Fleetmaster Idis Astelleon was a proud woman. She was void-born, as were all of her famous lineage. Her slender frame and elongated features were only a laurel wreath of her family's long and distinguished service to the Martian Basilikon Astra. House Astelleon had produced generations of naval commanders and captains, and Idis was no different. For millennia, whenever Mars went to war, an Astelleon would inevitably be found serving the Omnissiah, sailing upon the void with macrocannon and lance.
Of course, she was the first of her gene-line to attain the coveted title of Fleetmaster. Answering only to the Archmagos, she had sailed forth at the head of a fleet that her forefathers would have never dreamed of, her name found amongst the lists of greatest naval commanders serving the Imperium.
That she currently found herself commanding a vastly reduced squadron of only four ships was of little import. The Remembrancers and History itself would not remember that, and indeed, the victories she would win here would only magnify her legacy. Perhaps the Archmagos would award her a planetary fief, granting her house and bloodline the dignity of becoming Imperial Nobility. Three hundred years of service to Mars was deserving of that, she mused.
The rejuvenat treatments and cybernetic renewals had long transformed her beyond flesh and bone, though she had taken care to ensure her facade remained largely human. Vespasian had seen to it that she received all she desired and more, priceless rewards for five lifetimes of service. She was one of his most valuable retainers, and both knew it. The challenge facing them now was something neither could have imagined or prepared for. The Archmagos Dominatus had left her the bridge, immersing himself in the data-streams of his personal War Room within his own quarters. There, the Archmagos could overlook not only the fleet, but every element of his Crusade Force. Still, Idis felt a swelling confidence.
And why shouldn't she be confident? She gazed upon the shattered shipwrecks and savaged hulls of xenos ships, burning and venting atmosphere, smaller wrecks already beginning to fall into the atmosphere of the planet below, disintegrating into conflagrations of twisted metal and plasma. The xenos fleet had been virtually annihilated within the first half dozen volleys of lance battery fire and macrocannon bombardment. Neither the Basilisk nor the Mars Eternal had deigned to use their heavier, more esoteric weaponry, after witnessing the devastation that their twin picket destroyers had rendered unto the alien voidships with their lighter armaments.
As far as void battles went, this hardly qualified as even a skirmish in Idis Astelleon's long and storied career. Nonetheless, it was the first battle in a new universe, and she relished it accordingly.
"Fleetmaster! Report from the Basilisk - two of the remaining enemy capital ships are descending onto the surface!" An officer, manning one of the many auguries aboard the bridge called out. From the viewport, she saw two shapes yet moving under their own power, descending through the cloud of debris left behind by their sister ships. What little remained of the rest of the alien fleet seemed to be shielding their descent - if not by fire, then by their very own hulls.
"Basilisk has taken preliminary, sporadic fire from the enemy. Captain is reporting negligible effects upon his void shields. Primarily energy weapon based." Another report cut through the chatter aboard the bridge. Idis took it in her stride, centuries of experience allowing her to easily filter through the bursts of binaric and techna-lingua, noospheric pings and data-jargon, and human communication from her organic officers. She merely nodded.
"Recall all elements. I want the Ferrum and the Helios to move into geosync over the planetary Capital and standby for orbital fire support. The Basilisk will continue to screen should any more xenos filth arrive in-system. Helmsman, proceed to embarkation position." She barked, ever in control of each and every moment aboard her ship. She allowed herself a brief moment of vicious satisfaction. Titanic engines gunned to life, plumes of plasma surging into the void as the Mars Eternal began to turn preponderously, majestically, towards the planet.
"All ground elements. The Machine God guides us in his awesome purpose. Begin the planetary assault."
Obi-Wan's chest heaved, sweat beading down his forehead. His lightsaber rose and fell again, slashing apart yet another battle droid with little resistance. Ahead of him, his Master moved like a warrior in a garden, full of poise and composure. His emerald blade danced before him, seemingly always in the right place at just the right instant to deflect an errant blaster bolt or decapitate another hapless droid.
Obi-Wan wished he had that mastery. He had kept up with his Master, that was for sure, but at a far great physical toll. His arms and legs burned with exertion as he forced himself onwards. Beside him, the young monarch of Naboo moved with purpose, seemingly unafraid of harm. Perhaps she believed that the Trade Federation droids had been ordered not to harm her, or perhaps she merely believed that with two Jedi acting as her bodyguards, she was invulnerable. Either way, she advanced imperiously, forcing Obi-Wan to keep up.
