Columex Approach, Columex System


    Vorzyd Sector


    There was a battle fought here, now over a year ago and honestly a distant memory, but the largest battle the galaxy had ever witnessed in the last one thousand years nonetheless. There was also little to no physical evidence it ever took place anymore, however.


    No more debris fields, no more scavengers and scrap haulers and rescue cutters. In the Confederacy’s rampant thirst for ever more material to fuel its war effort, recycling the trillions of tons of wrecked durasteel and doonium aimlessly floating in space was an obvious decision, and thousands of salvage and breaking contractors had all but jumped onto the figurative gold rush. The Columex hyper-junction was empty.


    And we were home.


    Diedrich Greyshade had his eyes fixed to the displays as the green-blue pearl known as Columex grew larger and larger, suspended in space like a turquoise star and twinkling with the lights of hundreds of satellite foundries and shipyards. There was silence in Kronprinz’s pilothouse as dozens of officers set their eyes upon their homeworld, through shot and fizzling cameras and scopes, as if thinking just how much of a miracle it was that they were able to embrace the sight of it again.


    My eyes were drawn to Diedrich’s expression, internally expecting to see a smile of some sort, even tears perhaps, as surely even I would let them slip should I see my homeworld–my true homeworld–again after my ordeals. Which was why I was so taken aback when I found a slight frown curving his lips downwards instead.


    “It’s too empty,” he murmured, audible to all in the pin-drop silence gripping the Kronprinz, “It’s too silent.”


    And as I ingested his words, it too gradually dawned on me how discomforting the approach to Columex was. The Columex System, the beating heart of the Commonality’s trade, was quiet. That alone was alarming in itself. The hyper-junction sat at the crossroads of two major hyperlanes; the Perlemian Trade Route and the Salin Corridor. There was trade flowing through here mere hours before the Battle of Columex erupted. By all means, Columex should not even know the meaning of empty and quiet.


    “...We’re being hailed, sir,” the comms chief looked to Diedrich, then to me.


    “Who?” Diedrich’s attention didn’t move an inch from the display.


    Not so enraptured by the sight of Columex myself, I took the chance to slide over to the comms station, eyes gliding over the transponder code scrawled over the console: CNBC_91.42.291.43921.25_1001SM


    “Battlecruiser Invincible,” I would recognise the code anywhere, leaning over the chief’s shoulder, “It’s Admiral Trench–put him through.”


    “Right away sir!” the comms chief replied hastily, fingers shooting to the toggles.


    “Invincible, Kronprinz,” I spoke into the open channel, “This is–”


    “–I will hear an oral report in-person, Kronprinz,” Invincible replied with the unmistakable crackle of Admiral Trench, “Shut down your main engines and prepare for docking. Have the fleet hold position and maintain formation.”


    Diedrich finally peeled his eyes off the display, as the prowling shadow of Invincible slid onto the scopes and obscured the sight of Columex, “Invincible, Kronprinz, affirmative.”


    “Good to have you back, Coalition forces,” Admiral Trench said at last, “Welcome home.”


    The channel was closed, and I leaned back with a breath, “An oral report in-person? Something ain’t right.”


    “I could tell you that much,” Diedrich murmured, “Something to do with what Celis Mott told us, perhaps? He was insistent we stop for nothing until we reached Raxus Secundus.”


    “That’s easy when every Separatist fleet we came across until now were smaller reserve forces,” I peered into a display, counting the numbers of Trench’s personal command arrayed in Columex’s orbit, “Think we can run that blockade?”


    The Columexi chuckled apprehensively, “We don’t know if Trench is in Tann’s camp or not.”


    “We don’t even know if we’re in Tann’s camp or not,” I pointed out.


    The proximity alarms started blaring as the Invincible pulled up beside us, easily dwarfing the Kronprinz as extended her docking tube.


    “I think we’re about to find out,” Diedrich snatched his coat off the rack before walking out of the bridge.


    I glanced at the comms chief, “Get Admiral Ningo and Captain Dallin on the line. Let’s have them aboard the Invincible as soon as possible.”


    The flagship of Admiral Trench had not changed in the months between my appearances on it, save for some cursory battle scars–not many, for I would wager Trench’s command ship wouldn’t often be found in active combat zones. Or at least, it should be what I expect after his near-death experience above Christophsis. Perhaps these scars came from daring base strikes by Loyalist starfighter wings. A Jedi-led wing, very likely if I could speculate, as it would befit their command style.


