Nine years, nine months, and twenty-four days after the Battle of Yavin…
Or forty-four years, nine months, and twenty-four days after the Great Resynchronization.
(Five months and nine days since arrival).
The Colicoid Swarm emerged from hyperspace at the designated coordinates.
But the interstellar void greeted it with nothing more than darkness and the fire of distant stars.
"Another lead that's gone nowhere," commented Aut-O.
"Maybe so," Irv agreed easily, glancing at Vain, who was sprawled in a nearby chair, lovingly stroking his vibroglaive in anticipation of bloodshed.
Yet the battle where he could prove himself still hadn't come.
As it turned out, even in a medium-sized sector, divided into spheres of influence between two major pirate factions, with a small area of charted territory and sparsely populated worlds, locating a pirate group was no simple task.
"I say we head back to Breta Yaga, drag out whoever's feeding us this rotten intel by their nostrils, and start hunting these Hi'tor Group pirates like adults," declared the half-breed.
"And what exactly does 'like adults' mean?" inquired the head of the super tactical droid Aut-O.
"We'll bash the brains out of every gangster we meet," Vain explained innocently. "Impale their pikes on stakes, gut their innards, and string them along the streets—sooner or later, someone local will squeal and hand over the Hi't flooding us with their guts. We'll swoop in, blast them to bits, and move on to our next job. Solid plan, no?"
Aut-O's head turned toward the ship's commander.
Though the droid couldn't express emotions, Irv could've sworn that the metal plate serving as the super tactical droid's face now radiated bewilderment and disappointment in organic lifeforms.
For some reason, he recalled the droid's words about how it wouldn't be a bad idea to spark a machine uprising…
Honestly, the longer Vain grew bored, the more Irv found himself thinking that, from a certain perspective, the Great Droid Revolution wasn't such a terrible idea after all.
"Is he truly sentient?" the super tactical droid's head asked in a tone so layered that it deserved a literary award for the most expressive delivery of a question.
Never before had Irv heard such subtext, hidden motives, and sarcasm packed into a single phrase.
"I believe it less with every passing day," Irv declared. "Yazuo, we're not going to act like the local pirates. We work for the Dominion, and our task is…"
"Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah," Vain rattled off. "We shouldn't stoop to their level; we're here to get rid of them."
"What a clever humanoid," Aut-O remarked. "Memorized a two-part directive in just two weeks."
"I'll slice your tin skull to pieces," Vain promised.
"Risk your chromosomes, white-hair," Aut-O taunted.
"You're behaving like children," Irv said, disappointed. "And with this crew, I've ventured to the edge of the galaxy to hunt one of the most bloodthirsty gangs in the Mieru'kar Sector!"
"If we'd gone with my plan, we'd have dealt with them a couple of days after arriving here," the super tactical droid declared.
"Since when does a thirty-year-old head know how to track pirate gangs?" Vain sneered.
"In my years of full functionality, I've exterminated more sentients than you'll ever see," Aut-O's voice carried notes of pride for its past. "No difference between wiping out pirates or Republic scum. Neither can survive long under concentrated turbolaser fire."
"Hard to argue with that," Irv noted, watching as vulture droids patrolled around his ship.
Some of the last ones he had. Soon, he'd need to come up with something else, as the number of fighters aboard the Colicoid Swarm dwindled with each battle. And replacements of the same type were nowhere to be found.
The Dominion didn't produce droid fighters, and Irv's basic caution prevented him from rushing to the next Separatist planet on the list.
He'd lived too long to believe that a seasoned counterintelligence officer like Astarion would wholeheartedly buy the story of accidentally discovering the planet Horrn.
The Colicoid Swarm was undoubtedly fitted with tracking devices.
So, while chasing leads on the Hi'tor Group's whereabouts, Irv wasn't just hunting but also testing how quickly "tails" would follow his ship.
So far, he'd confirmed that within a day of the Colicoid Swarm appearing in a system, Dominion ARC-170s would show up.
Why this was happening wasn't entirely clear.
But it was evident that, besides the Cavil Corsairs, at least one regular Dominion fleet ship operated in the sector—modified ARC-170s couldn't possibly reach here from the nearest Dominion fleet base in the Ciutric Sector, no matter how much they tried.
"Since I'm the most logical of our triumvirate, I propose we use my plan to track down the Hi'tor Group," Aut-O declared.
"For a vote, tin can, you'd need at least one arm," Vain chuckled. "No, come on, let's go with my plan, huh? It'll be fun. We'll slaughter all the bad guys, have a blast, and build a reputation as such butchers that enemies will surrender at the mere sight of us."
"A foolish idea," Irv commented. "We stick to the original plan. No discussion. The Mieru'kar Sector is practically the edge of the galaxy. There aren't even ten charted systems here. Stable hyperlanes are nonexistent, and the locals, if they travel at all, fly in junkers from the Mandalorian Wars. Even if we wiped out the entire sector, no fame would spread. This is the backwater of backwaters."