Had it just been him and his master, Obi-Wan would not have been this taxed. However as more blaster bolts erupted from the shadow of an archway a hundred meters to their left, he found himself once again leaping to the Queen's side, blade whirling in a dizzying display of Form II. Each and every bolt was deflected, some to the floor where the sizzled and left pockmarks, and others directly back at their firers. Droids beeped in confusion as they were cut down by their own fire, right as Qui-Gon landed amongst them, lightsaber languidly lashing out to slice down those that remained. A subtle nod of approval from Qui-Gon filled Obi-Wan with pride, only for him to squash that feeling down. Pride was unbecoming of a Jedi, a step on the path towards corruption.
The Force hummed through him as he panted. It soothed his aches, binding his tiredness like a healing salve that nourished and restored his soul as much as his body. As he was taught, he centered himself, allowing the Living Force to do its work. Jedi did not command the Force, or bend it to their will. They existed within it, felt its touch, and acted harmoniously, ever in balance with the substance of the universe itself. As he drew strength from it, he felt his limbs lighten, his mind sharpen.
"We are near the hangar. My men are in there." Padme's voice broke Obi-Wan's momentary tranquility.
Qui-Gon nodded.
"The Force is with us. It has led us both to your men and to our path off of Naboo."
Padme shot Qui-Gon a venomous glare, evidently still unconvinced by the Jedi Master's proposed plan of action.
"Your path off Naboo. I'm staying here with my people, Master Jinn." Padme corrected, the fierce defiance still alive in her eyes. She met Qui-Gon's gaze, chin upturned, lips slightly parted, as if to interrupt Obi-Wan's master if he still dared argue.
"Of course, Your Highness." Qui-Gon answered politely.
Obi-Wan knew his Master too well to not see through the subtle wry intonation of his voice. Qui-Gon still had a trick or two up his sleeve. Obi-Wan only hoped that it would work.
Qui-Gon Jinn did not have a trick up his sleeve, and was rather annoyed by that fact. He could not force the Queen to follow him, that would be no less than the abduction of the sovereign monarch of Naboo and little better than what the Trade Federation was guilty of. The Queen's defiance was admirable. She had endured the ministrations of the Nemoidians for days, not for a second bending or compromising. Qui-Gon just wished that it wasn't his turn to deal with her stubborn resolve.
The Chancellor's request to the Jedi Council had been rather straightforward. Mediate in the dispute, and secure the safety of the political head of the Naboo government. Obviously, mediation had never been on the cards, considering the Viceroy's actions over the past few days. The other objective, on the other hand, was giving Qui-Gon a headache. The simplest method of securing the Queen was removing her from the clear and immediate danger of Naboo. The planet was still under military occupation, and from what Qui-Gon had seen in Theed alone, the Federation had brought an extraordinary amount of military force to bear. To stay on the planet was practically suicide for the young Queen. Taking her to Coruscant, to the safety and protection of the Jedi Council would resolve this issue. And yet, she refused, and Qui-Gon could not compel her to obey him. Qui-Gon could not just leave her and return to Coruscant empty-handed.
That left the Jedi Master the final option of staying on the planet and personally seeing to the Queen's safety. Considering she seemed hellbent on taking the fight to the invaders of her planet, that course of action would doubtlessly lead to violence. The Jedi would be viewed to have taken a side in the conflict, a blow to their status as arbitrators and neutral guardians of the Republic.
The Force would provide a solution. It always did. Qui-Gon refocused his mind upon what was to come. The hangar doors beckoned.
Padme huffed with impatience. She glanced down at the E-5 blaster in her hands. The charge indicator was on its final node, blinking slowly. No more than ten shots left then, she figured. It would be easy enough to replace with another blaster, considering the amount they had left strewn in their wake.
