The hypnotic blue swirl of hyperspace was lulling to the Slayer, but also a caution. The only thing keeping them from falling into the void was, for now, a few layers of transparisteel.
Nerissa's foot was rotating boredly as it was propped up on the dash. It had only been an hour since they had escaped Florrum, but she already had settled and gotten very comfortable in her chair. She had tried to, of course, stay all prim and proper as befitting a senator, but as it became obvious the Slayer didn't care, she had visibly relaxed.
"What's our ETA?" Nerissa asked into the air.
The Slayer turned to the side; he had been wondering about that too. The hologram on the dash displayed an overhead map of the galaxy. A 16/21 rectangular grid of the galaxy appeared, overlaying the galaxy and splitting large parts into equal squares.
"Travel through hyperspace takes approximately 16 hours per grid square, divided by the past-light speed of the hyperdrive," VEGA informed. The map zoomed in on their sector, displaying a junction of hyperspace routes. "Once we reach the Five Points station in the next quarter hour, we must set a new lightspeed trajectory for Anaxes."
The Slayer nodded and leaned his head back. He was used to the instant travel possibilities of portals and tethers, so the concept of waiting for hyperspace to get over with, even for fifteen minutes, was mildly infuriating.
"...Who are you?" Nerissa whispered.
The Slayer turned to regard her. Nerissa was squinting into the Slayer's visor studiously.
"There's something about you, Slayer. Rippling in the air around you, like heat waves. I've seen Jedi use the Force, and it seems most familiar to this, but… stronger. You carry a presence that both complements and dwarfs the Force."
That reinforced it, then. The Slayer needed to learn more about the Force, and soon.
"It… transcends words. I can understand if you don't speak about it. Or can't. There's so much you must have done already, and if keeping silent about you makes your job easier, then… I promise to not speak either."
The Slayer smiled. He appreciated that much. He held out his fist to her.
Nerissa blinked in surprise and examined the fist.
The Slayer indicated his fist by thrusting his jaw at it.
Nerissa hesitantly copied the Slayer's move, bumping her fist into his.
The Slayer blew his wiggling fingers back.
Nerissa did the same, but snickered as she did.
The next fifteen minutes were quiet. What more needed to be said? The Slayer allowed himself to relax. Since there was nothing he could realistically do to rip and tear more at the moment, he simply turned his thoughts inward. To home.
It helped, to keep in mind the real reason for it all. For so long, he had been in Hell, or fighting, or otherwise too busy to really think about Hell, or his own hatred and fury. So far, every motive the Slayer could think of for doing what he did was based on his fury, on hating something else.
But only because that something else was going to ruin the world he came from. And he had a brain; any reasonable person would take one look at Hell and reject it. Bones, fire, flesh, metal, stone, monsters. Even if Hell offered power, even if Hell promised to give them the thing they wanted the most, it was Hell! Betrayal and violence and decay was the name of the game. What desperation could drive a man to ally himself with Hell? To become a servant of darkness and a puppet of evil?
But the Slayer had seen this before. The Betrayer of Argent D'Nur had sacrificed his civilization to get his son back– and he was returned as a titan, the Icon of Sin. And Olivia Pierce's last words rang in his ears before her grisly transformation: They promised me so much.
She had fallen for the worst Nigerian prince email scam ever.
Hell was enslavement incarnate, and the Slayer, as well as all sentient beings, differed from the Dark Lord and his angels in at least one regard: agency. Regardless of circumstances, the power to make choices could never be taken away. What those choices were? That depended on your actions. On the kind of man you wanted to be.
With a hatred of evil inherently came a love of goodness. Or vice versa.
No man can serve two masters. He will love the one and hate the other, or he will despise the one and serve the other. Ye cannot serve God and Mammon.
As the ancient Master's words resonated with him, the thought came into his mind: two musical conductors and one violinist. Or a painter with two guided videos in front of him. Attempting to please both resulted in chaos. Compromise with evil resulted in destruction.
