CoS 45

“Warfleets are massing along the Hydian, as the Outer Rim Reform Alliance and the Trade Federation prepare to go to war. This comes just hours after an explosive confrontation between Senator Amidala and Senator Wurmnar on the senate floor. The Trade Federation has packed almost two thousand ships into the Zygerrian System, with even more expected to join them soon. Meanwhile the Alliance has been playing things a little closer to the chest, trying to conceal their exact numbers, but are clearly gathering ships in the Serenno System, right at the edge of their territory. We’ll be bringing you live updates as we learn more.

To get a comment on the brewing conflict now, we go to our expert, a lecturer on Military History at Coruscant University, Professor Pulg Ottihs joins us here in the studio. Professor Ottihs, what would it mean for the Galaxy as a whole if the Alliance and the Federation were to go to war?”

“A war between the two would have a profound effect, not just on the Outer Rim, but even here in the Core. I would like to highlight three things, if you’ll let me?”

“Please, go ahead.”

“First of all, we’re going to see a noticeable jump in the prices of all goods and services, everywhere. Most of the products we use and the food we eat in the Core Worlds are produced in the Mid Rim from raw goods transported there from the Outer Rim, much of it by companies headquartered in the Corporate Sector. Stressing those supply lines as materials are diverted for the war will cause shortages for consumers.

“Secondly, it has to be emphasized that this wouldn’t be a small, regional affair. Both the Alliance and the Federation have heavily industrialised worlds, such as Botajef and Eitti IV, and both have been expanding their fleets to the point where they can field thousands of warships. If a war does break out between the two it would be the largest war the Galaxy has seen in a thousand years. The death toll could easily be in the millions, if not billions.

“Thirdly, and perhaps most importantly, it’s an extremely dire sign of the state of the Galactic Senate. It seems apparent that both sides believe their concerns will not be addressed by the Senate, and that our government is in fact so weak, and so ineffectual, that they will face no serious consequences, regardless of what they do to each other. Speaking quite honestly, if this war is allowed to play out, what’s to stop other opportunistic actors attempting the same thing in other parts of the Galaxy? We could be seeing similar conflicts breaking out everywhere, potentially even here in the Core. Empress Teta and Alsaka have been at loggerheads for some time now, and both are right on our doorstep.”

“So, if you had any advice to give to Supreme Chancellor Palpatine, what would it be?”

“You need to take the gloves off. Centralise emergency powers in the office of the Supreme Chancellor, and crack some skulls until they stop. Whatever their issues are can be sorted out once our authority has been reasserted. As costly as it might be, the consequences of a war would be worse. I think-”

“I’m sorry to interrupt you, Professor Pulg, but we have breaking news. The Outer Rim Reform Alliance has issued a formal declaration of war against the Trade Federation, while the Senate sat in stunned silence. Senator Petvid of Raxus Secundus presented evidence to the floor that he says proves the Trade Federation offered financial and military support to a Mandalorian Revanchist group called the Death Watch, who attempted to assassinate Duchess Satine of Mandalore as part of an attempted coup that would destabilise the Alliance. On the ground in Mandalore, we’re receiving reports of street level fighting as various clans declare themselves for or against the current government. At this moment in time, we don’t know who the factions are, or the scale of the conflict, but already it is being considered a state of civil war. 

“Meanwhile, across the Outer Rim we are receiving reports of large ship movements, as both the Federation and the Alliance are dispatching their fleets. We’ve yet to hear of any battles taking place, but at this point it seems that it’s only a matter of time.”

“Don’t go anywhere, after this short break we’ll be right back with more breaking-”

The newsreader cut off with the flick of a switch, as Yetter Shaul leaned back in his piloting chair, frowning. He was a zabrak, so even if he didn’t exercise much, his high metabolism kept him from growing fat even though his work mostly involved him sitting around all day. He wasn’t quite a young man anymore, though probably not middle aged yet. His long brown mop of hair mingled with his scraggly beard, his overgrown horns in serious need of a good sand and polish. Not that appearances mattered for his work, people don’t pay long haul pilots because they’re pretty.