    If that was the case… Invincible was here, and the Jedi was not.


    Diedrich and I were the first to enter the Invincible’s conference room, as Dua Ningo and Jace Dallin made the lengthy trek from the aft hangar through-deck. Admiral Trench was watching me closely, even more vigilantly than he was on Raxus during the Supreme Commander’s confirmation vote. He was watching–no, judging me, against a criteria I was blind too. It was not a pleasant feeling.


    “Admiral Trench, sir,” I saluted, “I’d thought you were still campaigning in Roche. It is a pleasant surprise.”


    “And I thought you were dead,” Trench’s mandibles chittered, “Likewise.”


    “I hear that a lot these days,” I said blandly, unsure what to make of the situation.


    “You will be hearing a lot less of it, fret not.”


    “I will try,” I told him honestly, taking a seat at the table following his cue, “I was hoping to deliver my after action report directly to the Supreme Commander.”


    “Your Twenty-Eighth Mobile Fleet is a subordinate formation of my Second Fleet Group,” Trench noted pointedly, “As such, you will be reporting to me, as your commanding officer.”


    “The Nineteenth Mobile Fleet–”


    “Will be managed by Calli Trilm’s second in command, should she be missing or dead.”


    “Her second in command is also missing or dead,” I inserted myself again, more forcefully this time, “And the Nineteenth Mobile Fleet has been transitorily absorbed into the Twenty-Eighth’s operative structure.”


    “...The Nineteenth has suffered enough losses to warrant such a severe action?”


    “I believe so, sir,” I answered, “As do the Nineteenth’s ranking officers.”


    Trench did not even hesitate to ponder the information, “Then the Nineteenth will be subsumed by the Twenty-Eighth Mobile Fleet until further notice. I will still be taking your report.”


    I shared a wary glance with Diedrich, our attention lapsing for a brief moment as the Sullustan Dua Ningo entered the compartment with Jace Dallin in tow–the latter visibly nervous about something. Meeting the infamous Admiral Trench, perhaps? I doubt it–Dallin was a combat veteran and survivor of the Stark Hyperspace War. More likely, he was nervous about meeting an enemy admiral in their home turf. He’ll have to get over it, I mused internally, the Republic is his enemy now.


    I eyed the man. But that remains to be seen.


    “Take a seat,” Trench awarded them a passing look before settling back on me.


    “Returning to our conversation, Admiral,” I continued after greeting the newcomers with a brisk nod, “Shouldn’t we have to discuss the matter with Admiral Kirst first? As the Admiral of the First Fleet Group, he is the Nineteenth’s CO.”


    “Admiral Kirst is dead,” Trench said bluntly. The atmosphere in the room settled, as if someone had upped the internal pressure in the compartment, “And the First Fleet Group has been decommissioned.”


    “Decommissioned!?” Diedrich nearly shot out of his chair, “The entire fleet has been destroyed!? The First commands over two-thousand warships!”


    “The final remnants of which were destroyed in the Battle of Celanon,” Trench’s testy voice forced Diedrich back down like an admonished dog, “Along with Admiral Kirst himself.”


    “...The Starcrusher should not fall so easily,” Dua Ningo’s gravelly voice made his presence known, and I had to remind myself that the old Sullustan was one of two people in the room who knew Kirst personally, “And Admiral Kirst is a capable individual, if blinded by hubris from time to time, as befits a Tionese native. Tell me, Trench: which Loyalist vermin killed him? A Jedi?”


    There was an audible anger in Dua Ningo’s voice, like an ireful disbelief than any Loyalist general could outsmart an admiral of the Confederacy… which, and I would hate to break it to him, was a more common occurrence than anyone in the CAF would like to admit. The Republic was slow to wake up, but they still had tens of thousands of years of martial tradition to fall back upon. The Confederacy had no such luxury, and had to foster its officer corps effectively from scratch.


    “Kirst held on admirably, but suffered unavoidable losses defending against General Denn Wessex of the GAR Ninth Sector Army and General Vanko of the GAR Eighth Sector Army,” the Harch Admiral explained, “What occurred next is unclear. As far as we know, he retreated to the Separatist stronghold of Celanon, seeking further reinforcement from Count Dooku’s personal fleets under Admiral Pors Tonith and General Grievous.”


    “We lost Celanon?” I asked tentatively.


