PART FOUR: Opposite and Equal


Chapter Sixteen: A Proportionate Response

This ship was no Charybdis, but it would have to do.

Valis—not Valis the Sith, or Valis the admiral, but Valis the pirate, adorned in her armor of black and of bone—weaved her way through the capital ship's cargo hold. She'd forgotten the vessel's name already. It didn't matter. The whole fleet they'd brought from San Sestina was the same. Coated in rust—inside and out, she thought with disdain as she scraped her boot along the corroded deck—bristling with pointy implements that served no function save intimidation, their engines spewing black smog into the ship's interior any time they were pushed past idle.

But this was their fleet now. The men bustling about were their crew. This was how they'd win.

She hauled herself on top of a cargo crate in the center of the hold and cupped her hands around her mouth to shout. "Pirates!"

Everyone froze and turned to look at her. If there had been any doubt before, this erased it—these were not clones. Clones would have been perfectly, uncannily still. The pirates had an uneasy energy, bobbing back and forth from one foot to the (sometimes prosthetic) other as they awaited the word from their admiral.

"We've done it." No, make it singular. Appeal to their ego. "Everyone in the Core knows your name. Fears you. You drove terror into the heart of every Republic citizen." She paused to take a deep breath. "Now it is time to strike that same fear into every Republic soldier."

A low, throaty growl emerged from the crowd of pirates. Barbaric, and at once invigorating. Valis continued.

"They say it cannot be done. Anyone may attack the Republic, but no one attacks Kuat Drive Yards. To that I say: we attacked Coruscant."

Another roar from the crowd.

"Who wants to tear apart a Star Destroyer?"

From the edge of the room, a single shouting voice rose above the rumble: "Just one?"

Valis grinned and jabbed her finger in the voice's direction. "An excellent question! No, not just one. Hundreds. We are going to arrive at Kuat with the force of a maelstrom and snap that damn orbital ring in half!"

Shouts and growls filled the cargo hold, and for a brief moment Valis allowed herself to add her voice to the chorus. Leaping down from the cargo crate that had served as her impromptu soapbox, she shoved her way through the raucous crowd of pirates and toward the cargo hold doors.

Maul was leaning against the wall beside them.

"You know how to rile them up," he said, shoving away from the wall and falling in step beside Valis as she moved past him. "One might even be forgiven for mistaking you for one of them—"

"Shut up," she snapped as the doors whisked shut behind them. "I do what I must to rally the troops. That is all."

With that, she froze in place. They'd arrived at what passed for a turbolift aboard the pirate vessel—an old cargo elevator, slower and larger than what was found on more civilized ships. She stepped aboard, Maul at her heels, and pulled the large lever that sent the platform creaking upward to the command deck.

"I sense unease," she muttered, glaring at the Zabrak who now paced back and forth in what little space the cargo lift offered him. "Speak your mind, Maul. Do you have doubts about this attack?"

"I have doubts about whether all your pirates will survive it, but that is hardly a concern," he answered, not bothering to look her in the eye. He reached one end of the lift, spun on a heel, and kept moving. "I also doubt whether we can really destroy the entire shipyard." Then he paused, making the briefest bit of eye contact before resuming his pacing. "What if he's there?"

There could only be one person Maul was referring to. "Vader?" she asked, forcing herself to scoff as she spoke the name. "He won't be."

"You seem quite certain."

"I am," she said. "That's not how they use him."

"Ah," Maul growled. "So you're an expert on their tactics now?"

She shot him a pointed glare. "I observe." Silently, she wished Mate were here to project a map of the galaxy, or that she had a piece of flimsiplast to sketch a visual aid—then she discarded the thought. Such luxuries would have been wasted on Maul.

"It began at Sluis Van," she said, holding an open palm in the air. "Attacking a shipyard is a fairly standard act of war, but Vader didn't destroy it completely. He didn't capture it. That task fell to the strike fleet they sent in after him.

"A week later he was at Czerka's main factory, blowing up weapons assembly lines. Again, he didn't destroy everything—he left the door open for the Grand Army to finish the job. The following week, the vaults on Muunilist fell victim to arson. Vader burned a lot of money. But total economic collapse? Hardly. A disruption, nothing more."

"Get to the point," Maul said, baring his teeth as he paced by her.

"Vader is an agent of chaos. A destabilizing influence, sowing discord among the remnants of the Confederacy so that the Grand Army has an easier shot at winning a more conventional war. Not so different from what we pulled at Coruscant, really."

The Zabrak's amber eyes narrowed. "He has yet to attack us."

