“Sepros One, do you have an ETA?” The comms blurted out on Muz’s arm and on the commlink in front of Darkhawk. Muz turned, looking across the bar at the Consul. He nodded once. In the back was a wide office, private and set up for precisely this sort of thing. While they were still awaiting the return of the Athiss intelligence, the interlopers at the edge of Orian took precedence, even if it would be largely a milk run.
Darkhawk cleared his throat, standing tall. “Anyone who flies and flies well, with us.” His voice carried over the din with some ease before he turned and headed toward the private rooms. The two security guards, Crawson and Case, both humans with a fair bit of augments attached, nodded, stepped out of the way as the summiters passed.
The room was large. Red hued, with wide and plush seating surrounding a holographic battle coordinator. It wasn’t as nice as the one aboard the flagship, but for a pinch, it was more than they had back during the old days.
Darkhawk slipped into the chair next to the coordinator, eyes gliding over the display as the others filtered in. Behind him, a small bar of private stock and good glassware. Muz caught him looking, nodding with half a smile on his lips. There were worse ways to set up an office.
Quentin followed Darkhawk in to the room finding a seat near the rear, as he hit a button on his communicator sending a messages to his droid that his flight suit would be required. Sitting down he found the seats was very comfortable, they were possibly made from bantha leather, “Apparently the former Grand Master spared no expense.” he says to his self in almost a whisper. Quentin sat hoping they provide a fighter for his Gx1 freighter wouldn’t be much good in a firefight.
Lord Keibatsu carried a certain je ne sais quoi about him. This new briefing room was a prime example of that. From top to bottom it was laid out to not only exceed the needs of its occupants. It paid homage to the Sadow legacy. From days of old to recent exploits, there was no expense paid in its construction. Leaps and bounds ahead of the old days.
The holographic battle coordinator floated a rotating image of the Clan’s new fighters. Schematics of the ships flashed across the monitors within the room. The Bantha leather seats would make long contingency planning comfortable.
A galaxy map of the Orian system was also being displayed. Red flags across the map marked where raids or contingencies had taken place. As of late, there were a lot of those flags throughout the system. The Clan’s resource operations has been definitely garnering some unwanted attention. Par for the course really, resources were needed across the galaxy. Some went to more nefarious means to acquire. However the retribution was always satisfying.
Malisane felt a deep unease when he watched those who were going out to join the Sadowan fighters leaving. His first instinct was to join the fight, to defend Sadow and Orian. However he knew even with the droid Sidrat at the controls of the Deathshead, he was better here to maintain order. He walked across the bar, took a deep drink of water from his glass, and pushed himself up on the stage. He waved a hand at the DJ who turned off the music. He did bother with the microphone as his battered features surveyed the crowd who turned to look at him. He thought back to the study of people and their fears and hopes and motivations so long ago back at the Academy on Lyspair.
“My fellow Sadowans,” his voice boomed out, “once more the brave men, women and others of our Sadow forces go to battle against an enemy that threatens us and risk their lives, like they did when the defeated those who called themselves the Children, the Unchained, the Collective and all those who foolishly came before. For those of us who remain here we will watch and cheer them on and ensure that they feel us behind every one of them.” He paused as cheers began around the bar, heard by those who were headng for their ships as all of the screens in the bar changed to show images being broadcast from individual fighters and their home ships.
“Remember one thing though, there will be order here. For those who see this as an opportunity to cause chaos remember one thing.” He paused for a few seconds. “I am Malisane Sadow and I will be watching. You do not want to incur my anger.” His gaze passed over all those watching judging the reaction. “Now, it is time to enjoy the show.”
“Lady, gentleman, droid, that seems to be our cue.” Syra Dath looked at Macron, Twenty-Two, and Tasha’Vel. “I am guessing we are going out there?” Malisane was giving his speech as the three of them rose and walked quickly towards the exit.
“You bet your light dampening goggles, Arkanian.” Tasha’Vel smiled. “If there is a battle to be found we are drawn to it. Especially when it involves defending our system.” The Twilek tapped her comlink quickly. “I am all in.”
“Like moths to a flame?” Syra looked concerned.
