Juaire Mk II-class Gunship Orestes, in orbit via Cybloc XII

“Sir, the ship’s transponders have been interpreted. It’s the Lambarian Crab.”

Lieutenant Lonus Arcaina nodded back. “Does it have anything suspicious?”

“Offhand, no sir,” replied the other officer, “but it does have a smuggling history according to the files that I’ve pulled up from CSIS. It’s well-known gunrunner.”

Arcaina frowned. “That doesn’t make sense. Why would a ship with its true transponder code if it is a known smuggler? Quick question, does it have any history in Confederation space?”

“No sir.”

“Well perhaps,” explicated the captain, “it believes we’re unaware of her history. Inform Port Control about this situation. Let’s move in and take a closer look, shall we? Everyone to their stations.”

The boxy starship jetted away from the white and green orb of Cybloc XII and its bustling space travel towards the gas giant of Cybloc and the Lambarian Crab. Crab was a classic-looking YT-2000; a craft with a familiar CEC saucer base and forward mandibles. But instead of having a cockpit placed to the side, as in the YT-1300, the cockpit was placed between the two mandibles, making it easier to fly and handle. Enough so that a modified YT-2000 like the Lambarian Crab could be easily be a threat to the lighter customs ships many governments used. But against the Orestes, the freighter likely didn’t have much of a chance, especially considering the corvettes complement of starfighters and Paladin II Assault Droids. Currently, the Orestes had configured its bay to hold droid units; droids were cheaper to operate and store in peacetime compared to organics. A controversial decision among some members of the military. But one thing no-one could argue about was the resulting firepower, however subpar intelligent the units were. And given the usual lack of intelligence on the criminals’ part, it wasn’t usually too much an issue.

“Sir, our basic passive scans show the freighter has no illegal cargo onboard, though it is somewhat underloaded for a ship it’s size. However, our enhanced sensors have shown that they are carrying other cargo, most likely spice and weapons; stuff that isn’t shown on their manifest.”

Lonus sighed and turned to his communications officer. The other man nodded at the Cybloc native. Nodding back, Lieutenant Arcaina thumbed the comm. system.

“Attention Lambarian Crab, power down immediately and prepare for boarding.”

The freighter slowed down, but it did not halt. It did not power down, and perhaps more worrying to Acraina, it did not verbally reply. Arcaina cursed.

“Frak. Perhaps they didn’t hear the message; their comm. could be damaged,” muttered the officer, “What the hell. It can’t be, they were able to send their manifest o us. Officer, send a few warning shots at them.”

Several emerald bursts from the ship’s fast tracking quad laser cannons erupted from the port side of the Confederate vessel, piercing the space directly in front of the Crab. In response, the YT-2000 immediately wheeled about to head out of system, it’s tiny guns flaring, sending a minute trickle of bolts which barely damaged the Oreste’s shields. The Cybloc XII native barked a laugh.

“Idiots. We’re pursuing them now.”

Exceedingly agile for a capital ship, Juaire Mk II gunships could often times overhaul much smaller vessels, such as Lambda-class Shuttles or most of the YT-series. However, the YT-2000 was a high performance craft, easily capable of outrunning many older starfighters. And the Oreste’s normal top speed was just into the range of the slowest starfighters like the B-wing. Lonus grumbled.

“A little fast for a light freighter. They’ll be out of our range shortly…”

“They’re entering hyperspace.”

“We’ll catch up to them in there,” mused the Lieutenant, “that’s one thing we should have the edge in.”

The Lambarian Crab jumped into hyperspace, followed closely by the Orestes. Fifteen quiet minutes passed on the Juaire Mk II into hyperspace. Attention was riveted on the ship’s sensor screen, through which the operator tracked the freighter’s movement.

“They’re slowing down. Reversion in about thirty seconds,” reported the man.

“All right, let’s get ready.”

The two ships reverted within milliseconds of each other. No planets, no suns or asteroids greeted them. They were in the middle of deep space, and they weren’t the only two ships present. Three dozen starfighters of varying makes swooped and coalesced around the Lambarian Crab as Alderaanian Wasps around their nest before buzzing off in a swarm to confront the Orestes. Lonus wasted no time, issuing orders which had his starship’s laser cannons, mounted on maglev turrets spiraling about, countering the massed starfighter assault. Emerald fire flashed sputtered out from the corvette, which in turn received its fair share of laser fire and the occasional missile.