The one nice thing about objective evil was no need to hold back against destroying it. As a result of the Doomslayer's desire for life, his hatred of evil would be his sword, and his intolerance of Hell's principles would be his shield.
VEGA's voice snapped him out of his thoughts.
"Realspace reversion in 3… 2… 1."
And the swirl stopped. The lines on the side eventually turned to pinpricks of stars in dark space.
But they were not the only ones in this part of the galaxy.
The Slayer straightened in his seat. Nerissa gasped and jumped out of it.
Far closer than the Slayer wanted to be, a space battle was raging. Six dagger-shaped Republic cruisers, locked in formation to their left, were blasting away at seven predatory Separatist vessels, which had split up and were trying to form into two sections to pinch the Republic cruisers together. The Five Points space station was a cloud of debris clumps floating way off to the side. It had most likely been destroyed entirely.
"What's going on?" Nerissa breathed, leaning on the dash. "Slayer, what do we do?"
The Slayer examined the faraway battle. Lances of blue and red were constantly exchanging between the hazy capital ships and connecting to each other. Blossoms of flame burst out on impact, flaring in the escaping atmosphere of the ships.
It was none of his business to intervene. But Nerissa and the other officers were his business for now. And they needed to get back to the Republic. Which was right there.
The Slayer took the controls and accelerated to attack speed. Nerissa yelped, but said nothing more.
The Horn quickly drew closer to the nearest Republic cruiser, a damaged Venator named the Valiant. Its turbolaser batteries were still trained on the Separatist vessel trying to flank its left, but they'd soon spot their vessel. If they didn't say they were friendly, and fast…
"I am broadcasting a Republic clearance code to the Valiant," VEGA informed the two. "That means the Separatists will not fall for you if we switch our ship to a Separatist code. Please be advised."
The Slayer nodded. Whatever it took to get Nerissa and the others to safety.
The dashboard radio crackled to life. "Friendly spacecraft Horn, this is the Valiant. Please be advised that we will be unable to secure a docking spot for you at this time."
"Horn to Valiant!" Nerissa quickly exclaimed, speaking into the dashboard microphone. "This is Senator Nerissa Bolkrin, of Stewjon. I am alive, repeat, alive."
"What?!" The young Republic officer on the other end quickly regained his composure. "Senator Bolkrin? The Holonet news reports all said you had died!"
"Hang the Holonet!" Nerissa cried. "I've got prisoners to return alongside me. Our ship may not be part of your hangar records, but docking is not needed, repeat, not needed. I am in the passenger seat, and… Well, just get us on the ground!"
"O-of course, ma'am. I'll run it to my senior officer. Please stand by, and we'll notify you of developments as they occur."
They may not have that much time. The Slayer peeked around the viewport before turning his attention to the sensor screen. That monitor was displaying three pursuing Vulture droids, closing in.
"I will take control of the aft turret," VEGA volunteered. Only a few seconds later, the pursuing Vultures had been blown to interstellar dust from VEGA's pinpoint precision. Two more Vultures tried to follow their example, but got blown away too.
"Come on, come on," Nerissa whispered as they could now see the little greebling all over the Valiant's exterior.
"Please approach the port side docking bay," the junior officer finally crackled back in. "We can't open our main docking bay, since Vultures will just dive-bomb it, and you can't stay for long, since we need room for our fighters. But you can drop her off."
"Understood," VEGA replied to the officer. Before he could respond, the line cut off.
The Slayer twisted the controls and spiraled straight down to get to the Valiant's hangar coordinates. As it turned out, they were easy to spot. It was a blue sheet of energy in the side of the ship, near the aft section.
"More incoming." Nerissa pointed at the monitor showing approaching enemies. There were four, and were all designated as Hyena bombers. If they were following the same trajectory as the Horn, then they were aiming for the hangar bay as soon as the shields dropped!
