Twilight of the Republic 1.2
"They assembled from all sides, one after another, with arms and horses and all the panoply of war…"
History didn't repeat, but it sure as hell rhymed, Mikkel mused to himself as the Defiant fell out of hyperspace into the outskirts of the Alsakan system. The system had attempted to supplant Coruscant seventeen times in increasingly bloody wars in ages long past, closer to the founding of the Republic untold generations ago than to the present day. It had also been the system where the Republic Navy had gathered when it came to overthrowing the Pius Dea cult thousands of years ago when those cultists had usurped control of the Republic.
His eyes widened as the transparisteel viewport opened up, gazing at the gathered fleet in muted awe: at least twenty Venators, dozens of Acclamators and Victories, countless escorts, and thousands of starfighters flitting about as insects between the behemoths. Most awe-inspiring of all was the flagship of the fleet, an Imperator-class star destroyer. The hulking behemoth of a ship was painted with republic red stripes and covered with dozens of heavy guns. Even beyond that, the system itself was fortified with several Golan defense platforms and a respectably-sized shipyard—the skeletons of several ships seemed to already be in production, and he could see a couple of damaged cruisers put into berths.
To his side, he heard Omar let out a low whistle of appreciation at the sight. "Well, at least if we've been had, we aren't the only ones."
"More likely, it means there is something truthful about that message," Mikkel spoke, still hopeful it wasn't a trick of some kind.
"Sir, we're receiving a holo-call, priority one," Lorn broke through over the wondering of the crew even as the Druzhinnik and Warspite fell out of hyperspace on the Defiant's flanks.
"Patch it through," the commodore ordered, to the navigation officer's assenting nod.
"Arriving Acclamator-class assault ship," a dark female voice came through over the comms, "this is Rear Admiral Altis Hill of the Seventeenth Fleet; hold position on the system's edge and flash your identification."
Mikkel glanced toward a fair-skinned man who kept his black hair well-trimmed and nodded. "Powering down engines, sir," the engineer, Konstantin Kai, reported.
"Sending ident codes," Lorn continued.
He heard a faint male voice from the background holo-call. "Squawk received, checking ID," and the crew waited in tense silence for several moments.
"I can have the hyperdrive powered up again in five minutes if we need to bolt," Lorn said with a seriousness uncommon to him, but Mikkel merely shook his head.
"ID confirmed," the female admiral's voice eventually came through after what felt like hours of waiting but was probably only a minute or two. "Commodore van Lynden, welcome to Alsakan." The bridge crew deflated, some of them audibly sighing in relief, but Mikkel stayed ramrod-straight as the woman spoke up again with new commands. "Make cruising speed for the shipyards in quadrant Aurek-Twelve and await docking instructions. We're uploading navigation instructions to your sensor banks now."
"Orders received, admiral," Mikkel said into the holo-call.
"Oh, and commodore," the rear admiral returned, a hint of softness touching her voice. "It's good to have you and your command on our side. Rear Admiral Hill out."
With that, the call was cut.
"Well, what are we waiting for?" Mikkel asked his bridge crew sardonically. "Konstantin, power the engines back up and set us on course for Alsakan. Lorn, signal the Druzhinnik and Warspite to follow us in."
"Aye, sir!" came the replies.
Lorn powered up the engines again, and the Acclamator started moving with alacrity unbecoming of its size and class. As they moved forward, Mikkel saw a heavily-damaged Victory being moved by tugs toward a waiting berth in the system's shipyards. Halfway to the large shipyard, the scopes lit up on a hyperspace translation; looking behind his ship, the commodore saw a pair of Venators jumping in-system, escorted by six smaller vessels. One of the Venators and a couple of the escorts bore signs of heavy battle damage.
Was it the Separatists or the Imperials? Mikkel wondered to himself. Who inflicted that damage?
Mikkel's wonderings were cut off by hearing his navigator exclaim, "Where's the Mandator?"
"What in the hell are you going on about, Syko?" Omar did not so much question as state.