“No, like blaster shots to a soon-to-be carcass,” chuckled Macron evilly. “I had a dream about a week ago, you know. It is what woke me from hibernation. A space battle, with a full squadron of pirates in the Quebec sector. There were others with me but I could not see their faces.” The Adept stopped as they passed near Roxas. “Care to join us Mandalorian? Your skills would be very appreciated.”
Roxas nodded his helm and stood. “Always.” The Mandalorian also tapped his comlink. “My extra weapons will be delivered to your ship.”
“A man of few words,” quipped Syra as the motley crew exited the bar and hopped on a waiting transport sled. “I haven’t met that many Mandalorians.”
“We are not so different.” Macron donned his own helm. A click ensued as the seals engaged. His voice changed as the vocabulator kicked in. “R3, warm up the ship. A noble people, and warriors to be respected. The Sith also long to protect their people and their homes from interlopers. With violence when needed. Syra, where is your home now?” The Alchemist listened carefully.
“I… it is here in this system. I am not welcome on Arkania. They deemed me not intelligent enough. I am also not completely full-blooded. One of my ancestors was one of the Modified.” The young woman looked down. “I am an outcast. One of my ancestors was a work-slave in the diamond mines.”
“Fills you with anger, doesn’t it?” remarked Tasha’Vel as they pulled up to Macron’s ship. The Twilek looked at Macron knowingly. “You hate them.”
“Yes.” The Arkanian young woman stood as the hovercraft stopped. “Yes, it does. I am no lesser being. I am a Sith!”
“You will find a home here,” commented Roxas as he jumped off the hoverlift. “As long as you can fight and have honor. I did. I never looked back” The Mandalorian warrior walked over to several crates that an ASP labor droid was carrying up the gangplank. “Careful with that.”
“A Sheathipede?” Syra Dath looked at the ship incredulously. “She must be at least forty years old!”
The gangplank hissed as it dropped down. A garnet-red Tukata stood with lambent eyes by the entry.
“It’s okay Chuck. Daddy is home.” Macron giggled. “Syra you will find the Silooth is full of surprises. It took me a long time to save up for her. The Phoenix class upgrade is pretty fun. Head up to the cockpit. You, Knight, are the pilot on this mission. Roxas and Tasha and my droids will man the other systems.” HK 22 and the others walked up the plank.
“And you Adept?” asked Syra quietly. “You aren’t a pilot.”
“I have some minor training but yes you are correct young one. Pirates need ships larger than snubfighters to transport stolen goods. I will lead the boarding party.” The Sith clenched a fist menacingly. “And we will kill all of them. Every last one. No mercy.” <@277745193527279626> <@1171812493715308668>
Locke did not follow the other leaders to their command center. Instead, he retreated to the safety of the refresher. Locke could hear someone outside making a speech as he pulled out his comlink, keying it to the direct line he had to his ally in the Ragnosian fleet.
“Cal!” Locke shouted hoarsely so as not to be heard over whatever rousing speech was happening in the bar. “Cal! I knew it! Get enough Sadowans together and SOMEONE takes a shot at them.”
“Not surprising,” came the reply after several seconds in a proper Coruscanti accent. “It will probably be nothing you can’t handle.”
“Or it could be a diversion before something bigger!” Locke snapped back.
“It could be…” Cal began slowly. “But the Warhost is surely in the area…”
“I’d feel a lot better if some of MY ships were in the area,” Locke said. “Can you fly the new flagship over here?”
In a completely serious tone, Cal replied “one does not simply redirect their flagship because their Quaestor is ‘concerned.’ That said, it could be a good experience for some of our pilots. I will have the Ascent move nearby - but not too close - and send Hammerhead squadron to support your comrades efforts. We’ll say it was a training exercise and we just happened to be in the area.”
“Sounds great!” Locke replied. “Of course. Why wouldn’t we help if training nearby?”
He hoped this excuse would satisfy Hades when he inevitably (in Locke’s mind) did not approve of the flagship moving away from Tarthos for this.
He calmed himself and exited the refresher like nothing happened. It looked a bit cleared out; like some people had already headed for their ships.