VEGA had already destroyed two with the aft turret, and the Valiant's gunnery crews had spotted their approach, but their blaster cannons were simply too big and unwieldy to hit the fast Hyenas.
The Slayer had an idea for how to destroy the last two, and quickly! The ray shield was fast approaching! But he needed to perfectly control the ship, and he hadn't had much experience–
"Allow me. I know what you intend."
The Slayer hesitated for a split second. To put more trust into VEGA, or rely on his own hands.
The Slayer, after an agonizing moment, let go of the controls.
VEGA took over. The ship performed a maneuver typically only done in training exercises: full reverse. The Horn suddenly closed the distance to its pursuing Hyenas, and the instant it was calculated to pass right by them, the ship swirled, hitting both Hyenas, one on each of its massive engines. Both blew into hot, fiery gas.
This maneuver also allowed the shield time to shut down. The blue sheet fizzled into thin air. And the Horn gratefully resumed sublight speed to zoom into the hangar.
The Slayer quickly got out of his seat and hit the control that opened the Horn's sideways doors. He exited the cockpit, and so did Nerissa.
The Slayer quickly made it to the two open sideways doors. The Horn's engines had turned down so they were hovering four feet above the deck. The other five Republic officers had all gotten the idea the instant they could see the interior of a Republic vessel, and they were mostly out of the Horn by now, hopping the short distance to the ground.
Nerissa was the last to leave. She stood on the edge of the ship's door, extending a leg cautiously to the ground below. But she eventually just leaped and landed heavily on the deck.
The Slayer silently slumped in relief once she was off his ship. She wasn't an awful person, just extra baggage. And he did not want to carry her all the way across the galaxy in his misadventures. He turned to head back into the ship.
"Slayer!" It could barely be heard over the sound of the engines.
He stopped and turned. Nerissa was looking up at him from the deck below. Her long black hair and loose white clothes were blowing in the wind.
"Thank you!" she bellowed.
The Slayer had to do an invisible double-take. It had been so long since an actual person had said that with such sincerity– before Mars, the Slayer had fought for eons in Hell and then sealed inside a coffin. The Slayer did not do what he did for the honors of others. But that was what made her thanks mean so much.
The Slayer paused long enough to look down on her. It surely got the message that he had listened.
But to be sure, he did a thumbs-up to her.
She repeated the now-familiar gesture back.
And the Slayer turned back to his ship. The side door closed.
It was strangely alone in the Horn's hold. VEGA restarted the ship's engines, which he could easily hear in the back. The Slayer tramped over to the doorway leading into the cockpit. He could see, through the viewport, the Horn turning to face the energy gate separating them from space.
"I recommend taking this opportunity to secure a capital ship. A mobile headquarters would be essential for your goals throughout the galaxy."
The Slayer agreed with the reasoning. He even had his target chosen, as the Horn passed through the blue gate. And for good reason.
First, the Slayer had more karma with the Republic, which also had the Jedi who could potentially use the Force to send him home– and stealing a capital ship would nullify all he had done with Nerissa so far. Second…
The Slayer narrowed his eyes at the Separatist capital ship that the Valiant was exchanging fire with. Another squadron of Vultures was shooting out of the horizontal hangar. They were droids. No human pilot was inside that ship.
"If I may, Slayer, I also recommend against destroying as many droids as possible on your way to the bridge."
The Slayer understood what VEGA was getting at, but his face twisted in annoyance. He still needed to hold himself back; he had done so back on Florrum because he wanted to test the limits of the galaxy, see how it functioned. And the Slayer most definitely wanted to tear the ship to pieces, were it not for the fact that he had a goal in mind for this ship– and its crew– beyond simple destruction.
The problem was, the Horn was broadcasting a Republic signal, and the Separatist droids would learn to target him even if he switched it to a Separatist signal. So simply landing the Horn in the Separatist capital ship couldn't happen.