Lonus sighed. “Well, this could be a while. Launch the drones.”

Of the ship’s three modular decks, two of them had been configured to house Piranha-class Drone Fighters, with about thirty of them per deck. Their respective deck doors opened, unleashing a swarm of the droid starships. Confederate droids and the efficient guns of the Orestes began to lay waste the opposing starships, tearing them into shreds whose only purpose could now be to fill the scrapyards of some distant world. A squadron of the drone fighters veered off to pursue the Lambarian Crab, which promptly tried to abscond from the scene, but to no avail; the droid ships were faster in sublight speeds compared to the freighter, and the Crab had already learned that the Orestes was just as fast or even faster than the freighter in hyperspace.

Lonus watched the unfolding chase between the two. “Game, set, and match. The ambushers get ambushed by their target.”

“And then,” replied the sensors officer, “the target gets almost ambushed by their alleged ambushers.”

“What?”

“The CCA has picked up an anomaly headed right at us. About 100 meters in length. Probably a Vibre.”

“Well, let’s give them a greeting. Fire tubes one through four at them, electrite warheads, please.”

A salvo of missiles surged out of the boxy ship’s hulls and careened to the Orestes’ starboard side. They detonated brilliantly into four hazy spheres. A bright flash suffused the dark hull of the stealth ship, illuminating the ship’s profile. It was indeed a Vibre. While the Orestes only had Starflare missiles to counter capital ships, which could eventually overpower the strongly shielded stealth ship, it had one other trick to play with which to catalyze the process.

“Launch all droids on deck three.”

A little over ninety Paladin II assault droids emerged into from the ship’s hold. While rather slow and unwieldly for space combat, each droid packed the armament of a light starfighter, complete with starfighter grade missiles, which they promptly launched at their newly discovered enemy. Explosions blossomed across the ovoid hull.

“Sir, we’re receiving a transmission from the Lambarian Crab. It surrenders….and hold on…the Vibre has identified itself as the Dark Rose. It is also surrendering.”

Lonus nodded. “We’ll have to board them first with Paladins to make sure there aren’t any traps.”

“Then what?”

“We put prize crews on them, and take them back to port.”

Montcalm-class Frigate Capricieuse , deep space

Sitting in his command chair, Captain Guevara idly stared at the various readouts displayed by the chair’s holo-projectors. His brown eyes tracked the various reports coming in from the ship’s mining quarters with the ennui of a shepherd guarding sheep enclosed in a stone palisade.

Nothing of interest (to him) ever happened on these trips.

The Capricieuse would leave her home port on Soroya and venture into deep space, using reports furnished by scouts to find asteroids or other uninhabitated, unclaimed planetoids. The ship would grappled onto the target, and mined until either the cargo holds had no more room left to store the ore, or there wasn’t any more ore left in the target. Then, the ship would return to Soroya, unload its cargo, and repeatthe entire process all over again. Guevara hadn’t even managed to see another ship outside of his command for seven trips (excepting when the Capricieuse was back in port). An extremely boring assignment for a man who had signed up to fight for freedom. Nonetheless, Guevara had managed to hone his combat skills, along with many sailors, by training with the marines during his freetime. If the Capricieuse got boarded, or launched a boarding operation, the other ship would have an unpleasant surprise. A voice dared to break the silence.

“Sir, we have three inbound sensor contacts on our full spectrum transciever,” spoke the sensors operator, “they all look pretty small, say snubfighter size, and they aren’t moving in a hurry.”

Guevara leaned forward in his chair. “Finally something that’s possibly exciting. Che, scramble a quartet of Piranhas to identify them.”

“No need sir. They’re within sensor range now…they’re Cloakshape Starfighters.”

“Allegiance?”

“They aren’t using any transponders…”

An icy hand slowly slid under his skin. Guevara frowned. “Everyone to battle stations, and communications, get me a line to the Cloakshapes.”

“Done sir.”

“Attention unidentified Cloakshapes, this is the Confederate ship Capricieuse. Identify yourselves and your intentions.”

A rustic voice replied lazily. “A little far away from your realm, Capricieuse, and your law. We don’t have to identify ourselves, but we’ll do it anyways. This is Black Flight, off of the Skullkeeper…”

His skin grew colder while his sweating began to increase. Skullkeeper. That doesn’t sound like a name for any legitimate governmental ship, nor a civilian one. The Soroyan bit his tongue.