As they walked up the lift one of of macron’s droid crew waved to Roxas before it’s modulator spoke “right this way sir.” The Mandalorian eagerly followed to a gunner station and took the seat as the droid spoke again “My master asks that you man this position” and Roxas replied quickly “my pleasure” as he started flipping switches and running diagnostics on the laser turret. He ran the self calibrations and other diagnostics before adjusting some minor settings to his liking and testing the targeting computer and the HUD layout. He’s always enjoyed using various types of weapons and the bigger they are the more fun they are to destroy with. As the diagnostics started wrapping up he connected his comm to the the port allowing him to communicate to all the stations as needed. He was ready to do some damage.
“And what system exactly will I be manning?” Tasha'vel raised an eyebrow. “I am so out of practice with flying, I would probably fly it into an asteroid.” She laughed. “I am used to just have my pilot, Jelc, fly me about as I relied more on being a ground infiltrator. I am used to fighting my battles up close and personal so I can see their face when they realize the horrible mistake they made when dueling with me.” She grinned. “I much prefer to board and take them out from inside rather than try to shoot them from the sky.” She leaned against the side of a wall and smirked. “Been a hot minute since I’ve had any real fighting action, so I will take what I can get.”
Ten Minutes ago Quebec Sector Orian System In the cold of space, the ships danced along the edge of ‘Prohibited Space’, their commander watching as the patrol just passed them by, heading starward. They had certainly been seen, of that he had no doubt. The Rodian’s mouth twitched as he contemplated, motioning to his comms officer to open the channel to the other ships. He had taken the full squadron of Lancer-Classes as payment for the job his crew had pulled out in Wild Space, and he was anxious to get back coreward for a refit and set himself up as….well, He didn’t know exactly. With the chaos of the Final Order’s collapse and the rebuilding Republic, there certainly was a fair number of local Warlords. Perhaps he could be one of them.
But first, he had to make it home.
Now ‘The Hub’ Dentavii Prime
Malisane’s technical savvy projected the feeds from the New Interceptors onto the screens around the bar. Drinks were poured, and Muz thought he heard someone taking bets on who would bring in the first kill. An arched eyebrow greeted Darkhawk as he brought up the schematics of the new Mark VII again. This would be their first test, the old designs from ancient times modernized with bleeding edge tech. It would be fun to see them in actual combat.
“We’re going to need a better name for this facility.” Muz commented as the feed shifted, the feed from the sensors on the front of the Interceptors starting to move as they launched from the Hangar.
Darkhawk nodded at the comment, slipping on a headset as he coordinated the fighters.
"This is Command. All wings, check in."
Macron nodded as DarkHawk’s communication came through. The Adept triggered the internal com as the ship completed it’s launch. “Roxas, ready to rock?”
“This is the Way,” came the affirmative response.
Tasha chuckled up in the cockpit. “Typical Mando.”
“I like them,” giggled the Alchemist. “Killers. Syra, go ahead and check us in.”
“Copy that.” The Arkanian adjusted her headset. “Silooth here, Sadow Actual. Ready.”
On the bridge of the Ragnos flagship a short hyperspace jump away, Cal studied the clan’s tactical readout of the impending battle. He saw that the clan’s leaders had decided this was a good opportunity to test out their new starfighters. He agreed with that decision, but he wanted to see what they could do in the hands of a highly skilled pilot who could (relatively safely) push even such a craft to it’s limit.
He gave the order. “Prepare one of our new interceptors for test pilot Phi-Chi-Theta. They will be designated Alpha I for this exercise.
"I will personally brief them in my ready room; as I want to note under no uncertain terms that they are not to do anything stupid with our new fighter, or they will have to answer to the Overlord,” he said in a dead serious voice.
Cal headed to his ready room and thumbed his comlink to a private channel; one which only he and a few other people had access to, including his Quaestor. “Kiana, I know you’ve been dying to get your hands on one of those new fighter craft…”
“…Just don’t do anything stupid,” Cal was saying. Kiana finished checking to make sure the pilot’s flightsuit was secure, including the helmet. “I won’t,” she said.
It wasn’t long before Kiana found herself in the cockpit of one of the new starfighters. She couldn’t help but grin to herself - if there was one vice Kiana had, it was an addiction to powerful, fast fighter craft.
Moments after exiting the hangar, she accelerated to near top sublight speed, smiled, and made a microjump through hyperspace to the coordinates Cal had provided.
When she arrived, it was on the tail end of a message from the Overlord himself. Kiana didn’t even blink as she answered. “Alpha I from the Lion’s Ascent, standing by.”
