Chapter _

Restored Triumph

"The ship is maintaining a steady speed, sir. We are making good time towards Shili. There are no problems that I can find.", Teethree told Stass. His voice was a stale drone, and she grit her teeth as she attempted to stay awake through the droid's diagnostic report.

T3-L0N15 was the resident engineer droid on the Restored Triumph. He was an older model, tall and long-limbed, with a single black photoreceptor that studied her. The red dot in the centre of the photoreceptor would flicker to the left and right, following her as she paced around the cramped engine compartment. He had explained the complicated engine process' at supernatural speed, and she hadn't caught most of what he said since she had asked how they were going.

"So, what is the problem?", she asked. The engineering droid had asked her down here to overlook a 'slight problem' he had found. That was not only a simple explanation, but it was annoyingly vague.

Teethree gestured to the far side of the compartment, where a large cylinder was rotating end over end in a spherical device. "That is the shield generator, sir."

"That looks… dated.", she stared at the device. Modern shield generators used cores, often inside a generator. Rotation charge emitters, like this sphere, were at least one hundred years old.

"It is definitely, as you say, dated. I believe that the design is also quite unorthodox, ma'am. This is an old ship. A relic of the High Republic. As much as I have tried to modernise the systems, some are not quite up to modern naval standards. Yet.", the droid got right to the point, as usual. He began to describe a dazzling series of instructions regarding the generator's functions, but Stass stopped him with a vague gesture, telling him to explain it simply. "The shields need a decent recharge time after we leave hyperspace, ma'am. We need to exit on the outer reaches of the Shili system for there to be enough time before we enter atmosphere. If we do not, then we will burn to a crisp."

She nodded at that. "Okay. Now we've got something to work with. I'll let the lieutenant know."

"Very well, ma'am. May I suggest that you also allow me a small window of time to gain knowledge before we drop out of hyperspace so that I may begin a full systems analysis."

She only nodded in reply this time, and turned away.

On her way back to the bridge, Stass stopped in her quarters. There, she splashed some water on her face, removed her belt, and grabbed a small bit of smoked meat to eat from her belongings. Apparently, the Senator wasn't allowing anyone into his office/the commissary. She would need to eat her own rations until they got to Shili. Being on a ship, even one as small as this one, could be exhausting. Artificial gravity put a strain on the body unseen by the eye. The distance between the bridge and the engine compartment could sometimes feel like a stroll, other times like climbing a mountain.

When she finished her snack, she moved to put her belt back on. Something stopped her though. A tiny niggle at the base of her skull. She ignored it, slipping the strip of reek leather around her waist again. She had earned this belt, killing the reek when it attacked a helpless youngling on a training mission. A clean kill. Her master had been proud.

No!

There it was again! The sense that all was not right. She could almost hear something this time. Her hand found her lightsaber hilt on her waist and she unclipped it, her finger hovering above the activation switch, though she did not ignite the blade. What was it that made her feel on edge? It wasn't the ship. She had spent long amounts of time on board ships before. Tress had been assigned an emissary mission into the heart of the Unknown Territories during her apprenticeship, and they had spent almost six months on the Apolo's Fist, another Tasha-class transport. But now her curiosity piqued, and she lowered her weapon back to her waist, clipping it onto the catch. Edging out the door, she turned towards the bridge. To the outside observer, she seemed unassuming, walking calmly and naturally. Inside though, she was alert, her senses reaching out for anything that seemed out of place.

"Jedi!", a voice called out and her hand had grabbed her lightsaber before she realised who it was. The Senate Guard. Was his name Talos? Maybe.

"What is it, SG?", she asked, using the standard abbreviation for a Senate Commando, "I'm heading to the bridge."

"I'm certain it can wait, Jedi.", Talos replied, thrusting a datapad into her hands, "I've been looking over shipping records. Cargo manifests. The fuel requisitions. Even the passenger rwquirements. Something doesn't add up. The Senator has brought something on board. Something… unnaturally large. I don't know what it really is, but I'm sure it is not regulations."

Stass waved him off. "Do you want my permission to investigate?"

"What?", the man shook his helmeted head, "Of course not! I want you to investigate. I need to protect that sleaze bag of a Senator."

"I give you permission to…", she trailed off. That feeling was back. This time her blade spat to life. She spun, and the emerald light spun with her. "Go. Do what you feel is right. I need to get to the bridge."

The bridge was busy. There were four different operators sitting around the room: the main pilot, Mark Antilles, the co-pilot, Adran Vee, and two comms officers. Stass recognised Mark's black hair sitting at the yoke, and hurried over to him. He smiled and nodded in greeting, which she returned. The tunnel of hyperspace whirred outside the viewport, and she took a moment to stare into the blue before she asked, "Where is the Lieutenant?"

"The boss is currently napping, I believe.", he replied, "The way I hear it, the Commodore finally wore her down."

"Commodore?", she chuckled. "Who is that? Mira?"

"It is actually your apprentice.", he frowned up at her, "Did Caloc not tell you about the Battle of Malastare Narrows?"

Eyes narrowing in a mix of confusion and curiosity, she sat down in the currently available co-pilots seat. "He told me that you were there. Why? What happened?"

"He saved the lieutenant from burning in the Reborn.", Mark answered, "Hired us off Taris, back when I was just a flyboy mercenary. Pilios and I flew as his wingmen. Never thought those would be the good ol' days. He saved a lot of lives that day. Admiral Trench was going to destroy the entire Fleet. But your padawans plan saved us all. He earned the name Commodore from me and my crew."

"Your entire crew?", she asked.

"Not the new guys.", he answered, swinging his head around to look at her. "Things are different since we joined the Navy. Nearly too different."

"Want to tell me why?", she asked. Already she could tell that Mark seemed to enjoy piloting more than analytics, and it seemed that he missed the mercenary life a lot. "Don't you miss flying?"

"Of course I do.", he laughed. "But I was taught by my father to always do what is right. My sister has a little girl at home. My uncle just got married, so I figured a slightly more legal profession might be in order. More importantly, my brother's shipping company just went down the drain. I've been sending him most of my funding to help him."

She laughed softly at that. "What about the rest of your crew?"

"Most of the survivors stayed with me. They stuck around on the Resurrection, part of the standard fighter squadrons.", Mark turned back to the viewport, staring out into space, "But I guess that Telle Lawell just can't get enough of me. Got me stuck here."

"Not enjoying it?"

He gave her a sideways glance, "I prefer flying in a fighter. I can't move this hulking ship nearly as well. But that isn't to say that I still can't outfly anyone here."

"Well then stay alert.", she frowned as the sense of wrongness returned, "Anything could still happen."

Their conversation lulled for a bit, and they just stared into the tunnel of hyperspace.