    “No,” Trench’s fingers curled tighter around his cane, “We don’t know. Kirst’s fleet was destroyed, but so were the Loyalists’. Soon after Celanon, Admiral Pors Tonith lifted the sieges at Axxila and Vinsoth, launching a counteroffensive back up the Salin Corridor to Shaum Hii. Meanwhile, General Grievous has launched his first major operation of the war; an offensive down the Hydian Way. He has conquered the Quelli, Meerian, and Belmuth Sectors, including the worlds of Dathomir, Botajef, and Bandomeer. His fleets now threaten Taris and Mandalore.”


    “...I have been updated by the status of the war by Admiral Bonteri,” Dua Ningo drew circles on the table with his finger, “I take it you suspect foul play from Dooku’s commanders?”


    “That is hard to say,” Trench bluntly danced around the question, “That bodes the question; who do you support, Dua Ningo?”


    The Sullustan laughed bitterly, “So you say, so you ask, without giving me the information I require to make my fair judgement, as if I would decide based on name alone! I know Dooku, but I know not our dear Supreme Commander–forgive my prolonged absence. And I know that the Supreme Commander has overthrown the Separatist government.”


    Diedrich, Dallin, and I were as quiet as wallflowers. In a debate between two old admirals, we felt no place to insert ourselves, for we would never be on equal footing. Despite Dua Ningo’s diminutive form–especially compared to the great Harch–the Sullustan held himself to the same weight as Admiral Trench. It was a conversation between equals, and ever since joining the CAF, it was something I was rather unaccustomed to. True equals. Not just equal in rank, but equal in age and experience and simply, standing. Even Trench’s meetings with Sev’rance Tann didn’t quite hold the same tension as this.


    “Who I support is of no concern to me,” Dua Ningo’s wandering finger curled into a hard fist, “For my fate, as is the fate of every man in this compartment, depends on who you support. Who are you fighting for, Trench? What happened? Why, in a span of three months, did the Confederacy devolve from its greatest all-out offensive, to a bickering spit of a state? What has the Supreme Commander up in arms, to the point of overthrowing the government? What is conspired that is so dangerous we could not risk this conversation over secure military comms?”


    I really couldn’t say it better myself. I would have to dance and tiptoe to bring up the issue to Trench, especially if the Admiral was in no mood to humour anything of such, but a peer admiral like Dua Ningo had no qualms about cutting straight to the bone.


    Trench rested a pair of arms on the table, rubbing his knuckles. His mandibles clicked in thought, a somewhat rhythmic chitter that filled the space like a ticking clock. The spider raked his six eyes over the four of us, and after what seemed like an age, finally leaned back, ready to divulge what he knew.


    “What I know is limited,” he started by warning us, “And rife with speculation. The Supreme Commander prefers to limit contact between the military and state, with herself acting as the solitary bridge between us. In her mind, the business of government is no business of the military.”


    “The business of government is every business of the military!” Dua Ningo slammed his fist down. Even Jace Dallin looked appalled by Trench’s statement, “The military fights for the state! Who comprises the government? What are its goals? Who and what is the military fighting for!? With all due respect to the Supreme Commander, which half-brained nerf herder gave her the idea that war is but a particularly violent extension of politics, but politics nonetheless!?”


    I internally winced. Unlike those of us who have grown familiar with the Pantoran’s rather unique view on war and politics, Dua Ningo and Jace Dallin haven’t yet been exposed to such. It was a dangerous position for us to be in for sure, with both officers losing confidence in the Supreme Commander by the ounce every passing second their fears weren''t alleviated.


    “Believe me, I wish to know as well,” Trench did none of the sort, unfortunately, “However, her strategy has done exceedingly well until now. Before her ascension, the Confederacy’s war effort had been muddled and sabotaged by internal strife and frankly, politics. Her efforts in separating the two with the Militia Act had done miracles for the CAF. This, I must admit.”


    “Then I would say she has gone too far,” Dua Ningo grumbled, “Well, I do hope she isn’t so foolhardy to fail to deliver an official statement on the matter?”


    “She is not, thankfully,” Trench inclined his head, “As her claim of the events put it; Count Dooku attempted to murder her in her suite whilst she was sojourning on Raxus Secundus attending senatorial affairs.”


    The heavy atmosphere crashed down even harder following that proclamation, if it was even at all possible. A stifling silence gripped us, and I was only able to choke out: “W-What?”