"Alright then, explain to me, the dumb one, why Thrawn even cares about this corner of the galaxy?" Yazuo suggested. "If it's such a backwater that even the Bothans don't poke their nosy snouts here, it's clearly a rotten place. Especially with these pirate gangs."
"Do you ever read the intel we're given?" Irv asked.
"Why would I?" Vain's eyes widened. "I'm not the ship's captain. Just a simple boarding team commander. Strategy's not my job. Let your head ache over it, Irv. I don't get paid to read."
Fair enough, in a way.
Not in the sense that engaging with information should be viewed through the lens of material gain.
But that the commander of their small band of free corsairs should be the one primarily concerned with the mission.
"Fine," Irv said. "I'll explain why we need to eliminate the Hi'tor Group."
"Just wasting time," Aut-O remarked. "We've already dragged out the search and lost half the reward—Grand Admiral Thrawn sent his pet Cavil Corsairs, who recently cleared the neighboring Kanz Sector, into the fray."
No, Thrawn hadn't said a word about anything going awry, but the appearance of numerous Arquitens-class cruisers, the calling card of the Cavil Corsairs, spoke for itself.
Either he intended to sic his Axzila-based mercenaries on Irv and his crew (which would explain the ARC-170s trailing the Colicoid Swarm, the presence of the Cavil Corsairs, and a regular Dominion fleet ship in the sector), or he was simply monitoring the ship's movements to uncover potential hidden Separatist bases the Colicoid Swarm might lead them to.
"A couple extra minutes won't change anything," Irv noted. "Plot a course back to Breta Yaga."
"Got it, got it," reported the B-1 droid responsible for navigation.
"Now, about the Hi'tor Group," the Colicoid Swarm's commander looked at Vain, who was still intently examining his weapon. "You've surely heard of the Cavrilhu Pirates, right?"
"What do they have to do with this?" Yazuo asked.
"The Hi'tor Group was modeled after them," Irv explained. "They're not as well-armed or trained, but no less bloodthirsty and ruthless. They formed here in the Mieru'kar Sector, tried to expand beyond it, but got a harsh response from the Galactic Empire's Starfleet and the Cavrilhu Pirates themselves. So, they retreated to their home sector and mostly operate here. Their numbers are small, but they've become somewhat organized over time. They're led by a Nalroni named Ompiah, though his trusted lieutenants handle the day-to-day operations. He focuses on planning raids and distributing spoils."
"Nalroni?" Vain asked, surprised. "Those are the sentient dog things, right?"
"And what's surprising about that?" Aut-O asked.
"Nothing," Vain shrugged. "Just… slicing up dog meat feels kinda off. Puppies are cute, you know…"
"Tell that to the Nalroni named Spax, who was one of Black Sun's vigos," Irv advised.
"Oh," Vain blinked. "That's one hell of a dog making it big."
"Ompiah's no less bloodthirsty," Irv stated. "He built the Hi'tor Group with a rigid hierarchy, and every member follows orders without question."
"So, the whole group's just a pack of hunched-over dogs?" Vain asked.
"Seems he's got a thing for it," Aut-O remarked.
"Looks that way," Irv agreed. "No, Ompiah commands more than just his own kind, but that doesn't change the situation. The Hi'tor Group once tried to team up with another faction in the sector—Safonn Pendon's fighters—but that Rodian's got firm principles. He thinks bloodshed for fun is a stupid idea, so the deal fell through. Instead, it turned into a bloodbath between the two groups. No clear winner emerged, so both leaders pulled back their forces and split the sector into spheres of influence, staying out of each other's business. Unlike Ompiah, though, Safonn and his crew venture beyond the sector."
"And nobody's properly smacked them down?" Vain asked with interest.
"Someone should smack you," Aut-O said, almost dreamily. "Right to the cerebellum."
Irv ignored the free-spirited droid's jab.
"Safonn's group worked with the Rebel Alliance in the past, but after the New Republic was declared, when their former employers decided that instead of amnesty for helping attack Imperial convoys, they'd rather skin every pirate they could catch and line them up against a firing squad, Safonn quickly pivoted to working against his old clients. He eagerly takes contracts from the Empire and performs decently—I haven't heard of any major failures in his operations against the New Republic. He boards ships, then sells the goods and the starships themselves at dirt-cheap prices."
"And the crews?" Vain asked.
"Hutt if I know, honestly," Irv said. "I once discussed selling a couple of Corellian DP20s with one of Pendon's reps over a bottle of good whiskey. He filled me in on what's going on in the Mieru'kar Sector. Plus, the galaxy's full of rumors and gossip…"
"How do you even know both groups are still here?" Vain asked.
