Boz Pity, Boz Pity System
Halla Sector
Boz Pity; a nondescript world just north of the western horn of Hutt Space. In this frontier region between Republic, Separatist, and Hutt Space, borders were more of a suggestion than a rule, and most star sectors acted more or less as bookkeeping labels, as most planets were self-governing or lawless. While many astrographers colour this slice of space in Hutt green, worlds like Chalacta–which was arguably a Hutt tributary–also possessed representation in the Republic Senate.
Because actual Hutt authority doesn’t tangibly exist past the well-defined borders of Hutt Space, excluding some rare exceptions such as Jabba the Hutt’s personal fiefdom in the Arkanis Sector. The Hutt clans’ true wealth–the galactic underground, spice runs, and smuggling lanes–don’t slip from their grip, the long-lived species couldn’t care less who controlled the space beyond their borders.
As long as the Confederacy didn’t attempt to crack down on the crime in the region, and Hutt business didn''t suffer, we would be left well alone by the mercenary fleets in Hutt employ.
And that was extremely fortunate for us. Why? Well, like it or not, the Republic offensive succeeded in its primary objective to keep Separatist islands in north and south isolated. The Republic’s Perlemian offensive was a crushing success, by almost every metric that mattered–the Confederacy had been completely pushed out of the Mid Rim, and half of the Foundry was now in Republic hands. In the process, they severed the Foundry’s connection with the Nanth’ri Hook, rendering General Tann’s gains in Bothan Space moot.
The Republic had lost three Sector Fleets in the process, but in exchange they effectively halved the Confederacy’s industrial output in the eastern front. Where the Republic ‘failed’ was the PR disaster that came in the wake of their highly-publicised defeat at Columex. If the Republic had just decided to stop at the Mid Rim-Outer Rim border and rest on their laurels, they might have been able to win the war by next year. But no, they decided to reach for a bridge too far.
And now, both sides were reeling from the disaster, just not for the same reason. From what I can tell, however, we had it worse. The material losses from the campaign were roughly the same for both sides; far too many Separatist squadrons were lost in the initial stages, but we managed to claw back the zero-sum with the battles of Centares and Columex. The real loss for the Republic was the media backlash–except media backlash fades sooner or later. The Confederacy, on the other hand…
The newly established Office of the General’s first mission was to mitigate our two long-term defeats brought on by the campaign.
First, the Office had to somehow recoup the Confederacy’s industrial losses. There were two ways to do this; one solution was to expand the existing military-industrial complex, and the other was to persuade more worlds to the Separatist cause. While General Tann had no doubt sanctioned the expansion of existing infrastructure, that would take time we may not have.
The short-term solution, however, aligns nicely with the Confederacy’s second defeat; the severance of our spacelane connection with our holdings in the Trailing Sectors.
And that’s why Boz Pity was so strategically important; it was smack dab in the centre of a series of neutral, industrialised sectors that could circumnavigate the Loyalist-occupied Perlemian. And thus, we would be able to offset our losses, and re-establish the frontline; two birds with one stone.
Despite being only two and a half months since their relocation, the Overseer Umbrag had transformed an empty field into a sprawling industrial complex. Constructed from what looked like grounded Lucrehulks, Techno Union freighters, and prefabricated buildings, you could even already make out the beginnings of a graving dock. Say what you will about Baktoid droids–they were damn efficient in the right hands.
The nearby star systems could already see the writing on the wall; Boz Pity was well on its way to becoming a foundry of the Confederacy. Naturally, they wanted a slice of the cake. Not only that, we were reaping the dividends of the Republic’s PR disaster in spades. The HoloNet was ripping the Grand Army a new asshole while the Shadowfeed was exalting the Confederate Navy in every regard–from that perspective, wasn’t it obvious which side was winning?
So while General Sev’rance Tann courted diplomats from Bimmisaari, Boonta, Chalacta and Sneeve in one of the complex’s boardrooms, it was my job to squeeze a favourable deal out of the Techno Union. Of course, the other reason was to begin carving away at Dooku’s death grip over the corporations, by convincing them the Office of the General had a much more open hand than that washed up Jedi.