So he needed to board it himself. The only way to do that which the Slayer could think of was…
"I understand," VEGA instantly caught on. The Horn instantly turned away and sped for cover underneath the keel of the Valiant, and the Slayer grimaced as the ship made the rapid turn.
Soon the Horn was parked underneath the relative safety of the Valiant's keel. The capital ship's mass loomed impossibly large over him as the Slayer looked up through the windshield.
"Depressurizing the cargo hold now."
The Slayer turned back into the cargo hold and strode in the dark to its sliding doors. He could already feel the atmosphere in the hold lightening up, the gravity decreasing.
The Slayer's feet soon floated off the ground.
"Hold depressurized," VEGA reported. The sliding doors instantly cracked open, and the Slayer pushed himself through the gap. He oriented himself in space, gripping onto the Horn's outside ridges.
Now the feeling of mass above him seemed far more visceral. The Slayer glanced up. The Valiant, indeed, was larger than life.
He had killed bigger and worse.
"Would you like a ride?" VEGA offered. Like a father telling his kid.
The Slayer pulled himself back and launched off to the Valiant as a response.
"Once you have taken the command ship, I will deposit the Horn inside. Then we can escape," VEGA planned as the Slayer silently flew to the Valiant's underbelly.
Escape? Hardly. But the Slayer did not object to VEGA's details.
He oriented himself right before he hit the Valiant. His feet planted deep into the ship's white armor with a squeal, and he dug his heels deeper, bending over to grip onto the Valiant. There was some kind of transparent shield that had briefly slowed the Slayer down. Must be the deflector shield.
The Slayer also reoriented his mind. All of a sudden the upside-down Valiant was the floor, but gravity was not in effect.
The Slayer bent his knees and dug his feet deeper into the holds. Then he launched horizontally, with measured strength.
He flew to the edge of the Valiant, fast enough to get there quickly, but slow enough to catch the edge once he got there. The ship blurred two feet in front of his helmet, and he looked up. The edge was coming up.
The Slayer shot his hand into the ship's armor, and it tore with a squeal. A long, jagged line of metal accompanied his hand dragging into the ship. He felt himself slowing down right as he reached the edge of the ship, and he twisted, flipped over the edge, and felt his feet plant into the ship' side.
The Slayer took one last look at his trajectory. The Separatist command ship was about a kilometer away, broadsiding the Valiant. Between it and the Slayer, a storm of Republic ships clashed with Vulture droids. It had a sleek, curved, tapered form with a pointed bow, giving it a streamlined, shark-like appearance. The front resembled an extended blade with a sharp edge, while the back half broadened out to house its engines and slender conning tower. It was dark gray with light blue highlights.
Text appeared on his HUD, indicating the ship. It was a Providence-class called the Unbreakable.
The audacity, when the Slayer was involved!
The Slayer bent his knees once more. Going at a small fraction of his maximum strength, the Slayer pushed off the Valiant.
The Valiant's metal hull in that section cratered, and the Slayer rocketed through the vacuum of space without resistance.
He crossed half the distance to the Unbreakable, and miraculously, no ships had gotten in his path. But the Slayer did reflexively contort himself around one clone starfighter as it zipped too close for comfort.
His trajectory had shot him near the front of the ship; it was closest to the bridge. The curved gunmetal gray hull was approaching, fast! The Slayer curled into a cannonball.
His impact ruptured the outside armor. The Slayer plowed through one piece of armor after another, going through interior hallways and shooting through rooms with a squealing of metal.
Finally, his momentum slowed, and the Slayer staggered to a halt after bursting through one last hallway wall. He steadied himself, then turned.
Ten battle droids had halted in fear not too far down the hall. They were lanky, tan, and looked extremely fragile. It seemed like their only purpose was to carry a blaster, and their blasters were pointed at him.
"Who is that?" one of the battle droids asked. Their voices were synthesized, high, and clear. For lack of a better term, they seemed… goofy.
"I don't know," another admitted. "Should we blast it?"