“…it looks like you got a mighty fine little mining operation going on. Why don’t we give you a hand?”

“Sir, they can’t seriously think of attacking us? They’re three ships, and they have to be able to detect the weaponry we’re carrying,” commented his XO.

“I’m not worried about the starfighters,” muttered Guevara, “I’m worried about their carrier ships. Think about it. Ships with no transponders? Less than legitimate shipping. The carrier ship is the Skullkeeper? That’s an odd name for legitimate ship, to say the least. And the fact that Cloakshapes don’t have hyperdrives means that the carrier isn’t too far away…and what they just said…means that we’ll have company shortly.”

“Sir,” shouted out an officer, “I have multiple contacts coming from the same course as Black Flight. I read about forty contacts, most of them small ships, snubfighters likely, but there is one contact…”

“The Skullkeeper,” added Guevara.

“…which is apparently a Defender-class Assault Carrier. It looks like it’s been heavily modified.”

Guevara stared out of the viewport. Distant specks slowly budded in the viewport, blossoming into fully grown Preybirds, Cloakshapes, and a single Defender-class Assault Carrier. One of the carrier’s bays appeared to be fully plated over and festooned with castoff weapons and other equipment. The Soroyan nodded.

“Launch our starfighters, power up the shields and weapons, and send a message to Soroyan command via subspace transceiver informing them of this encounter.”

Nearly sixty of the ubiquitous, and compact, Piranha drone fighters swarmed out the frigate’s starboard and port hangar bays. Sapphire fire from the frigate’s ion cannons lanced out at the approaching starfighters and exploded in their midst like miniature stars going supernova. The piratical formations wavered and scattered under the attack. They had no sooner broken up then when the drone fighters were upon them, attacking either individually or in flight pairs. In the meantime, the frigate had focused its medium turbolaser batteries at the Skullkeeper, using the rapid-fire and moderate damage to overwhelm the modified carrier’s defences. Salvos of missiles from the preybirds and the Skullkeeper lashed out at the frigate. Capricieuse responded by activating its laser cannon batteries as point defence units. Those missiles that slipped by the point defences crashed into the hull, and its electric reactive and amorphous armor. The former immediately detonated most missiles before the warhead could penetrate into the hall, while the amorphous armor literally knocked some missiles back into space or absorbed the thermal damage produced by the explosions. Several ion cannons grafted onto the Skullkeeper’s hull fired, whipping out cyan bolts at the Confederate vessel. The amorphous armor absorbed most of the attack. The two vessels charged at each other; it would be the pirates’ biggest mistake. The Capricieuse grappled onto the Skullkeeper with its tractor beams, closing distance with the other warship as if a wrestler. Twin silver-white beams emerged from the midships of the Montcalm-class Frigate: the plasma beamdrills. The plasma tore through the shields and into the hull, burning out sections and exposing them to hard vacuum. Through several ventral hatches, Paladin II Assault Droids and armored marines jetted through space and the Skullkeeper’s new holes. The infantry units began their boarding operation, decimating the enemy from within its own ship.

Suffren-class Cruiser Lysander, deep space

“And…point five-two-niner,” reported a sensor’s operator, “it looks odd from the Full-Spectrum Transciever profile. We should probably be careful.”

“Bah,” muttered the captain, waving a hand, “we’ve been mapping this area in detail for two weeks now. There’s probably an ion storm disrupting your scanner.”

The sensor operator rolled his eyes. “Sir, ion storms don’t disrupt radar.”

“Well, what did they interrupt yesterday?”

“The Dedicated Energy Receptors…speaking of which, I’m going to run a passive scan of the object with the DERS…there’s a minor energy signal in the object. Normally I’d say that we’d have a stationary freighter up ahead, but that doesn’t match the FST, which shows it as almost a more natural feature.”

“A more natural feature…in space?”

“An asteroid or comet most likely. But it can’t be in this case, because it has a power reading. Perhaps it’s an old wreck. It wouldn’t be the first we’ve found.”

The captain nodded. “But it could be something else. With those sensor readings you mentioned, couldn’t that be an asteroid base?”

The operator frowned. “Ah…I guess.”

Captain Dipazza swiveled in his command chair to face the drone operating stations. “I need a Condor at those coordinates. Demled will send them over to you. And Rogers, we’re going to Yellow alert. Everyone get ready.”

