Turk Brand

Yaqeel Saav'etu had a deep feeling of foreboding over the approaching battle. She knew full well that she might not be making it back. If that Aether mist so much as hit her deflector shield, she'd probably die. The same went for everyone else in a fighter.

"Hey, 'Qeel."

The Bothan woman turned to see a dark skinned human man, with long dreadlocks and a beard, jogging toward her. "Hi, Zig." He seemed a bit... off. "Are you okay?" Yaqeel asked, mildly concerned.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Ziggy replied. But he didn't seem completely convinced. He sighed. "Well, I do feel kind of... funny, I guess."

Yaqeel placed a soft hand on her friend's shoulder. "If you're not up to flying-"

"I feel like the Force is telling me to go out there," Ziggy said, gently cutting her off.

She couldn't argue against that. "Well, in that case..." Without really thinking about it she walked the short distance to Ziggy, and embraced him. "Just be careful, dude."

Ziggy returned the embrace. "'Careful' is my middle name, or it would be if I had one."

Yaqeel couldn't help but smile at that. "We should get to our X-wings," she interrupted, after a long moment.

"Right," Ziggy said, letting her go. They both put their hair into a sort of topknot before slipping on, and securing, their helmets. Unlike humans, and many other species, Yaqeel had to first place her snout into her helmet before putting it on. She ran to her snubfighter, and initiated the quick start up sequence.

The hangar bay door slid away, allowing Yaqeel to see the swirl of hyperspace. It disintegrated into lines which, in turn, shrunk into stars. "Launch all squadrons," came the order. She and Ziggy followed Yantahar Bwua'tu and his new wingmate out of the Turk Brand, and out into the void of space. The armada was arrayed in a large, spread out, roughly circular screen. Furry Squadron, along with all the other squadrons, gathered around the perimeter of the massive fleet. Within one second the entire fleet seemed to stretch and flash out of existence.

...

Less than a half hour later, lightyears away, the armada flashed back into existence. Admiral Bwua'tu glanced at the long range visual display. Off in the distance was the gleaming world of Nibiru, orbiting around its unnamed star at tens of thousands of mile per hour. "Magnify." The officer beside him tapped a few keys, enlarging the planet. The enemy fleet was in a sort of net around Nibiru. "Proceed at standard speed," he ordered the fleet. He glanced at his tactical display, and saw his fleet spreading out as they moved forward. His gaze flicked back to the visual display to see the Celestial armada boiling away from Nibiru like a swarm of disturbed hornets. One of the Tho Yors, larger than the rest, hung back. That was the Golden Emperor, Warmaster Za's flagship. Za's fleet began to spread out, and Bwua'tu responded by ordering his fleet to spread out even more. The admiral couldn't help but imagine a pair of ravenous troll toads each trying to open its mouth wider than the other in hopes of swallowing its opponent.

A hellish sunset came to life as Celestial vessels, on both sides of the conflict, opened fire. Massive crimson needles joined in, as the Terran war cruisers opened up with their beam weapons. And finally the galaxy's native forces joined in, first with lasers, then adding ion weapons and, when the two fleets were close enough, proton torpedoes.

"Aether missiles launching," warned Warmaster Huitl's voice, on the fleet wide frequency. In response, ally fighters began to pour in from the perimeter. Laser beams, ion beams, and proton torpedoes flashed into the hail of green Aether missiles.

Bwua'tu began to notice a strange sense of unease gnawing at him; something was very wrong. He heard a nervous intake of air from Zuul Zuzu, his Sullustan tactical officer, as several ally fighters winked out on the tactical display. Bwua'tu's discomfort started to grow, and he allowed his thoughts to drift slightly toward the Force sensitive woman. "The missiles are killing people," she responded, having sensed his concern. Bwua'tu couldn't help but wonder if he could somehow feel what was happening in the Force, but he wasn't...

He experienced a vague sense of loss as he glimpsed a Star Destroyer wink out. "We need to let the Sith help," Zuzu said. Bwua'tu gave a reluctant nod and stabbed the comm bottom; she was right. And with the actual power of the Aether in use, he didn't think the Sith would want to mess about.

...

Shockwaves continued to tear through the Force as more Aether missiles slammed into ally fighters and, worse, capital ships. Yaqeel's soul ached at the brutality of these deaths, so much worse than regular deaths. Off to the side she glimpsed a pair of missiles hit a Star Destroyer's deflector shield. The energy barrier seemed to somehow rot away as green mist bled outward. It fell upon the ship's exposed hull, and the metal began to disintegrate. A nearby Corvette pulled away from the doomed vessel, only to be hit with the deadly green spray. This vessel, too, began to decay. Yaqeel did her best to block out the suffering of thousands as death itself clawed at the fabric of the Force...