    I knew Count Dooku was… twisted, by what ever dark side sorcery he had his fingers dipped in–but attempting something so tantamount to political suicide was beyond anything I could have imagined. Did he just… give up?


    “Suffice to say,” Trench continued tartly, “This was precisely Parliament’s reaction to her claim.”


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    “S-She must have evidence, y-yes?” Diedrich stammered out.


    “Recordings, both audio and visual,” the Harch confirmed, “And she doubled down will all the Serenno Transmissions and even more evidence of systemic corruption. Every foul thing Dooku has done, she dug from its grave and handed it to the Parliament. To top it off, thousands of staffers–everybody in the Parliamentary Palace that day–witnessed Dooku and Tann duelling through its corridors. It was agreed, this was no mere friendly spar; both of them were out to kill.”


    “Then the matter should be settled–cut and dry–shouldn’t it…?” I wondered, then caught onto Trench’s final sentence, “Wait– both of them were out to kill?”


    The Harch Admiral nodded grimly, “Both of them. I speculate that this is the primary issue of contention. First is the sheer unbelievability of the claim, even with everything the Supreme Commander has put forward. Accusations of foul play, forgery–every excuse and justification under the stars that you could imagine.”


    Of course! I wanted to facepalm. Count Dooku was not only the Head of State, he was also a former Jedi–a beacon of virtue!–and the very founder of the Confederacy itself. He’s had decades to build up his reputation and cause. By comparison, Sev’rance Tann has only been a household name–if even that–for little over a single year! It was like comparing an underground idol to a superstar.


    I wanted to say that Tann could have acted with more tact, to say the least, but I feared that she had little other choice. Their duel on Raxus had been a very public affair, by Trench’s rendition of events. If she had not acted immediately and decisively to press her version of events, she would have been ruined by Dooku’s vastly superior PR legions. Dooku had effectively forced her into a corner–and this was her only way out.


    “And Dooku’s Serenno Government accused the Supreme Commander of attempting to murder the Head of State during his visit, I would hazard,” I said, trying my damndest to resist rubbing my cheek.


    “Precisely,” Trench agreed with my assessment, “It is now Dooku’s word against Tann’s. Who tried to murder who?”


    “But Tann seized the Raxus Government, which means Dooku lost?” Diedrich wondered.


    I groaned out loud, surrendering any pretext of composure, “Which only lends more credence to the Serenno Government’s claims that the Supreme Commander was attempting to seize power by killing the Head of State. Because she did seize power.”


    “Continue, Trench,” Dua Ningo grunted, shutting us down.


    “Dooku escaped,” Trench supplied, clicking his… tongue, “The Supreme Commander immediately convened the Parliament and Senate and presented all her claims and evidence, demanding an immediate impeachment and indictment of the Head of State, along with a warrant for his arrest. Parliament told her they would investigate, as they were in their rights to do, but the Supreme Commander was unwilling to allow Dooku to escape from the Tion Hegemony.”


    “So she suspended Parliament with military force and declared martial law in the Hegemony, blocking all traffic in and out of the oversector,” I finished, “Which leads us to where we are now.”


    “I would like to have these documents,” Dua Ningo mused, “If only for the entertainment value they provide.”


    “You will have it,” Trench replied, “She made it a public release.”


    I nearly groaned again.


    “Remember, much of this is merely my own speculation, based on my limited knowledge of the events and my personal appraisal of her character,” Trench warned, “You will have access to all the relevant documents along with the official statements of both the Serenno Government and the Raxus Government–or in other words the Office of the General.”


    I released an aggrieved sigh instead. What was the most important factor in deciding the success of a coup, much less a civil war? Legitimacy. Legitimacy, legitimacy, legitimacy! On one side was the legitimate and lawful Head of State and his Serenno Government, and the other side was a usurping military general who had just publicly overthrown the rightful national government.


    Fuck me! Assigning Calli Trilm to Operation Starlance was a grievous mistake.


    Did Sev’rance Tann just expect the Confederacy to bend over backwards once she provided them with concrete proof of Dooku’s crimes? There was nothing concrete about proof in politics; maybe in a hundred, thousand years we would look back on this and realise the evidence was absolutely real and authentic–because they were, mind you–but right now, with the Confederacy heated up and confused? Everything was in flux. People were neither logical nor sensible, and pulled between two sides like this most would simply choose who they trusted more.


    Who would naturally be the Father of the Confederacy, Count Dooku.