“That’s a lot of precautions,” complained Rogers.

“I’d rather take precautions and not get vented into space by some turbolaser bolt or a missile,” countered the captain.

“Aye sir.”

“Sir,” reported a drone operator, “we’ve simply moved one of the perimeter drones to those coordinates. It appears that our target is an asteroid, appears to be primarily a nickel-iron one from our initial scans…we confirm that there is…are energy signals coming from the asteroid. One appears to be fairly large, probably a colony power generator, and multiple others, not sure what they are.”

The captain frowned. “Don’t asteroids typically hide energy signals?”

“Not always,” replied Demled, “Not if they drilled out the asteroid too intensely. There wouldn’t be enough rock to block the scans. The real question is who are these people, living out in the middle of nowhere.”

“Well, they’re not miners,” reckoned Dipazza, “because if what you say is true, the asteroid has already been hollowed out of ore. No reason to keep mining if nothing’s here. It’s probably a run-out asteroid converted by others as a hideout.”

“There’s not really a way tell though, even if we have our suspicions.”

Dipazza smiled. “There is one. Operator, I want you to have the Condor to find the base’s hangar. They should have one if it is or was a mining colony.”

“Already done sir.”

“Well, what’s inside of it?” questioned the commander.

“Ah…I’ll have to move it closer to get a better look…give me a few seconds…looks like…looks like X-wings.”

“What the hell? What is this? Some sort of secret rebel base?” questioned Dipazza.

“Put the images of the base’s hangar on the main projector,” ordered Roger.

The holo-projector sputtered to life, revealing the interior of the base’s hangar from the Condor’s perspective.

Dipazza frowned. “Those aren’t rebel X-wings, and they certainly aren’t any legal entity’s X-wings. Skulls and crossed swords painted on their ships…do we know of any groups with that insignia?”

“Yeah, the Taidaanese Bloodletters,” quipped Demled, “they attacked a freighter several light years away from Jabiim near a neutral world. It was on the holo news. They were also using X-wings…here, let me pull up the holos the freighter took.”

“The markings match perfectly,” noted Rogers.

“Only one thing to do,” mused Dipazza.

“Inform High Command?” asked Demled.

“That and blow the frakking place up.”

“A little heavy sir,” advised Rogers, “Command won’t like that, not without waiting for the fleet to arrive.”

The commanding officer glanced at the livefeed. “Tell me, what do you see?”

“X-wings,” replied Rogers shortly, starting to frown, “X-wings getting ready to take off.”

“We’re not letting move and get away with another crime,” started Dipazza, “we’ll blow them to kingdom come first. We’re out of range for the Tachyon cannons…”

“But not for the railguns or Starflares,” finished Rogers.

“Exactly,” stated the Captain, “the Tachyons may not require physical ammo like the other two, but their range isn’t as good.”

“But not bad either. We could probably move just within normal sensor contact with them to use the tachyon cannons.”

“We could…” thought Dipazza, “and we will. Upload the targeting feed from the drone to the gunners, and have the railguns and starflares get going.”

“Sir?”

“What? Oh, right: combat stations.”

Throughout the warship, crewmen ran to and manned their combat stations. Gunners activated their weapons and viewed incoming sensor data. As the orders came in from Dipazza to fire, the ship deftly maneuvered itself with its etheric rudders to achieve a lock for most of the ships long-range guns. The forward battery of railguns opened fire, shooting ten solid slugs at the distant base. Simultaneously, shadowy objects jumped out from the red and white hull, and entered hyperspace. And all throughout these action, Dipazza and the bridge crew continued to watch the live feed from the Condor. One flight of X-wings had launched already, and cruised idly in space, waiting for their comrades to launch. A bright flash of light emerged in the middle of the craft, enveloping them in a glowing ball. The silhouettes disintegrated. More flashes of bright light dotted the asteroid base. The Starflare missiles had found their mark.

“Time until the railgun rounds hit?”

“Less than thirty seconds.”

Dust sputtered out from across the base as the solid rounds indiscriminately smashed and punched through various parts of the base. More rounds from the railguns hit seconds later, smashing new holes and shattering the base from the inside with submunitions. Dipazza watched with satisfaction as large shards of the asteroid whirled through the hangar bay, crashing and impaling the various piratical fighters scattered out. Smoke filled the bay as fires broke out from leaked fuels, detonating warheads, and the various wrecked debris which littered the stone floor. Dedlem cleared his throat.

