[FROM PRIESTESS] CHANGE OF PLANS. ENGAGE WITH THE TARGET. RANK IS SENIOR CAPTAIN. CONVINCE THEM TO ENTER THE RESTORATIONIST CAMP.

[FROM PRIESTESS] ONE MORE THING. KUAT MUST BE IN RESTORATIONIST HANDS FOR CORUSCANT TO FALL. MAKE IT WORK. WE MUST SINK THIS SHIP.

The pager died. Republic Intelligence agent RI-0810 stood over the sink and looked at the man in the mirror. Water ran down borrowed features, dripping into the basin. That was not his face, nor were these his clothes.

Today, he was Khoss of House Knylenn, a ruling family of Kuat. Today, he was attending the defense expo the Kuat Drive Yards Corporation have organised aboard the KDY Orbital Array. Invitations had been extended across the Galactic Interior to anyone with the credits, the connections, or want to be worth selling to. Kuat can play this kind of game, because Kuat sits on the edge of Loyalist and Restorationist space, and keeps a careful balancing act leveraging its own powerful self-defense fleet. The planet–and its drive yards–are Loyalist-aligned, for now, but as a company, they sell to the highest bidder.

Whoever controls Kuat controls the Arrowhead. The Loyalists want to keep them, the Restorationists want to take them.

Khoss Knylenn is thus confident, well-spoken, and moves for his own agenda. His agenda is House Knylenn’s agenda, which is to weaken House Kuat’s grip on Kuat. To accomplish that, a change of ownership is necessary, in more ways than one.

Khoss Knylenn wiped his face, straightened his attire, and stepped out of the bathroom.

Showtime.

The viewing gallery ran the full exterior length of the expo–over fifty kilometres of the orbital ring given over entirely to the business of selling war, its inner wall a continuous viewport of transparisteel from deck to ceiling, each pane three meters tall and thick enough to stop a blaster bolt. Beyond the glass, the graving docks of Kuat Drive Yards opened up in their full, staggering enormity.

The Orbital Array was not merely large, they were simply so massive that the word large ceased to function and had to be replaced with something closer to geological. Gantry structures the size of city districts. Graving docks that held capital ships the way cupped hands hold water. Floodlights strung across the scaffolding in their millions, so that the docks, seen from approach, looked less like an industrial facility than a second constellation laid against the dark.

And currently, this constellation was dressed for company.

Warships had been moved into display positions along the outer face, spaced with the deliberate artfulness of an exhibition rather than the functional density of active production; enough separation between each hull to give a viewer's eye room to appreciate what it was looking at, which was the point. The Venator-class Star Destroyers were closest, a line of six variants from battlecruiser to full carrier outfit, their characteristic dorsal ridges and twin bridges catching the sunlight in such a way it could only have been planned in advance. Beside them, smaller Victory-class Star Destroyers, missile bays wide open and on full display.

Further along, casting great shadows along the transparisteel viewports, were a pair of Mandator II-class star dreadnoughts. Even from inside the gallery, even from such a distance, their eight-kilometre length could only evoke awe and that heart-stuttering feeling that you were nothing more than a speck of dust in the grand scheme of things. One of them was running what appeared to be a systems diagnostic, the running lights cycling in slow sequence from bow to stern in a wave of amber that took nearly forty seconds to complete the full length of the ship. If there was ever a flying billboard to advertise peerless Kuati engineering, it would be the Mandator.

On the other side of the gallery, an entire hangar module was dedicated for the subsidiary Kuat Systems Engineering to showcase their latest starfighter designs, the Nimbus-class V-wing chief among them. Another hangar module had been converted into a display deck for the Drive Yard’s famed AT-series of land platforms. AT-AT walkers standing at full height hangar spotlights in a line that stretched the length of the display section, flanked by the lower profiles of AT-ST scouts and the broader, squatter hulls of AT-TE assault walkers. Troop transports. Artillery platforms. Everything and anything between. If it was meant for war, KDY had a model for it.

The gallery itself was filling steadily. Guests moved in clusters between holographic specification displays, attended by KDY corporate representatives–attentive, knowledgeable, and trained to the specific art of making a man feel that the purchase he was considering was not a transaction but a destiny. Automovers glided in both directions along the central concourse, carrying guests between sections. The steady hum of expensive conversation filled the spaces between, punctuated occasionally by the chime of presentation holoprojectors cycling to new content.

At the very end of the expo was the VIP section. While the vast majority of the gallery was dedicated to public-facing reveals and displays, the real business was done in a disconnected section of the expo, where a closed procurement summit was held for Kuati directors to present the latest in mass killing technology to only the most high-profile buyers. Which is to say, state governments.

Khoss Khylenn hailed down a private automover, and produced his pass with the bored fluency of a man who had attended far too many of these sort of gatherings. The reader chimed. The automover that served the private summit was a different class of vehicle from the open-floor transports. Enclosed for one, fitted with leather upholstery for another.

Khoss settled into his seat and watched the public gallery recede. The automover accelerated smoothly along the inner transit viaduct, and through the side viewports the graving docks continued their slow panorama.

As it passed through a rather crowded section, he could overhear a presenter announcing through the gallery speaker, gesturing rather animatedly atop a stage.

“–and currently berthed here, ladies and gentlemen, for your consideration: the Imperator-class Star Destroyer.”

It came into frame as if on cue, sliding into the viewport from the right as the automover rounded a gentle curve in the causeway, and Khoss found himself looking at it with an attention he had not entirely planned to give.

Sixteen-hundred meters of swept-back durasteel, its hull converging to a sharp prow like that of a knife’s edge. Perfect for concentrating all of the combined firepower that lined its rising superstructure and tapering banks into a single forward envelope. The ventral surface was clean, save for a single hangar bay, kept safe and well out-of-view from any would-be approachers. It looked far more solid than a Venator, for one, and much bigger than a Victory. The Imperator relayed its purpose well: this machine was meant to take a blow, and give a bigger one back.