"Hands up!" the leader ordered, painted yellow in several places.
The Slayer smiled. His hands came up.
"See?" the battle droid commander told his fellows. "We can be useful too!"
One of the Slayer's upraised hands turned into a fist, and he pumped it into his other palm with a heavy smack.
Two of the battle droids turned to each other. "Uh oh," one said.
"Roger roger," the other replied.
"Blast him!" the commander ordered, and all ten of them opened fire.
The Slayer slowly lowered his fists as the droid's combined red blasterfire impacted his armor and did absolutely nothing. He honestly didn't feel anything except boredom; the fist-pump was just to see their reactions.
So the Slayer just walked past them. They turned to keep firing as he passed through their midst, but it didn't achieve anything. Even if the Slayer didn't want to preserve the droids for a later purpose, he wouldn't have destroyed them. It would be too easy, and they weren't bothering him.
The Slayer, pelted by blasterfire, reached the turbolift at the end of the hall and calmly pressed the button. He tapped his foot as he waited. Blaster bolts still pinged harmlessly against him.
The battle droids stopped firing as the turbolift dinged open, though. Obviously they knew by now that they were worse than useless.
"What do we do, commander?" one of the battle droids asked in a panic. "H-he's not getting blasted!"
"Well, uh… blast him harder!" the commander reiterated.
"I'm… not sure that's the answer," that battle droid observed.
The Slayer turned to face them as the turbolift began to close. He gave a two-fingered salute to the small platoon right before the doors completely ground shut.
On his HUD, a blueprint of the battleship came up, along with a red line showing the best possible route to the bridge. The records of the Separatists VEGA had gotten from the Holonet were coming in handy now. The Slayer pressed the top button and waited.
He impatiently tapped his foot some more as the lift sped up. Just like in Jiro's base on Florrum, tinny, ding-dong music played from the corner. Dah, da-da-da. Da, da-da-da, da da, da da da, du-du-du-duuu, doh.
With a ding, the lift doors opened, and the Slayer strode out into the empty and dull hallway, uncaring of the security cameras that were undoubtedly tracking his every move. Whoever the Separatist commander was aboard, the Slayer could easily handle whatever he could throw at him.
Sure enough, he soon reached the intersection right before the bridge hallway, and the blast doors covering all three entrances were already closed. The Slayer stepped into the center of the closed-off intersection and patiently waited.
The door behind him dilated shut, and the other three doors cycled open. Sixteen bulky gray "Super battle droids", in four rows of four, marched from each section with upraised arms. And two roly-poly-resembling balls of metal crinkled beside them in each section. Each of them stumbled to a halt, unfolded into a mobile turret, and popped a transparent blue bubble around them.
"Aaahahahaha!" came a greedy laugh from the ship's loudspeaker. The Slayer looked up curiously. "You fool! Did you really believe you could board my ship and escape unscathed?"
The Slayer folded his arms and nodded.
"...Well, you're wrong!" the commander yelled into the shipwide speaker. "I learned my lesson from Christophsis. Never listen to surrender! Never accept peace! It's a trick, a lie. I don't know how in the galaxy you got aboard, but you will go no further!"
Forty-eight priming clicks and whirrs echoed in the halls as all the Super battle droids leveled their arms at the Slayer. Blasters were built into both sets of wrists, the Slayer noticed.
"Ahahaha! Cat got your tongue?"
The Slayer lifted both arms and curled his hands twice in a bring-it-on motion.
"Open fire!" the commander nearly screamed. "Make him suffer!"
Instantly, the Slayer was pelted by scarlet galvanized particle beams from three separate angles, and the air was filled with the distinct sounds of the droid's rapid-fire blasters. Red bolts impacted his armor and cratered in large circles as they dissipated into the Slayer. Perfectly-calibrated aiming algorithms from the droidekas sent blast after blast into the Slayer's torso and head. The shots the Super droids missed scorched the walls and floor.