“An exclusivity agreement, then,” I proposed to Overseer Umbrag, “The Tann Administration will only purchase battle droids from the Techno Union and its subsidiaries, in exchange for cheaper prices. We will always prioritise purchasing from this regional office, of course.”
The Overseer didn’t really have a reason to disagree. In fact, I’d imagine every other industrial guild in Separatist space would be green in envy at the proposal. An exclusivity deal with the Pantoran? Even if the net profit decreases, the amount of prestige and advertising that would spawn from the deal would more than recoup the loss.
Not to mention the Techno Union was a commerce guild, and Overseer Umbrag was only one of countless branch managers. By promising to always buy from his franchise before every other Techo Union or Baktoid plant meant he would never run out of demand–in fact it would be more of a question of whether this brand-new industrial park would even be able to keep up.
“We will begin establishing branches in the neighbouring sectors,” Overseer Umbrag’s comment could’ve been mistaken for being wholly irrelevant, “When this war is over, the Lesser Lantillian will be a new foundry for the Confederacy.”
I gave the steel-clad Skakoan a sideways glance as we approached an observation deck overlooking the parade grounds, “You are confident in that claim?”
“We will need investors,” he stated factually, “We will need a new product.”
“I have already been approached by Bunt Dantor,” I told him, “General Tann has greenlighted his project.”
“Dantor is a dreamer–that goes for the whole Research and Development Wing,” Umbrag dismissed scornfully, “We need something tangible, marketable. I have two ideas in mind.”
“You want the Office of the General to greenlight two more projects, Overseer?” I chuckled, “You drive a hard bargain.”
“The Tann Railgun project is far from substantial. There is no point promoting a purely theoretical research venture a century from completion,” Umbrag proclaimed, “We need something high profile–”
We approached the railing; and there was a platoon of BX-series droid commandos in rank and file below. Beefier than regular B1-series droids, with heavy armour, reinforced joints and servos, they were leagues more durable and manoeuvrable than any battle droid I could think of. Not to mention, their enhanced cognition matrices and programming meant they worked best in marauding packs for both infiltration or spearhead missions.
By all means, the BX-series were the cream of the crop. But these weren’t clad in the advertised titanium-reinforced steel, instead a murky black metal–almost matte and drinking the sunlight. I recognised that metal; I had seen it before.
Cortosis.
And interestingly enough, I spotted both Vinoc and Barriss inspecting the droids below.
“Cortosis-weave?” I asked.
“Pure cortosis,” Umbrag answered.
I shook my head, “They won’t survive an hour on the battlefield.”
“They aren’t meant to,” the Overseer clenched his fists, “My product development team had the opportunity to consult Commander Vinoc, who I believe was a former Jedi, two months ago. His conclusion was that cortosis would be best utilised through specialised Jedi execution squads.”
I see… cortosis was a perishingly rare metal, not to mention expensive and hard to refine–as unrefined cortosis would kill even Hutts if in contact with bare skin. While exceedingly resistant to energy weapons like blasters and even lightsabers, it was also brittle and unreliable. Kill squads would theoretically make the most out of the limited supply of cortosis, and give the most bang for the buck.
But most importantly for Umbrag, advertising these droids as ‘Jedi killers’ would definitely draw the kind of interest he wanted. Once these droid commandos cut their teeth on some Jedi and proved themselves, every Confederate general and their mother would want a squad. Even if Jedi weren’t present on the battlefield more often than not, the bragging rights from possessing an anti-Jedi platoon alone would be well worth the credits.
I crossed my arms, observing Vinoc tell Barriss something before they both left the grounds, “What will you need to begin mass production?”
“Mining rights in the Bak’rofsen System,” Umbrag leaned in, clearly interpreting my follow-up as interest, “My prospectors found indications of vast cortosis reserves on both Bal’demnic and in the system’s asteroid belt.”