“Designed under the personal direction of famed starship engineer Lira Wessex,” the announcer continued, “At one-thousand six-hundred metres from bow to stern, it is equipped with three-sixty degree turbolaser and ion fire coverage across the ventral and dorsal arcs. A main battery of six dual turbolaser batteries and two more heavy ion cannon turrets. Forty more dedicated point defense close-in weapon systems will keep it clear of offending snubfighters. Furthermore, its hangars support a full complement of seventy-two starfighters, in addition to assault shuttles and ground assault vehicles for planetary operations.”

The ship was nearly past the viewport now, the aft drive section coming into frame. Three enormous sublight drives, flanked by four more auxiliary thrusters, each one large enough to dock a frigate inside.

“Its one-of-a-kind solar ionization reactor drives seven yottawatts of power to three bespoke Destroyer-I ion engines. There is no frontline battleship in the galaxy with greater forward firepower and acceleration. Ladies and gentlemen, make no mistake, the Imperator-class represents a fundamental reimagining of the capital warship doctrine that has governed naval design for the last millennia. Where previous generations of warships prioritized specialization–whil the Venator was a dedicated carrier, the Acclamator a troopship, the Tector a frontline brawler, and the Victory a missile platform–the Imperator was conceived as a unified instrument of fleet dominance!”

“With the standard price going for one-hundred and fifty million credits a unit, the Imperator-class Star Destroyer is available for immediate order fulfillment from Kuat Drive Yards' primary construction facilities, with delivery timelines commensurate with order volume. KDY representatives are available throughout the summit to discuss procurement terms, licensing arrangements, and fleet integration packages!”

The ship slid out of frame. The viewport showed empty dock space, gantry work, and the distant curve of Kuat's atmosphere.

The products here were berthed on the planet-facing side of the ring, shielded from prying eyes by the ring's own mass. Here lay Kuat’s greatest works; whereas products outside were available for anybody with enough credits to buy, products displayed beyond this partition were not available for general purchase, and arguably, did not exist yet at all. Here is where KDY representatives will try to convince the powers that moved the galaxy to move the galaxy with their designs.

Over the span of a system week, the summit would move through its programme of a very expensive education: technical seminars, closed-door briefings, live demonstrations, and fleet exercises conducted in Kuat's outer system. Designers and subsidiaries will compete for attention and funding, and promoted here will be everything from individual infantry weapons to armoured land platforms to the newest battleships to emerge from Kuat's construction slips–and the audience for all of it was, without exception, people who did not need to ask the price before they made a decision.

“–inheritor of the Venator’s vaunted legacy,” Khoss Khylenn overheard the announcer's voice carried from somewhere above and to the left, “Featuring the same twin-bridge design, our Secutor-class Star Destroyer adorns the Venator’s mantle–and so much more. With twice the size, twice the starfighter capacity, and outfitted with the latest in Chapter 4ISR technology, the Secutor intends to be your navy’s primary force projection platform. Capable of locking down an entire subsector by itself, it can–”

There was a small crowd gathering at the viewports, beyond the presentation slides and holographs. The ship looming beyond there was enormous where enormous was the baseline, over two-kilometres long and nearly just as wide, a dark grey dagger poised above the planet Kuat itself. It was shaped like a flat triangle, with its twin-bridge superstructure rising from amidships unlike most other Kuati Star Destroyers, whose bridges rose aft over the drives. Underneath its flared wings stowed its extensive hangar bay, a single hollow space that opened into the black through two shielded apertures cut into the ventral surface of the vessel, port and starboard.

As Khoss scanned the silhouettes lining the viewports, he then spotted them, a man and woman, twenty paces from the crowd where the Secutor’s drive-line filled the transparisteel behind them, and deep in conversation. For a moment, Republic Intelligence operative RI-0810 paused, a split second taken to consider engaging them. He feared they would recognise him, for he had encountered them in the halls of the Jedi Temple a number of times in the past. Only… had they encountered him? He, like so many others in that age, could only look up at them.

And those at the top do not oft look down.

Khoss Knylenn took a deep breath and steeled himself.

“Sir, madame! Oh how pleased we are to see you here,” Khoss beamed as he strode towards them excitedly, his arms outspread as if he were expecting a hug, “I suppose you like what you see? We are quite proud of this one, indeed!”

Two of Coruscant’s most despised ‘Traitor Generals’ turned towards him as one, a certain wariness evident in their postures. Not that Khoss posed any threat to them at all. For all they were considered the most heinous traitors by the Loyalists, at the same time they were some of their respective states’ most storied heroes.

Jedi General Anakin Skywalker of the Restorationist Republic had mellowed out in the eight years since the end of the Galactic Civil War. Some would say it was the years of uneasy peace giving him time to catch his breath, others would say it was because he now had two children by the Senator Padmé Amidala waiting for him at home. He wore no uniform, but formal civilian clothes, dark and well-cut in the Naboo style. His mechanical right arm was ungloved, which meant he either no longer thought about it or had made a decision to stop thinking about it. The years had faded the scar at his eye into a pale thin line that could only be seen if you were looking for it.

“Khoss of Khylenn, at your service,” he bowed before his honoured guests, before extending a hand, “May I be of assistance to you.”

“Anakin Skywalker,” Anakin Skywalker shook his hand firmly, apparently seeing only Khoss of Khylenn, “And this is–”

“Tallisibeth,” said Jedi General Tallisibeth Enwandung-Esterhazy of the Tapani Federation, “Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

Tallisibeth Enwandung-Esterhazy–Scout, to those who'd known her in the war, though she had grown considerably past the girl that name had originally fit, now nearly as tall as her former master. Whereas Skywalker had softened in the intervening years, Esterhazy had only sharpened–sharpened her wits against the machinations of the Tapani elite, sharpened her knives against Separatist overtures on the Rimma Trade Route. She was lean and watchful in the way of a Binarian sabercat, with these acid-green eyes that could pierce straight through him, eyes that gave Khoss the uneasy feeling she knew exactly who he was.

Since so-called ‘commoners’ were not permitted to take up such a high posting in the Tapani Federation, General Esterhazy was currently dressed for the occasion in the expensive silks befitting a Tapani noble, a sash across her dress emblazoned with the colours of House Pelagia, one of the ruling families of the Tapani Sector, and thus the entire Federation.