He was of humble beginnings, like a lot of zabrak born below the surface of Coruscant. It hadn’t been an easy life, especially when his father died while unloading a cargo ship from an overturned container falling on him. Yetter had been considering joining a gang to meet ends when the insurance payout came through. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to buy piloting lessons for a small starship, and to make a down payment for a loan on his own freighter. Ever since, Yetter hadn’t looked back once.

For the next ten years he lived as clean as a whistle, moving cargo from one end of the Galaxy to the other. There was always demand for something somewhere, and he was small enough to pick up on little contracts that the bigger companies wouldn’t notice. As a hard working owner/operator, his profit margins were pretty narrow, but enough to gradually work down his debt, one payment at a time. For years he resisted the pressure to become a smuggler, until one day the choice was made for him.

He didn’t know when it happened, he didn’t know enough about galactic macroeconomics to say how, but at some point even the little bit of profit he was making melted away. The cost of hypermatter went up, the cost of new parts went up, the cost of food went up. His little one man operation, with overheads so low you couldn’t feed a circuit worm with them, was going broke. He lived with no luxuries to speak of, but for a few cheap cafstims and some holorecordings of a few jizz wailers he liked, and was still somehow sliding into unprofitability. It was infuriating. It was unfair. He stared at that account for hours, stomach churning with discomfort, before finally he was able to accept the truth.

No matter what, he wasn’t going back to blasted Coruscant. He tried to be a good man, he really did, but that maze of back alleys and strangers haunted him. So, with a whispered apology to the spirit of his father, he reached out to a friend he knew to be in the smuggling business, and was soon plugged into the Galaxy spanning circuit of shadowy syndicates and ruthless alien cartels.

Hutts, Pikes, Weequays, Abbysinians, Zygerrians, slavers, pirates, spice dealers, and worse. They all had goods they needed to move from point a to point b without anyone knowing the wiser, and Yetter’s clean record was extremely desirable. 

Yetter didn’t have the stomach for anything truly awful, like moving slaves or organs, but he was able to live with moving stolen goods. Soon enough, his business came to revolve around transporting federation fuel rods, hyper matter, tibanna, and plasma cartridges. There was a massive, surging black market for such goods coming out of the Corporate sector. Honestly, the scale and depth of it had shocked Yetter. There were standard rates for bribes, available in an itemised table, published instruction booklets on how to avoid standard Trade Federation searches, insurance policies for smuggled goods, perks for preferred clients, you name it. Smuggling various kinds of fuel out of the Trade Federation was practically a cottage industry.

He had to wonder, how had it gotten so large? How long had it been going for? Was this sustainable?

Yetter tried not to think about it too much. He was getting paid well, and asking too many questions might lead him to dangerous answers not worth thinking about. Today, he wasn’t smuggling anything out of the Federation, he was smuggling something into it. In his cargo holds were a number of crates of blasters and food stuff frozen in carbonite. Military supplies by the looks of things, though not Federation issued.

Who was buying it? Why did it need to be smuggled?

In the end he just wasn’t paid to ask questions. Still, he sucked on the beard hairs that grew around his lip, feeling anxiety burning in his chest, his two hearts beating with unusual speed despite his physical inactivity. Here he was in the Corporate Sector, just as the Trade Federation went to war. It was such unlucky timing…

There was a ping from his holocom, and he reached over to flick it on, seeing his job calendar displayed. This wasn’t where he recorded the smuggling jobs, he wasn’t stupid enough to keep a record of that, this was where he recorded the legal courier work that was his front. The calendar was rapidly emptying itself, as clients deleted their jobs. They forfeited their security bonds, but from their perspective it was probably safer than relying on him to be able to carry goods across what was soon to be an active warzone.

More worried than ever, Yetter dialed his handler with the Ring.

“What’s up?”

“Hey uh… I’m out here in the Corporate Sector. I saw that the war was just declared, so I need to know, is this job still good?” Yetter almost felt stupid for even asking. 

“Trying to renege?” 

“No, no, ‘course not.” Yetter swallowed, nervously. He’d never been threatened by the Ring before, and he didn’t have to be. “Just worried about finding work. All my jobs on the books just quit.”