Yaqeel could sense the dark side of the Force falling upon her, creating a callous serenity, as Darth Plagueis started coordinating the Alliance forces. Capital ships continued to suffer fatal hits, and crumble to oblivion, along with their crews. But Yaqeel had an odd sense of numbness, as though these peoples' death were insignificant. Was this cold detachment what the Sith called peace? It did make it easier to fight, but still it concerned Yaqeel.

Working with the Sith had turned out disastrously in the past, but Yaqeel was hopeful things would be different this time. All her life she had thought the dark side was evil; the idea that it was neither good nor evil was completely foreign to her. There was a certain comfort that came with that knowledge, especially in light of something as horrific as the Aether.

Yaqeel fired a proton torpedo at an incoming Aether missile, and pulled up and away immediately. She was relieved to sense her ordnance hit its target. Ziggy pulled up beside her, having destroyed his own missile. But her friend was drawing heavily on the Force, to ease the trauma he was experiencing... and to fight his exhaustion. Yantahar and his new wingmate joined up with the two...

Yaqeel felt a jolt of loss as a missile crashed into Yantahar's wingmate. The male Bothan turned his X-wing and blasted away from the murderous rain of mist. The rotting X-wing broke up into debris, and came hurtling toward her X-wing. Her comm crackled. "Love you, 'Qeel," said Ziggy's voice as his own X-wing shot forward. His deflector shield pulsed brightly, as shrapnel collided with the protective energy bubble, before flashing out of existence. She reached out to him, embracing him in the Force. And then, in a flash of agony, he was gone. She felt tears forming, and used the Force to wick the moisture to the corners of her eyes. Was this the reason the Force had told him to fly?

She could feel Yantahar gently reaching out to her. "I got you, Three."

"Thanks, One." Another missile came streaking toward her. If she fired at such close range... She felt a sense of reassurance from Yantahar, and pulled away. One of Yantahar's torpedoes collided with the missile; the resulting explosion annihilated most of the green spray and, with nothing to react with, the rest fizzled out.

...

Admiral Bwua'tu's peculiar sense of unease had, for the most part, faded with only a faint aftertaste. If the use of the Aether had left him a bit shaken, how were the Jedi faring?

The ally armada had lost almost two hundred capital ships, and Force knew how many fighters, mostly due to the Aether missiles. The armada was still nearly twice the size as Za's fleet, but with the native vessels being less powerful than those of the Celestials and Terrans, Bwua'tu put his forces' strength at a forth greater than the enemy's.

"Enemy fighters scrambling," announced Zuzu. Shotel Za had to be out of Aether missiles, then. And the Warmaster wouldn't want to use such volatile weapons at close range, and risk losing his own ships.

The admiral glanced at Zuzu; his tactical officer nodded in agreement. "Bowl formation," he ordered, on the armada-wide frequency. The capital ships at the perimeter of the armada began gaining speed, as did those closer to the center, but to a lesser extent.

Za's forces appeared to be assuming their own bowl formation at first, but then started to break up, revealing their intent to create a three clawed formation. It was a sensible attempt to surround a slightly larger fleet. Za must have wanted Bwua'tu to spread out his own fleet, which would have left the Bothan admiral's ships stretched more thinly than he wanted.

"Hold formation, and target center of enemy formation," Bwua'tu ordered. Explosions began to erupt from the central hub of Warmaster Shotel Za's fleet, as the ally armada chipped away with their weapons. After a few minutes the enemy fleet broke up into thirds, eliminating the hub. The enemy vessels began to spread out in an attempt to surround Bwua'tu's armada. The Bothan frowned; Za had to know he didn't have enough ships to pull this off. So what in space was the Warmaster doing? Bwua'tu couldn't help thinking he was somehow playing right into the man's hands.

"Something's not right about this, Admiral," Zuzu warned. "It's not the Aether, sir."

"I know," Bwua'tu assured her, as he proceeded to keyed in Warmaster Huitl's frequency...

"I believe Za's planning suicide runs," Macua Huitl said before Bwua'tu's finger could make contact.

"He knows he's lost," Bwua'tu growled. "The Sith might try something, then."

"Which is why Lecersen and his friends are our next target," Huitl said darkly.