The Slayer turned his head up boredly to locate and regard the security camera watching it all. It was loud, to be sure, but ineffective.
The droids seemed to desperately ramp up their attack rate until their blasts were one continuous noise, like a whirr. It was getting loud, so the Slayer engaged noise-proofing on his HUD. And oddly enough, even though none of this was hurting him, the Slayer's anger started to rise.
Why couldn't he have opponents that actually hurt him? Even in Hell, nothing actually got through to him, and with every slain enemy, he just got stronger. Even if he wasn't planning to keep these droids functioning, the Slayer wouldn't have destroyed them; it would be insulting to even acknowledge the droids. And they were just robots anyway, so there wouldn't be any satisfaction even if they were strong enough to hurt him.
The Slayer also just hated how this fleet commander had sounded so smug and unhinged. It rubbed him the wrong way.
Finally, the droids ceased their attacks. They must have realized their current approach wasn't working– or they just ran out of ammo. The Slayer wasn't sure.
The Doomslayer turned back to the camera in the corner. His silence and stillness must have spoken volumes.
Then he brushed a speck of dirt from his shoulder.
The droids around him were fiddling about, unsure if they should move from their spots. The Slayer could see a few Supers on all sides turn to each other.
"What are you waiting for? Keep firing!" the commander yelled.
"Current attack plan ineffectual," one of the Super battle droids reported in a trench-deep voice. "Additional contingencies are recommended, Commander Loathsome."
Loathsome? The Slayer was tempted to snicker.
"Well…" Loathsome tried to say.
The Slayer didn't have time for this. He strode forward into the mass of droids, nudging them aside. None of the droids fired on him. The door leading to the bridge was directly ahead, way in the distance, and his pace was intentional, but not desperate.
Already, the Slayer could see more doors scraping together, layering over the entrance to the command deck. Must be the blast doors.
"It doesn't matter if you can't be hurt!" Loathsome coped from the tinny speakers. "You also can't enter the bridge! This is two solid feet of durasteel! No one alive can cut through this with their bare hands! Even with lightsabers!"
The Slayer reached the enormous blast doors, came to a halt, and just looked up into the next security camera. He produced his lightsaber from hammerspace and ignited one end, making sure Loathsome could see it.
"Jedi?" Loathsome gasped. And he snarled. "Jedi!"
The Slayer retracted the saber and knocked it on the blast doors in amusement. Shave, and-a hair-cut, two bits.
No answer.
Well, he had his chance. The Slayer put it away. He turned to the cameras in the hallway and held his arms out so his bare hands were unmistakable.
Then he turned and shot his hand into the durasteel with a good percentage of his strength.
It was ordinarily strong, the Slayer had to give it that. Durasteel, if a normal person had tried to destroy it, would take tremendous power. But the Slayer tore through it like foam, and he went shoulder-deep into the blast door before emerging from the other end. He even wiggled his fingers.
"This… is impossible!" Loathsome shrieked. And the Slayer could hear it from the other side of the door.
The Slayer swiped his arm up and down, loudly tearing a sparking, good-sized jagged line in the blast door. Then horizontally. He easily pushed the four created folds in, and he stepped onto the bridge of the Unbreakable.
Whorm Loathsome fired on him with his wimpy sidearm the instant his head was in sight, which the Slayer ignored. The commander was, according to the bio VEGA pulled up for him, a Kerkoiden– blue, short, pointy head, fanged, and growly.
The Slayer stepped slowly in, staring the little insect down. Loathsome made little scared noises with his mouth as he got within arm's reach.
"Y-you… You Republic scum!" he shrieked at him. "You'll never destroy the CIS! Never destroy the ideals we fight for, the values we believe in! And you're arrogant for a Jedi, so arrogant, so deceptive. Just like Kenobi! Just like the rest of you!"
The Slayer wearily endured his spiel. The mention of Kenobi was odd, though. Hondo had mentioned the war hero too. He must have really gotten around. The Slayer needed to meet him sometime.