Valis nodded. "I suspect we are rather low on the priority list. Even if they know where we are, San Sestina is quite deep into former Confederate space. Disrupting our operation to aid the Grand Army is a useless gesture if they cannot attack us yet." The admission stung a little—it had been the only way to survive, to beat both the Confederacy and ultimately the Republic, yet the loss of their position as a foe equal to the galaxy's rulers couldn't help but burn.

That's what we're here for. Beginning to turn the tables again.

Maul yanked her back to the present. "That can't be the only reason. What else?"

A grin tugged at the edge of her mouth. "We are Sith. We're in agreement that this Vader is the apprentice Sidious threatened us with, yes?"

Silence lingered, though Maul offered her an affirmative nod.

"Then I imagine we are something of a final test. Sidious will send Vader after us only when he feels he is ready. Unless certain events convince one of them to"—she paused and considered her words—"alter that timeline."

Maul once again froze in place and glared at her. "You're doing this as a stunt. Drawing attention."

"You said every engagement was about gaining power, Maul. Leverage is power. It is in our best interest to lure out and destroy Vader as soon as possible. Sidious is training him to kill us. The longer we wait to face him, the more dangerous he becomes."

At that moment, the cargo lift ground to a halt. They'd arrived at the command deck. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got a shipyard to attack."

For a moment he said nothing. The look on his face—narrowed eyes, tattooed brow contorted into a shape Valis hadn't often seen—suggested deeper thought than the Zabrak usually engaged in.

"If you don't mind, Lady Valis," he began, straightening up as he spoke. "I'd like to join you on the bridge for this."

"Of course, Lord Maul."

Side by side, apprentice and master took their posts of command.


The first wave caught them all off guard.

Kuat Drive Yards was as much a corporate headquarters as it was a military base, more factory than fortress. Yes, at any given time it was home to hundreds of Star Destroyers, but those Star Destroyers weren't at the ready, their crews weren't standing by. Even Typhoon Division, who had elected to stay aboard the Coelacanth while it sat in the orbital docking ring that encircled the planet Kuat, had been unprepared when the pirate ships—a dozen in all—had dropped out of hyperspace just off the daytime side of the planet.

Repairs to the Coelacanth weren't yet finished, but the alert klaxons worked just fine—much to the annoyance of one Samantha Reyes, who tried her damndest to shut out the blaring notes as she darted from one end of the bridge to the other and back again for what felt like the millionth time.

"Will somebody shut that alarm off?" she shouted at no one in particular, sliding into the seat in front of her console and nearly tumbling off the edge of it in the process. Her fingers flew across the keyboard and her eyes darted across the terminal display as Reyes attempted to route what power the Coelacanth had—it wasn't full capacity, but it'd have to do—between shields and weapons and engines.

Her fingers briefly hovered over the key that would initiate the hyperdrive startup routine—no, we won't flee, she thought as she froze in hesitation. The commander would never. She shook her head and pressed it anyway. He could yell at her for wasting power on something they would never use if he wanted to; it was better to be prepared.

"Commanding officer on deck!"

The shout came from a low-ranking crewman in the bridge pit—one who was evidently paying far more attention than Reyes was. Instinctively she shot up out of her chair and raised her hand in salute, just in time to hear Cody's voice—laced with annoyance, directed mostly at her.

"As you were, all of you! Don't stop what you're doing on my account."

As she fell back into her seat, Cody moved toward her—rather than looming over her shoulder like he used to, he had come to rest beside her, his wheelchair keeping him at Reyes' eye level.

"What're we up against?" he asked, his voice low. She'd long since learned what that meant. If he talks quietly, so do you.

"I cross-referenced the pirate ship transponders with vessels we faced at Coruscant. Some of them are a match. It's almost certainly Valis."

Cody said nothing; a low grumble emerged from between his teeth.

"I don't understand, sir," Reyes continued. "Why attack Kuat? She can't destroy the whole shipyard, not with a fleet of that size."

"She doesn't have to," he answered, spinning to face away from her and crossing his arms before bringing a hand up to stroke his chin. "All she has to do is damage the Star Destroyers. Even at wartime production speeds, it takes months to make one. Take one that's under construction and wreck it enough, and we'll have to start all over. Take a hundred that're under construction—"

"Dammit," Reyes whispered, interrupting him. If it bothered the commander, he didn't show it.

"I'm assuming systems are booting up?"

She nodded. "As we speak, sir."

"See if you can get us out of these docking clamps. I don't want to just sit here and take a beating, I want to get out and fight."