“Ah, I see the problem. Tell you what. My boss has a special interest in your current run. Don’t ask, I don’t know. But I can see he’s authorised me to offer payments for your downtime. After you make the delivery, don’t go anywhere. Just linger on the landing pad. If you stay there on standby for us, we’ll cover any overdue fees, and we’ll pay you a substantial bonus. After this job is over, I’ll see if we can’t hook you up with some of our front businesses to keep you going. That sound good?”

It meant getting even deeper in business with the Ring, but given the war that had just broken out, Yetter didn’t really believe he had a better option coming any time soon. “Alright. Thanks. I’ll take you up on that.”

“No worries. Don’t worry mate, we take care of ours.”

Not feeling much better, Yetter hung up and turned his news broadcast back on.

“-in the markets we’re already seeing the expected jump in fuel prices, demand for hypermatter and plasma has jumped through the roof in just minutes, and is expected to continue to climb even after trading closes today.”

Suddenly it occurred to Yetter why so much plasma and hypermatter was being smuggled out of the Corporate Sector. Now that the war was on, the value of the stuff was only going to keep going up and up, and up. Whoever ran the Ring had his finger on the pulse of the Galactic economy, and was making smart plans well in advance of the rest of the Galaxy.

Finally, his holocom pinged with a call from the flight tower. “Flight Tower to Yetter High Speed Couriers, we’re broadcasting your landing codes now, over.”

Finally! With practised ease, Yetter brought his humble freighter low, landing smoothly on the pad despite the howling weather.

Bonadon was hot and dry at the best of times, and the wind that blew across the landing pad wasn’t at the level of a standstorm, but it still kicked up plenty of dust and debris. Yetter was well used to the conditions of the world at this point, so took out his goggles and a dusk mask, before grabbing his compad and hurrying inside. Normally one of the Neimoidians would come out to speak to him, but on a day like this Yetter wouldn’t bet on it.

The facility was huge, easily the size of a Coruscanti spaceport, with multiple ports for ships, small and large to land. It was huge, domed, and armour plated like it was expected to withstand orbital bombardment.

The sign at the entrance had a small, easily deciphered map to offer directions. In one direction was the port, the repair shops, droid storage, personnel rooms, etc, and in another was hypermatter storage.

This was the Trade Federation’s strategic Hypermatter Reserve. Even with the outbreak of war, this facility alone had enough hypermatter stored to keep the Federation security fleets flying for at least three months. How much it would all be worth now, Yetter could only guess at.

“Are you Yetter?” The Neimoidian who greeted him just inside the entrance was a creepy looking fellow, with one milky, bulbous eye and dried, cracked skin that was flaking over his top lip. “From the Ring?”

“That’s me. You’re buying this stuff?” Yetter asked, taking out his compad and exchanging information with the Neimoidian’s own. “It’s mostly just carbonite goods and some-”

“I don’t want to know.” The Neimoidian answered, holding up his hand. “The Ring is paying me to store this stuff here. Anything more than that and I ‘m at risk of knowing too much.

Right. It was an attitude Yetter could sympathise with, though he wasn’t sure how the Ring planned to make money on a grocery run. Whatever. If they were smart enough to put together their little scheme to profit off the hypermatter they were skimming from Federation ships, then they surely had some kind of plan here.

With the exchange of permissions done, Yetter returned to his pilot’s chair, sealing the door behind him. He settled in to watch the group of droids that rolled out across the landing pad, up the ramp and began unloading his ship.

With his part done, Yetter leaned back in his chair and watched the droids work. It didn’t take them long, and they did it without accidents. While they were taking the goods off the landing pad and into the facility to find the storage room, Yetter saw something that made him gasp. One of the blocks of frozen carbonite had what looked like a hand print on it.

He swallowed, feeling guilt writhing away at him. People. The Ring was having him move people disguised as food. Were they slaves? Was he a trafficker now?

Yetter squirmed in his chair, the feeling of guilt unsettling his stomach. But who could he talk to about it? What could he tell them? Wasn’t he complicit?