“Likewise, likewise,” Khoss smiled demurely, folding his hands behind his back as he faced the viewports–and let a beat pass as he pretended to admire the ship’s smooth lines, “I do hope both of you are considering a purchase. I am no advertiser, I admit, but I am confident to say a Secutor may be exactly what you need…”

“It is exactly what we need,” General Skywalker narrowed his eyes, though an easy smile continued to persist on his face, “How well-informed you are.”

“Well! It is designed so that someone needs it! Otherwise we would not have designed and built it!” Khoss laughed, “That someone just so happens to be… you. Believe me, the Loyalists are quite satisfied with Madame Wessex’s Imperators. You will not see them here.”

He gestured to the mass of well-dressed people crowding around the displays and specification boards, all dressed in the colours of Restorationist and Tapani space. There was a distinct lack of Loyalist representation, though those could be found elsewhere on the convention floor, unlike the Imperials and Separatists.

“Shame the Imperial delegation couldn’t make it,” General Esterhazy commented, her eyes moving across the gallery.

“It is unfortunate, but the Imperials prefer to court their Separatist masters on Sullust,” Khoss spoke with the easy disdain of a shareholder discussing a direct market competitor.

The Kuat Drive Yards had worked hard to corner the defense market in the Inner Rim, as they certainly have the Loyalist market–but the Deep Core remained completely out of their reach. Not for lack of effort, but the Tetan Monarchy continues to fill their fleets with Separatist Providences, Recusants, and Bulwarks, despite Kuati overtures.

The Restorationist and Tapani markets, however, were a different story, one with considerable potential, owing in no small part to the two figures standing before him. It was said that Skywalker and Esterhazy had been friends during the Civil War, and that friendship had endured, even crossing national lines. Republic Intelligence had naturally taken an interest in both as they rose to prominence in their respective states, until they had become the military pillars of those states entirely. If KDY could earn their patronage, the market across the Southern Core could be locked down in a single stroke

And PRIESTESS needed to use that fact to make KDY defect entirely.

“I would like to review the Secutor's specifications and performance record before making any decision,” General Esterhazy said, drawing Khoss back to the conversation.

“That can be arranged,” the reply came easily to him, “All of our performance reports will be at your disposal.”

For this reason, the Secutor-class Star Destroyer had been designed specifically to corner the southern market.

The Loyalists favoured the one-size-fits-all approach of the new Imperator-class. Surrounded on all sides–by Restorationists, the Corporate Authority, Mandalorian Council, the Separatist Perlemian Coalition, and the Empire of the Deep Core–they needed a capital ship that could be mass-produced and suitably equipped handle every and any front, with the force projection necessary to maintain order at home. Paired with Incom Corporation's state-of-the-art long-range X-wing starfighter, which now filled the Loyalist starfighter corps, their fleets could project power across their bellicose borders no matter the foe. For those purposes, the jack-of-all-trades Imperator was perfect: capable of outgunning most comparable warships while still performing carrier and invasion duties without modification.

The military requirements of the Southern Core were a different matter. First, the persistent friendship between the two generals standing before him–who had, by all accounts, refused to participate in any military conduct against each other–had kept their shared borders relatively quiet. Relatively. Second, and more critically, they shared a common enemy. Combined, over four-fifths of the Confederate border was shared between the Restorationist Republic and the Tapani Federation, and both navies had spent the better part of a decade mitigating Separatist raids and incursions across that extensive front. Their navy had evolved to reflect that.

Under the leadership of Tapani Admiral Octavian Grant, the Federation had overseen an explosion in local military investment, channelled primarily into the homegrown Tapani Starship Cooperative. Tapani-class carriers and assault frigates, and Manta-class starfighters, now filled the ranks of the Freeworlds Common Navy.

The Restorationists, similarly, had done their utmost to revive Rendili StarDrive and the Corellian Engineering Corporation. Rendili had technically defected to the Confederacy via Separatist coup–but only because they had lost their contracts to a KDY-dominated Republic market and seen opportunity in the burgeoning Confederacy. With the Restorationists starving for new warships, convincing Rendili to change sides again had not been difficult. Since then, Rendili had spent years regaining its footing, iterating on the Victory to produce first the Victory II-class heavy cruiser and then the Gladiator-class light cruiser, both of which had become the workhorses of the Alliance Navy.

Most critical for KDY however, is the one trait all of these southern designs shared: that they were small. The largest warships in either the Alliance Navy or the Common Navy were still Venators. Because what the southern powers needed was not massed firepower concentrated in large fleet groups, but a vast number of small, reliable, easy-to-produce warships capable of patrolling and maintaining order along their enormous borders.

The Secutor-class Star Destroyer filled the one niche their navies had left open. A large, dedicated fleet command ship, perfectly suited to coordinating the innumerable squadrons and task forces of a vast frontier, performing the Chapter 4ISR role that ageing Venators currently struggled to fill. Command, control, communications, computers, intelligence, surveillance, and reconnaissance; the Secutor had been designed from the ground up to perform all of it, and to perform it better than any retrofit could manage.

“KDY seems terribly interested in this investment,” General Skywalker commented lightly, “Are the Loyalists not treating you well enough?”

Khoss smiled, and let it die violently. He raised an arm to Skywalker’s back, naturally forcing the three of them to huddle closer.

“Much the opposite, sir,” he whispered, as if letting them in on a secret, “They are desperate to keep us. Because they know what KDY is.”

“And what would that be?” General Esterhazy asked.

“A company.” he answered, “And what does a company want, even more so than profit? It is security. And there are a number of us who believe… that this Loyalist Republic is a very slowly sinking ship.”

“...You speak of defection,” Skywalker frowned, “But we have tried to court KDY before, and that has gone nowhere. The Kuat of Kuat is intent on–”

“Kuat of Kuat is intent on maintaining the status quo,” Khoss insisted, “That we can keep playing both sides. He thinks Kuat is unassailable, but it will not last forever. He is as stubborn as a duracrete wall, and so are most of Kuat’s noble houses. Those of us who see security with the Restorationists are few and far between, but there are enough of us.”

“Enough of you to make KDY defect?” Esterhazy raised a disbelieving eyebrow.

“Enough of us who remember what KDY is,” Khoss made a show of looking around for listeners, before leaning closer, “Sir, madame, invest into KDY. Kuat Drive Yards is a company. When you make an investment into a company, you are a shareholder. Hold enough of a share, and you are a member of the board of directors. And it just so happens Kuat is not a planet with a company, but that KDY is a company with a planet.”