    Maybe we could rely on the species and races who actually were logical by biology, like the Givin and Siniteen, but they were few and far in between, and tantamount to a grain of sand on the galactic scale.


    However… Sev’rance Tann had one major thing going for her. Legitimacy means nothing if you didn’t have the might to back it up.


    “What…” I raised my voice tentatively, “What does the CAF think?”


    In other words: what do you, Admiral Trench, think?


    “The Supreme Commander commands the absolute obedience of the Confederate Armed Forces,” Admiral Trench straightened, “Myself included. That is how she was able to bloodlessly occupy Raxus Secundus.”


    I mentally pumped a fist. That’s what I’m talking about!


    Finally, a silver lining. No, not just a silver lining. A silver fist.


    “So am I right to say the reason legions of systems aren’t seceding from Raxus en masse is because the CAF has them by the balls?” I raised an eyebrow.


    “Not so crudely put, but you would be correct,” Trench must be tired of answering questions by now, but he was admirably patient, “The CAF is the last line of defence between the Independent Systems and the Republic Grand Army. I have lent her my support, as had General Farstar and General Ambigene. With the two generalships and remaining admiralty under her belt, nobody outside the Serenno Government’s sphere of influence could afford to estrange themselves from Raxus. Mostly.”


    “With Kirst dead,” Dua Ningo stroked his hairless, wrinkly chin, “I would hazard that the entirety of the Northern Territories have seceded to the Serenno Government.”


    Trench crossed a pair of arms, which was enough to confirm the fellow Admiral’s suspicion.


    “And now Dooku’s lieutenants are executing counteroffensives to liberate their losses as well,” Diedrich rested his elbows on the table, “Where else? Who else has seceded, damn the CAF?”


    “On the Home Front,” Trench trailed off, clearly taking a mental note of the names. Which was terrible news, the fact that he had a list in the first place, “There is Felucia, Saleucami, and Charros. The Keldrath Sector has seceded as well.”


    “Keldrath!” Diedrich gritted his teeth, “That’s a Tionese sector! They’re part of the Tion Hegemony! And Felucia too!”


    “The status of the Confederacy outside of the Near-Perlemian is still in the air,” the Harch continued, “And we are still waiting for reports from Farstar and Ambigene.”


    “Then it appears I have little choice but to support our Supreme Commander as well,” Dua Ningo clapped his hands, “As evidently all of us here do… no, what of you, Captain Dallin? What is your decision?”


    Jace Dallin was sweating, “I would adhere to my homeworld’s wishes… but I do not know which side of the Confederacy that is. And I harbour my own personal misgivings of fighting for a state that would so easily tear itself apart.”


    “Should you support Raxus,” Admiral Trench told him simply, “We will have your men put to work supporting our auxiliary forces. Rendili has much needed expertise that our shipyards desperately need. Should you support Serenno, or the Republic, then your ships will be interned, and your men will be put to work anyway.”


    Dallin laughed, “Elucidating. Very well, it seems there is an obvious choice, and as my homeworld is in no position to gainsay my decision, I must act to the benefit of those under my command. Promise me you will not so easily throw the lives of my men away, Admiral.”


    “Your men and ships hold much more worth than that, Captain.”


    “That, I believe you wholeheartedly.”


    “Then what of us, Admiral?” I questioned.


    “Admiral Ningo, I will petition the Supreme Commander to estate you as the new commanding officer of the First Fleet Group, with the Bulwark Fleet at its core. Is that agreeable?”


    “Very much so.”


    “I would ask that you provide your ships in need of repair, along with the schematics, to the Ringo Vinda Shipyards, so that we may begin a production line. Then you will provide yourself to Raxus Secundus so that you can meet the Supreme Commander in person.”


    “Very well.”


    “Captain Dallin, your fleet will remain here at Columex to be inspected, as well as to act in auxiliary capacities as I had described earlier. You will be placed under my command, and await further orders.”


    “Understood, Admiral.”


    “Finally,” Admiral Trench turned his six-eyed attention to Diedrich and I, “Diedrich Greyshade will be promoted to Rear Admiral.”


    “Ah,” the Columexi smiled, “My old rank. I must admit, it is a welcome and familiar weight on my shoulders.”


    He was referring to his previous rank of counter-admiral under the local Commonality forces, which he was stripped of following the Militia Act’s standardisation of all military bodies in the Confederacy.