He wanted to believe he was a good person, but in the end he was much like everyone else. In a dangerous Galaxy, he was always going to do what he had to so he could survive and keep flying. Anxiety led to inaction, and as the sun set Yetter eventually crawled into his cot, and fell into an uneasy sleep. 

-----

Because the Alliance had been the ones who declared war, they gained a very small advantage over the Trade Federation. Specifically, they knew the exact minute, hour and second, so were already moving their fleets just as news was breaking across the Galaxy. Ky Narec had absolutely no doubt in his mind that the Federation would have had their forces in a state of high alert. When the war was declared they would be quick to dispatch their fleets, but they would still need at least some time to calculate their hyperjumps and send their orders down the chain of command to where their Captains, Commodores and Admirals would receive it.

Twenty minutes. Maybe Ky would be able to get to Ranroon twenty minutes ahead of the Trade Federation. The distance from Liana to Ranroon was greater than the distance from Zygerria to Ranroon, which would be crucial for him to achieve victory today. Would the Force grant him more than twenty minutes? Or even less? He didn’t know. What Ky was certain of was that failing to secure Ranroon would instantly doom the Temple on Indinoor. 

The only way for the Federation located in the Corporate Sector to get into the Tion Cluster and Alliance space was through the Shaltin Tunnels, with Ranroon and Zygerria forming the two ends of a bottleneck in hyperspace. If the Alliance from the Tion Cluster wanted to push north into the Corporate Sector, they would need to pass through the Zygerrian system, but the reverse was also true. If the Federation wanted to invade the Tion Cluster, they would need to pass through the Ranroon system. The Federation already held both of them, which meant Dooku now had to secure Ranroon or the war was lost.

Ky breathed out once through his nose, long and slow, passing his feelings of nervousness into the Force and focussing his mind. Strangely, despite everything that had happened, he was feeling more at peace than he had in a long time. He was fighting to protect his home and his Jedi, and a future for Asajj.

The system was coming up now, he could feel it. None of the Neimoidian fleet commanders would be strong enough in the Force for him to sense their minds from here, but at the very least Ky was certain there were no Sith among the enemy.

“All cruisers, arm weapons and raise shields.” He ordered.

One of the technicians looked at him, surprise flaring in his mind because he had just been about to announce they were only a minute out. 

“Focus.” Ky chided him, with a smile.

The technician jumped and looked back to his console.

In just a few moments, the cone of light formed by the hyperspace tunnel disappeared with an ear splitting crash as they returned to normal speed. Inside the sector, there was already fighting under way as Jedi fighter bombers flew towards the edge of the system, chased by swarms of vulture droids. Ranroon had a security treaty with the Trade Federation, and already had a picket of Munificents in place. Currently, the Munificents and their accompanying fighter droids were chasing after the agile line of hyperspace capable Jedi bombers, who were making their way for the sector’s southern edge.

Coordinating the initial bombing with the declaration of war would have been tricky, if not for their shared ability to communicate in the Force. Mere seconds after the war was declared, the Indinoor Jedi attacked. Now the Federation picket was stretched thin, a long line of ships growing further apart like a scattered herd of lumbering wilder beasts as they chased the stinging swarms of Jedi insects. They were sitting ducks, waiting to be picked off in isolation.

“All cruisers and battleships, open fire.” Ky ordered. “Turn  the Interdictor on as soon as all our ships are in system.”

The Federation picket quickly realised they were outnumbered and out of position, and turned to run in a panicked and disordered way, acting independently of each other as they reoriented away from Ky’s fleet while continually receiving turbo laser fire. The commodores of the Indinoor fleet carefully selected each of their targets, picking off one cruiser after another. The enemy's hyperdrives spooled up, and for a brief moment, it seemed as though a majority of the enemy fleet would escape, when the Interdictor thrummed to life.

The sudden appearance of an artificial gravity well that covered a large part of the star system cut off any hope of escape. All hyperspace travel out of the Ranroon sector became impossible in an instant. It took the Federation defence picket a few minutes to realise that, and by then it was too late. Their only hope to survive now was to surrender.

“Sir. The enemy flagship is broadcasting a general surrender.”