Loathsome had stopped talking some time ago, and he was anxiously looking at the Slayer for a reaction. Oh yeah, the Slayer remembered.
So he whipped out the Super Shotgun and blasted him in half at the torso.
The Slayer kicked Loathsome's blood-wet halves to the side and strode to the command terminal. The blue-painted pilot battle droid got up in fright as the Slayer approached, and the Slayer shoved him away.
"You cannot," the light blue tactical droid deadpanned in its mechanical voice, drawing closer and raising its arm. There was a keypad built into the arm. "I can still lock you out of the system. You will never-"
The Slayer shot to the tactical droid and seized it by the arm. He dragged it above the droid's head, agonizingly out of reach. And he stomped back to the empty pilot's chair, dragging the protesting droid all the way.
He sat down and looked dead-on into the computer. The swamp-green monitor fizzled at his approach and began to reboot. Must be VEGA's doing. So most likely, if VEGA needed to hack or integrate into a new system from scratch, the Slayer needed to at least look at it dead-on.
"No, no no," the tactical droid protested. The Doomslayer ignored it.
After some lightning-fast hacking which the Slayer couldn't see, VEGA had once again integrated himself into the computer. His logo appeared on the screen. Then on the screen of the monitors beside him. The tactical droid protesting in his grip slowly stopped. Then the glow in his eyes switched to blue. The Slayer released him, and the droid stood up again without reservation.
Blue also gradually replaced the stuffy green of the bridge, and within minutes, the bridge had fallen under VEGA's control. The Slayer glanced around at the bridge, at its dual layers of monitors and controls, and out of the wall-high transparisteel viewports.
"The Horn is en route as we speak," VEGA informed the Slayer through the tactical droid's altered vocabulator. "Along with its detachment of Vulture droids. I have designated you as a friendly target to the droids aboard, and I am currently working on overwriting their programs. Soon I will be in the heads of every droid on board."
Well, they might be weak, but they'd be intelligent. Their limited hardware might limit VEGA's functions, but they'd at least not be stupid. They could pilot the ship, run maintenance, protect it, and keep things smooth.
"Calculating the route to Nal Hutta now," VEGA stated, and the entire capital ship began to turn. There was a deep undulating rumble as it did so, and the Slayer could see the other Republic and Separatist ships move out of sight.
It was a shame, really, that he couldn't get to the Republic capitol and present himself to the Jedi. Showing up in a Separatist command ship would instantly provoke a retaliatory response, though, and the Slayer wanted a good impression first. So what the Slayer had in mind was… to provide a win-win situation for both him and the Republic on Nal Hutta.
"The Horn has safely been docked," VEGA reported. "Whenever you're ready."
The Slayer turned to face the Valiant through the transparisteel viewport. He bid a silent goodbye to Nerissa with a fist to his chest.
Then he lifted his arm up and pointed with a straight hand.
Instantly, space turned into elongated lines. And the ship jumped 1.4 past lightspeed, entering the swirling blue void once again.
The Slayer sighed and tramped back to the command chair on the center of the bridge. He turned and sat heavily down, relaxing into the armrests but keeping his fists clenched. It just felt nice to have them closed.
The Slayer turned his head up, following the bend of the chair. The display screens hanging from the ceiling still displayed all the relevant information for the ship, but in a blue tint instead of neon green. The Slayer wasn't familiar with these systems, so it was all Greek to him. But VEGA understood, and he was grateful for that.
"The internal power system of the Unbreakable is remarkably close to the power output I had on Mars," VEGA noted. "This galaxy is efficient in technological advancement, despite their lack of success in portals. I can run at a marginal 45% of my normal capacities on this power output alone. I will disable the Separatist signal and work on reprogramming the droids of this command ship, if not integrating entirely. I will simultaneously run diagnostics on your Praetor suit's performance and work on developing upgrades for it."