    “Good to hear that,” something in Trench’s organic eyes twinkled, “Because you will be the new commanding officer of the Twenty-Eighth Mobile Fleet.”


    “...Pardon me, sir?”


    I didn’t know if it was me or Diedrich who said that.


    “Because you, Rain Bonteri, are dead,” Trench levelled his gaze on me, “And it cannot be made known that you are alive; this, I have made adamantly clear to Celis Mott. We must not allow your survival to leak.”


    The gears spun in my brain, “You mean to use me as a trump card.”


    “Have you lost your touch?”


    I thought back to Rendili. Maybe.


    Then I thought even further back to Yag’Dhul.


    “I hope not,” was my answer.


    “Good. Admiral Ningo, Captain Dallin, you may return to your vessels,” Trench looked at them, “I pray that you remember what was said here today. Admiral Bonteri’s survival must be kept secret as much as possible.”


    “Of course, Admiral,” Jace Dallin saluted.


    “Stay safe, you old spider,” Dua Ningo nodded grudgingly, “You too, Bonteri.”


    “Likewise,” I shook their hands.


    Once they were out of the compartment, Trench turned to Diedrich and I with a certain severity in his eyes that made us sit up straight as a board, “Now then, are you prepared to receive your new assignment, Admiral Bonteri?”


    Admiral Bonteri. Something about the way I said it made me pause. I was, of course, Admiral Bonteri. It was a casual shorthand for the more mouthy Rear Admiral Bonteri, but usually the full rank would be read out when dealing with official matters such as orders and assignments.


    “Admiral, sir?”


    “Admiral Bonteri, did you know what Operation Starlance has done?” Trench dug into my soul.


    “I consider it a success, sir.”


    “As does the Supreme Commander,” Trench’s open mandibles made a horrible facsimile of a grin, “And as do I. Despite our losses in the north, here on the Home Front we have not only pushed the Loyalists back to Salvara, but we have pushed the Loyalists beyond Salvara. All the way to Roche. All the way to Phindar. Starlance has struck such a terror into the heart of the Core that it was enough to convince systems as major as Rendili to secede. Congratulations, Rain Bonteri, you’re being made an Admiral. A full Admiral.”


    My heart didn’t know whether to soar or plunge.


    “And the reward for success is even more work to be done,” Trench pressed on mercilessly, “You have brought back to the Confederacy one warship that could turn the tide of the war, now we ask you to bring back another.”


    I was still stunned when Trench threw a holoprojector onto the table. Blue rays of light burst out from the emitters, scanning a new warship into existence–one I have never seen before. At the bottom I read in Aurebesh: Aggressor-class long-range artillery platform.


    It was a design completely alien to the galaxy, and nothing that has preceded it looked similar to it in any capacity. In fact, it looked like it had jumped out of a completely different video game from my old homeworld. From a cursory look at the spinning projection, the Aggressor-class was a little over 1,600 metres long, shaped like a tuning fork with a four-pronged claw-like aft nesting eight sublight thrusters upon which sat a traditional Star Destroyer bridge with two shield generators.


    What caught my attention was the ‘tuning fork’ part of the ship, which essentially consisted of two massive vertically-arranged prongs that jutted forward from the engine block, taking up two-thirds of the vessel’s entire length. Looking at the projection from the front, however, I saw two open bores, and realised that two prongs were the largest ship-mounted artillery pieces I’ve–no, the galaxy has ever seen.


    “This is the Aggressor-class battleship, designed by the Loronar Corporation and built by the Techno Union–” Trench introduced us to the brand new warship, “–right here in the Columex System. Its main battery are its dual spinal-mounted kilometre-long gravitic waveguns, capable of sniping a target from across the diameter of a star system. The Supreme Commander believes that even a single one of these can decide the outcome of a battle, and thus a war, and Columex is currently building two of them.”


    This… so this was what the Loronar Corporation and Techno Union were up to? I knew the Loronar Corporation was known for their outlandish designs, but this… I recalled Gnifmark Dymurra’s original prototype presented to me on Raxus, which appeared sort of like an interstellar catamaran. This was that catamaran flipped on its side, and improved so that the two prongs didn’t facilitate one wavegun between the two of them, but instead were each their own waveguns.


    “If… if these battleships are being built here in Columex,” Diedrich sounded like he couldn’t decide whether he was elated or terrified that such weapons were being constructed on his homeworld, “Then why can’t we deploy them immediately? Are they unfinished?”


