Cinders
Chapter One
Report made to Republic sector command from Arquitens-class light cruiser Horizon at 0500 hours, galactic standard time.
All contact lost with Acclamator-class assault ship Victus. Preliminary scans of wreckage found in system suggest naval engagement. Victus presumed destroyed with all hands. No sign of asset designated 'Gamma Zero'. Possibly retrieved by hostile forces. Possible republic personnel aboard Victus managed to make planetfall on the systems' habitable world. Cyparia. Cyparian officials uncooperative, claiming neutrality. Recommend deployment of nearest GAR assets to retrieve the asset. Nearest GAR asset identified as follows: Seventy Second Battalion, under command of general Arbani Trask. ARC trooper 23. Acclamator-class assault ship Persistence
Acclamator-class assault ship Persistence, in orbit of Atraken, 107 days after the battle of Geonosis. 13:00 hours local system time.
Commander Vathe of the seventy second battalion of the grand army of the Republic, removed his helmet, marked with the markings befitting his rank and the battalions bronze colour striping, and carefully set it on the desk he was seated at. The blank, T-shaped visor stared back at him, but that wasn't what had his attention. The Zabrak jedi with pale grey skin made even paler in the harsh light from the glow panel above did. The datapad that had moments before been activated and in the clones' hand was now blank screened and sitting on the desk between them.
"With all due respect, ma'am. Is this a joke?" Vathes' bronze skinned face, a shade lighter than his armour markings, remained impassive. But he couldn't quite keep the skepticism from his voice. A scar traced the right side of his jaw, terminating just under his ear. A souvenir of Geonosis. His eyes, the dark brown of his genetic template, met general Arbani Trasks' icy blue ones.
The corner of the generals' lip curled slightly. The closest thing she'd managed to a smile since the butchery down on Atraken. "I'm afraid not, commander. And I thought I'd asked you to call me by name when we were alone."
Vathe grimaced, annoyed by the jedis' casual disregard of proper protocol. Jedi were nothing like the mystical demi-gods he and his men had been taught to expect during their years of flash training on Kamino. They bled and died, just like the soldiers they commanded. They made mistakes, just like anyone else. The generals' metallic left hand, shining in the office light, was proof of that.
His general, in particular, was...unique. At least that was the word Vathe chose to describe her. He'd met other jedi, of course, in the briefings after Geonosis, and the handful of battles that the seventy second had fought afterwards. Most of them were awkward, unused to being thrust into command roles. Some were aloof, and others were downright cold.
Arbani Trask however had been...warm, kind, eager to bond with her troops. 'Bonding' was something the training had not prepared Vathe or his brothers for. The men of the battalion were close, of course. 'Vode An'. Brothers all, so the mandalorians said. But the general, friendly as she was, was still an outsider. Despite her encouraging the men to call her by name, and choose names for themselves, progress was...slow.
Many had warmed to the idea of individuality, eager to break from the number system the Kaminoans had used to distinguish them. Whenever he had a chance to visit the mess hall aboard the 'Persistence', he heard brothers calling each other names, rather than numbers. He supposed it was encouraging. "A recovery mission to an unaligned planet. While there's a war to fight."
Arbani's flesh and blood hand strayed up to finger the ivory horns atop her skull. A nervous habit she'd developed since being assigned to the battalion. Her slender fingers traced the curvature of the short pieces of bone, resting on the tip of one, before jumping to another. "You know there's more to it than that," she gently chastised him, " the crew of the Victus might be stranded down there."
Vathe found that extremely unlikely. Whoever had destroyed the Victus probably wouldn't have been inclined to leave anyone alive. But in the last four months of the war, he'd seen all kinds of things he'd deemed 'unlikely to happen' happen. "Maybe," he conceded, "but wouldn't a team of jedi or sector authorities be more appropriate? We're not exactly equipped for search and rescue."
"No, but we're the closest available forces. Plus an Advanced Recon Trooper, who'll be meeting with us on Cyparia." The general reminded him, gesturing at the now deactivated datapad. She noticed the subtle sneer that marred Vathes' features. "You have a problem with ARCs?"
"No, general." A lie, but a minor one, and he wouldn't expect the general to understand, anyways. He hadn't met many ARC troopers, but those he had were universally...arrogant. Sneering at the rank and file troopers like they were somehow less important than them. The brutal truth of it was that they were. ARCs were trained to be better than normal grunts in almost every way. Infiltration, sabotage, assassination, to name a few of their functions.