There was a silence that followed, but that consideration was all Khoss Khylenn intended to accomplish. They already wanted KDY; he just had to open up a path. They will relay this possibility to their governments, and their governments will do the rest.

“Do not get me wrong, please,” Khoss backed away, straightening his clothes, “The Kuati noble houses will not so easily surrender their monopoly on KDY shares. It will be a long process, but buy a little here under one name, buy a little there under another, and sooner or later, you will have pooled enough shares to make a substantial fraction. And you will find there are more than a few of us in the board of directors willing to make up for the deficit. All you need, after all, is a simple fifty percent.”

They were looking at him differently now, with more consideration. Perhaps they once thought him a simple representative, or a not-so-simple Loyalist spy. They were clearly thinking differently now.

“Thank you for your time, sir, madame,” Khoss Khylenn bowed and moved to extricate from the conversation.

“Thank you for the advice,” Anakin Skywalker was looking at the Secutor beyond the viewport differently too, “I will be sure to relay your words to the… target recipient.”

He grinned, perhaps his first genuine one since the day begun, “That is all I ask for.”

General Esterhazy nodded at him, pursing her lips as she eyed him up and down. Her eyes twinkled. She nodded again, sharper this time, before turning back to the warship beyond the viewport.

As Khoss stepped back into the midst of the expo, he supposed he should now really be looking for the target of his main objective. But that was a task easier said than done. Encountering Skywalker and Esterhazy was a fine stroke of luck, but in truth seeking out just about any Restorationist and Federation official of high enough standing could have accomplished the same results. Finding a single man in the midst of the single largest convention in the Inner Rim was a monumentally more difficult task.

He scanned the convention grounds, moving through the exhibitions as easily as a man would in his own house. As he moved past a certain exhibition, however, something caught his attention. The presentation was already over, and most of the crowd had already dispersed, but a few remained, concentrated around the viewport and several displays. Something told him he should look there. A certain attraction. A… force of sorts.

Khoss Khylenn pivoted on his heels and approached.

The holoprojection in the centre of the empty stage was running a loop of a recording. A moon in an undisclosed location, equipped with the kind of planetary shield one would expect from a Core World. Then, a bolt from the black, two bleaching gold bolts, shot out from the recording vessel, crashing into the shielded moon. The first shot smashed into the shield, energy rippling out in waves, like fabric pulled taut from a punch. And before the shield could recover–the second bolt struck–and punched straight through what was left of the shield. It was a suitably underwhelming demonstration for what could be the greatest single leap in naval weapon technology in the Inner Rim.

The recording was replaced by a datalog; energy readings, target points, variables, the sort of specifications more inclined for the technically-minded.

Beyond the viewport was the offending vessel in question. A Onager-class Star Destroyer. A mere testbed for now, a proof-of-concept for tests and live demonstrations, but once the contracts inevitably come rolling in…

The size of a Venator, the Onager-class was T-shaped, like a pickaxe laid on its side, with two distinctive prongs that defined the bow as a horizontal hammerhead. Where the prow should be, however, was a hollow space, a cavity that cut through the length of the ship to amidships, where it met the ship’s solar ionization reactor. Within that cavity were a pair of barrel-shaped guiding rails.

Orbital Bombardment Particle Cannons.

Kuat Drive Yard’s response to the Techno Union and Loronar Corporation’s Aggressor-class artillery platform. 𝓯𝙧𝓮𝓮𝒘𝓮𝙗𝙣𝒐𝒗𝒆𝓵.𝓬𝓸𝒎

“It is a beautiful thing, isn’t it?” a deep, calm voice materialised from beside him, “The spirit of cooperation, I mean.”

It took everything he had to not jump.

“Senior Captain Thrawn?”

“I am he,” the blue-skinned alien confirmed, “Senior Captain Mitth'raw'nuruodo of the Chiss Expansionary Defense Fleet. Military liaison to the Galactic Republic. You may continue to call me Thrawn.”

“Khoss of Khylenn,” Khoss replied, lifting a hand, “Pleased to meet you.”

There was a light in Senior Captain Thrawn’s red eyes, “No, I don’t think you are.”

Khoss paused, his hand freezing mid-air.

“My superior, Admiral Ar’alani, had made contact with the Priestess on Coruscant,” he continued, “She informed me that somebody would come looking for me.”

“–Republic Intelligence operative Eight-One-Oh, then,” he dropped his hand.

“A double agent?”

“Double agent, triple agent, you get lost in the specifics in my line of work.” RI-0810 waved a hand dismissively, “Just keep your eye on the prize. Detours are part of the job.”

Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

RI-0810 had been stationed to monitor KDY in the lead-up to the defense expo when he had first encountered Senior Captain Thrawn. It was his first direct encounter with the Chiss species–he had never personally met ‘the Pantoran’–and it was only because of a collaborative project. A technology sharing agreement the Chiss had come to uphold and supervise.

The Galactic Republic would supply the latest in deflector shield technology, which the Chiss Ascendancy did not have. They used the much weaker, independently invented electrostatic barriers to shield their warships.

In exchange, the Chiss Ascendancy would share their weapon technology, a type of projectile fire known as a maser, a type of particle weapon. Much more powerful than Republic gas-projectile ‘lasers’, the Kuat Drive Yards had hastily come clambering to secure the maser technology, claiming it was the missing piece their new weapon needed. Eager to maintain their influence on Kuat and seeing potential in their new development, the Loyalist government handed it over.

The Orbital Bombardment Particle Cannons was born as a result. A combination of mass-driver and megamaser technology, and mounted on a bespoke platform–the Onager-class–it was advertised as the direct competitor to the Separatist Gravitic Wavegun. A purpose-made penetration weapon made for the sole purpose of cracking open planetary shields no matter how strong, while being an existential threat to any stationary installation at the same time.

The sole Onager-class testbed was an only child hidden away in Kuat’s Orbital Array for now, but that would soon change, that was, as soon as KDY could hammer out the kinks.

“I imagine you have come to warn me about the Republic’s inevitable doom, so that I would then warn my Admiral, who would thus in turn warn the Ascendancy,” Thrawn said, breathing in, “In that case, consider me well-warned.”