“Good. Tell them to abandon ships and make for the surface of Ranroon.” Narec glanced at his chronometer. He was conscious of the time they were taking. As quickly as they had won the initial fight, the Alliance fleet needed to rearm and reposition for the coming enemy attack. Soon the massive fleet the Federation had been gathering for months at Zygerria would be here, and that was going to be a significantly more potent force than this local security picket.

As soon as the two dozen Munificents were disabled, and scans confirmed that the enemy ships had no more life signs, he ordered the fleet to reorient towards the sector’s northern edge.

“How are the Jedi fighters? They all make it back okay?”

“Only two of them were shot down, sir. Their pilots’ rescue transponders are active.”

Embarrassing for those pilots, but a little friendly ribbing would teach them not to do it again. Hopefully they wouldn’t be injured, and soon be able to return to combat wiser for the experience. Ky searched for them in the Force, and felt his two wayward knights reply to him in kind, relieved that he was there.

“Go on, send out the rescue freighter.”

In quick order the Munificents were scuttled, and their small crews were sent drifting into Ranroon’s atmosphere in life pods. The planetary government tried to broadcast a message, but he didn’t have time to receive it in person, instead ordering his men to reroute their call back to the Alliance’s diplomats back on Raxis.

Again, he checked his holocom’s chronometer. Twenty minutes had passed in the blink of an eye, but so far there was no sign of the enemy fleet approaching from the Corporate Sector. The fleet was on high alert and ready to receive the enemy, but still it seemed like they were far away. He reached out in the Force, searching as far as Zygerria for any signs of the enemy, but there were no Force sensitives in the sector who registered on his senses.

He pursed his lips, considering.

Taking out his holocom, he called ahead to the scouts he had on Zygerria.

“What’s happening to the enemy fleet?”

“Sir. The order came through to muster for an invasion into Ranroon, but then it was belayed.”

“Do you know why?”

“I can only speculate.”

“Well, let’s hear it.”

“We’ve got a source near the Zygerrian sector command that says he’s lost his nerve. Apparently he’s hiding in his office, pacing.”

“Huh.” Narec frowned. “And you trust your source?”

The two of them looked at each other. “Yes, sir. The Zygerrian’s have no love for the Federation out here, and our friend has been well paid.”

“Well, let me know if anything changes.” He then hung up. It seemed like the enemy fleet commander was hesitating. Waiting for reinforcements from the Corporate Sector? He wasn’t sure. For a moment he considered his own plans, fortifying the chokepoint here at Ranroon was crucial, but it seemed like the enemy was milling, confused, hesitating. There was an opportunity here, though he hesitated to jump on it.

He reached out to the Force, trying to get a sense for the future. Watch. He was told. Wait. 

Watch for what? Wait for what?

“I’m going to be meditating.” Ky decided. “Tap my shoulder if anything changes.”

He folded his legs, sitting on the deck and breathed out slowly. Watch, wait. Soon.

Soon.

-----

Inside the temporary storage bay, timers went off in sequence, and droplets began to form on the edge of the different carbonite blocks. Slowly at first, rivulets of the liquid ran off the sides and dripped down to the floor where it pooled in dark grey masses. As the slimy fluids fell away, bundles of vegetables and fruits defrosted and rolled away, revealing the shapes beneath. Men, stacked on top of each other carelessly, like a pile of bodies, though every one of them was very much still alive.

They were young and fit, with hard, taught muscles and calloused hands. They were shivering from the cold at first, crowding together and blowing on their own trembling fingers to get some warmth back into their extremities. Despite the pain they were in, none of them said a word, none of them panicked. At first they were blind, tears running freely down their faces as they worked the gunk from the eyes. It took a while, but gradually their sight returned and one by one they rolled off of each other, finally climbing to shaking feet. Carefully, with practiced precision, they opened some of the crates they’d brought in with them, and took out body suits and armour.

They armed themselves, pushing shoulders through sleeves and stamping feet to go their boots on. They distributed blasters between them, and loaded their scatterguns. Not the old crude ones that could only fire twice and would scatter smoke everywhere, but new, black and sleek, with extended magazines and casings as thick as a man’s thumb. They had grenades, climbing harnesses, medical kits and slicing tools.