'While we drop directly into the firestorm.' The thought caught Vathe by surprise. He knew his duty, and he knew that he'd been created to fight and die for the republic. That was simply how things were, and there wasn't anything he could do about it, except make sure his men made it through the war in one piece. The survivors of Geonosis and Atraken and other battlefields in between. "I'll brief the men."
Captain Brendin Perrick stood on the command bridge of the Persistence, feet shoulder width apart, hands clasped behind his back. For the past several hours, he'd been sitting in the command chair that was now several feet behind him. Now, that the several hour journey from the Atraken system was nearly over, it only felt right that he be on his feet to survey their destination. The silver-white of stars highlighting the purple-blue of hyperspace vanished as the Acclamator-class assault ship transitioned smoothly to real space. The gentle vibrations underfoot ceased as the hyperdrive powered down, and the sublight engines took over. "Sensors, report." His gaze shifted to the grey uniformed clone officer that stood at the sensor station.
"Sir. We're picking up lots of debris out there. It's been blasted into too many pieces for a hundred percent confirmation, but there's enough of it to suggest it was once an Acclamator."
Brendin glanced to the right, where first officer Chance stood, mirroring the captains pose. The clone was identictal to the rest of the bridge crew, identical to nearly every clone on board, in fact, but he'd served with Brendin for the four months since the start of the war. "Do you agree, number one?"
"It matches the report the Horizon sent us. Plus assault ships don't just disappear." Chance said quietly. Always quite that one, Brendin reflected and usually correct.
"Hmm." The captain rubbed a hand across his chin, the prickling of stubble reminding him that he hadn't yet shaved. His gaze was drawn to the world that was off to starboard, orbited by twin moons. Cyparia. He'd never heard of the planet, but being from the core, he imagined there were hundreds of worlds he'd never heard of. The information on the holonet wasn't much help. A terrestrial planet with cool temperatures all year long, three continents, sparsely populated, and fiercely independent. Despite pressure from both the Republic and the Techno Union. What resources the world had to offer for both the republic and the confederacy would be after it, Brendin didn't know. Didn't particularly care, either. So long as there was no confederacy blockade waiting for them, he was content.
Still, something had destroyed the Victus, or at least damaged it enough so that it was incapable of summoning help. The sensors hadn't picked up anything besides the debris field several hundred kilometres ahead of them. Clearly, the destroyed Acclamator hadn't had a chance to fight back."I want sensor sweeps every thirty minutes. Keep weapons and shields on standby. I don't want to be surprised like the Victus was." Of course, there was the possibility that whatever had destroyed their sister ship so outclassed them that no amount of counter measures would make much of a difference. They'd cross that bridge when they came to it, captain Perrick decided, shaking off the sudden feeling of vulnerability.
"Comms, are we being hailed by the Cyparians?"
"No,sir."
"I see. Well, let's see if they want to talk, shall we? Let them know a battalion will be coming to visit them shortly."
"Going to ask them nicely, captain?" Chance asked with a hint of grin.
"Yes. And them I'm going to tell them they'll be receiving visitors. I hear a warship can be quite persuasive."
The communications officer signaled him with an uplifted arm. "Channel open to Cypar city, captain."
"Attention, Cypar city." With no name or title to refer to, the captain was forced to be vague. "This is the republic warship Persistence. We are currently investigating the destruction of our sister ship, the remains of which are currently in your system. A battalion of republic troops will be landing within the hour. Hostile action is extremely ill advised." Intentions declared, Brendin waited for the response of whoever was in control on the world in the middle of nowhere.
"Ah, this is Cypar city." A voice replied, it was young, and sounded nervous. There was a slight accent, but nowhere near as coarse as the other outer rim accents he'd heard. " We do not consent to republic or any other troops landing on Cyparia. Nor do we have any information regarding the destruction of any republic vessels. Any landing will be seen as hostile action against sovereign Cyparian territory."
Brendin almost snorted at the absurdity of it. Composing himself, he stated "there seems to be some misunderstanding. I was not asking permission. Republic forces will be landing within the hour. Any hostile action will be met with appropriate force. Persistence,out."