    “We are indeed missing one final component that can only be sourced from one place in the entire galaxy; Gravlex Med,” Trench waved his hand, and a high-gravity planet replaced the vessel schematics, “We have already contracted the Gravlex Launchworks to manufacture the parts for us. Unfortunately…”


    “Gravlex Med is in the New Territories–the heart of Serenno’s sphere of influence,” I finished, internally lamenting my situation. Was this how Calli Trilm felt? I am certainly empathising with her now. There was a certain… exhaustion, that I felt, and it made me feel like a zombie, just mindlessly going along with whatever Trench was saying, without the energy to argue.


    Gravlex Med. Engineering the Tann Railgun for the Battle of Columex, I couldn’t help but research the world. Gravlex Med was an extremely high-gravity planet that prevented the local Anx from achieving interstellar flight. Their solution? Massive fuck-off cannons that fired their spaceships into orbit, and towards the nearby star systems. The Gravlex Launchworks were still manufacturing those cannons, both to launch their ships into space, but also for a different purpose; to fire the planet’s accumulated trash into their sun.


    Suffice to say, if there was any species capable of utilising gravity to build massive fucking cannons, it was the Anx of Gravlex Med.


    “Make no mistake,” Trench advised us, “The Aggressor-class are operational, and all field tests do indicate their the waveguns are working within parameters. These parts from Gravlex Med will, however, allow the waveguns to fire regularly without need for constant maintenance checks after every volley. We were intending on having the parts delivered here, but the secession of the New Territories has led to Gravlex Med being in the middle of enemy territory.”


    “The mission is thus simple,” Trench slid me a datachip over the table, “You will be put in command of an Aggressor-class battleship, and with the Givin fleet you have acquired from Yag’Dhul, you will navigate to Gravlex Med and overhaul the Aggressor at the Launchworks. Then, you will return to us. Simple as that.”


    I stared at the datachip, and beneath the table, clenched my fists until my nails left pink crescents in my flesh, “Operation Starlance was simple. This is simple too? With all due respect, you expect me to take a half-working untested superweapon into the heart of enemy territory and sojourn there for stars know how long? Before just waltzing out without Count Dooku being any wiser?”


    I shot to my feet, staring down the massive spider, “Why don’t you take your Second Fleet, Aggressors in tow, and smash your way to Gravlex Med! Reduce Serenno to ash while you’re at it! The CAF is in your hands–what does Dooku have that can even pose a threat to you!? Another stupid secret fleet!?”


    Admiral Trench clicked his mandibles, “Not Count Dooku. The Republlc. The reason Serenno was so easily able to take over the New Territories is because Raxus Secundus has never been able to exercise authority over the north. Phindar, Bonteri, our problem is Phindar. Fortress world Phindar.”


    I shut my eyes in frustration, but I could understand what he meant. There was only one major hyperlane capable of facilitating the transit of massive fleets between the Perlemian and the Hydian Way, and that was the Salin Corridor. The very Salin Corridor that was straddled by the Loyalist fortress world Phindar. The Confederacy has been trying to overcome Phindar since the very start of the war, to connect its two disjointed territories. But Phindar held strong, even to this day, and refused to bend or break.


    The only other route was taking a massive detour north through the Shaltin Tunnels, which led into the Republic-controlled Corporate Sector, or through the incredibly dangerous and hazardous maze-like Gordian Reach. Phindar was a massive wall preventing any military fleet crossing between the New Territories and Near-Perlemian–which was what forced Admiral Kirst to turn to Dooku for reinforcements in the first place. Not even Trench could displace Phindar.


    But a small task force, like the one Admiral Trench was proposing? And utilising the expertise of the Givin astrogators no less? We could bypass Phindar…


    “Is this the only way?” I gritted my teeth.


    “We are now fighting a war on two fronts,” Trench told me, and I could tell he was being honest, “We must use every superweapon we can get our hands on. Only you can pull this off, Bonteri, with all your experience, and with your ‘death’.”


    “My ‘experience’ led my fleet into a death trap at Rendili!”


    “Then don’t do it again,” Trench simply told me, “Right now, you are a ghost to both the Republic and the Confederacy. Ghosts can’t die twice.”


    “And Phindar?” Diedrich questioned, “We are now fighting on two fronts, but if we can’t get through Phindar–”


    “The Supreme Commander has a plan for Phindar,” Trench interrupted him.


    “Which is?”


    “We try to convince the Republic to let us through.”