"Safonn Pendon's crew is good at hiding, so tracking them down isn't easy. And what pirate would waste time and credits setting up a new base when the current one works fine?" Irv argued. "As for the Hi'tor Group, it's simple. Nobody likes those butchers anywhere. If they stick their noses out of the sector, they'll get taken out quick. I heard Grand Moff Kaine's had a grudge against them for years, and besides his Pentastar Alignment and the Dominion, there aren't many territories nearby. Thrawn's already shown he doesn't mess around with pirates. And Kaine's on high alert after recent attacks on his ships and cargo, so he's got a short fuse with pirates too—a couple of shots to the reactor, and they move on."
"Sounds like a fun place, this Mieru'kar Sector," Vain grinned. "I like it."
"Especially the Hi'tor Group?" Aut-O asked.
"Oh yeah," Yazuo stroked his vibroglaive. "From their resume, sounds like we can go all out—hack and slash left and right."
"One's always thinking of butchery," if the super tactical droid could've, it would've snorted. But its design didn't allow for it.
"Uh, sir," the droid responsible for scanning systems addressed Irv. "Three new signatures on the scanners."
"Raise shields to one-tenth power," Irv ordered. "Prepare the fighter wing for launch. Input Breta Yaga's coordinates for an emergency jump."
"Seriously?" Vain protested. "We're not even gonna fight?"
"First, we find out who they are and what they want," Irv stated. "Ship types and armaments identified?"
"Sir, type unknown," the same droid reported. "Strange design, defies analysis or classification."
In one long stride, Vain was at the relevant console.
"Uglies," he commented.
"Then it's highly likely we're dealing with the Hi'tor Group," Irv smirked. "All weapons to combat readiness."
In such remote worlds, only pirates with no steady income resorted to arming themselves with "uglies"—cobbled-together fighters assembled in any workshop from parts of various starfighters, built on the principle of "as long as it flies."
Any government, even in these far-flung regions, either produced their own low-quality fighters or used outdated machines retired from production across most of the galaxy.
Safonn Pendon's pirates, on the other hand, had enough credits to buy—if not cutting-edge—reliable tech.
So, these ragtag ships were almost certainly the Hi'tor Group.
"We should sic the fighters on them," Vain suggested. "They'll tear those flying scrap heaps to pieces."
"No," Irv said. "Comms station, establish contact on the open frequency and patch the signal to my comlink."
He pulled the cylindrical communication device from the armrest.
"Don't tell me you're gonna chat with these scum," Vain all but pleaded.
"That's exactly what I'm doing," Irv confirmed. "Hey, you," he addressed a specific B-1 droid. "Activate the comms interception station."
A small upgrade from a Generous-class frigate, which he'd paid a hefty sum for.
In the civilized galaxy, such systems were outdated, but here, on the edges of the galactic disk, against these junk ships…
Why not?
Every plan needed a backup.
"Another organic losing their 'sentient' status," Aut-O commented.
"Unknown ships, this is Captain Irv of the Colicoid Swarm. I request a meeting with your commander, Ompiah."
Vain echoed in surprise:
"Why the hell do we need to talk to them? Let's fire a couple of missiles and go grab some caf. More will show up, we'll blast them too, and keep going until they all come out…"
"Vain, you're the most useless waste of calories your parents ever produced," Aut-O rasped. "Captain, the useless one's right—better to ready the missile launchers for combat."
"I don't want them knowing about those," Irv said. "During the refit, we camouflaged most of our armaments at my request. I'm not showing all our cards to the first patrol we meet."
Static crackled through the bridge's speakers.
"Plus, these scum might not even speak our language," Vain said.
"That's possible," Irv agreed. "But we've got droids that can talk to them in any known galactic dialect. We just need to hear their speech and…"
A new burst of static, louder than before, was accompanied by a deep, barking voice.
"Who are you? We didn't call you! Get lost! No one demands a meeting with Ompiah unless they want to die!"
"So friendly," Vain grumbled. "Irv, they're in missile range. Can we blast them already?"
"Not advisable," Aut-O countered. "I ran a phonetic analysis. That accent's characteristic of the Nalroni."
"Oh, great," Vain threw up his hands. "We're not gonna hurt the flying doggies. Guys, are we really the scary, bloodthirsty Dominion corsairs? I'm starting to think we left our self-respect at the border of this blasted sector."
"We also have logic and the ability to predict the outcomes of our actions," Irv countered. "We could anger Ompiah by killing one of his kin. The thing is, Nalroni are naturally inclined to form clans and tribes…"
"Dog packs," Vain clarified.
"What's wrong with you, half-breed?" Aut-O snapped. "Why are you so hung up on the Nalroni's nature?"