“Instead,” Thrawn didn’t leave any room for RI-0810 to respond, “How about you humour me for a moment? I seek answers, and I have received answers, but you seem to hold a certain objectivity that I believe would give me the answers that I want.”

RI-0810 could only reply warily, “If you are digging for state secrets, I am afraid–”

“Nothing of the sort, I assure you.”

“Then I suppose I can spare the time.”

“Splendid.

Senior Captain Thrawn breathed out slowly, clasping his hands behind his back, “I am… so interested in this galaxy.”

“I can imagine. You certainly are far from home.”

“Certainly,” he agreed, pausing, as though collecting a thought he had set aside, “Where was I? Ah yes–these… Star Destroyers. The design language speaks of a certain… straightforwardness. I see it is a shared trait among all of them.”

“It doesn’t mean anything,” he explained, “The label, I mean, technically speaking. You may consider the Star Destroyer as a brand, rather than any sort of formal naval categorisation. A Kuat Drive Yard brand. It is meant to provoke a mental association. See a dagger-shaped ship, call it a Star Destroyer. If it is a Star Destroyer, it was built by Kuat Drive Yards.”

“I see,” Thrawn’s eyes gleamed, a tug of understanding pulling at his stiff lips, “And what of the ‘Star Destroyers’ not designed by the Kuat Drive Yards?”

RI-0810 shrugged, “It spread. Became a fad. It lost its original meaning. Any half-rate shipwright can mimic KDY and build a wedge-shaped hull, and call it a Star Destroyer. And anybody with eyes will also call it a Star Destroyer because it has a wedge-shaped hull. We do have an official classification society, mind you, and KDY does register its designs with their proper classifications.”

“That is remarkable,” Thrawn turned his gaze to the Onager-class berthed beyond the viewport, something approaching admiration in his expression, “And this wedge-shape? Does it serve a purpose beyond aesthetics?”

“Maximise frontal firepower and maximise engine space for forward acceleration,” he replied, “It has been effective for the last four-thousand years. It is still effective now.”

The alien was quiet for a moment.

“...I have also studied the Confederate designs,” the Chiss now sounded less like a naval captain and more like a military theorist, “And the Confederate Navy fields such a remarkable variety. It is my belief that it is in the nature of a state to utilise a specific design language. A manner of familiarity that they fall back on: a ‘what I know best.’ The Loyalists and Restorationists share a common origin and thus both reach for Star Destroyers, even if for different purposes. The Tapani-class carriers and assault frigates have a certain polished quality; smooth curves, natural lines, streamlined even when they have no reason to be. It speaks of an aristocratic tradition, not unlike our own Chiss designs.”

“The Confederacy, however… possess no such coherency,” he forged on, almost like a man possessed, as though the thought had been waiting some time for an audience. “Torus-shaped Lucrehulks, shell-plated Recusants and Munificents. The Providence-class and its rounded, pseudo-organic forms; the spare, functional lines of a Bulwark-class battlecruiser. Insectoid-like automated starfighters. Mirror-plated solar sailers. Everything and anything in between. There is no consistency, no harmony. How does such a military function, how does it exist?”

There was something about the question that struck RI-0810 silent. Was the audacity of it, the claim that the military that crushed Republic hegemony should by all rights not even work? Was it the novelty of it, that anybody would take anything more than a cursory glance at design language of all things and speculate an entire state’s military capability on it? It was no wonder, he thought, that Thrawn had not yet found an answer he was satisfied with.

RI-0810 could not answer immediately. Senior Captain Thrawn did not seem to mind. For almost five minutes, they shared a contemplative silence.

“...With great difficulty,” RI-0810 could finally find his words, and Thrawn listened with all the attention of an enraptured schoolchild, “There is one key point you are missing.”

“And that would be?”

“The Republic is a nation-state. It was built by Humans, and dominated by Humankind ever since. The wedge-shaped Star Destroyer is not a uniquely Kuati design. It is a uniquely Human design. Blunt, straightforward firepower. The idea that there is no problem that could not be solved with the appropriate application of firepower. It is an idea so terribly Human.”

He continued. “The Federation and the Ascendancy are nation-states too. Their–your–design language stems from a single origin, a singular culture of aristocracy and refinement. As in the Republic, there is a stratified society, and one culture in particular dominates the military stratum, and thus dictates the design.”

“And the Confederacy,” Thrawn said quietly, “is the exception to that rule. I am surprised I had not considered it.”

“Because the Confederacy is unlike any state in the history of the galaxy, unknown to you as it is to me. It is the first truly multispecies, multicultural polity to ever exist. It began as a coalition of Outer Rim nations banding together against the Human-dominated Core–pooling armies, navies, resources, and strengths into a single military. The Confederacy is the only polity in this galaxy that is not, at its core, a nation-state. Every species participates equally in every stratum of Separatist society. The Confederate Armed Forces have no preferred contractor the way the Loyalists favour Kuat, or the Restorationists favour Rendili, or the Tapani favour Tallaan. The Quarren Free Dac Engineering Corps, the Nimbanel Hoersch-Kessel Drive, the Sullustan SoroSuub Corporation, Xi Charrian Haor Chall Engineering, Geonosian Huppla Pasa Tisc Shipwrights; the Confederacy sources its designs from every corner of the Outer Rim, and considers all of them equally their own.”

Senior Captain Thrawn crossed his arms, one hand moving to his chin, “And yet they can all still coexist. They can all share one unified fleet doctrine. May I presume the Separatist military places exceptional value on versatility and adaptability? A wide variety of available tools implies a wide variety of available tactics. Unlike our militaries, which instil a prescribed doctrine and way of thinking in their commanders, the Confederate military embraces the full spectrum of sapient philosophy.”

“It is something they are known for,” RI-0810 was reminded of the war, of the Separatists who ran havoc across and within Republic lines, “From the planners at the tables to the admirals on the front, they always came up with something new. Something to blindside us.”

“A vast collective of ideas and philosophies is as much a collection of weaknesses as it is a collection of strengths. I have been led to believe the Separatists could not have won the war without their Supreme Commander.”