“That’s in the Auril Sector,” I answered, amused by no small amount, “Mining rights fall under the Commonality’s strict economic regulations, which are purposefully designed to be biassed against megacorporations. You aren’t going to get those rights unless you partner with a local corporation like Loronar; which means you will need the Bunt Dantor’s help.”
“I see.”
I sensed some interdepartmental rivalry there, but hey– not my problem.
“There’s merit in this idea,” I allowed, “I suggest you allow me to take a battalion’s worth of these droids for a… practical exercise. If there’s an exemplary showing, I will give my personal recommendation to the Office of the General. And your second idea?”
Overseer Umbrag hesitated, which told me his second idea was going to be even wilder than the first. Not so much technologically wild as the gravitic slingshot project–the Techno Union wasn’t known for shirking mad science–but politically wild. The sort of thing a mere branch overseer shouldn’t really have permission for.
“Well?” I prompted.
If nothing else, I would have something to laugh about later.
Umbrag took a strained, inorganic breath; “I request we begin the licensed production of Decimator war machines.”
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“That’s…” I paused, “I’m unsure if I can help you with that.”
Decimators were originally an experimental weapons project started by the Republic, before the technology and every functioning model was seized by the Confederate Second Fleet during the Battle of Eredenn Prime. After a brief raid in the Kashyyyk System to secure the control codes, they’ve participated in a number of high profile engagements, such as Sarapin, Krant, and most recently, Columex.
They were by far the most powerful and renowned of the Droid Army’s armoured corps. The thing is, there’s only one place in the galaxy that produces Decimators; Sev’rance Tann’s personal base on Krant.
When they were first introduced, the Decimators were peerless on the battlefield, and as such there was every incentive to obscure the technology and production. Ironically, that has since backfired. With research and development in full swing thanks to the war, technology was swiftly catching up, and soon Decimators will be just another class of tank.
However, they were still essentially the distinctive feature of General Tann’s armies, and now that she was Supreme Commander, she couldn’t licence them out for mass production without coming under scrutiny for blatant favouritism. Either Decimator production went public, or nobody but Krant gets to produce them.
Except, that’s exactly what Umbrag wants. He wants all of Separatist space to believe his branch had been sponsored by the Office of the General. Customers and investment will almost certainly start pouring in.
But the eyes of the Confederacy were upon its fledgling Office of the General; especially since peace appeared to be so close at hand. The very first Supreme Commander of the Confederacy had just been elected without executive sanction–each and every move was being watched; military restructure, industry relationships, and political influences were all going to be intertwined and heavily monitored. Even the slightest risk of favouritism would undoubtedly be met with cries of foul play.
“I do not know the Supreme Commander’s plans for the Decimator Project,” I admitted, “I will broach the topic with her, but this is out of my hands.”
“...I understand,” the Overseer rotated to face me, gliding across the floor, “This aside, we have come to a profitable conclusion. The Techno Union will be pleased.”
I eyed Umbrag carefully, “Yes… let’s hope this relationship remains profitable for many more years to come.”
The Skakoan’s transparisteel-covered eyes were drawn to something behind me, before he stiffly bowed forward for as much as his pressure suit would allow, “Indeed, officer. We will await a favourable outcome for the cortosis and Decimator projects, but for now our new deal will suffice. I will not reserve any more of your time.”
Overseer Umbrag swivelled around, before calling a retinue of droid bodyguards and disappearing into the depths of the compound.
“I cannot say I like that man,” Vinoc announced from behind me.
“He is simply ambitious,” I chided, turning back around, “A bit too ambitious, but it serves the Confederacy. Now, tell me what you think of those droids.”
Vinoc snorted, “Give it to him, Padawan.”
Barriss reached for her waist and drew a curved, inky black blade. It was a thinner rendition of a vibrosword–no, it wasn’t a vibrosword at all, just a sabre made out of pure cortosis. If I had to guess, a pure cortosis blade couldn’t withstand the ultrasonic vibrations of the tech. As I held it, I felt its edge.
“Those commando droids are just like the weapons they use,” Barriss grumbled, “Any Jedi Knight who passed the tournament could fend them off.”