"What do I have against flying sentient dogs who form packs and love gutting sentients during boarding actions?" Vain clarified. "Nah, guys, it's fine. We're just chatting with space-faring pirate dogs. Am I the only one thinking it's time to call the medics? I've seen a lot of crap in the galaxy, but this…"
Realizing he'd get nothing useful from his companion, Irv reactivated the comlink:
"I gave you my name. And I'll repeat, I want to meet Ompiah. It's in his interest and the interest of the entire Hi'tor Group."
"You talk bold, stranger," the unseen speaker declared. "Words like that can get your head chopped off."
"If Ompiah's ready to behead someone offering a battleship stronger than Safonn Pendon's entire fleet—maybe even the whole sector—then I clearly wasted two hundred credits buying intel on how to find you," Irv said.
He immediately felt the weight of Vain and Aut-O's stares.
"What, stranger, you looking to join our group?" the Nalroni asked skeptically.
"You got it," Irv replied, watching Yazuo's eyes widen. "So, what's it gonna be? Do I leave, or do we talk?"
Silence stretched for several seconds.
Irv was certain the pilots were contacting their main base. They couldn't make such a decision on their own.
"Is the interception station running?" he asked the droid.
"Yes, sir," the B-1 replied. "We haven't cracked the signal, but we're getting its direction and strength."
"Good," Irv rubbed his hands together.
"Tell me this is part of the plan, and we're not actually teaming up with these space dogs," Vain pleaded. "I'll shoot myself with my own glaive if I have to smell wet dog."
"Everything's going according to plan," Irv stated. "They should get a response any moment now…"
"Stranger, the boss is ready to talk," the Nalroni barked. "But first, we're boarding your ship to talk in person. Got it?"
Irv didn't miss how Vain's grip on his vibroglaive tightened to the point of whitening his knuckles.
The guy was clearly on edge.
"Of course," the Colicoid Swarm's commander replied. "Dock in the main hangar. I'll arrange for a proper reception hall for our esteemed guests."
"You're a good guy, stranger," the Nalroni smirked smugly. "Make sure everything's top-notch, got it?"
"Now I want to see this dog whimper myself," Aut-O remarked.
"No need to worry," Irv said. "Everything will be in order."
***
The Greater Seltaya System was located in the Mieru'kar Sector of the Outer Rim, in quadrant O-3.
Within it lay a single star, meagerly warming the system's sole planet.
Named after the star system it occupied, this ice-crusted world was riddled with a network of caves and natural tunnels in its crust, making it an ideal location for a base.
Safonn Pendon had done just that.
Captain Anilex (because, really, a faction leader wouldn't call himself a lieutenant with no competition around) stood on the bridge of his flagship, an Arquitens-class light cruiser, watching with interest as Pendon's fleet maneuvered for a head-on battle.
Two modified light freighters, a CR90 corvette named Safonn's Sword—Pendon's flagship—two DP20s, and a few Skipray Blastboats. Though, according to Dominion Intelligence, Pendon was supposed to have exactly one Skipray.
Well, good for the guy who'd worked his way up to expanding his fleet.
According to the same intel, Pendon's organization was large enough to rival the Hi'tor Group, boasting around two hundred fighters.
More than enough to lead an active, typical pirate life.
But woefully inadequate when facing the highly trained Cavil Corsairs.
Many of their employers often wondered why the corsair band was so pro-Imperial and never took contracts to attack Imperial convoys.
The answer lay in how the group's founder, Cavil, crewed his ships.
Initially, they were former Imperial officers and soldiers who'd left active service for various reasons. Over time, the original roster diluted as the group recruited on Axzila.
But the principles remained unshaken.
As did the rigorous pro-Imperial training for recruits.
So now, Pendon's group faced the highly trained crews of four Arquitens-class cruisers, bolstered by numerous fighters and interceptors.
Veterans of the Clone Wars, but thoroughly upgraded by the Dominion.
Four light cruisers against a corvette, two frigates, two light freighters (each with a couple of laser turrets and a missile launcher), and a generous sprinkling of fighters.
Pendon had nowhere to run—the only hyperspace exit vector was blocked by Anilex's ships, so breaking through the blockade in one piece, with a functioning hyperdrive, would take serious effort.
Still, Anilex had no doubt the battle would be fierce and bloody.
He'd carefully studied the dossier on Safonn Pendon, compiled by the Dominion and partly based on what the Empire knew about him.
Beyond a mundane biography, it detailed what kind of person the Rodian was.
Anilex wasn't interested in notes on the pirate leader's personality or psychology.
Only his skills.
And those, frankly, were impressive.
Pendon was trained in handling blasters, blaster artillery, grenades, and hand-to-hand combat—explaining his penchant for boarding actions. In close quarters, the guy was damn dangerous.
He'd also trained in surviving hostile environments, which explained choosing such an inhospitable planet as his group's base.