"Already underway, sir. I can't release us from here, I had to put in a request with the orbital dockyard control station." Reyes turned to glance out the bridge viewport; beyond the bow of the Coelacanth, a grand ring of durasteel encircled the planet below. It was composed of identical sections that had long ago been assembled in space. Each section housed a dry-docked Star Destroyer—though some ships were dark, signs of life emerged from others. Lights from the bridge, the gentle glow of idle engines. I'm not the only one who asked to be set free, she thought. "It might be a while."

"What about Sawshark squadron?"

"Scrambled. Half of them are already in the air, the other half will be launched within a few minutes."

"Good. Until we can get out of this repair dock, they're our lifeline."

As if responding to the commander's words, a pair of Z-95s streaked by the viewport, spirals of glowing energy drifting in their wake.

Reyes nodded. "They won't let us down, sir."


"Targets incoming!"

"Let them pass between us!" Sawshark Two called out over the comm; a grin tugged at the edges of Karin Janzen's mouth. Her wingmate would run this squadron one day, she was sure of it. Recruitment had taken a nosedive—after Serenno, the once great Sawshark Squadron had lost some of its luster to up-and-coming Alderaanian pilots—but that hadn't crushed Shiiva's spirit. She'd kept the squadron together on the days that Karin couldn't. It didn't matter that they were two people shy of a full unit—the ten of them were stronger than two regular squadrons put together.

Sawshark Leader gripped her control yoke tighter as clusters of pirate starfighters sliced through the space between the Sawshark Z-95s. The auditory simulators told a tale of engines souped up well beyond safety regulations—guttural growls scratched at Karin's ears as the last of the fighters shot by just above her.

"Breaking off to pursue," came a voice on the comm, one as throaty as the pirate starfighter engines that had just flown by. Rin Hatchko, vigilant as ever, always looking for a fight.

"No," Karin said—then, remembering her mic was on mute, she thumbed a toggle switch on her control board. "No! Forget about the fighters, Six. The Drive Yards have point defense cannons for a reason. We focus on the galleons. Pair off with your wingmate, pick a ship, and start strafing runs."

A chorus of affirmative replies sounded across the comm. With one hand, Karin banked her fighter to port—a glance out the window revealed Shiiva was perfectly in step with the maneuver—with the other, she keyed her comm to a private channel.

"Sawshark Leader to Coelacanth bridge."

"So formal," came the reply. Reyes' voice was laced with levity—a bit too much, Karin thought, considering the situation.

"You're in a good mood," Karin said. "They let you out of ship jail yet?"

"That's a negative," Reyes answered. "Still waiting. What can I do for you?"

Karin scanned the battlefield. With Kuat and her orbital dockyard ring at their backs, all the Sawsharks could see was a blanket of blackness and the pirate ships suspended in it. None were of a standard design; all featured menacingly pointy hull protrusions and a not insignificant helping of rust. "All these ships look the same to me," she said. "I need some help here."

"Actually, they all look different," Reyes said. "I imagine that's the problem." The tail end of the transmission crackled as an errant turbolaser bolt sailed wide of Karin's starfighter. She adjusted her grip on the controls, bobbing and weaving the Z-95 for good measure.

"I can't tell who's in charge," she said, wincing as another volley of turbolaser fire sizzled past her ship. Gripping a dial between thumb and forefinger, she moved all her shield power to the front half of the vessel—for all the good it'll do, she thought with a wince. "Any chance you could point me in the direction of one Admiral Valis?"

"Already on it. Sending targeting data to you and Shiiva now."

Karin's eyes grew wide, and she nodded to nobody. Reyes was nothing if not proactive.

"Kick her ass for me, Karin."

"You got it." She keyed the comm back to the squadron channel. "Shiiva, on my wing. We've got a bombing run to make."

"Copy that, Leader. I'm locked and loaded."

In perfect unison, two Headhunters shot toward the galleon. From the outside it looked like all the others—a different shape, perhaps, though not one that screamed "command ship" or advertised "admiral on board." But Karin Janzen knew. The targeting computer didn't lie. It painted a red square around the galleon before her, and she tried to imagine the face of Admiral Valis as she streaked toward the warship and emptied an entire tube of concussion missiles into its hull.


Smoke left a painful sting in Valis' eyes.

The Charybdis could have taken that hit, she was certain of it. Perhaps slamming it into a planet to stick it to a Sith Lord had been a bit shortsighted. What she wouldn't have done to have her old ship back right about now.

Glancing across the bridge, she locked eyes with Maul—the Zabrak was hauling himself to his feet, annoyance painted on his face. He angled his head so his horns pointed out the viewport and raised his eyebrows as if to say Your move.

"We're fine, we're fine!" the ship's captain hollered from within a grey cloud near the rear of the bridge—part burning computer console, part fire extinguisher foam. "It's more cosmetic damage than anything, really."