It took a moment, but soon I fully understood what she meant– “This blade can’t hold its edge.”
“No,” Vinoc agreed, “There’s a reason ancient vibroswords were forged from cortosis-weave, not pure cortosis. The edge will chip and roll immediately–even completely shatter, if not for its solid core. It''s a one-time use.”
“If you are in a situation that warrants unsheathing this thing–” I held it up to the light, “–I daresay you’ve already made a series of terrible decisions. I understand the design principle; against a Jedi, you only get one chance–if this sword misses its first swing, it won’t get a second chance anyway.”
“A Jedi Knight won’t fall for such tricks,” Barriss scoffed, “Lightsabers aren’t everything. We have the Force.”
Jedi have been killed by less. It pained me, the idea that the Jedi are stuck between a rock and hard place with no way out. Jedi are an unwanted foe, but until we figure out a way to remove them from the war, we’ll have no choice but to treat them not as Jedi but as soldiers. And war is all about figuring out the most efficient way to kill soldiers. Thankfully nobody really bats an eye as to why Jedi somehow escape even the most devious of traps, but even then excuses were finite, and sooner or later I’ll have no choice but to wet the sword I’m hiding behind my back–if I wasn’t cut down first.
I still can’t swallow that bitter taste, but at least we can finally start doing something about it.
“...That remains to be proven,” I decided, inconspicuously moving the sword behind my back, “And you, Barriss? How are you feeling now?”
“Lighter,” the Padawan lifted her arms and swung them as if to prove a point, “What did you even put in me?”
“Restraining devices. I had never dealt with a Jedi before,” I apologised, “And I wasn’t about to take any chances. Here, this is for you.”
I produced a small datacard, which was able to be inserted into just about every universally standardised receiver. As Barriss motioned to take it, however, I didn’t let go even as she attempted to tug it from my grip.
“...What is it?” irritation was carved into her face.
“Have you resolved yourself?” I demanded softly, and that irritation was replaced by surprise, then finally stubbornness, “It’s going to be your mission to make sure these swords stay as dry as possible.”
At the very least, we’ll be unleashing a wild hound into a dog kennel. At this point, any havoc in the Republic’s ranks will be to out benefit.
“I know. I’m not running away any longer,” she replied, and I released the card, “What is this, anyway?”
“General Tann insisted you have a backdoor, and as your handler, I had to produce one for you,” I crossed my arms, “If you ever need help– actually need help, and see no recourse, then insert that into any long-range transmitter.”
“What?” Barriss raised an eyebrow, “Don’t tell me you are going to come? I could do without that.”
Is it just me or has she gotten some of that Jedi spunk back into her?
“Not me,” I shook my head, “The sisters will. I thought about giving you two cards… but the sisters never leave each other anyway.”
A wave of recognition rippled across Vinoc’s face, and he barked out a laugh, “Don’t waste them, Padawan.”
“What kind of ‘help’ is this anyway?”
“The kind that can conquer a city,” Vinoc said.
Barriss swung around, slowly realising the fallen Jedi was dead serious about what he said.
“What–”
“Are the negotiations complete?”
“General!”
All three of us snapped to attention–even Barriss, because that was simply the symptom of the imperious aura Sev’rance Tann exuded. And it was clear as day that the Pantoran wasn’t in the best of moods.
“They are, General,” I reported, “I will transfer the datapacket to your tablet as soon as possible; there are some decisions for your consideration.”
Sev’rance Tann approached the rail, eyeing the still-present platoon of droid commandos, before sniffing in disdain, “The Halla, Kastolar, and Suolriep Sectors have officially joined the Confederacy.”
The clipped tone at the very end of her statement hung on an edge, as if there was more to be said, but she wasn’t going to say it. Vinoc shot me an urgent look, as if bestowing on me the exacting mission of eliciting more words from the Supreme Commander without blowing her fuse.
“Uh… very good, sir,” I said carefully, “I believe now that Commander Merai and Captain Karoc have secured Bothan Space, we have now re-established secure supply and communication lines with our southern territories.”