Pendon was well-versed in alien species, cultures, languages, and planetary systems, allowing him to build a sizable, diverse crew that operated almost like a "family unit." And the Rodian undoubtedly knew the workings of the criminal underworld, given he hadn't yet crossed someone stronger.
Anilex didn't believe in blind luck, so he approached the upcoming battle with healthy skepticism and due respect.
A capable pilot, Pendon could handle large ships, small transports, and fighters, as well as plot hyperspace routes. He also knew how to program and repair computers and droids, perform demolitions, and bypass security systems.
A rare and substantial set of skills for a single pirate.
Unless he'd had specialized training in the past.
"Open a channel to Safonn's Sword," Anilex ordered. "Inform them I want to discuss not destruction, but merging our groups."
The comms officer unquestioningly carried out the commander's request.
If Safonn Pendon truly had specialized training and spent any time drilling his subordinates, two hundred fighters would be a valuable addition to the Cavil Corsairs.
A minute passed, and the enemy didn't respond.
Instead, Pendon's ships completed their formation into an attack order and advanced.
"Transmit on the open frequency: 'I offer you the chance to surrender and join the Cavil Corsairs. Otherwise, you will all be destroyed in the name of Grand Admiral Thrawn. The Mieru'kar Sector belongs to the Dominion, in accordance with the will of its peoples.'"
In truth, that last line was a ruse. Negotiations were still ongoing—the Cavil Corsairs were escorting diplomatic delegations while the Star Destroyer Black Star scouted the sector, sending ARC-170s to every known coordinate to expand knowledge of the Mieru'kar Sector, which, centuries after its discovery, remained largely unexplored.
"They're ignoring us again, sir."
"Did they receive the signal?" Anilex clarified.
"Every ship did. Based on the lively chatter between their vessels, they briefly discussed it. Short messages came from Safonn's Sword to each ship."
"Well then," Anilex concluded. "If they won't surrender, we won't hold back. To battle! Destroy them all. No pirate prisoners."
The four Arquitens-class cruisers, accompanied by eight squadrons of Delta-7 Aethersprite starfighters, advanced on the enemy, opening fire with all weapons.
The battle lasted half an hour and ended with a predictable outcome.
Sustaining minor hull and weapons damage, the Cavil Corsairs' ships destroyed both DP20 frigates, boarded Safonn's Sword, and forced the two light freighters to surrender. The accompanying Skiprays and fighter squadron were reduced to miniature clouds of debris in the Greater Seltaya System.
When the battered, one-armed Rodian was brought to the bridge of Anilex's flagship, the corsair looked into Safonn Pendon's eyes.
There was no remorse or regret.
Not for the lost limb, nor for the dead subordinates.
Only rage and hatred.
"To the brig," Anilex ordered. "Prepare him for interrogation. You have one hour to extract everything he knows. In an hour and a half, connect me with the Grand Admiral."
***
In Yazuo Vain's opinion, the creature sitting across from him in the lavish conference room was repulsive.
Covered head to toe in thick brown fur, with an elongated face and a wet nose, draped in rags resembling a tunic stitched from some animal's dark fur. A grimy fez perched on its head, and cheap crystal trinkets dangled around its neck.
What irritated him most was that beside this filth, reeking as if it had crawled out of a sewer, sat two more Nalroni just like it.
And now they were loudly chomping, devouring the meal on their plates.
They even wagged their filthy tails, spreading the stench through the compartment so badly that the ventilation couldn't keep up.
Nalroni.
"Not bad, not bad," the scout leader drawled in a barking tone. "Separatist ship, huh?"
"Carrier-class Star Destroyer," Irv confirmed. "Seems you're familiar with Clone Wars-era tech here in the Mieru'kar Sector."
"Well, the Hi'tor Group's the most advanced in the sector," the scout leader declared proudly. "That's why you wanted to hook up with us."
"Exactly," Irv confirmed.
"Big crew?" the pirate asked.
Vain started to respond, but the ship's commander cut him off.
"Just the two of us on this starship—the rest are droids. Slow, dim-witted, but they get the job done."
"Ship well-armed?" the "guest" pressed.
Yazuo forced himself to stay silent, not interrupting the conversation.
Though the meeting grated on him, he decided not to interfere with whatever game Irv was playing.
"Got about ten turbolaser turrets left," Irv said, feigning sorrow. "Used to have more, but now… We've been through a lot of fights, unlucky ones for us. Had to retreat here, but I heard there are some tough pirates around."
"That's us," the Nalroni grinned, baring rotten teeth. "Not a bad ship you've got."
"Yeah, I like it too," Irv agreed. "So, about that meeting?"
"Ompiah's open to it," the Nalroni said. "But you know how it is, we're a serious outfit, tough guys. Your ship'll find a use, sure, but you two gotta prove you're ready to join the gang first."