With the communications cut, Chance turned to his commander. "That was a little blunt, wasn't it sir?"
"A little forcefulness is necessary when dealing with these outer rim types. Inform the general that she may proceed with the landing, and tell her not to expect a warm welcome. Detail a squadron of Torrents to cover their landing, but to not engage unless fired upon first." As the crew went about carrying out his orders, Brendin Perrick returned to the command chair and sat, satisfied that he'd carried out his duties to the best of his abilities. Now all that was left was to await the outcome of the generals' mission on the surface.
Interceptor-class frigate Last Laugh, Lafra sytem, 01:00 hours local system time.
Captain Damien Marsk was sat back in the command chair of his ship and idly flipped a vibro knife from one hand to the other. Most 'civilized' beings would call him a pirate. Those beings usually ended up being shot. Captain Marsk and his crew were 'enterprising businessmen' who happened to be exceptionally skilled at tracking down and 'recovering' items of interest. Usually for a ridiculous sum of credits. It was merely an unfortunately coincidence that those who happened to get in their way ended up dead. Or in the hold of the Last Laugh, wishing they were. With the republic sucked into what promised to be a bloody and profitable war, Marsk and his crew operated throughout the outer rim without consequence. So long as they steered clear of the powerful players, like the Hutts or Black Sun. Captain Marsk might have been greedy, but he wasn't stupid.
So when his communication officer told him he had someone calling him on an unknown channel, he immediately set his intelligence people to tracking it back to the source. They were a group of verpine slicers, some of the best, if they'd cracked half the secure systems they claimed to. And since they hadn't failed him yet, he almost dropped the blade he was tossing when they confessed failure. But he was intrigued as well. Holo-scramblers capable of blocking his slicers had to be damned expensive. Which meant two things. One, they were going to insane measures to avoid being identified, and the second, more important point- they had to be insanely wealthy. More than his 'usual customers'.
He signaled the comms officer to put the call through. "Damien Marsk here. Acquisitions specialist, among other things."
"Captain Marsk," the voice was pitched deep and crackled with interference. Almost certainly intentional. "I have a job for you."
The captain rolled his eyes, already irritated by his mysterious caller, he rolled his eyes "I kind of already figured that out. We don't get many social calls out here. What can the Last Laugh do for you?"
"There is an object that needs recovering. On the world of Cyparia, in the outer rim."
Cyparia. Marsk frowned, and glanced over at his first mate, Barusk-Dak,a towering barabel with dark grey scales and one glaring red eye. The other had been replaced by a cybernetic several years ago. The first mate shrugged, face as impassive as always. Clearly, he was no more familiar with the world than Damien. "Don't know anything about the place." He confessed, knowing how strange that was. The outer rim was a big place, but Marsk had spent most of his life either hunting other vessels, or being hunted by the authorities.
"This is not surprising" the voice reassured him, " Cyparia is a neutral world, and worthless to any one in the war, aside from a few key resources."
"What kind of resources?" The captain asked, already wondering how he could turn a profit from a world that hardly anyone seemed to know about. At the very least, it could serve as a base for the Last Laugh and her crew.
"That is not important. What is, is that you and your crew retrieve the object before the republic does."
Damiens' ideas of a pirate haven shattered at those words. If the republic was there, it wouldn't be long before the world was getting a whole lot more attention. But the situation wasn't a whole loss. "You want us to grab something out from under the republics nose. That'll cost extra."
"I anticipated as much. Twenty million credits are yours. Ten million when you accept, another ten when I have the object." Not if but when they accepted the job. Whoever this was, they were certainly full of themselves. Damien was aware of the eyes of the entire bridge crew had fixated on him. Twenty million was a lot of credits. And the Last Laugh could certainly use the upgrades that would buy.
"You have a deal. But I'm going to need to bring in some outside help. Because if the republic is there, that means those jedi, and my people aren't equipped to deal with some mystic with a lightsabre. "
"Do what you must. Information on the object is being sent to you, along with the nav-coordinates of Cyparia. I will be in contact."
And just like that, the channel was dead, and captain Damien Marsk was ten million credits richer, and trying to figure out a way to steal something from a republic force led by a jedi. Slowly, an idea came to him and as it formed, a grin spread across his rugged features. Snapping his fingers at the rodian comms officer, he said "get me Pyros Vehd."