AN: To everyone who was watching this story before, I didn't particularly like how it turned out, so I've erased it and started over. Enjoy.
"Prepare for Warp Travel! Secure all vehicles! Safety harnesses on! Jumping in T Minus Five Minutes! Four Minutes Fifty-five seconds!" The voice of Unit Commander Lord Inquisitor Anthony Scylla echoed through the four vessels in his command. An Argo class Carrier, the Hand of Nikolaites, flanked by three Sword Frigates, Nero's Rebirth, Caeser Risen, and Honored Stonewall. Throughout the four, guardsmen and servitors frantically checked and tightened cargo straps and secured the multi-ton war machines in place. Power-lifters and Tauros being used for light cargo shifting were slid into brackets and locked into place.
Troops slid into shock couches and secured themselves as the astropaths and the four navigators conversed in hushed tones. The four ships linked together at the mental level as their Gellar fields switched on and overlapped. A rift tore in the fabric of space-time, opening into the Warp.
"Jumping!"
The four vessels lurched as they entered the chaotic environment. Deep within the bowels of the four ships, guardsmen shuddered at the mere thoughts of what lay on the other side of armored bulkheads and the Gellar field. In four immense engine compartments, multi-armed Mechanicus adepts and servitors scattered about, monitoring and blessing the great machines that kept them moving and safe. An unexpected lurch caused one unlucky servitor to slip from his perch and plummet through a net of wires, tearing through and shorting several across his already destroyed body. When the smoking mess hit the deck below, everything went to hell.
_POVSHIFTPOV_
Qui-gon Jinn looked up from his kneeling position on the deck of the passenger cabin in a brilliantly painted republic courier vessel. Something was messing with his ability to read the flow of the Force. That was impossible though, right? Only the Dark Side could do that, and he was certain the Sith had been exterminated. Nonetheless, his Padawan had not noticed, and was still peacefully meditating, or sleeping. Probably the latter, Qui-gon suspected. He would not bother the boy.
He walked up to the front of the cabin and pressed the key beside the com-link pad, "Captain, how far out are we?"
The pilot-captain's voice responded cheerily, as though they hadn't just spent three days in Hyperspace travelling from Coruscant by the slowest possible transport the senate could find, "Just a few minutes Master Jedi. I just got permission to land."
"Thank you. I shall inform my Padawan."
He stepped back over to where his Padawan had his head bent down, sitting on his heels, with both hands pressed to the floor. Obviously sleeping. Qui-gon tapped the boy with a light push of the Force, and the Padawan snapped awake, rolling into a combat ready stance, one hand going for his blade.
"Obi-wan, it's just me. We're about to land. The pilot just got confirmation."
"Sorry master. I thought I felt a disturbance." Qui-gon frowned. His Padawan had indeed felt something, but whatever it was, it couldn't be Sith. Could it?
The vessel was nearly to the hangar entrance when Qui-gon felt himself thrown violently to the floor, joining his Padawan who had been thrown into a couch. Feeling out with the force, he realized that only the two of them had felt anything. Cups, food, even his cloak, were still exactly where they had been, like the ship hadn't just lurched. He realized it hadn't. "Obi-wan?"
"I feel them too. Fear and…" "Loathing. Not Sith though. There is hatred, but no malice. Not Evil, merely misguided. But whatever they are, we must set aside the Naboo temporarily."
Obi-wan looked at his master, "I can handle the negotiations here Master. Take the ship and go check it out. You're better suited to assist anyway. My healing skills aren't nearly up to your standards."
Qui-gon nodded. As much as he didn't want to entrust his Padawan to the Nemoidians without him there, this other vessel needed help as much as the Naboo. "Very well. Remember, take everything they say with a grain of salt, and a hint of suspicion. They would be insulted by anything less."
_POVSHIFTPOV_
Lord Inquisitor Scylla scowled at the holo-display in front of him. It showed that the four ships were still in formation. It also showed that the Hand was heavily damaged. Something in the engine room. Problematic, but the Engineseers and Tech-Priests would handle it. Hopefully. "Bridge to Engines, What the Hell Happened!"
The chittering voice of Tech-Priest Elder Martellus Voss responded after a nerve-wracking pause, "Unit understand entity forgot vital Newton Armor. Followed weave violated entity. Position forgotten."
Several seconds of parsing later, he figured he had the whole story, "We lost Gellar Shields and the Warp flushed us out here?"
The chattering was less than reassuring, but he seemed to be right, because the aging cyborg didn't correct him, instead allowing another, less modified Adept to speak, "Mostly correct, We are experiencing the after-effects of unprotected Warp travel. The symptoms include illness, swelling of the joints, and possibly death. The engines of our great vessel are non-functional, and it would appear we arrived in the middle of an ancient battlefield. It would be possible for the Swords to drag us free, provided we are able to run cables to them. Power has been redirected to the Vox network to enable communication."
"Do we have Auspex? I feel something isn't right," Scylla was rarely wrong about his gut feelings. And right now the unruly organ was doing flip-flops. Auspex scans were important. They could penetrate deep into the hull of whatever ships were nearby, not only giving a complete scan of the surrounding area, but also the three Swords in close orbit. That would tell how much damage the small fleet had suffered.
"Scans able present near-nothing. Occupied entities. Dirtball, primary aqueous. Entities crewed unfamiliars. Beep. Entity arriving. Pre-empt docking, emphasize might. Fib."
Before he finished parsing the new information, the Vox network crackled and he heard a voice.