“You were led rightly. Sev’rance Tann, the Supreme Commander of the Confederate Armed Forces,” RI-0810 paused. “And your countryman, I believe.”

“Correct. My senior, in fact, from the Taharim Academy.”

“She reorganised the ‘Separatist military’ into the ‘Confederate Armed Forces’ it is today. In a sense, she hammered a composite into an alloy, then beat the Republic to death with it. Our side of the galaxy’s first exposure to your species, and it is her.” He allowed himself a small measure of sincerity, “You should be proud.”

“Some of us, the nobility in particular, consider her a traitor,” Thrawn admitted, though without particular weight, “I consider her a role model, a study in what is possible. If she is the adversary the Restorationists must eventually face, I find it difficult to believe their ship is sinking any slower than the Loyalists.”

“With respect, sir, that is only because you are not yet fully informed.”

“Continue.”

“Do you know who are the three largest shipwrights in the galaxy? And I do mean designing, manufacturing, production–all of it.”

“I do know that the Kuat Drive Yards count themselves among them.”

“The other two are Rendili StarDrive and the Corellian Engineering Corporation. Between them, they own half the shipyards in the galaxy,” he let the second settle to drive in the point, “And two of those three are in Restorationist hands. The only reason the Loyalist Republic has not collapsed is because the Confederacy has a vested interest in keeping the Core divided. Should Kuat fall to the Restorationists–should all three shipwrights come under one flag–the Restorationist Republic would unite the Inner Rim within a generation. And that is a peer rival the Confederacy would sooner not face.”

“I had understood the CEC to be primarily a civilian manufacturer,” Thrawn hummed, “and Rendili to have lost much of its former prominence. Is that not precisely why KDY has organised this convention, to draw in Restorationist and Federation investment?”

“Not at all,” he shrugged, shaking his head, “Rendili StarDrive and the CEC are the oldest shipwrights in the galaxy, dating back twenty-thousand years. Rendili lost captains and engineers to the Separatists, yes, but twenty-millennia worth of institutional knowledge and knowhow remained. In less than half a decade, they have designed an entirely new warship line and revived a production line that can rival Kuat’s. As for the CEC, they may not be known for warship design, but Corellia's sheer manufacturing capacity is unmatched. Even if they don’t design them, they can produce more hulls in a single week than the next three largest shipyards combined.”

RI-0810 drew in slow breath, “What brought the southern powers to Kuat is… an extraneous circumstance. A more immediate concern. They need ships, and they need them now. And they are presently desperate enough to come here for them.”

Thrawn frowned, “The Confederacy of Independent Systems.”

“Precisely. Tensions in the galactic south are rising. The Separatists are fresh from their success in the Third Expansion, the Tingel Arm taken in its entirety, despite direct conflict with Mandalorian, Corporate Authority, and Loyalist fleets in the north. They are making no secret of their intention to replicate that feat across the Trailing Sectors and Western Reaches,” as he spoke, it was RI-0810 turn to frown.

More memories of the war began to surface, like sediments kicked up from a riverbed. The reports he had to review and verify and relay. Reports of that warfront, of that terrible, wretched hell onto the Rimma Trade Route. That hell where men died, fleets sunk, and worlds burned for one man’s endless crusade.

And the reports are coming in again, like a sick, visceral sense of déjà vu. Reports of fleet mobilisations around Eriadu and Sullust. Reports of the mass strategic redeployments of materiel and colonists down the Trax Tube and Bothan Run. There is only one possibility: the Confederate Fourth Expansion.

It then comes as no surprise that the Restorationists and Federation were especially wary–wary enough to come knocking at Kuat’s door for more ships. And it is no wonder General Skywalker and General Esterhazy were alarmed–alarmed enough to personally grace Kuat with their presence.

Because, because–

“The Confederate Fourth Fleet Group is mobilising,” RI-0810 stated grimly. The words tasted the same they had a decade ago, “And with it comes the fist of Horn Ambigene.”

“You speak as if the name holds a meaning of its own,” Senior Captain Thrawn observed curiously.

“I can say only this; there are only two men in this galaxy that can put the fear of god in the soul of any Core Worlder. General Horn Ambigene is one of them.”

Thrawn was leaning forward now, “And the other?”

RI-0810 could only release a low, humourless chuckle that made his chest ache. “Well. Your superior had just told us exactly where to find him.”

⁂

[FROM PRIESTESS] FOUND IT.

[FROM PRIESTESS] -2839.15, 5765.42, -2116.11.

[FROM PRIESTESS] SMOKE IT OUT OF ITS LAIR.

The First Sister had wondered if she should have asked for permission to leave Coruscant, but then again, the Sith Order was not about asking permission. And besides, being First Sister, and that came with certain perks. There was no system in the Galactic Republic she was restricted from, and if the Supreme Chancellor had need of her, he knew how to find her.

Though that could be said for all Sith over the rank of Knight.

“What kind of lead is this, Sister?” Knight Lyn twisted around from the cockpit, “Who is the source?”

With the Jedi traitors exiled from the Republic, the Sith Order had emerged to take their place. It was the Rule of One, Darth Sidious had called it, in which there was only one Dark Lord of the Sith who would live forever, having no need to train a replacement. He availed himself solely of his Sith Knights and Acolytes, as executors of his will in more clandestine affairs.

The First Sister double-checked the coordinates, “The kind of lead that can change the tide of the war. You don’t need to know anything else.”

As far as the galaxy was concerned, however, the Sith Order was just another denomination of the Jedi Order; counted among the ranks of the New Jedi Order in the Imperial Deep Core, the Green Order in Restorationist Space, and the Church of the Force that held sway in the Outer Rim; composed of former members who made the brave decision to go against their former comrades and remain loyal to the legitimate government of the Galactic Republic.

And there was more than a mere inkling of truth in that narrative.

The First Sister may have been the first, but she was not the only former Jedi to take the Devil’s hand. The last days of the Galactic Civil War was a tumultuous time, and conflicting emotions were at an all time boil for the members of the Jedi Order.

Fear–of failure. Sorrow–from loss. Desperation–to prevail. Hatred–for the enemy.