The Jedi had looked surprised at the ease with which she operated the weapon. Perhaps they had expected a soft damsel in distress. She snorted with indignation at the very thought of that. Padme Amidala Naberrie was anything but one of the vapid, dull-minded quims that made up the bulk of the galactic aristocracy. From girlhood she had been wild, defiant, never accepting the courtesies and etiquette lessons that had been shoved down her throat along with the coterie of shallow companions that had surrounded her. Her family had ruled Naboo (democratically, of course) for generations. Elections were free and fair, but a Nabarrie had always triumphed. Her House loved Naboo, and Naboo loved them in return. Padme had resolved to become the kind of ruler that her people deserved, even if that meant becoming the daughter her parents dreaded.
Cultural education had been followed with blaster practice, equestrian training with military history (or at least what counted for military history in Naboo). Before her twelfth nameday she had already become famous amongst the palace attendants for being a hellion, equally defiant as she was precocious.
All of that had changed three years ago when her parents, both of them, had died in that freak shuttle accident. The Naboo people had been robbed of their beloved royal couple, and Padme, an only child, had been robbed of her dear parents and childhood. Snap elections had been held after a month of mourning, and none had bothered contesting the vote. Not with the outpouring of love for the Naberrie family. The then-fifteen year old princess had been elevated to the throne. How quickly she had been forced to grow up.
Her grip around the blaster tightened as she stalked forward. Beyond the looming blast doors of the Royal Hangar were most of what remained of her security detail and palace guards, most likely guarded by at least a company of battle droids and droidekas. She reached the doors, quickly pressing her body against the cool metal and turning to her rescuers-turned personal bodyguards.
"Well Master Jedis… through those doors are my men, guarded by who knows how many droids and droidekas. If you have a plan, now would be the best time to share it."
Qui-Gon nodded, unperturbed as ever. It was beginning to get on her nerves, the way the Jedi Master moved, languidly, ever unbothered, as if he was somehow above the conflict and violence that raged around him. The man was barely even sweating, despite the wide swathe of destruction he had left behind him on route to the hangar.
"Your Highness. Follow me. We will deal with the droids. I need you to free and arm your men as quickly as you can. " Qui-Gon motioned at the gargantuan doors, and to Padme's surprise, the doors began to move, sliding open with a hiss and whine of grumbling motors.
"Maybe the Force is quite useful." Padme quipped.
Qui-Gon's brow furrowed as he ignited his lightsaber. He hadn't used the Force.
"Your Highness, you might want to get down." He said even as the doors opened beyond them, revealing the royal hangar. The huge space was relatively empty, polished floors still pristine, reflecting the daylight shining through the open flight doors opposite the prospective rescue party. Several Naboo patrol craft sat in their berths, umbilical connectors and fuel hoses still running from their hulls. At the leftmost corner of the hangar a makeshift prison had been constructed, plasma-fences and high posts creating a modest sized enclosure. Within it, Padme could count several familiar faces, small in the distance and yet comforting. She was glad that they were still alive, in spite of the circumstances. Around them, blaster droids stood sentry, some still and silent, others seemingly bored.
In the center of the hangar however, a single hooded shadow knelt in quietude. A jet-black robe wrapped around its still frame, shoulders barely rising with deep, controlled breaths. Padme turned in uncertainty to glance at the Jedi Master who had accompanied her. The look on his face did not bring her comfort.
Qui-Gon stepped into the hangar. He felt the first twinges of uncertainty coiling about his stomach. The shadowy figure before him rose to its feet, before reaching up and bringing his hood back. The face it revealed put Qui-Gon on edge. He was a Zabrak, but one deep-red in coloration, revealed skin adorned with ornate, midnight-hued tattoos that danced across his face and arms. Horns, brutish and carnivorous ringed, the top of his scalp like some primeval crown. Qui-Gon felt the Force stir, drawing back as if in fear - or disgust - from the ominous figure.
The Zabrak opened his mouth to speak.
"I knew the Queen would bring you here, Jedi." He spoke each word slowly, carefully, yet each syllable dripped with venom. His eyes met Qui-Gon's, predatory. He pulled back the front of his robe, and there in his hands, impossibly, a lightsaber hilt.
"Sith!" Obi-Wan's panicked cry rang out from behind Qui-Gon, but the Jedi Master ignored his apprentice. Qui-Gon shrugged, allowing his tan Master's robe to fall from his shoulders, pooling around his feet as he took a single step forward.