“Sir, I don’t think they’ll be able to mount a fight now.”

“I should hope not…”

“Then we should move in and arrest any survivors of the base.”

“With what men? We don’t exactly have many troops and space to spare on the ship.”

“Well, I’m assuming they’re going to want to fight,” mentioned Dedlem, “because they’re going to die shortly if they don’t get off that rock. The atmosphere is beginning to leak out in large qualities from the hangar bay. Our troops, particularly the Paladins, shouldn’t have a problem herding the survivors into some of the cargo bays of our transports. And then the transports can haul them off to Jabiim and return.”

Dipazza sighed. “I hate to say that you’re right, but you are. You heard the man, let’s get working on that rescue operation.”

Tréville-class Cruiser Terpsichore, Deep space

From a distance, the Tréville-class Cruiser Terpsichore could have easily been confused for one of the new Suffrens that had become to spring up across the Confederate fleets. Indeed, they both used the same hull and many of the same systems to cut down costs. But their purposes, both in time of war and peace, were completely unlike that of the Suffren. Instead stretching the lengths of the Confederation’s civilization or bringing more knowledge of its internal space, the Trévilles decreased that space; bringing in Confederate citizens and companies from all different worlds to talk together; for a modest price. While the base profit from the Trévilles certainly helped the admiralty’s funds, its civilian role was of more importance to the bureaucratic government. More interpersonal relationships between different planets meant more unity within the Confederation, and more relationships between corporations meant more trading, and consequently, a more thriving economy. But to do this, the Tréville cruisers found themselves scattered Confederation space, such as the Terpsichore.

“This is cruiser Terpsichore,” identified the ship’s comm officer, “requesting permission to form a communications link with the Galathée in order to facilitate civilian communications as a relay, as per the orders of the Admiralty. We are transmitting our clearance codes and orders.”

Several seconds passed before a crisp reply emanated from the console. “This is Galathée. Everything checks as valid. Stand by to link Erebus Arrays…Erebus Arrays linked. Happy transmitting Terpsichore. Galathée out. ”

“It’s all set up captain,” reported Lieutenant Victor Locke, swiveling on his chair to face the red haired woman.

Sarah Adras idly waved a hand in indifference. “Wonderful. Lieutenant, take your break now, and for the Maker’s sake, get yourself a cup of strong caf. I won’t have a groggy officer on duty.”

The man leaned in and smiled. “I only have one more hour.”

Her periwinkle eyes blinked in mock surprise. “You had better make that two cafs then.”

“Ma’am,” shouted another officer from the slightly recessed crew pit, “we have a full-spectrum transceiver echo. Profile appears to be the size of a frigate.”

“It’s probably just a bulk freighter,” replied Adras.

“Ma’am, a bulk freighter doesn’t have this large of an energy signature on the DERs.”

Adras turned to face the comm. officer. “Locke, are there suppose to be other Confederate ships around us?”

Victor frowned. “No, the nearest is the Galathée, and she shouldn’t even be in sensor range.”

“And she’s too big to be the Galathée,” noted the sensor’s officer.

“Lieutenant, I’m afraid you’re going to have to stall your break, and double check to see if there aren’t any Confederate warships near us. My briefing says there shouldn’t be, but maybe on the Juaires got here chasing a smuggler or something,” ordered Sarah, “Sub-Lieutenant Tershin, scramble two of the alert starfighters, and send them to scout out our sensor contact. Fallon will give you the coordinates.”

“Aye ma’am.”

Several minutes passed as the bridge crew busily tapped out commands on their consoles and contacted other Confederate servicemen.

“There aren’t any other Confederate warships in the area at the moment, though elements of the White Fleet are supposed to be arriving shortly for some deep space excersises.”

“ETA?”

“Half hour,” replied Victor.

“Not good enough,” mused Adras, “if that’s some illegal, we have to take apprehend them before they can get away with it. We have to move immediately to query, and possibly engage them.”

“What if the Erebus array could go offline for the civilians,” commented one of the bridge crew.

“It won’t matter much,” countered Victor, “there are other Trévilles which can take care of our signals. The only thing the citizens will experience is a slight lag, maybe a little static if they’re communicating more than five light years ago because the signal will lose some of its potency.”

Sarah ignored the conversation, staring at Tershin. “What have our scouts found?”