As the pirate captain emerged from the cloud, bits of foam clinging to his flight suit, Valis shot him a look of disdain. Cosmetic damage, she thought, was the rust that already coated this garbage heap's hull. Smoldering computer banks, on the other hand . . .

"How many more hits like that can we take, Captain?" she asked. She hadn't bothered to commit the man's name to memory, and at this point didn't see that changing—but she would at least spare him the embarrassment of calling him the nickname she'd overheard back on San Sestina. On the bridge, he was "Captain."

The captain coughed as he shook a glob of foam from his boot. "I couldn't say for sure, really—"

"Two to three, ma'am." This voice came from behind Valis; it was younger, carrying with it a nervous vibrato. She slowly rotated to face its source—the helmsman, seated at the ship's controls. When she said nothing, the young pirate continued. "Sorry, Admiral. If I may?"

Valis nodded. "Please."

"It's the shields, see. They're rigged for engagement against larger capital ships. We're projecting them about a meter and a half above the hull, so turbolaser impacts don't splash energy into the plating. But those Headhunters can dip their noses beneath it while they make their bombing runs."

"Can you change that?"

He nodded. "Of course, it'll only take a moment."

"Do it," she snapped, whirling on a heel and marching toward the bridge viewport. As she walked, she extracted a cigarette from a pouch on her belt, placed it between her lips, and inhaled deeply as a lighter's flame met the end.

Before she could exhale the first drag, Maul was beside her whispering in her ear. "This captain is incompetent," he hissed as the pair came to stop just before the window.

"Why do you think I selected this ship to command in battle?" she asked, plucking the cigarette from her mouth and holding it at her side. "It keeps him out of the way."

"Not enough," Maul said, gesturing out the window.

The last bombing run had done more than damage the bridge. Burning holes, the marks of concussion missile impacts, dotted their way down the entire length of the pirate galleon. They'd seared away the rust and collapsed several of the pointed spears that emerged uselessly from the ship's hull.

His point made, Maul continued. "Let me kill him."

Valis fought the urge to glare at him, instead keeping her gaze locked out toward the battle beyond the viewport. "Absolutely not."

"Coward."

This was enough to draw her gaze—and her ire—toward Maul. "We can't do that anymore. These people aren't clones. We need the captains to command their loyalty."

"You should be the one commanding their loyalty." With that he turned away from her—on the prowl once again, he paced toward the rear of the bridge. Valis raised her hand to her mouth and inhaled through the cigarette.

As the smoke passed between her lips, a rhythmic series of impacts came knocking from above. From the rear of the galleon toward the bow, the same pair of Z-95 Headhunters streaked forward, concussion missiles leaping from their noses. This time, the warheads impacted almost uselessly against the pirate vessel's shields.

Almost. A key word, that one. Valis could see the deflectors ripple and flicker against the rust of the hull beyond the window. They'd hold for one, maybe two more bombing runs. The shield adjustment had bought them time, but not much of it.

"Ready the quad cannons," she snapped at no one in particular, glancing backwards over her shoulder as she spoke. "On their next bombing run, we fire back."

"Quad cannons are aligned for a broadside, Admiral," the helmsman piped up, prompting Valis to whirl around and glare at him. "As I said," he continued, his gaze dropping toward his lap, "we're rigged to face capital ships."

She felt the anger creeping up the back of her neck, the curses dancing toward the front of her tongue—and then Valis stopped herself. The helmsman hadn't made that decision. His job was to fly the ship, and he seemed competent at far more than that. The captain, on the other hand . . .

In an instant she was marching toward him, though she stopped just shy of invading the captain's personal space. "Why in god's name would you align point defense cannons for a broadside? Starfighters attack along the spine of a ship, not across it!"

She fought the urge to swear, not out of a sense of propriety—these were pirates, after all—but a desire to seem at least moderately composed. Here she was, explaining basic battle tactics to a so-called ship captain while their fleet inched ever closer to the megastructure of Kuat Drive Yards. Their galleon was being picked apart by Z-95 Headhunters—and not even a full squadron of them, but a measly pair. Their laser cannons were aligned to fight warships, not starfighters—something she knew could only be re-rigged at a dockyard. No point in asking to change it now.

Frustration sufficiently bottled up, she returned her gaze to the window. It was perhaps the only safe place to stare. Don't look at Maul, his sneer will make you angrier. Don't look at the captain, you might end up smacking him.

Valis once again found herself turning toward the helmsman, perhaps the sole competent member of the bridge crew. She hadn't bothered to remember the captain's name, but this one? This one she'd make a point to learn when this battle was in the rearview mirror.