"Obi-Wan. Protect the Queen. This is my battle." Qui-Gon spoke. His voice had changed, losing its smooth, unconcerned veneer. He brought his blade up, as he had done thousands of times within the halls of the Jedi Temple. The Zabrak snarled at this unspoken challenge, spittle flying from his mouth and hatred filling his eyes. A snap-hiss, and a blood-red blade sang its cruel song as it blazed forth.
A single heartbeat passed, and then the two moved.
Obi-Wan was floored. His Master moved, faster than he had ever seen before, faster than even the training duels with Master Windu Obi-Wan had counted himself blessed to bear witness to. Even more horrifying was how the crimson skinned Sith exploded into motion himself, matching his Master stride for stride. Their blades crashed together with a snap, the sound barely reaching Obi-Wan's ears before the blades had made contact once more, and then again. The two duelists moved, faster and faster, blades whirling about in a dizzying display of skill and swordsmanship. The Sith came upon his Master like a raging Rancor, strength and speed on full display, raining down blows like an avalanche. His Master, characteristically graceful and yet now brimming with urgency, answered each time, his blade ever in the right place to intercept the Zabrak's strikes. They seemed equally matched, neither having the upperhand in the opening exchanges of the battle.
"Hey, stop marveling at them and help me." Padme's whisper broke Obi-Wan from the trance he had fallen into.
The Queen was already advancing, seemingly unfazed by the titanic clash that had erupted in the center of the hangar. Obi-Wan, remembering his Master's words, moved to assist her. Droids had begun flooding forward, but Obi-Wan cut through them like a hot knife through butter. Padme cast aside her blaster, sprinting towards the controls to the plasma-fences that contained her men.
Obi-Wan turned, blade moving as the Force guided him. Blaster rounds deflected all around him as more droids poured into the hangar from access doors along its massive walls. More blaster fire was directed at him, and still he stood firm, resolute, never taking a step back. Padme had deactivated the fences, and already men were surging forward from their improvised prison, taking up blasters and returning fire. The Force surged and roiled like Obi-Wan had never felt before. Something was happening, something was coming, even as a detonation rocked the hall. Droidekas had erupted through the access door furthest from Obi-Wan, clicking and buzzing even as their heavy blasters poured indiscriminate fire towards the Jedi Padawan. Now he moved, leaping backwards, over a stream of blaster fire that would have cut him in half.
A man cried out from somewhere to his left as a blaster bolt took him in the leg, only to be silenced as another put a smoking, cauterized hole in his chest. Padme cried out in outrage.
"Quarsh! Captain Panaka!"
Obi-Wan did not know the name. He crouched down behind a heavy crate of engineering equipment. The floor beneath his feet thrummed with violence, echoing noises of battle from all around him as more men armed themselves and yet more droids flooded into the hangar. Had it been a trap?
The Force screamed anew, and he peeked over his cover, stealing a glance at the duel. They were still locked into a deathly dance of violence. Obi-Wan saw the sweat staining his Master's robes, saw the strained concentration on his face, his knuckles white as he gripped his lightsaber and yielded more ground to the ferocious Sith Assassin. He had to help his Master, somehow. Obi-Wan was forced back into cover as another Droideka sprayed his position with a deluge of fire.
Padme slid into cover beside him, a new blaster clutched tightly to her breast, barrel glowing from the volume of fire she had been unleashing.
"Okay Jedi, what are we going to do now?" She asked, exertion making her words come fast and short. Obi-Wan blinked.
"I thought you had a plan?" Obi-Wan snapped. Her eyes narrowed.
"I did. I freed my men, didn't I? Whoever that Zabrak is, we have to deal with him, then we can break out." She answered.
"I have to help my Master defeat the Sith…" Obi-Wan trailed off as a lurch threw him off balance. The sound of distant alarms filtered through, as did distant thumps and thuds of explosions. The ground shook, tremors of distant battle felt even as their own battle waned.
"Friends of yours?" Padme asked. Obi-Wan shook his head.
"Are there any other military forces on Naboo?" Obi-Wan asked.
"Maybe the Gungans… but they have no love for us. I don't see why they would intervene."
"Unless the Trade Federation gave them reason to." Obi-Wan ventured. Padme snapped off a few shots from her blaster, before turning back to Obi-Wan.
"If they did, Nemodians are truly stupider than we give them credit for."