Upgrades. The Slayer didn't know how to feel about that. Did he truly need them, if those droids were the worst of his worries? But then again, there might not be another chance to make changes before he entered Hell again. So the Slayer just nodded.
"In the meantime, please familiarize yourself with our new targets." The central command holoprojector on the bridge flickered to life several still images. Nal Hutta, the Hutt council, and the regions of Hutt space.
The Slayer felt his stomach turn at the sight. Nasty overgrown slugs, all of them. Like Mancubi. A hologram rotated in the display of one of the Hutts, a purple one with neon green highlights grinning disgustingly. The Slayer felt tempted to reach out and crush the thing.
"A hostage crisis by bounty hunter Cad Bane has recently secured the release of one Ziro the Hutt, who was complicit in a plot with the Separatists early in the war to secure Hutt space for their free travel," VEGA explained. "Ziro was released because he has incriminating evidence of the Hutt's dealings which they wish to stay hidden. He is set to testify before the Hutt council very soon. In fact, if my calculations are correct, you should arrive at Nal Hutta just as he does."
The Slayer grew a small smile. Is that so…
"It is highly likely that the Hutts have tried a similar strategy against Hondo, to try and assimilate them into their criminal empire. If this is true, then your actions would be seen as justifiable in the eyes of the Republic, since you would have helped stop the Hutt's expansion. Just make sure the Republic knows of the Hutt's activities in the first place."
It wasn't about helping the Republic. The Slayer didn't care much for it by itself. But he did hate the Hutts. The more information about them he read on his HUD, the worse it got. Kidnapping, theft, drug trade, assassinations, extortion… slavery.
The Slayer's nostrils flared heavily. One holovid on his HUD showed humans and aliens alike in chains, prodded along by ugly green Gammorrean pig-guards to a stand in a dark room, where the looming outlines of Hutts hungrily examined them.
Another vid shuffled in front of the last one. A green-skinned, scantily dressed Twi'lek girl, slowly spinning and twisting her hips for the amusement of one enormous tan monstrosity. The girl was noticeably teenage.
Another vid shuffled on top of that one. Droids and empty-eyed prisoners loaded enormous crates of cargo into a ship. The Slayer somehow knew those crates were full of drugs without VEGA even telling him.
The Slayer finally just shut down all the proffered holovids VEGA had found and leaned back in the commander's seat. That settled it, then.
There was silence on the bridge except for the rumble of hyperspace and the boot-sole vibrations of the deck.
"Please feel free to take this time to freshen up," VEGA offered from the tactical droid, in VEGA's warm tone and cadence. "I will mark the route to the restroom."
The Slayer's lips tightened in amusement as OBJECTIVE UPDATED: TAKE A SHOWER flashed on his HUD.
"Please leave the helmet you took from Ordo on Florrum, as well as your two DC-15s and a thermal detonator. They will be taken to the maintenance crew, who will look into uses for them in my upgrades."
The Slayer, somewhat intrigued by now, reached into hammerspace and laid them on the commander's seat.
The blast doors slowly ground open again, but not far before reaching the torn seams in the center. A few red security B1s strode through and took the items on his seat. "We will have them back soon, great Slayer," one of the B1s promised in his goofy voice. He turned to the other B1. "Get rid of the last commander's body."
"Roger roger," the other B1 replied. He clicked over to the bloody halves of Whorm Loathsome and began to drag one of them, making strained noises as he did.
The Slayer looked into the swirl of hyperspace. Once the ship would emerge into realspace again, his real work would begin.
Then the Slayer turned and strode through the small opening in the blast doors. A shower did sound nice, actually. It had been eons.
The Unbreakable cracked out of hyperspace, a hundred thousand miles away from the slimeball planet Nal Hutta. With the Separatist signal disabled and the identification scrambled, the sensor arrays way below on the surface, without visual contact, thought nothing of it.
A small green ship deployed from its hangar and silently sped to the swampy ringed planet.
Doom was coming.