"How agile is this vessel?" she asked the young man. "If I wanted to, say, pitch the nose up thirty degrees? How quickly could you make that happen?"

"About eight seconds," came the reply—impressively prompt, Valis noted. The boy didn't poke at his terminal, didn't scratch out numbers on a piece of flimsi. He just knew. "But if you're looking for rapid movement, pitching isn't your best bet. Our roll axis jets are snappier."

"And how's your reaction time?"

The helmsman sat up straight, adjusting his grip on the controls. "As fast as you need it to be."

This brought a smile to her face. She nodded at the helmsman, then spun to face the viewport. The Headhunters had made their approach for another attack run. They were nearly at the vessel's nose. It was time to put those ridiculous pointy implements bristling along the hull to good use.

"Prepare to maneuver on my mark."


The auditory simulator didn't know what to do with a rusted spear hitting hull plating. Then again, it didn't need to.

The sound of warship slamming into snubfighter traveled through the structure of Karin's Headhunter, rattling her teeth as the inertial compensator fought to keep her from passing out and she fought to keep the contents of her stomach from spewing out her mouth. Stars swirled outside the viewport. Up became sideways, then became upside down before a twist of the stick righted her again. The ring of the Drive Yards was to her right, Valis' galleon off the port wing. Sawshark Two was nowhere to be found.

"Shiiva?"

"Sawshark Leader, I've got a problem."

Words no squadron leader ever wanted to hear. Karin's stomach was too busy swirling to sink as her wingmate continued.

"I think I'm leaking fuel."

Those spears along the hull hadn't just been for show—or perhaps they had, until a duo as crazy as Maul and as cunning as Valis had taken command of the galleon. Shiiva's damage report began to sink in, and Karin took a moment to assess her own ship before opening the comm. Cosmetic damage was a certainty, but beyond that all ship systems seemed to be in the green. Sawshark Two had taken the brunt of the hit when the galleon had plowed into them.

"I'll fly closer so I can get a good look at it," Karin said, wrapping her fingers around the flight stick and angling it toward her.

"All due respect, boss, but that's a stupid idea. You and I both know how this works. I'm spitting fuel out into open space. If it catches fire the whole tank could blow. I'm basically flying a bomb. I'm not getting anywhere near you."

Karin's voice shook as she spoke. "Go land in the Coelacanth for repairs, then."

"That would be even stupider. We just finished getting her repaired, I'm not landing an improvised explosive in the hangar."

Her stomach had finished spinning and finally sank as panic welled up within her. Karin could feel her palms sweating inside her flight gloves. "Eject, then. We'll send a shuttle—"

"We both know how this ends for me, Karin! I'm sorry. I've got one move left, I need to make it count."

Spinning her Z-95 in place, Karin frantically searched the stars for her wingmate. Her eyes darted from one landmark to another—the Kuat Drive Yards orbital ring, the swarm of Sawsharks tangling with the other pirate ships, the galleon that had sealed Shiiva's fate.

There. A lone Headhunter, painted teeth adorning its nose and iridescent spirals of liquid trailing from one engine nacelle like tendrils of a jellyfish. It was poised like a knife at the belly of the beast, resting just below the ventral surface of Valis' galleon.

"Godspeed, Sawshark Leader. Give them hell for me."

A flare of engines roaring to life bloomed into a torchlight as the trail of fuel caught fire. The blazing Headhunter slammed into the galleon, and the fireball grew.

One that felt just as bright and ten times hotter burned within the pit of Karin's stomach as the auditory simulator played the thump of a delayed explosion. Then, one by one, the thumping sounds continued.

Thwump. Thwump-thwump. Thwump.

These sounds were coming from behind her.

Karin yanked the stick right, saying one more goodbye to Shiiva as the blazing pirate ship passed out of view. What replaced the space outside her cockpit glass brought the pilot back to the reality of battle. A second pirate fleet had arrived, dropping out of hyperspace on the opposite side of Kuat—they had taken the long way around to squeeze the orbital shipyard from both sides.

A buzz sounded in her ear. New comm chatter. "Sawshark Leader, this is Sawshark Six."

She choked on her words at first, praying the fuzz of the comm channel would cover for her. "Go ahead, Roland."

"I'm sure you noticed the new arrivals. We could use some help over here. Half of us had to go back to the Coelacanth for missile resupply. I could use a wing." The Bith must have paused, though the hiss of an open line filled the silence somewhat. "It looks like you could use one too."

She couldn't summon her voice, instead settling for a transmission of two rapid clicks. Roland seemed to understand; the comm call disconnected shortly after, leaving Karin alone on an open channel.