It was a perfect breeding ground for the dark side of the Force. Jedi Masters, Jedi Knights, Padawan Learners, lost and abandoned and dispersed across the galaxy, drawn back to Coruscant by the dark side of the Force, by the pull of Devil, like moths to a burning flame.

The lure of the Sith Order promised them everything they wanted; the power to prevent failure, the power to protect what they loved, the power to prevail, the power to fight the enemy.

The Enemy.

The Separatist.

The old Jedi Order was weak, indecisive, conflicted, and ultimately, betrayers of everything fought for. They shook the hand of the Separatist, and even joined their ranks. Did the deaths of their friends, brothers and sisters in arms, mean nothing to them? Did the lost worlds and suffering of trillions mean nothing to them? What was all of that sacrifice for, if they could so simply about face and let bygones be bygones the moment the opportunity suited them?

The Sith Temple was filled with men and women who hated the Enemy. For them, the war was not over. The Galactic Civil War still raged so long as they had to suffer the Separatist.

And the Devil was more than pleased to support them. The Devil promised to feed them the secrets to power, starved them until they lusted for it, until that lust for power was what drove them. Drove them to do everything he bid. They led his armies on the front, scoured ancient worlds for texts and relics, recruited agents and apprentices, plucked Force-sensitive children from the streets, and killed anyone who stood in their way.

And the First Sister was first among them, first among equals under the Dark Lord of the Sith. She may not have been the most skilled with the lightsaber, or most powerful with the Force, but the dark side had only amplified a dormant trait in her that nobody among them could match.

Viciousness.

It bubbled beneath her red skin, it pumped through her twin hearts day and night, waiting to be unleashed. The constant urge to cut and rend, like a child’s vast curiosity, to see what the inside of a lekku looked like, to hear the sound of a Dowutin scream, to taste the blood of a Terrelian

Jango Jumper. When she fought, when she let the dark side of the Force take charge, not even a former Jedi Master could match her pace and ferocity.

But she had not forgotten her mission. Not to the Sith, not the Dark Lord, not to the Republic. Her own mission. If it was the last thing she was going to do in this life, she was going to drive her blade through the Devil’s skull.

To create that opportunity, she had come here, following the PRIESTESS’ lead.

“Sister,” Knight Lyn suddenly narrowed her yellow eyes, “I’ve found it.”

“THE PRISM”

Hidden in the mass shadow of the sixth moon of the gas giant Diab in the Diab Star System, beyond the edge of the known galaxy, an installation only known as the Prism.

As Lyn piloted the Scythe across the orbit of Diab, she swore, “Electrical storms, worse than any I’ve seen before. Our sensors can’t see anything in these conditions. We’ll have to approach manually.”

The gas giant Diab was banded in deep sepulchral reds and blacks, its upper atmosphere in perpetual slow rotation, vast storm systems the size of continents turning against each other in silence. Its atmosphere was boiling, superheated, evaporating, and escaping into the void. Lightning raged within it like fire beneath frosted glass, and when the atmosphere gave way–it lashed out, like blazing whips of energy that struck for the distant sun. It was somewhere within this tempest from hell that the moons of Diab kept their vigil.

“An old Jedi outpost,” the First Sister murmured, thumbing the emitter of her lightsaber, “I can only imagine what they have hidden here.”

“Jedi,” Knight Lyn spat out the word like it was a curse, “Keeping secrets is the only thing those spineless fools are good at.”

They broke through the boiling atmosphere, and it appeared, a pallid green orb in Diab’s night sky, a single crystal hanging over its surface.

The Prism did not look like something that had been built. It looked like something that had grown, the way stalagmites and stalactites grew. It hung over the moon's surface, within its atmosphere, tapering upward and downward in a cluster of dark spires fashioned in the shape of a diamond. The central column was the tallest, rising to a jagged crown that occasionally caught a lightning discharge and held it for a half-second before releasing it, as though the structure was tasting the storm. The material of it was black, something that absorbed the storm-light and returned almost nothing, so that the structure existed less as an object and more as an absence, a negative space carved out of the green-lit sky.

The First Sister was already out of her seat, “We will have to keep this a secret too.”

“Even from Lord Sidious?” Knight Lyn questioned suspiciously.

“Especially,” she leaned over Lyn’s shoulder to peer out the cockpit, “Especially if you want to leave alive.”

“Just what is this place, Sister?” Lyn’s voice was accusatory now, as if she had considered the idea that this affair was against the interest of the Sith Order, as if she had the strength to strike the First Sister down.

She didn’t.

The First Sister entertained her anyway, “From what I could gather, a prison built by the Jedi during the Second Great Schism.”

“Seven-thousand years, and nobody in the Republic found it until now?”

“Nobody who reported back.”

Knight Lyn went silent as she spotted a landing platform, extending from the structure's mid-section, at the end of a shelf of that same dark material jutting out over the moon's surface far below. As the Scythe came in on final approach, rain began against the viewport, not in droplets but in sheets, driven horizontal by the wind shear coming off the spire cluster. Lyn brought the ship down with her jaw set and her clenched hands, until the landing struts found the pad with a clang that reverberated through the entire hull.

The engines cycled down.

“Well.” Lyn said.

The First Sister was already lowering the ramp.

The two Sith Knights stepped into a storm–a full-body impact of freezing rain and wind that drove the breath back for a half-second before they pushed back and braced against it. The atmosphere was thin, and their short, shallow breaths came out in clouds of curling steam.

The pad was slick and dark, the surface of it channeling water in thin fast rivulets toward the edges, and beyond those edges there was nothing visible but the luminous green murk of the lower cloud layer and the distant, intermittent flash of lightning somewhere deep inside it.

The Prism rose above them and blocked out a third of the sky.

The First Sister walked forward. The wind pushed against her and she leaned into it without adjusting her pace, her cloak flattening against one side and streaming out the other, rain running down her long braided hair and across the red lines of her face. Knight Lyn fell into step a half-pace behind and to the right, a hand already moving for her saber, yellow-red eyes moving across the structure warily.

A figure emerged from the far end of the walkway, a recessed archway in the base of the central spire.

It was visible as a shape first, gradually resolving as they advanced through the rain. A woman, Human, upright, with the particular stillness of someone who had decided to stand in a storm and chosen not to find it inconvenient. She wore Jedi robes in the old style, soaked through and apparently ignored. Her hands were clasped in front of her. She was watching them come with an expression that was, at this distance, unreadable.