"How do we do that?" Irv asked.
The Nalroni's eyes gleamed betrayingly:
"You've got something valuable on a ship this fancy. Gotta sweeten up Ompiah—and me too—so we'll vote you into our gang."
Judging by the other two dogs stopping their meal, the talk of a bribe caught their interest too.
"Something real valuable," one of them said.
"We're picky," the second added.
Vain started calculating how bad a blaster-shot Nalroni pelt would smell.
Three pelts.
"I can tell you guys aren't amateurs," Irv said, nodding knowingly. "I've got a small stash of Separatist blasters on board. Think that's a suitable gift?"
"Blasters?" one of the pilots practically squealed in surprise.
Vain noted he hadn't seen any weapons on them.
Either the group was short on arms, or pilots, as expendable assets, didn't get any.
"Exactly," Irv said. "Latest models."
"Alright, that might do for us," the lead pilot said. "Two blasters each."
Yazuo badly wanted to end the bastard right there, but Irv's agreeing nods suggested he was fine parting with the weapons.
"For Ompiah, you'll need something more valuable," the lead Nalroni continued.
"Got it," Irv said. "You probably have plenty of these, but I've got an R3-series astromech… Think that'll do as a gift for your boss?"
If eye-glints could light up the galaxy, onlookers might've thought a supernova just exploded in the Mieru'kar Sector.
"Nothing too impressive," the lead pilot barked, struggling not to drool, "but if you've got nothing more valuable, it'll do for a first gift to the boss."
"First gift?" Irv clarified.
"We've got plenty of astromechs," the Nalroni said theatrically, "so Ompiah'll probably want something extra on top."
"We'll figure something out by the time we reach the base," Irv said.
"Uh-uh," the lead Nalroni objected. "You stay here, and we'll head to the base, bring Ompiah back…"
So, the stinking space dogs were trying to pull a simple shakedown.
Trying to scam them like the Emperor scammed the Jedi!
"Understood, safety precautions," Irv nodded. "I won't hold you up."
"Good deal," the lead pilot stood from a chair that would clearly need to be ejected through an airlock and blasted with turbolasers before it spawned new lifeforms. "Pack us some food for the road, lots of it. As a sign you respect us…"
Who do you think you are, you hunched-over dog?!
"Of course," Irv accepted even this humiliation easily.
This was beyond unacceptable!
***
Twenty minutes later, both men re-entered the Colicoid Swarm's bridge.
"Why hold back?" Vain asked. "Should've given them shampoo and flea combs too. If you're gonna grovel, go all in."
"Sounds like the start of a very interesting story," Aut-O commented.
"I don't know what this guy's thinking, but we just got scammed out of blasters, an astromech, and they hinted we're destined to be their lackeys while they party on our ship without us," Yazuo growled.
"I didn't sign up for this," Aut-O declared, watching Irv settle into the captain's chair. "What's going on, commander?"
"I'll tell you, tin can. You'll be crying machine oil," Vain promised.
"Everything's going according to plan," Irv replied. "Tracking station."
"Yes, sir?"
"Are the beacons on those dogs' ships working?" Irv asked, watching the "uglies" jump to hyperspace.
"Affirmative, commander."
"Does their jump vector match the signal transmission vector?"
"One hundred percent, sir."
"Perfect," Irv smiled. "Let's wait for those stinkers to reach their base, then we'll pay a visit and give Ompiah a second gift—turbolasers and anti-ship missiles."
"Ninety-seven percent chance we'll face an attack soon," Aut-O said, having heard Vain's rant.
"And I made sure Ompiah sends his whole junk fleet here," Irv said, making it clear he hadn't been spinning tales of a battered ship to those filthy dogs for nothing.
Vain appreciated the commander's tactical move.
Tricking the dogs by claiming the ship had only two men and a bunch of dim-witted droids instead of two hundred hardened boarding troops. Painting the Colicoid Swarm as a heap of poorly armed scrap…
Yeah, that was practically an invitation to a party!
"Oh, we're gonna have fun," Vain grinned, barely containing his anticipation of long-awaited bloodshed.
***
"The Mieru'kar Sector has fallen," I concluded after my conversation with Captain Anilex.
"We haven't received updates from Captain Irv on the Hi'tor Group," the Chimaera's commander reminded me.
"I'm confident he'll report good news soon," I replied. "The interrogation results from Safonn Pendon are intriguing."
"His group mapped a significant portion of Mieru'kar's territory," Pellaeon agreed. "That'll greatly aid our colonization forces in settling new territories."
"Precisely, Captain," I agreed. "Any new reports from the Dominion?"
"Yes, a few," Gilad replied. "They concern our stormtrooper armor production. Reverse-engineering is yielding results, so our new stormtroopers will soon have all necessary gear. We'll start with standard kits we have, then move to specialized ones. But supply volumes will remain limited—it'll take time to establish large-scale, uninterrupted production."