Easing the throttle upward, she pointed her ship toward the fireworks show that surrounded Kuat Drive Yards. It was time to join the rest of Sawshark Squadron.

What was left of it.


The bridge was bathed in red. The red of tiny fires crackling at control consoles, and of every emergency light pulsing on and off in slow rhythm.

If they all went out, Valis was sure she could illuminate the place with pure rage. This was his fault. Every bit of it. If he'd adjusted the shields and aligned the cannons right from the jump, she wouldn't have needed to resort to such barbaric tactics. Wouldn't have turned an enemy starfighter into a goddamn bomb.

She reached through the Force—the curtain of smoke had become too thick to see more than a few feet—and located Maul. He was alive, unharmed, and somehow less angry than she was. Intense irritation was the emotion she sensed—directed at her, no less. If you'd only listened to me, his voice echoed in her head.

She shoved it aside and continued searching for life throughout the bridge. The helmsman was alright, thank god—dutifully and swiftly poking at his console to manage the damage they'd sustained. If the ship was still maneuverable, Valis knew he'd find a way to maneuver it.

"Helmsman," she shouted through the smog, "pull us away from the battle, we're too wounded to fight. Tell the rest of the fleet to join the second strike group. They're to pick a spot on the orbital ring and shoot at it until it blows up."

"Aye aye, ma'am!" came the shout from within the cloud of smoke. Between coughs, the voice continued: "Just trying to clear the air on the bridge. One moment."

A mechanical hiss sounded at various points around the room, and the haze began to dissipate as filtration vents sucked the smoke away. As the air cleared, Valis was left standing face to face with the one man she didn't want to see.

"Ah, captain," she managed through clenched teeth. "So glad to see you're alright."

"Yes, well, that really was quite the impact. I'm shocked we managed as well as we did."

I'm sure you are, Valis thought. Aloud, she said: "Don't you think we should head down below? Assess the damage?"

"Oh, I'm sure the lower deck crews have it handled."

"I insist. After you, Captain." She gestured with an open hand toward the bridge door—it opened of its own accord.

The pair marched toward the opening, Valis sticking close to the captain's heels. They neared the exit, and she glanced over her shoulder, throwing a casual shout behind her. "Helmsman, the bridge is yours!"

As the door slid shut behind them, Valis' fingers brushed against the hilt of her lightsaber.


The second wave of ships had arrived with the drumbeat of a marching army, bass notes of the simulated sound made by a hyperspace exit. One after the other, a new collection of galleons and schooners had appeared and started vomiting smaller ships into the void as if someone had kicked a hornet's nest.

The bombers they'd brought with them had picked away at the docked, half-finished Star Destroyers. They were chained there like hospital patients hooked to bacta bags, unable to do anything except tank the hits. Most had managed to withstand the fire. Some—the ones further away from being completely constructed—had crumbled like wet cardboard.

Roland G'ex died a little on the inside every time another Star Destroyer fell. He knew the pain of an engineer watching their hard work fall apart—it happened every time one of the Sawsharks came back from a battle with a melted laser cannon or a cooked engine nacelle. He tried to never seem too upset, though—a damaged ship to fix meant the pilot flying it had survived.

Sometimes his fellow squadron members weren't so lucky. He tried to shove the thought aside as a new light came to life on his tactical display—he had a wingmate again. The woman who had just lost hers. Sawshark Leader.

"Welcome to the party!" he hollered over the comm line—party, he figured, was as apt a description as any. The lasers flying from pirate ship to dockyard ring, the explosions going off like popcorn across his field of vision—they rivaled the lights and pyrotechnics of every nightclub he'd ever been to.

"Hope you didn't have too much fun without me," came Karin's reply—in an instant, Roland knew how they were going to play this. Pretend nothing happened to Shiiva, he told himself. She'll deal with it later. We all will. Good strategy, one they taught in most flight schools. You don't start mourning until you're safely on the ground.

"Just another day at work, blowing up some bombers," another voice called out—Ailish Ero, the young Mirialan who flew as Sawshark Ten.

"I notice we're flying kinda light," Karin said. Roland glanced off his port wing just in time to witness her Headhunter slide into position beside his. "What's going on?"

Skultin Zxarn, wingmate to Ailish, spoke up with an answer, "The enemy bombers are quite resilient. Combat data thus far indicates laser fire is all but useless, and an average of three point eight-two concussion missiles are required to take one down."

"Round it up to an even four just to be safe," Ailish added.

"Suggested targets for maximum damage would be the engines, according to combat data gathered thus far. Of course, if you are feeling blessed with Kresk Jah'lyr levels of accuracy, the cockpit glass may be more effective—"

Throat buzzing in the Bith equivalent of a cough, Roland inserted himself back into the conversation. "Some of us got a little trigger happy, ran out of missiles."