As if to indicate who she was, she spun the craft in a barrelroll first to port and then to starboard, pleased with how well it handled even with the strike foils closed.
Sully started going through all the checks in the cockpit. Ashia sat in the opposite seat doing much the same.
“You sure you wanna do this?” The Lasat said somewhat nervously.
“You got a better idea?” Ashia retorted as he sighed.
“Besides…” Ashia continued, “We’ve been in worse scrapes. This’ll be a piece of cake!”
Sully looked at her sideways and rolled his eyes. He hated when she said that. It was never a piece of anything and what was this…cake she always spoke about.
Grabbing the comm she pressed the button and checked in with the Consul. “Emerald Dragon standing by.”
Muz half smiled as he heard her voice through the comms.
“Sapphire leader, standing by.” The female’s voice came through a bit choppy at first, cleanign up as the comm channel tightened up. Muz’s eyebrow went up as he looked at Darkhawk. That squadron had significant history within the clan. It made sense that the Consul would assign the new interceptors to them.
“Sapphire two, standing by.” That one had a thick Coruscanti accent. Darkhawk leaned back, chuckling as he watched the blips light up on the coordinator.
“Sapphire three, standing by.” Muz tilted his head, letting his mind wrap around the accent. It was familiar to him, but the context was setting him off. “Absolutely mint.” There it was. He had to expect that Blackwind would jump at the chance to fly one of those, but how he had managed to get out from under his nose befuddled him. He cast a sidelong glance at the Consul.
“If he breaks it, I know you’re good for it.” Darkhawk shrugged and chuckled at him before sitting upright and punching the coordinates in for them to do a short range jump.
“Sapphire four, standing by.” The final member of the flight checked in, and Darkhawk sent the coordinates, the dull throb of hyperjump echoing in their ears.
A dozen Lancer-Class pursuit craft flew in diamond formation around a heavily armed Horizon-class star yacht just past the final orbit of the Orian system. The jump location was visual distance away, the five Mark VII Sadow Interceptors, the Silooth and the Emerald Dragon all joining the fight.
“Command, this is Sapphire leader. We have contact.”
Darkhawk keyed the comms button, smiling broadly.
“Engage.”
Malisane gaze occasional glances to the screens, as the views from the Sadowan vessels highlighted the view of the battle. Again he felt a pang of disappointment that he was not amongst the fighting. However the Summit had given him the task of organising and supervising the enterainment facility and he would perform it. His view drifted from the screens to the eager crowd watching and he frowned as he saw and heard the clear signs of small bets being made. Though he did not partake in such frivolous activity, he had nothing against others gambling. The revenue from the casino next door and other facilities was a valuable boost to the economy, as did the fees private owners paid to be allowed to operate in Sadow Space. However it needed supervision. He motioned to the chief of security who approached. “You will keep an eye on those betting with each other. So long as it remains moderate take no action if it keeps them busy. However if it gets out of hand you will intercede. Bets lead to winners and loosers, and debts being owed. Debts lead to disputes, which escalate. We will have no trouble here.” The guard nodded and walked away.
His eyes turned curiously towards the two Clan Summit members who were talking quietly and watching the action. So far they seemed content to observe. They seemed to be holding back the main Warhost forces for the time and assessing the situation. It seemed sensible.
His attention was distracted as a large figure moved into his vision and the familiar gammorean waitress offered him another glass of water. “Thank you Nova,” he said with a nod. She made an affirmative grunt and he looked across the bar. “By the way, Colonel Modrick of the 1st Armoured requested a private drink with you. It is entirely your own affair, but if the lecherous old sodd tries anything do whatever you feel nessesary and have security dump him in a sleeping pod.” She gave another affirmative grunt and walked away. Malisane looked back at the screens as the action intensified.
“Well, you heard the Overlord. Let’s get ‘em!” Macron laughed hard as the Silooth raced towards the target. “Maybe a little long-range proton torpedo to keep that Lancer on the side busy.” An armored finger stabbed a button. There was no exciting flash of a torpedo streaming away. Instead a ding sounded in the cockpit and a steaming hot cup of space-coffee popped out of the side console. “Ah shavit. Wrong button,” frowned the madman as he downed the coffee quickly. “Excellent roast though.”