"I read up on this during the jump; the Alsakan Defence Fleet has a Mandator-I. I don't see it anywhere here." Mikkel idly thought to himself that the fleet missing an entire star dreadnought - a ship that put even an Imperator-class to shame - wasn't a good sign.
"What about that giant thing in the drydock off the starboard bow?" Omar pointed to a skeletal structure that showed heavy signs of construction.
"Hey, that's the Mandator!" Lorn exclaimed before glancing over toward Mikkel and sobering up. "Wonder why they have it drydocked."
Answers would be long in coming as they approached the shipyard and maneuvered the ship into position, waiting for docking.
A dry, almost bored tone would break through the holo communications. "Acclamator Defiant, you are cleared to dock at bay six."
"Understood," Mikkel spoke even as the helmsman began the delicate docking procedures.
"Defiant, this is Warspite," came a woman's voice with a crisp Coruscanti accent over the comms. "We'll be docking in bay eight."
"Bay twelve for the Druzhinnik," came a rough Corellian man's voice on the line.
"Attention all flag officers, this is Rear Admiral Hill; please report to conference room thirteen for a high-priority meeting." The rich voice of the rear admiral once more broke over comms.
"Well, they certainly didn't waste any time." Mikkel let out a soft laugh as he spoke. "Lieutenant Nikaly," he turned to the green-eyed woman, "you have the bridge while I'm gone; try and make sure nothing blows up."
He then turned and walked out of the bridge, making his way to the docking port and the station. On the way there, he found himself with the first bit of time to think since the whole crisis began. The cold, back-of-the-mind fear pounced and left him to wonder if he had taken the right action.
Sure, the fleet arrayed here was impressive, but he read the books. He knew the figures. He couldn't help but fear that the same thing that had happened to the Separatists would happen to them.
They would be fighting the Galactic Empire - formerly the Galactic Republic - the most powerful state in the galaxy's history. Republic intelligence would undoubtedly turn their eyes towards them, and every little hidden secret they didn't already know would be found out. The Empire will kick the door down, Mikkel feared. They'll have inherited the Republic navy - the Grand Army of the Republic. At least most of it. The force that fought a galactic war would focus itself on a single-star system.
Before he could spiral further, he found himself staring down the doorway to conference room thirteen. He could leave - turn back, run to his ship, push the Defiant's engines to their limit, and take the first hyperspace route to a friendly, peaceful mid-rim world and go to ground. Never to be seen again.
But he didn't, and he stood still outside the door until he took one step and then another. Propelled by some small part of his mind that hadn't been overtaken by fear. The door opened as he walked through, entering into a large but simple conference room. A table with a holoprojector lay in the center; on screen was a depiction of a human senator. At the head of the table stood Admiral Tarsus Delastan. The Zabrak man seemed larger and more imposing in person than on Holo. Around the room were dozens of other officers, from veteran rear admirals to freshly promoted commodores like himself.
"-to strike is–" the admiral spoke to the holographic senator before glancing toward Mikkel. "Commodore, good to have you. Please take a seat; we are waiting on one more group to dock before we begin." Delastan's baritone voice spoke out over the silent room.
Mikkel could only briefly salute and then move to sit, not trusting his voice.
"Admiral Delastan, I must reiterate my belief that to fight now is foolhardy. Palpatine's grip is far tighter than you suspect." The holoprojection slightly garbled the smooth tones of the senator, and Admiral Delastan merely scoffed.
"On the contrary, Senator Organa, now is the perfect time to strike. Despots and tyrants are always at their weakest when they first grasp power; the longer we delay, the more Palpatine can solidify his control."
"I see I can't persuade you against this course of action. Very well." The senator seemed melancholic more than anything. "I dearly hope I'm wrong and that you win. I just don't think I am."
"I'll share a glass of brandy with you once this whole thing is over with," the admiral promises.
"Farewell, Tarsus," the senator says, glancing at the assembled officers in the conference room. "Admiral Hill, Admiral Dale. Commodore Polstar," he acknowledges the assembled officers individually before pausing at Mikkel. "I haven't had the opportunity to make your acquaintance…."