Obi-Wan stole another glance at his Master. Qui-Gon was pale now, his tunic clinging to his torso, sticky from sweat. He was panting, but still standing as he battled on. And yet, Obi-Wan felt fear stirring. His master was fully on the defensive now, refraining from ripostes or counters, conserving his energy to prolong his defense. Obi-Wan crushed the fear down in his heart, willing himself to tune in to the Force.
He stood, blade whipping out to deflect another errant blaster shot. It was growing more sporadic as Padme's men thinned down the ranks of droids. Droid reinforcements had ceased pouring through the doors, evidently redirecting their attention to whatever unknown battle was raging in the planet's capital.
The Force wrapped around him, his senses sharpening and eyes growing keen. There would be a pause, a split second lull in the duel, and he would spring. He just needed to buy his Master a single opening. No doubt Qui-Gon would seize it. There! His Master turned ever so slightly, the crimson blade passing a inch from his face and crashing into the ground with a sizzle. Obi-Wan drew his breath, the Force gathering in his legs as he prepared to leap to his Master's aid.
The skies above Theed darkened. In high orbit, just beyond the atmosphere, a monstrously enormous voidship cruised, like a great sea-charcharodon of Old Terra. Deep within the bowels of the Mars Eternal, aboard his personal command throne, Archmagos Explorator Dominatus Vespasian Scipione watched. A dozen mechadendrites extended forth from his Martian-red robe, interfacing with the datalinks and neuro-receptors that surrounded him. Databanks the size of a Leman Russ Battle Tank pulsed, cyber-glyphs and tech-runes dancing along their displays, a mad waltz of data and byte.
Vespasian was one with the ship, and by extension, with every force that his crusade had brought to bear. The noosphere pulsed with acidity and fervor, a warlike symphony filled with binaric chanting and ritual prayer. It opened up before his ancient, prodigious mind, and before him, laid bare, was war.
The Legiones Skitarii had landed in force upon the planet, led by their Magos Dominus. He saw Zamander in his noospheric conception of the battlefield, a pulsating, contained star that radiated violence. Lines, like ropes of binary and light stretched from from the Dominus to dozens of other, smaller blips of luminosity, each a tech-priest slaved to Zamander's command subroutines. From those, more threads of light expanded to legions of tiny pinpricks, no more than dots of binaric light. Those were Skitarii Alpha, squad leaders that soldiered forth with grim purpose. The rank and file Skitarii were too insignificant of a noospheric presence to be given shape in Vespasian's mind, but he could still feel them, like rivers of data and bytes, flowing forth to conquer in the name of the Machine God. The vast, pulsating network flowered before his mind's eye, like neurons in a brain. Truly, the Machine God worked in inscrutable ways.
Several of Vespasian's subroutines lept from neuron to neuron, in an instant slaving the senses of those lesser beings of the Mechanicus to his own. He was a Tech-Priest, striding across a verdant, lush bloom of trees, refractor field glimmering in the sunlight that shone through the trees, and then he was a Skitarii ranger, clutching tightly at his galvanic rifle, quietly muttering an incantation of the Omnissiah even as his Alpha barked orders through the squad vox. He was an Alpha, rocking unevenly like a buoy upon the seas, hands wrapped tight about the firing trigger of his heavy stubber, even as the resplendent Onager Dunestrider beneath his feet strode forth, great mechanical legs hauling itself through the marshy terrain, and then he was a Ruststalker, moving silently through the deserted streets of the city, the dull pain of injuries sustained in some long-forgotten battle still thrumming through his body, cybernetic limbs tireless and unyielding.
Vespasian's primary conscience-routine sang a song to the Omnissiah, almost absently, as a human would under his breath as he labored. Truly, Vespasian was laboring. A hundred commands zipped away from his sub-routines and automata-protocols each passing moment, as if a hundred conductor's batons were wielded with unimaginable speed and harmony. Vespasian directed the great symphony of crusade, a dozen clashing virtuosic masterpieces, each heavy laden with the weight of conquest and victory.