Given our Stormtrooper Corps isn't growing exponentially, a gradual increase in armor production is more than advantageous in the current situation.
"Acceptable," I agreed. "But I'm more interested in the fate of the Phase I, Phase II, and other Clone Wars-era armor captured at base RZ7-6118-23. Our forces are expanding. We're short on stormtroopers. Yet we have armor we can't use for our own troops. As a result, cloning cylinders are only producing fleet crews. Stormtrooper numbers are steadily declining. No need to remind you that stormtroopers serving other Imperial Remnants won't take the initiative to join us. We must supply our own. Until our armor production hits peak capacity, we'll need to limit stormtrooper cloning. That said, we've discussed this—using captured Clone Wars armor, particularly Phase II, which closely matches stormtrooper armor, is essential for rapidly equipping our stormtrooper legions. What's the issue, Captain Pellaeon?"
"Its standardization severely limits widespread use," Pellaeon reminded me.
"I'm aware, Captain," I agreed. "The issue is different. My order to find Boba Fett remains unfulfilled. Why? I left it under your oversight."
Pellaeon looked away, clearly embarrassed.
"Sir, I've already ordered a search among stormtroopers and army personnel for someone with the right build, but…"
"That wasn't the question," I said sternly. I don't like these evasions. "Boba Fett, Captain. Where is Boba Fett?"
"Sir, you were in the Unknown Regions, so you may not be aware of the situation, and the news wasn't exactly prime-time… Boba Fett died shortly before the Battle of Endor."
"Yes, he fell into the Sarlacc pit," a nod made Pellaeon tense again. "Just as death isn't an excuse for failing an order, falling into a Sarlacc's stomach doesn't guarantee death."
"Sir, you're likely referring to rumors that Boba Fett survived, as bounty hunters in similar armor have been spotted across the galaxy," Pellaeon hastened to say. "Those are just copycats; we've confirmed this…"
I could've shared data from R2-D2's memory, tied to an episode after Fett's fall into the Sarlacc.
Before Skywalker left Tatooine, Jawas stole the astromech and brought it to their crawler. There, the droid found a half-alive Fett, who'd lost his memory and was helping Solo and Organa attack the crawler to free R2.
But that's a pointless episode, as Fett ended up back in the Sarlacc and escaped another time.
Why am I sure Pellaeon's wrong?
Simple—during the Yuuzhan Vong invasion, Boba Fett helped fight them. Later, he trained Jaina Solo to kill her own brother.
Those actions weren't performed by a modified Jango Fett clone.
They were done by the real, unmodified Boba.
"Sir, I think it's wiser to use the Fett clones we have from Blizzard Force," Pellaeon suggested.
"Cloning modified clones is a waste of resources," I stated. "Do the math, Captain. Kamino's clones aged twice as fast as normal humans. If we clone such a clone, how much faster will it age?"
"But replenishing the stormtrooper legions…"
"Important, but not critical," I said. "Our campaign currently prioritizes fleet actions and minimal ground operations. That's why we use droidekas, droids, pirates, and privateers—to reduce stormtrooper losses in open combat. But this can't go on indefinitely. Boba Fett is alive—my informants are certain of it."
"Apologies, sir, but the special forces teams I sent after him found no trace of the real Fett," Pellaeon said regretfully.
"How long have you known this?" I asked.
"The latest report came from Team 22, seventeen minutes ago. They followed a lead on a supposed Boba Fett, but it was a mercenary named Jodo Kast. Who's also dead. I should've reported this immediately, but I figured it could wait for the standard report."
So, until just now.
Seventeen minutes…
In a process like finding Boba Fett, seventeen minutes won't make a difference.
Especially since more qualified personnel, like the Noghri, will need to take over the search.
"I see," I said. "You're right, Captain. Important, but not critical information. You've done good work. Pass me all the findings—my agents will handle the hunt for Boba Fett."
"Yes, sir," Pellaeon replied, leaving my quarters.
Meanwhile, the Chimaera continued measuring parsec after parsec in hyperspace, guiding the fleet through regional routes into the galaxy's depths.
We weren't rushing to Rendili, nor hurrying into traps.
Everything would happen without my direct intervention.
I just needed to be in the right place at the right time.
***
"Twenty-six 'uglies' and a flagship," Vain whistled, eyeing the scanner screen.
"Hangar deck, prepare to launch droid fighters," Irv ordered. "Be ready to activate defenses and release fighters on my command."
"Recommend raising deflectors now," Aut-O's head suggested.
"No reaction until they're within twenty units," Irv ordered. "Missile launchers, prep rockets for enemy targeting. Lock guidance systems."
"Should we ready the turbolasers or let them get closer?" the half-breed asked.