_POVSHIFTPOV_
Qui-gon Jinn looked at the immense vessels before him. The smallest was still half the size of the Trade Federation Lucrehulk being used as a meeting point. The other though, it was a great deal larger. At least half a kilometer longer, and only slightly shorter vertically, if he was judging it properly. The design was unfamiliar to the aging Jedi, but it appeared to be covered in symbology for a religion he knew naught of.
He scanned through the com-band frequencies until he heard static, the indication of a live line being pinged. And not one listed by the Trade Federation or his Padawan. "Hello? Can anyone hear this message?"
The crackle that responded was initially disheartening, but then a voice pushed through, "Receiving. I ha…son to…lieve my ve…ls Vox …ork is da...ged. Ass…ance ...quested."
"Message received. I am here to offer aid. If you can see my vessel, please open the nearest hangar access point and deactivate the Point Defense systems." Sometimes people forgot, and it made docking somewhat harrowing when the ship identified his vessel as a threat and opened fire.
"Thank y… Op…ing ha…" the voice cut off completely, and Qui-gon frowned as he saw a tall spire start drifting away from the vessel, which from up close he could see was severely battle-damaged. It must have come fresh from a live-fire environment. There weren't any of those that he knew of near Naboo though. The nearest was a week out by Hyperspace travel, with a fully intact drive, and this ship didn't look like it could have made that kind of jump, even at half-speed. As he watched, one of the side panels, nearly a hundred meters long if he was judging the scale properly, rose, revealing a yawning cavity. A pair of starfighters shot out of the hatch, and he thought for a moment he had misjudged the size. Then the two fighters raced past the small craft and swerved around, revealing themselves to be fully two-thirds the length of the cruiser. Those weren't fightercraft, they couldn't be, not at that size. And the maneuverability, the pilots were showing off, and didn't even seem to be pushing their vessels.
"Aid vessel, this is Fingers of the Emperor Wing One, Red Squadron Lead. We are here to escort you in. Follow at not more than 200 kilometers per second. ETA five minutes."
Qui-gon stared out the window at the apparent Fighter. 200 kilometers per second was pretty fast for an approach speed, even to a capital ship. Especially to a capital ship. Normal approach was 100 up to a kilometer out, then 3g braking thrust down to fifty meters per second for entry. Maximum hangar entry velocity was not more than that, but these 'fighters' had not mentioned a braking distance or speed.
_POVSHIFTPOV_
Obi-wan Kenobi looked at the table in the meeting room where the negotiations were supposed to be. He had been waiting five minutes, and was starting to get impatient. He remembered to maintain composure, and began meditating, reaching out through the ship with the Force. It was through that that he noticed the faint mist pooling inside the vents. Poison gas probably. He slid his rebreather into his mouth and bit down on the plate inside, switching on the filtering system. Moments later, the room was filled with thick green gas. 'I hate Nemoidians. Hate 'em.'
The door opened and he leaned against the wall beside it, waiting as skeletal battle-droids worked their way through the door, actually using half-way decent tactics, though not watching their backs. He slipped out, not wanting to alert them early, and slipped into the vents above the hall, crawling to a safe distance as the gas dispersed.
_POVSHIFTPOV_
Red Lead Alpha looked at the ship they were escorting. It was significantly larger than a Lighter, or even a Thunderhawk. It actually was even larger than his fighter, though Lead Delta, his Astropath, said she didn't feel more than two humans aboard. Not exactly uncommon, if it was a rescue vessel like the colors declared, of course it would have a small crew and large passenger capacity. The only thing that really got to him was the size of the engines. They were miniscule for the amount of mass they were pushing. Fully loaded up that thing would have the most appalling acceleration. He waved to his navigator, who at this distance had been relegated exclusively to Vox. The man nodded his augmented head and leaned back into his console.
"Red Two, this is Red Lead. Prepare to break off at five hundred meters, loop to kill speed."
A few seconds while the message was passed on, and the reply came back, "Confirmed Red Lead. Breaking at five naught naught."
He watched the rangefinder as they approached before Voxing the aid vessel, "Aid Vessel, deactivate thrust and brace for slingshot." A moment later, the Hand was Voxed, "Catcher, prepare to receive one ball. Red Wing is looping."
_POVSHIFTPOV_
Scylla scowled. Nearly half a standard time cycle had gone by, eighteen hundred seconds, and he was just now receiving the injury reports. Damage specifics were shocking. Considering how the Gellar Field had failed, it was a miracle that they only lost Blue Wing's bunk-rooms and a couple Valkyries that had been ripped out the gaping hole in the hangar door. Mostly the injury reports were bruising, with a couple broken bones. Almost no deaths. Still, there had been deaths, so he had to write the letters. A pity, really, since he couldn't send them. The network of Astropaths assisting the Navigator had held two of the deaths, with the Navigator being number three. Four Astropaths remained, and seemed confused, mainly focusing on trying to figure out where they were.
The inquisitor wasn't a Psyker, for which he was glad, but he knew something wasn't right. Astropaths always knew exactly where they were because of the Astronomicon. But here they were, lost. He leaned forward, pressing his forehead to the cool metal of his console, whispering to the Emperor, "This can't be real. I'm dead. We all are. This is a hallucination. Some result of bad drugs. Busted filtering system."
A crackle in his ear brought him back, "Lord Inquisitor, the Aid Vessel has been caught, hangar bay three. Tug squad two is pulling them in to an open space. We don't have a large enough mooring."
His now frowning face brightened slightly as he pressed a finger to his collar, where he kept his Vox-bead, "Excellent." He keyed the second bead, which connected his Vox to the PA system, "All Crew to parade deck! Five minutes!"