"Rin?" Sawshark Leader asked.

"You said it, not me." Roland's wingman was among the more aggressive members of Sawshark Squadron—though Rin Hatchko got results, there was no denying it. And in the Barabel's defense, he hadn't been the only Sawshark to burn through his supply of concussion missiles shooting down bombers—five pilots had returned to the Coelacanth for resupply.

"Alright then, Sawsharks. Conserve your ammo, pair off, pick a pack of bombers and take them down. Move!"

At Karin's command, the two pairs of Z-95s shot off in different directions. Roland and Sawshark Leader were flying as one, descending nearly to the surface of the Kuat Drive Yards orbital ring. From such a distance, the metal loop seemed to stretch on to infinity, with the illusion that it had no curvature at all. An infinite span of shipyard, with partial Star Destroyers slotted in at even intervals and a show of lasers and pyrotechnics exploding from the pirate ships overhead.

Though durable, the pirate bombers weren't nearly fast enough to outrun a Headhunter—or two, as it were. As Karin and Roland skimmed the ring's surface, concussion missiles leapt from the noses of their fighters and slammed into the back of one bomber. It tumbled forward, bouncing off the shipyard structure as it bloomed into a fireball—shrapnel sizzled against Roland's shields as he shot through the blaze and out the other side.

"Nice shot, Five!"

"Pretty sure I only get half the credit, Leader. We'll have to each paint part of that one on our hulls."

"Deal," Karin said. "What's your ammo count?"

Roland glanced at his heads up display and winced. "Fresh out," he answered—an obnoxiously large red "0" blinked at him from beside the missile counter.

Static preceded Sawshark Leader's reply. "That makes two of us. Head back for resupply."

"Uh, Sawshark Leader?" another voice cut in over the comm line—it was Ailish, sounding even more tense than usual. "One's getting away."

Roland scanned his instruments, then the infinite span of metal that stretched beyond his cockpit glass. There. A lone bomber, rocketing away from Ailish and Skultin's Headhunters as laser fire splashed uselessly against its rear armor plating.

"Let it go, Ten. We'll catch it on the next run."

"That may be ill advised, Leader," Skultin said. "Scans indicate it is still carrying a full proton bomb payload. Significant destructive potential."

"We should do something," Roland added, his heart quickening as he watched the bomber's flight path. What would it unleash its payload on? Another Star Destroyer? Something worse?

The answer dawned on him—something so much worse. The distant pirate bomber was headed directly for a cluster of spheres mounted against the Kuat Drive Yards ring. Fuel tanks, Roland knew. Kuat kept stores of fuel stocked at even intervals around the ring, meant to provide quick distribution to any ships that needed it. Right now, though, the cluster of tanks wasn't a refueling station.

It was a bomb waiting to be set off.

"We have to do something," he said. "Now."

"That's a negative," Karin said—even through the comm line, the newly added harshness in her voice was unmistakable. "There's nothing we can do. Return to home base for resupply, everyone. That's an order!"

"There is something we can do, Leader," Roland said, easing his throttle forward. "An old Rin Hatchko special."

"Roland, no—"

He slammed the throttle to full power; the simulated roar of the engines drowned out his comm. The Bith's fingers flew across the fighter's controls as he fought to keep it steady—the ship was his instrument, its flight his performance.

First, the targeting computer—Roland set its sights on the distant bomber. It was too far away, the computer warned him. He'd never catch it in time, not at this speed.

He shut off his laser cannons. They were useless anyway, he didn't need them. The newly freed power got sent to his thrusters. The Headhunter was moving faster now.

Next went the shields. With what he had planned, they'd just get in the way. That power, too, got shunted to the engines. Now the Z-95 was rattling along, bolts in the substructure singing as they were stressed beyond their limits. He couldn't keep this up forever, but he didn't need to.

Finally, the comm. The power it drew was minimal, but the shouting in his ear—three squadron members, three friends, pleading him to abort the maneuver, was beyond distracting. He shut it off and sent the power to the engines.

Rin Hatchko had done this more than once, and had tried to teach Roland. This, he supposed, was the final exam. His Headhunter pulled up alongside the fleeing pirate bomber; then, with a flick of the flight stick, he was above the enemy vessel.

Another flick of the stick sent both ships slamming downward.

The scraping noise—metal on metal on metal again, fighter pressed against bomber pressed against the ring of Kuat Drive Yards—sent a shiver up Roland's spine. Sparks of friction shot out from behind the stack of vessels as the bomber, sandwiched between Roland's Headhunter and the ring, began to slow down. Roland pushed against the flight stick again, applying further pressure to the pirate beneath him until he heard a great crack.