When at last they were all but ready for war, they placed their helmets on, and as one gathered around a final block of carbonite. This one they didn’t leave laying on the ground, but stood it so that it was upright. One of them reached forward, flicking the switch on the side of it, then stepped over to kneel in front of it. That soldiers all formed a line to either side of him, kneeling before the melting carbonite with their heads lowered in reverence. The fruits and vegetables which had disguised its contents fell away, rolling and bouncing to the floor to reveal a feminine form.

Clad only in her underwear, Tan’ya began to stir. When the melting carbonite fell away from her torso, she drew in a long, shuddering breath, but remained upright. Despite the bitter cold she pressed the palms of her hands together, and closed her eyes. In but a moment, warmth had spread from the Force and to the rest of her body, spreading pins and needles all over her. With a little press of her mind, the rivulets of wet carbonite that had been clinging to her fell away.

When she opened her eyes, they were blood shot, but she could see her soldiers clearly, kneeling before her. All of them were holding out the pieces of her armour, offering them to her. One piece at a time, Tan’ya used the Force to pull to herself first the body suit, then the grieves, the boots, the breast plates, the pauldrons and the gauntlets. Finally she took up a light saber and a blaster, sliding them into the holsters on each hip.  The only pieces that remained in the hands of her men were the helmet, and a small black cube of stainer.

Tan’ya hated war, but she had to admit that she was feeling relieved to be returning to it.

War was a terrible waste of human resources. War destroyed trillions of credits of material, and cut short the lives of countless talented young sentients. Even after it was over, the societies that took part in it would spend decades struggling to reorient their economies away from producing war materials, often leading to economic depression and stagnation. There was no one who could look at the staggering costs and risks of war, and conclude that it was anything other than a senseless waste.

This particular war was a long time coming. Worse than a regular war, worse than a civil war, worse than an unjust war, or even an industrialised war, was a lost war. To be crushed under the heel of a foreign oppressor, to be humiliated and robbed of your livelihood, your hope for the future, was not to live at peace. This was the state of a nation that had been brought low, defeated, and made subject. This was a kind of war waged on the soul, even after the violence had stopped.

The simple truth was that Serenno and the Outer Rim Alliance were going to war with the Trade Federation because they couldn’t stomach the thought of such a false peace for a minute longer. Peace with the Trade Federation was hardly more than shaking hands with a parasite even as it drained your blood. It was rigged markets where you always lose and a bleak future where all productivity was sucked up and sent straight to the pockets of beings who held you in contempt.

War, for all its horrors, had some simple virtues. Two nations bent towards destroying each other were being fundamentally honest in their intentions. There were countless lies told to win a war, but war was by its nature more honest than peace ever could be. It was a proving ground, a chance for a new generation to demonstrate its own brilliance in a true test of the wits across every field of human endeavor. Science, engineering, economics, spycraft, tactics, strategy, and simple martial valor. War pitted people against each other in every possible area of human conflict, and demonstrated who was greater. 

And so that was the question. The Trade Federation and the Corporate Sector it ruled over thought itself greater than the other powers of the Outer Rim, and now those same powers had risen up to prove them wrong.

Tan’ya stared at her astrography chart, her eyes turning from planet to star, fleet to sector, checking unit disposition reports, and considered her plans one final time. She breathed out once, swallowing, before leaning back. If there was ever a time to back out, it had long since passed. This was it. The culmination of a decade of work and planning.

The Federation and the Alliance were now locked in mortal conflict. If the Federation were defeated, their empire would melt away, like so many others had before. If the Alliance were defeated, they would suffer under alien subjugation and exploitation for another generation.
She reached out with her hand, taking the cube of stainer from one of the men, and waited for a moment for the men to take out their own.

“Now let the proving begin.” Tan’ya murmured, before passing the little black cube between her lips and chewing. Her men did so as well, each eating his piece of stainer. Finally, with their teeth stained black, they all as one took the helmets and pulled them over their heads.

Gone were the young men and women of Serenno, and in their place strode forth war and death.