“Ah….telemetry feed from the Shadowcasters says that it’s a Nebulon B2…no identification markings…wait…there are two crests on either of the wings…looks like they’re mercenaries or pirates.”

“Neither of which are welcome here,” stated the Captain, “send everyone to their combat stations and prep the fighters for launch. Helmsman, make the jump to our recon forces.”

The stars warped around the Terpsichore, casting their ethereal light on the metallic hull in conflicting shades. Inside the warship, crewmembers rushed from bunks, showers, and their daily rigors to their combat stations. Gunners hastily assumed their seats, powered up their weapons, and reviewed telemetry data from the scout fighters. Fighter pilots rushed into their flight suits and then into the hangar, where almost forty eight light fighters, primarily Shadowcasters, had been crammed into. Support personnel quickly helped the pilots clamber onto their ships and finish last minute flight preparations. When the Terpsichore emerged from hyperspace, the Tréville cruiser was fully prepared for battle. Shadowcasters flurried from the Tréville’s hull to immediately hound the criminal frigate. Tractor beams from the Terpsichore latched onto the frigate’s hull, preventing the Nebulon’s escape. And the Erebus array began to both simultaneously jam the distressed frigate’s communications and coordinate the activities of its starfighters. Sporadic fire from the frigate was matched by firepower from the Terpischore, which while not heavily armed for its size, was more than adequate for dealing with the smaller, and frequently outdated, ships employed by criminals. Emerald and sapphire bursts emerged from the Terpischore’s bow and smashed into the surprised enemy. The Nebulon launched several starfighters, all of which were quickly engaged in a dogfight with the Confederate starfighters. With its superior speed, the Tréville-class cruiser closed in closer to the frigate, and dealt it heavy ionic damage through the quad ion cannons and ion-warhead equipped Starflares. Nearly ten minutes passed, and the frigate had been complete disabled, and its starfighter complement shattered. Transports, filled with marines and Paladin II Droids, launched from the ship’s hangar bay to begin the boarding operation which would ultimately lead to the frigate’s capture.

La Galissonière-class Star Destroyer Renommée, somewhere in the Fyre Sola System

The bridge of the first of the La Galissonière-class Star Destroyers was a flood of activity. Officers and ensigns quickly and systematically engaged their stations, nearly identical to those used aboard their previous ships; all part of the Nebula-class. The ship’s captain, one Cal Sundar, had been a decorated officer in the New Republic. When it fell, he took his ship and joined the Hast Provincial Fleet. With the rise of the Confederation, and his adopted planet’s membership into the entity, he had become part of the Confederation Navy; along with his venerable MC-80. But the ship that had carried him through a dozen battles was now judged dated and hard to repair, and thus was sent to the scrapyard. As something of a consolation prize, he had been given command of the first of the new Unity star destroyers. Something he was both hesitant and curious of. Sundar walked about the area. A voice rang up from the semi-recessed crew pit.

“All systems are go; simulation beginning in T minus five minutes…”

Sundar rigidly sat in his command chair, idly twirling a datapad stylus in his fingers. His XO, also taken off his old M-80, strolled over and leaned on his chair. Cal casually looked up with a sly smile.

“Now Kyln, you don’t want to make a bad impression on the new crew for me,” sighed Sundar, “show some discipline in public.”

“Ah, sorry sir,” stated the Commander, assuming a proper posture.

“What is it that brought you here? I was expecting you to be in the auxiliary bridge in case an imaginary ship destroyed our bridge.”

The man smiled sheepishly. “Ah, I wanted to ask you if you were instructed to keep the Hypermatter Generators operating during the simulation, seeing that it’s solely a computerized exercise for the bridge crews…”

Sundar nodded. “I figured why not? We can’t make explosives…I mean fuel and run sims at the same time?”

“Well…um…yes sir…perhaps. But the auxiliary bridge shows that unlike the rest of the weapons, the hypermatters are set to release their product still…”

Cal licked his lips. “Well, that wasn’t planned. Tell your people to deactivate it if they can. I’d have the main bridge crew do it, but they’re a little busy at the moment, as the sim starts in…let’s see…one and a half minutes.”

Klyn nodded. “Yes sir. Let’s just hope that imaginary ship doesn’t force you to prematurely release the hypermatter.”

“I’m counting on you to do that for me.”

“And if I fail?”