He'd done it. Just like Rin had taught him. Something important—it didn't really matter what—had broken free of the bomber. Roland pulled the flight stick back, tearing his Z-95 away from the unwelcome formation, and watched as the bomber bounded along the ring's surface like a tumbleweed listing in the wind.

Noticing the Headhunter still screeching and shaking in protest, Roland pressed buttons and toggled switches to balance his ship's power back to normal. First came the shields, then the weapons. Finally he powered his comm back on, and though he gave it his best effort, he couldn't resist the urge to gloat.

"Now that is how it's done!" He was certain the grin plastered across his face came through loud and clear across the channel.

"Never do that again, Five," Sawshark Leader called out—though Roland could tell she was having trouble injecting any sort of reprimand into her voice. Then, after a moment of nothing but static: "I think the drinks are on you tonight. Rin's gonna love hearing about this one."

"Indeed he will." Roland allowed himself a long exhale. "Heading back to the Coelacanth for resupply, as ordered." He reached up and switched off his comm.

As he did, Roland's eyes fell on the targeting computer—which was still firmly locked on the battered, drifting bomber. Strange, he thought, tapping the display with a pointed fingertip. It didn't register a kill. His gaze moved upward, from the targeting computer to the window, until it came across the pirate bomber. Damaged, but very much intact, it had drifted close enough to the cluster of fuel tanks to scrape a wing against their plating.

Then it exploded.

A shockwave of fire bloomed outward from the fuel tanks and slammed into Roland's Z-95. He felt the heat radiating through the structure of his vessel, the light searing through the cockpit glass as the polarizer struggled to keep up. The force of motion throwing him in every direction at once as his ship spiraled through space and tore itself apart.

In an instant, fire and heat and light became ice and cold and black. It was the last thing Roland G'ex would ever feel.


The galleon's bridge doors slid aside to welcome Admiral Valis, pulling back like curtains just in time for her to witness the explosion.

When she'd stood atop a crate in the cargo hold, shouting to her pirate crew about snapping an orbital ring in half, she hadn't meant it. It had been hyperbole, a grand proclamation designed to rally the troops for battle and nothing more. She certainly hadn't expected such a thing to materialize before her eyes.

And yet, here it was.

Valis—the pirate, the admiral, the Sith—stood in awe, lightsaber still in hand as a great rift tore through the ringed structure of Kuat Drive Yards. This was a greater victory than she could have asked for. The battered husk of a galleon she now commanded, one which could barely limp through the space above Kuat, didn't matter anymore. They'd done even more than they'd come here to do.

Still clutching her saber, she strolled past the helmsman—the young man remained dutifully at his station, awaiting further instructions. Valis glanced down at him as she moved by and offered some.

"Order the fleet to return to headquarters. Our work here is finished."

"Aye aye, ma'am."

She stepped toward the viewport where Maul stood and came to a stop beside him. Valis gave one last glance back at the helmsman—when they returned to San Sestina, she'd have to see him rewarded for his work here. Perhaps with his own command.

Her gaze shifted out the viewport as galleons and schooners across the starscape disappeared into hyperspace one after the other. Soon there was nothing left but their pirate ship and the burning wreckage of the Drive Yards—and then the starlines of hyperspace replaced the carnage they'd created.

Maul, she could sense, was now glaring at her instead of out the window. She turned to face him and cocked her head to one side, inviting whatever snide remark he surely had prepared.

None came. Instead he turned briefly to look out into the swirling blue void, then stared down at the lightsaber in her hand. Finally, amber eyes met her own, and the Zabrak nodded.

"Well done."


Republic Archives: Rigging

"Rigging" is spacefaring shorthand for adjusting a starship so it is suited for a specific type of navigation or engagement.

Independent spacers, pirates, and small fleets utilize rigging to allow a smaller number of ships to serve a greater number of roles. Realigning weapons, adjusting shield projections, mounting additional armor, and tweaking thrust profiles are all a part of a standard rigging process. Most rigging is done in a drydock at a shipyard, though some adjustments can be made from within a starship during a space journey. The most dangerous type of rigging, often called "bootstrap rigging," involves a ship crew making adjustments by performing a spacewalk before, after, or even during a battle or particularly hazardous navigational journey.

Within the Republic, starship rigging is rather uncommon. Most Republic starship contractors build vessels intended for specialized roles. For example, a Republic fleet would employ a Star Destroyer to lay down heavy fire and a support frigate to handle point defenses. A merchant fleet would instead employ identical cargo vessels, each of them rigged to fill one of these roles.