Vespasian had drank deeply from the reservoir of precious data he had found aboard the ill-defended xenos ships. Cybertheurgy had cleansed them of their foul taint, reformulating and compiling them into new spools of information and pure, blessed knowledge. He knew what awaited them upon the surface, the legions of slave-droids that had been constructed with the finesse of a grox herder. He knew of this so-called "Trade Federation" and their purpose upon the planet. Vespasian hummed his song. They would be annihilated wherever they could be found. A cogitator turned, cogs whirring as information filtered through. First contact had been made, the first shots exchanged in what Vespasian envisioned to be the beginning of his Crusade that would scour the stars and cleanse the galaxy. Vicious exultation swelled anew in his cold, metal neurovaults and synthetic synapses.
Layers below, compartmentalized away, was the knowledge of this "Galactic Senate" that claimed sovereignty over known space within the galaxy, and the involvement of the Naboo people with it. The data aboard the ship had been incomplete, giving little clue as to the true nature of this Senate, and how much humanity had become infected with collaboration with the alien. Vespasian would question the human leader on this planet Naboo to gain insight and decide his course of action from there.
It would not be long before she would be brought to him. Another chime and whir. A report from the Astropath-seer that oversaw the grand Teleportation-array of the Mars Eternal. The Black Templars had made planetfall.
Obi-Wan's concentration was broken by a sudden waft of ozone, like the scent of an uncovered plasma engine igniting. He felt the hairs on his arms stand, as if standing within the core of a plasma generator, or as if lighting were moments away from reducing him to ash, and he lowered his blade ever so slightly, all thoughts of intervening sliding away.
A thrumming noise filled the hangar, loud and demanding. Blaster fire ceased as men instinctively ducked behind cover and droids stumbled about, recalibrating at the sudden change. Pressure began to build in his ears, and upon his very body. Obi-Wan grimaced, shaken. Even the two duelists felt it, coming apart from their struggle, blades still raised but eyes looking about now to identify the disturbance.
It happened so suddenly. A thundercrack rang out, a bell peal that momentarily stunned Obi-Wan. The faint smell of ozone became a stench of ionized, burnt air. A flash of impossibly colorless light erupted from the center of the hangar. As it faded, five silhouettes seemed to materialize from thin air. All attention was drawn to them, any thoughts of battle driven from both human minds and droid processing chips by the unexpected and unprecedented intrusion.
Obi-Wan did not recognize them. They were huge, towering beings, each easily over two meters in height, clad in head to toe in midnight-black power armor like nothing he had ever seen in the galaxy. It was both medieval, archaic, and yet impossibly sophisticated, but his eyes were drawn to those senselessly huge weapons that each statue hoisted. They looked like guns, but were larger than life, boxy and rugged, almost as if they had been designed to have dual purpose as melee weapons. No sooner had they finished materializing from thin air did they begin to move. Wordlessly, each giant exploded in a flurry of motion, astoundingly fast yet brutally efficient. Such large beings, whatever they were, should not have been able to move that swiftly, and yet they did. In-motion, those oversized weapons snapped up and fired.
A thunderous cacophony began, the retort of each round fired a booming thunderclap that reverberated through the high-ceilinged hangar. Obi-Wan shuddered, instantly calling upon the Force to shield and dampen his hearing from the terrific noise. His hearing dulled, but his vision did not, and it was with stunned amazement that he witnessed the five giants tear into the droids. Their guns roared again and again, each round almost like a fragmentation grenade, tearing apart droids in groups. Obi-Wan's heightened senses allowed him to appreciate the sheer level of controlled, yet terrifying violence as the droids were utterly annihilated. Droideka parts showered the hangar as they were ripped to shreds by the explosive rounds from their guns, their deployable energy shields proving capable of stopping only a handful of explosive rounds before failing. The giants moved with brutal efficiency, and Obi-Wan marveled at how not a single shot was wasted. Some droids managed to return fire, and yet their wildly inaccurate blaster fire seemed to do little to the armored giants. Obi-Wan, already stunned with amazement, found his heart filling with cold dread at the movements of these black armored warriors. One seemingly dodged a blaster bolt, inexplicably, improbably quick for a being that size and that heavily armored. Blaster bolts that did find their targets did little, pinging off of the unknown armor with nought a scratch or mark, little wisps of smoke rising from the plate.
Within ninety seconds, it was over, an entire reinforced droid battalion reduced to scrap and shattered, smouldering shards of metal.
Padme, who Obi-Wan had long forgotten still crouched beside him, lifted her hands from her ears where they had been tightly sealed.
"So, not Gungans then." She observed dryly.