“Then,” considered Sundar lightly, “I’ll be much obliged to transfer you to a desk job on some tropical planet. But seriously, get it done as quickly as possible.”

“Yes sir.”

As the XO paced out of the bridge, the simulation came to life. Cal fidgeted in his seat. He still wasn’t quite use to the Confederate furnishings; still preferring the Mon Calamari command chair over the more standardized Confederate one.

“We’re live,” reported an officer.

“So…what have they sent us?”

“Ah, scanners indicate a hostile MC-90 in front of us, it’s outside of firing range, but it’s moving to engage. We have a minute until it’s in firing range.”

Sundar nodded. “Shields up, weapons powered and turbolasers and ion cannons may fire at will, and hold the fighters…for now.”

The former New Republic officer stared at the viewport, upon which holo-projectors showed the viseages of the mock battle. Surely enough, the smooth, organic lines of a Mon Calamari cruiser were cruising towards the Renommée. He quickly brought up his controls; twin holo-projectors instantly flared up on either side of him; displaying data on both starships. We’re a bit undergunned in terms of brute strength. Which means we’ll have to get creative.

“We’re in firing range,” announced an officer.

But there was no reason to really exclaim it. Everyone instantly noticed the torrents of ruby, sapphire, and emerald bolts flaring up between the two ships. Both ships had very strong shields and back-up, which negated one of the Renommée’s greater strengths in any battle. In terms of brute firepower, the MC-90 had the upper hand, and combined with the slow speed of the Confederate star destroyer, it took an acquianted or clever commander to operate a La Galissonière with success in a solo operation. But we have options they don’t.

Sundar blinked,”Fire a salvo of Starflare missiles at their bow shields.”

“What warhead type?”

“Ah…Proton?”

“Done sir.”

Twenty four shadowy missiles surged from the star destroyer’s hull to smash into the MC-90’s shields. A ripple of explosions dotted the enemy cruiser. Several explosions pierced through the shields and burned off sections of the hull. Cal allowed himself a twitchy smile.

“Sir, they have enemy fighters accompanying them, they’re moving to attack the bridge!”

Cal stuttered. “Activate and release the Hypermatter generators, highest setting.”

Four squadrons of X-wings surged towards and over the La Galissonière’s bow. Sporadic point fire from the Defence Clusters damaged many of them, but an X-wing was a durable craft, and did not fail under the assault. But then a glowing golden wave jetted out from the star destroyer, engulfing and violently dissolving of the craft hapless enough to get caught in its blast radius. The cloud of raw energy dissipated as quickly it had come, leaving it as a duel between two cruisers. More energy was flung back and forth between the craft, but with the warhead assault had crushed the bow shields and destroyed many of the MC-90’s frontal systems. Subsequent turbolaser and ion strikes from the La Galissonière were quickly turning it into something only fit for a scrap heap. Cal twitched.

“Fire the special batteries at the unshielded areas of their bow.”

Jets of white-hot plasma burst from the Star Destroyer’s hull and oozed onto the MC-90’s form. Within seconds, the beams were burning through hull plating quicker than any turbolaser could perform. The MC-90’s return fire became more sporadic and silent as the plasma slowly melted through the craft like acid dissolving a plant. The La Galissonière held up for five more minutes before the MC-90 was completely destroyed, and Sundar was satisfied.

Delaborde-class Star Destroyer Themis, Deep Space in the Meridian Sector

“Commodore’s on the deck!” announced a marine.

Crewmen scampered up from their stations and snapped to attention. Newly-promoted Commodore Valeska eyed the crew, most of whom were from her old ship, the Nebula-class Star Destroyer Trojan, as per her own request. She had rather have experienced crews that she knew well rather than an unknown and green bridge crew. They had been sorry to leave the Trojan at first. Which, unlike many of the older Confederate warships, the Trojan and her sister ships weren’t being scrapped because of their already low cost and maintenance. Instead, they were simply being produced in smaller numbers. That being said, the Themis did offer many improvements to the crew; such as bigger quarters and more recreation rooms, which certainly helped salve the wounds. Valeska knew this; she had toured the ship and visited the crew. Still, simply being acquainted with the ship doesn’t solve all the problems, nor does their experience on the Trojan. We’ll have to get a feel for how this ship works in battle. And there are two ways to go about that. The first would be to fight someone in an actual battle; the second to fight a simulated opponent, which is what I’d rather do, rather than risk any limbs and life. The former gunnery instructor sharply saluted the crew, and dismissed them back to everyday work.