"Commodore. Mikkel. Van Lynden." Mikkel barks it out, shooting off a quick salute and not trusting himself to say anything else as the hologram winks out, replaced by a depiction of the Alsakan system and the fleet gathered within it, mere moments before two more men march into the room.
"Admiral Kyzil, Commander," Delastan greeted the newest arrivals: a blond man wearing the garb of a fleet admiral and a helmetless Clone wearing a commander's yellow stripes. "You're the last to arrive; we're ready to begin."
"And maybe you can finally tell us what we're assembled here for!" came the frustrated cry from an old commodore. "You've gathered a navy large enough to conquer five sectors, and the only thing you've told us over the holo is some vague bantha about the chancellor turning traitor!"
Delastan simply raised his hand in a halting gesture, silencing the old commodore. "The holo I showed you of the former chancellor's speech wasn't falsified. If you wish, I can send a full copy to each of your ships for your engineers to verify the veracity thereof."
"You don't need to," a woman in a rear admiral's uniform - Mikkel vaguely recognized the stately voice as Rear Admiral Altis Hill - spoke in support of Admiral Delastan. "Before that Holo came in, the clone commander of the battalion attached to my battlegroup received a holo from the chancellor. He and his men promptly turned on us - right in the middle of a battle with the CIS." A few other officers and even the clone commander would agree, verifying her claim.
The old commodore seemed to deflate at the casual shutdown of his rage and slinked back into his chair like a chastised child.
"If I may get into the actual meeting now." A ghost of a smile flashed across Delastan's face, there and gone quick enough to make one almost think they had never seen it. The table's holoprojector expanded into a galaxy map, divided between three factions. "This is the current state of the galaxy. As you can see, despite the mad emperor's claims, the separatists are far from defeated. They still control much of the outer marches of the Republic," he pointed to large swathes of the outer rim - along with mid-rim outposts and the occasional exclave in the core - shaded in blue. "The Empire controls the majority of the core and mid-rim," he then pointed to large portions of the galaxy shaded gray - including Coruscant. Several tiny red specks on the galaxy map would be enhanced, the third faction. "This is us, the loyalists. As it stands, we control less than a percent of the Republic's former worlds. However, we control upwards of fifteen percent of its fleet and climbing. Not everyone is gathered here yet, but many are coming. Alsakan is the most densely populated and the most important of the worlds that have openly spurned Chancellor Palpatine's despotism.
"I saw this coming," the admiral continued, "and I've seen the legislation passed over the last year or two to overturn many of the Republic's founding principles. The anti-alien legislature, the rebirth of the title 'Moff' to be handed out among Palpatine's sycophants…" he trailed off for a moment, surveying the conference room before returning to his speech. "I attempted to resist with constitutional means, speaking to many sympathetic senators. Sadly, the 'delegation of the two thousand' proved to be almost useless in opposing Palpatine. So I planned a counter-coup. That failed, too; Palpatine moved too many loyal troops and slaughtered most of the Jedi before declaring martial law. So I turned to a military solution."
Delastan paused and looked around the room as he surveyed the stunned faces in the crowd. Then he began speaking again. "I know the odds may seem impossible. It may seem like this is an impossible task. That is because, in its current state, it is. However, the longer we hold on - the longer we gather our strength - the more the balance of power ticks toward us. Our goal is to bring together a large enough force to launch a decapitation strike against Coruscant and remove Palpatine from power before he has time to solidify his control over the Senate and the whole Republic. Our task will not be easy; the enemy is well trained, well equipped, and the veterans of many battles-"
Delastan's speech was cut off as alarms began to blare throughout the station. A voice would all but scream out over the shipyard's PA. "Imperial ships detected at the edge of the system! Count at least four Imperator-class star destroyers with many smaller warships!"
"To your ships, officers," Admiral Delastan ordered. "Palpatine's response has come."
Mikkel barely needed any encouragement before he was walking swiftly - almost jogging - back toward his Acclamator.
_
AN: As with last time thanks to my wonderful co-writer Legionary Guard over on AH, no beta for this chapter so it might be a bit more rough around the edges. Hope y'all enjoy and have a wonderful day!