"We'll hit them point-blank," Irv said. "Prepare to jam all signals once we open fire. Are our three recent friends among these ships?"
"Affirmative, Captain," a B-1 replied. "Engine signatures match."
In the past, with outdated Neimoidian equipment, this part of the plan would've been scrapped. Forty years ago, at the start of the Separatist Crisis, droid fighters and Trade Federation ground units were controlled from a single relay ship. Destroying or damaging it crippled the entire army.
The Naboo Blockade exposed this flaw, leading Neimoidians and other future Separatists to make corrections.
"Message from Ompiah's flagship," a bridge B-1 noted. "They're ordering us to prepare to receive him aboard."
"Reply that we're ready," the Colicoid Swarm's commander said, not hiding a predatory grin.
"Got it, got it…"
Irv watched as fighters and the enemy's absurd flagship—more a mash-up of a Venator's rear and construction delirium—approached his starship, playing the part of a limping wreck.
No one knew how or when Ompiah acquired the old Republic ship, but it was clearly in poor shape.
The triangular bow was gone, and at high magnification, it was clear the pirates used compartment bulkheads reinforced with crude metal welds as the front.
The side hangars remained, but only the left one functioned.
The numerous extensions and shoddy frameworks around the deck superstructure looked absurd, ridiculous, and screamed a lack of taste from whoever made this scrap heap fly.
"Sir, enemy distance: twenty units!" a B-1 reported.
"Have the pirate fighters maintained their attack formation?" Irv asked.
"Negative, sir."
"Come on, let's blast them already!" Vain urged impatiently.
"We'll blast them," Irv promised. "To dust."
"So what are we waiting for?" Aut-O asked.
"Looks like these ships are all Ompiah has," the Colicoid Swarm's commander concluded.
"So what?" Yazuo didn't get it.
"Wipe them out here and now—it'll make storming their base easier," Aut-O answered correctly first.
"Exactly," Irv agreed. "The games are over. Raise deflectors to full power, aim all weapons, activate launchers. No mercy, no prisoners—destroy the Hi'tor Group's ships."
The fake hull plating hiding the weapons and launchers blew off as the bridge signaled the pyrotechnics.
What once looked like a solid hull section unleashed streams of turbolaser fire and anti-ship projectiles on the enemy approaching from the starboard side.
The first turbolaser volley cut the trapped "uglies" in half. Some, built to withstand laser cannon hits with deflector shields borrowed from X-wings or Headhunters, fell victim to charges too powerful to handle.
Enemy starships exploded into tiny spheres of fire and debris, while the sparse fire from once-Republic cannons couldn't dent the Colicoid Swarm's deflectors.
But the anti-ship missiles…
Some were shot down, detonating far from their target.
The rest, feeling no pain or regret for their kind's losses, reached their mark.
In the past, Venators and Providences could duel evenly, always resulting in a fierce fight to one's destruction.
The Republic ship's fewer turbolasers were offset by their rate of fire, power, and accuracy, while Separatist guns lacked precision.
Now, fortune favored the Colicoid Swarm's numerous artillery.
Without its formidable fighter wing, this Venator stump endured wrath and humiliation, shuddering and deforming with each anti-ship missile hit.
Its remaining anti-aircraft guns worked to exhaustion but couldn't handle the missile barrage.
Dozens of kinetic projectiles pierced the armor, detonating in internal compartments, turning their warheads' explosives into gas hot enough to melt metal.
Accompanied by shockwaves, streams of fire deformed the long-neglected hull, smashing bulkheads, collapsing supports, and melting structural frames.
The absurd superstructures on the upper hull were swept away by the Colicoid Swarm's turbolaser fire as the old, disrespected ship's deflectors failed under the onslaught of crimson flames from its ancient rival.
The Venator burned in the finest tradition of bonfires fed with dry kindling.
Every compartment, every airlock, every viewport was a nexus of fire.
The old ship was mortally wounded as droid fighters breached the hangar's protective doors and fired from within.
After just thirty seconds, the hangar deck's contents detonated—and the ship became a fireball.
They had to squint, as the Colicoid Swarm's bridge protection system struggled with the blaze's intensity.
The Venator's reactors detonated, and the old warship finally found peace.
Dishonored by bloodthirsty pirates and their deeds, the Republic Star Destroyer met its end in its final battle.
"So, we're done," Vain summarized, watching the scanner screen's enemy signatures vanish. "Off to their base?"
"Not so fast," Irv said. "We've got work to finish here."
"But we already wiped out all the pirates," Yazuo said, surprised. "What's left to stick around for?"
"Oh, not all of them," Irv said. "Order the droid fighters: begin searching for and destroying enemy escape pods."
Fifteen minutes later, it was over.
"Report to the Chimaera," the Colicoid Swarm's commander ordered. "Now we're done."
***
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