“Fine day, isn’t it Commodore?” mentioned the Themis’s XO, striding up behind her.

She snorted in amusement. “Is is ever not a fine day? It’s not as if we can expect rainfall in the bridge…”

“Well,” defended the man, “It could be worse. We could get jumped by some large, enemy force.”

“If there were any.”

“We both know that the Imps are simply waiting for the opportunity,” commented the man, “and when they do, we’ll be feeling it.”

The dark-haired woman shrugged. “Perhaps. I myself am a little bit more worried about what’s in our scout lab.”

“The bacteria? From what I understand, there isn’t anything to worry about with those bacteria,” noted the man, “it’s just some geneticists from Almas retooling and evolving a bacteria to do some healing processes.”

“I’m a bit more worried that that’s not the whole truth, or that they’re keeping something from us,” replied Valeska, “they may have to inform the two of us about the basics of their operation, but they don’t have to give us the minor details. For all we know, they could be testing the bacteria on diseased animals down there.”

“Unlikely.”

“But possible.”

The man shrugged. “But do you know what? I bet they are more terrified about having their lab be on a ship that is destined to be fighting in a battle. I mean, it would really suck for them if their lab and research gets vaporized by a salvo of turbolaser bolts.”

“Well, chances are, we’d be dead first,” mused Valeska, “This is a pretty nice target.”

He snorted. “The observation bridge is, but I was assuming we’d be using the CIC or auxiliary bridge during a battle.”

“Sure, if we know one’s coming,” replied the Commodore, “speaking of which, you did inform everyone we’d be having a sim run within five minutes, right?”

“I did, including the people in the Scout Lab.”

“Excellent,” smiled the dark-haired woman, “then we can finally know what this all exactly does.”

The man shook his head and glanced at his chrono. “Better take your seat, ma’am. Sim starts in a minute.”

She idly nodded back and paced over to the command chair of the Themis, which was nearly identical to the one used on the Trojan. The Abhean woman gazed at the starry vista through the Themis’s two meter thick ceraglass viewports. Stars shimmered and gave way to holographic projections of foreign stars and celestial bodies. The bridge crew broke into a cacophony as they all prepared for battle. Valeska ignored the din and brought up the ship’s targeting and threat analysis software. A holo-projector flared on the right side of her chair, revealing their opponent, which was nearly six kilometers long. She immediately frowned as she zoomed in for a closer look. What the hell is this? A giant asteroid or something? Harsh white bursts erupted from the opposing hull, and Valeska immediately knew what their simulation target was a Vong warship of sorts.

“Raise the anti-concussion field now!” demanded Valeska.

The engines immediately flared out as their energy was redirected to the field generator, which enveloped the ship mere milliseconds before the flaming projectiles hit the warship. Bright flares and dust enveloped the ship as the yaret-kor projectiles disintegrated upon impact. The Confederate warship returned fire, launching a flurry of long-range turbolaser and ion cannon blasts. Doval basins across the Vong ship immediately dilated to catch the energy attack. The Commodore frowned.

“Ma’am, the scout lab reports that there is an area in the hull of the warship that is lesser guarded according to Full Spectrum Transciever sections.”

“Where?”

“At the ship’s rear.”

She nodded. “All right, let’s have the mainframes calculate the micro-jump. Autoguns are cleared to fire then, with alternating shell types. We’ll see which one works best against them and then decide on how we’re going to do that.”

“Yes ma’am.”

The star destroyer surged into hyperspace, evading several volleys of yaret-kor fire before emerging just aft of the Vong ship’s stern. Immediately, the star destroyer reactivated its anticoncussion field generator, and used its tractor beams to maneuver it around to unload a devastating attack to the Achilles’ heel of the Miid ro’ik. Starflares smashed into the hull and exploded, wiping out chunks of yorik coral. The autoguns quickly tracked and fired a steady stream of alternating Pilum and Falarica shells. Pilum shells plunged into weaker areas of the coral and ripped out the support of the armor and devastated the interior with the explosive-tipped flechettes. Falarica smashed into the hull and exploded into fiery gases like proton torpedoes. Turbolasers and ion cannons continued their barrage as well. The medley of weapons slowly chewed the miid ro’ik end off, and then from the inside out, leaving only a husk of yorek coral to float in space.