.
I studied the numbers for a moment.
Then I let out a slow whistle.
"That's… actually terrifying."
Ethan tilted his head.
"Clarification?"
"We're assembling a fleet capable of smashing a sector blockade."
He processed that.
"Statement confirmed."
Which meant Boz Pity wasn't a raid.
It was going to be a demonstration.
The Separatists thought they were building a staging ground.
Instead they were about to lose it before the war even reached its midpoint.
My thoughts shifted.
Ahsoka.
The presence of my Padawan lingered faintly at the edge of my awareness through the Force.
Still weak.
Still recovering.
Jablim had been brutal.
Even with her stubborn resilience, she needed time.
And she wasn't the only one.
Kayla.
Stella.
Flare.
Visenya.
Four powerful Force-sensitives in training.
Four potential disasters if pushed too far too quickly.
Especially with what I had learned recently.
The name surfaced in my mind like a shadow.
Nox.
And the **Mind Prison**.
Secrets best left buried.
For now.
Battle meditation alone would strain them.
If they discovered the artifacts…
If they learned what the Mind Prison could do…
No.
Too dangerous.
Too soon.
"They remain at the Temple," I said quietly.
Ethan didn't question the statement.
He rarely did when I used that tone.
Footsteps echoed across the command deck.
A clone officer approached.
Commander **Puck**.
He stopped beside the tactical console and saluted sharply.
"Sir."
"At ease, Commander."
"The ship is ready to depart," he reported. "However… ten thousand troops are still listed as injured from the Jablim engagement."
I frowned slightly.
Ten thousand.
Out of a standard corps strength of forty thousand.
That was a brutal casualty list.
But survivable.
Technically I had never formally specified our operational corps structure.
The **Twelfth Sector Army** contained dozens of corps formations anyway.
We could afford temporary redistribution.
I thought for a moment.
Then nodded.
"Assign them to remain on Coruscant."
Puck blinked.
"As garrison, sir?"
"Yes."
Coruscant always needed additional defenders.
And injured troops needed time to recover.
More importantly…
Veterans mattered.
"Their experience from Jablim and the previous engagements will help train the new units arriving here."
Puck straightened.
"Understood."
"Rotate them into base security and training roles until we return."
"Yes, sir."
He saluted again.
Then turned and strode away across the command deck.
I watched him go.
Then turned back to the stars.
War moved faster than most people realized.
Entire sectors could shift hands in weeks.
But sometimes…
Sometimes the most important battles were the ones that never happened.
Boz Pity.
If we removed the Separatist foothold there now…
Those raids against the **First**, **Fifth**, and **Eighth Sector Armies** would never begin.
Thousands of lives saved.
Entire campaigns erased.
The Force stirred faintly around me.
Approving.
Or maybe amused.
Hard to tell sometimes.
I rose from the command chair.
"Navigation."
A clone officer snapped to attention at the forward console.
"Yes, General."
"Prepare hyperspace coordinates."
The stars outside the viewport seemed to sharpen.
"First jump: Lantilles."
A pause.
"Then?"
I allowed myself a small smile.
"We'll decide the rest when we get there."
Because the galaxy had a habit of changing plans.
And I had every intention of changing it first.
Behind me the bridge crew began moving quickly.
Engines rumbled to life.
Navigation computers plotted the jump.
The massive form of the *Terminus* slowly rotated within the orbital lanes of Coruscant.
Warships parted before us like schools of fish.
The kyber reactor surged.
Hyperspace coordinates locked.
Ethan's voice spoke softly beside me.
"Jump solution confirmed."
I folded my hands behind my back and looked once more at the endless sea of lights covering Coruscant.
Then forward.
Toward the war.
"Execute."
Stars stretched into white lines.
And the fleet vanished into hyperspace.