“Indeed,” General Tann muttered, “Except, the south doesn’t appear to be receptive to the government.”
“Sir?”
“The peace initiative,” she clarified, “Our northern holdings in the New Territories are firmly in Dooku’s grasp, while the Trailing Sectors and Western Reaches are outright ignoring our calls for peace. If there will be a ceasefire, it will be far more limited than either the Republic or Confederacy intended.”
Ah, so my prediction wasn’t at all correct. Nearly there, but just off the mark enough that it mattered.
“So the war will continue, then?” I prodded, ignoring Barriss’ half-jolt.
“This so-called peace initiative has become a delaying action,” General Tann decided, “While the talks are underway, the Office of the General must move swiftly to restructure the Armed Forces before the war picks up again. That means I need someone to handle the upcoming negotiations in my stead.”
She stared at me, “Consider this a battlefield promotion, Rear Admiral. I am afraid there is no time for lengthy hearings and bureaucracy.”
“A privilege of the office, General,” I tried not to let a single glimpse of internal elation and anxiety show on my face, “I prefer it this way.”
Rear Admiral. Finally. But it was a double-edged sword; while I now had access to resources beyond my imagination, it also meant other people would know I have access to those resources. With the way the Separatist military is structured, I could expect unfettered freedom and extreme scrutiny all at the same time. I’d imagine the upcoming restructuring was going to change all of that, however.
“I must raise my concerns for my colleagues in the Coalition as well, sir,” I raised my voice, “They have all served with distinction–”
The Supreme Commander stopped me with a hand, “I have no argument, Admiral. Commander Vinoc, you too will be promoted to Commodore, but by following procedure.”
The intent behind her words struck me like a sledgehammer, and I immediately tensed up. Shit, should’ve expected this from a battlefield promotion. Everybody else could get a ceremony, but I couldn’t, because I’m about to be sent on another shitty errand. One that required me to be an admiral.
“My mission, sir?” I decided to bite the bullet, to General Tann’s dry amusement.
“Forgive me, Admiral–” at least she had some self-awareness, “–But I require your political expertise. You are to journey to the location with your fleet and prepare for the Republic’s peace delegation. The security of the entire conference will be your responsibility, and all the assets you require will be granted to you. I suspect there will be agents hoping to sabotage our efforts; deal with them. The eyes of the galaxy will be on the Confederacy–if we want legitimacy, we need to be legitimate.”
“No funny business allowed,” I managed, “Crystal clear, sir.”
“And you, Jedi,” Sev’rance Tann snapped to Barriss, who took a half-step back. The blue-skinned woman towered over the poor girl, “You will be handed over to the Republic in the prisoner exchange. From there, you will be on your own. I wish you the best of luck.”
Barriss could’ve swallowed a dead rat, from her twisted expression, “T-Thank you.”
“Well, sir,” I cut in, “May I know the location of the upcoming negotiations?”
The Supreme Commander’s lips curled, “The Republic Diplomatic Corps insisted on a world in Loyalist space. In response, Parliament required a Confederate world. It was an issue of trust, you understand.”
“A hard ask, sir,” I remarked, “I suppose that would mean a Separatist exclave?”
“Indeed; but both sides are operating on the assumption that the other will attempt to subvert the credibility of the negotiations, through sabotage or other means,” Sev’rance Tann scowled–her new office seemed to be an endless source of frustration, ironically enough, “That means the world in question must be strategically unimportant, and its public perception of the war neutral enough to not influence the talks one way or the other.”
I ran a list of star systems through my mind, mentally crossing out names as General Tann recited the criteria. The number of Separatist exclaves was few enough, and assuming they had to be close to the border eliminated all but a mere handful. Null, Colla IV, the Red Twins, Fondor… Onderon.
A strategically unimportant Separatist exclave that’s close to the border, with a relatively indifferent population? Oh… so that’s why she chose me.
“Admiral,” the Supreme Commander at least had the tact to look mildly apologetic, “I am afraid you will be returning to Onderon. There have been some reports of insurgent activity on the planet, but I am certain your skills will see it quelled.”