A second figure formed, emerging from behind her heel. Round, diminutive, no taller than her waist, with two protruding hare-like ears standing upright. A LEP servant droid, standing with its thin arms folded and its pale gold photoreceptors tilted at an angle that somehow, despite being the product of machined parts and code, managed to convey an acute disapproval of the weather.

Once they were within earshot–

“I am Jedi Master Olge Plavi-Dol,” the Jedi shouted over the torrential downpour, “Warden of this facility. Who approaches!?”

Knight Lyn’s lightsaber exploded out a jagged flash of crimson, steam curling off its edge as it sizzled in the rain.

The Jedi Master’s own saber responded in a beam of sapphire light, illuminating the space before her face and highlighting her features set into grim resolve.

“Refrain yourself, Lyn,” the First Sister said.

“Sister!? But she is clearly–”

“Do you want to die?”

She could not see Lyn’s expression behind her, but a pulse of rage in the Force told her everything she needed to know. The First Sister tensed herself, fully expecting the Sith Knight’s lightsaber to come down on her undefended back.

But the Knight Lyn knew it too, and so retracted her blade.

More curiously, the Jedi Master did too, even as Lyn prematurely revealed their identities as Sith.

The First Sister stepped forward, “I have no business with you, Jedi! You know why I am here! Where are they!?”

The Jedi Master’s face turned even grimmer than it already was, “You best leave, Sith. I have no business with you either.”

She took another step forward, faintly aware of Knight Lyn staying within blade-length of her, “You have a choice–but they do not! Tell this to your master–if they are your master–your lair has been exposed!”

The Jedi Master recoiled, a brief flash of shock crossing her otherwise stoic features. The LEP droid’s sodium-glow photoreceptors were like pinpricks of baleful glare through the whipping rain.

“The entire galaxy knows about you!” the First Sister all but screamed out that blatant lie, “You have slept long enough, and it is now time to wake up! PRIESTESS calls!”

“Sister!?” Knight Lyn shouted, “What are you talking about– PRIESTESS!?”

“–Quiet!”

But she didn’t need to say it. Knight Lyn was already silent, and so was the Jedi Master. In fact, as her flesh rippled with goosebumps, the First Sister realised everything was silent. There was a wrongness in the air, like some divine hand had turned down the volume of the universe, as the wind still roared, but in muted whimpers, and the pouring rain was muffled, more like something heard through deep water.

The walkway was vibrating beneath her feet.

She felt it first in her soles, then in her knees, a tremor that had no obvious source, emanating upward from the pad itself. She looked down instinctively. The thin rivers of rainwater on the walkway surface were trembling, the surface tension of the streams breaking as thin sheets began to dance across the surface.

The spires of the Prism seem to be swaying, as if the entire structure was rocking from side to side.

Then the gust hit.

It came from below, not driven horizontally by the storm but vertically, blasting upward over the side like a fount of hot air, and the deep exhalation of sublight drives that had been sleeping for a very long time and were now, slowly, awaking. It nearly took her off her feet. Lyn staggered a half-step and caught herself. The LEP droid skidded backward and seized the Jedi Master's robe with both spindly hands.

And with the wind came the sound.

It was not a sound so much as a bass reverberation so low it bypassed the ears entirely and arrived through the chest, through the sternum, and sat in the ribcage and refused to leave. It was a howl, guttural, vast, the sound of something alive and enormous announcing its presence.

The cloud cover beneath their feet tore open, the clouds pushed aside the way surface water is pushed aside by something rising from the deep. The First Sister moved to the walkway’s edge without deciding to, and looked down, and saw the dark silhouette of something massive rising through the murk. Then spots of deep amber glow, coalescing into running lights, a leviathan rising from the depths, rippling with bioluminescence.

The prow broke through the cloud layer like a headland emerging from fog. It was a vast thing, blunt and broad and slightly rounded at the leading edge, and it rose and kept rising, trailing cloud and condensation in long white sheets that peeled away from the hull like falling feathers. Water–actual water, caught from the moon's weather–shed off the upper hull in cascades, catching the amber running lights and falling back into the clouds below in glittering arcs. Its tail emerges last, long and tapered almost to a point, two pairs of adjustable ventral fins beneath it, blazing with plumes of fire.

It rose, and rose, and rose, until the wind forced the First Sister to stumble backwards away from the ledge. And it continued to rise, up over the ledge in a blurred, featureless wall of doonium, up until it swallowed all of the bile-green sky itself, only partially eclipsed by the spires of the Prism.

The leviathan was old. Patches of unscraped rust and old dents and battle scars marred its skin, patches of fading paint in some places and others freshly painted, giving the appearance of mottled hide. It bared its countless savage teeth, bristling its cannons and guns each with a bore wide enough to swallow the Scythe whole.

And in the place of its eyes was there the Separatist Hex, but not the same. It had been layered over, modified, so that in the place of each face was a snarling serpent curled and rearing its neck in vicious visage.

The First Sister could feel Knight Lyn’s rising horror, even without the Force, as understanding crashed upon her in a great wave, “By the gods of the void. This… this is… how did you even know where to…?”

Her voice caught, and cracked.

“The Priestess…?”

“I enjoyed our time together, Lyn!” the First Sister spun to face her, “But now is time for you to make a choice. I will see the Republic brought low, and I will see the Devil dead at my feet! And I will awaken this terror for it!”

“You will give the galaxy to the Separatists!?”

“I would, rather than see Darth Sidious take it!”

She glanced over her shoulder, and saw the Jedi Master looking up at the leviathan with a sense of forlorn surrender. The LEP droid was gone, vanished as if it were never there. The First Sister didn’t know what the Jedi was thinking, and at that moment, she couldn’t care. But the Jedi’s eyes were tracing something, reading something, and the First Sister followed.

There, printed across the face of the vessel, flanked by rivers of rainwater pouring down the sides, in the massive block letters of High Galactic:

She could only hope PRIESTESS was right in its calculations.

War was returning to the galaxy, whether they liked it or not. Because the Battle Hydra was awake, and it took the death of the Galactic Republic to put it to sleep the first time.