“Good grief,” snorted Syra as she rotated the ship deftly to avoid a stream of blaster fire from the same Lancer. She returned fire, barely glancing a shot off the edge of the shields of the enemy craft. “Mind your controls Adept. That Lancer is a wily booger.” The Silooth’s indicators lit as she took a blaster bolt to her shields. “No worries. This old girl can take a hell of a lot more than that. She’s a tough bird. Regenerating shields, heavy armor, hits hard and still pretty nimble. Not bad for an ancient scow.”
“She’s not a…”
Tasha cut Macron off. “That is comforting,” stated Tasha’Vel dryly from behind in the hold. “Macron, your shooting is not. Twenty two, Chuck and I are ready to board that yacht. Assuming we get there without being blown to bits. We have to get by their screeners first.”
Macron’s R-3 droid trilled in reply from the astromech port indicating shield regeneration was already in process.
“We will,” responded Roxas across the comms from his rear turret position. As the Silooth passed by the starboard side of the Lancer the Mandalorian lit up it’s shields hard with a double-shot from both rear turrets. “They have no snubfighters.”
“At least somebody can shoot around here,” quipped Syra Dath. “Let’s hope the others are doing better. Coming around for another pass at that Lancer. We can’t have her behind us if we are going to board that yacht.”
“At least somebody can shoot around here.” Roxas quipped “You’re welcome” as he continued to scan the area expecting still expecting fighters, which would be normal. “Feel free to use toys from those crates I brought, if you board their ship.” Roxas suggested across the comms before continuing “All clear back here.” He adjusted the scanners and sensor to a wider range and turned on the scope to scan for life forms, but set it to a broad direction behind them in hopes it helps keep them from being ambushed. Suddenly sparks flew from the panel and an alarm sounded. An astromech zipped into the turret slamming into the Mandalorian and knocking him out of the gunner’s seat. It pulled the panel open and started doing repairs. The droid was frantically beeping and chirping curse words in binary. “You’ll watch it talking to me droid or I’ll fry you!” Roxas hollered back “It’s not my fault some fuses blew!”
Hades had attended the briefing with the others and left shortly after. He had arrived in the orbit of Tarthos a little bit later. He transferred onto one of the HMR’s ships after observing the Lion’s Ascent had already left the area. Hades now looks up the current array of the House’s ships in the area. He sent orders to the fleet to double their fighter CAP and keep an eye out for enemy vessels. The fleet is now on high alert. Switching comm channels he alerts a Tartan and another cruiser to break off and join his task force. Stepping onto the bridge of the Bad Intentions Hades stops behind the helm and nods at the helmsman. “Lieutenant, once the other two ships are in formation, please make your way to these coordinates and then wait for my signal.” “Yes, Admiral.” responded the LT. As Hades waited for the three ships to form up he double checked the location of the clan’s other ships. Once he confirmed his plan will work he smiled.
“Sir, all three ships are ready for departure.” Hades nods to the Operations officer. “Very well. Engage on my mark.” Hades looks around then out the front viewport. “Mark." With that the three ships left Tarthos and entered hyperspace.
General Blackwind pushed the throttles all the way forward as he piloted the Mark VII into a steep attack angle against the Lancer. The Mark VII’s speed caught the General slightly off guard. He had piloted fast ships before, but none like this. The centrifugal force pressed him deep into the pilot seat.
The aggressive dive angle increased the ship’s speed dramatically. Blackwind placed the targeting reticle across the Lancer’s hull. A few more seconds and he would be in the killzone. His finger steady on the trigger and eager to squeeze a few shots off.
The Lancer began interrupting the General’s strafing run with a barrage of laser fire. Blackwind maintained his glide slope angle, executing a number of barrel rolls avoiding the incoming assault.
The ship was agile to say the least. Blackwind was impressed with its capabilities thus far. The General twisted the yoke and pressed hard on the etheric rudder.
Speed gauge was nearly redlined and he was about to overshoot his target. Without hesitation Blackwind pulled the throttle back and activated the ship’s s-foils. The s-foils opened and the General stomped the rudders again while tilting the nose up. This caused the ship to ”belly-flop” which decreased his speed. While the fighter was nearly parrallel with the Lancer, he quickly disengaged the s-foils and letting off the rudder.
He slipped right passed the Lancer nearly twenty meters beneath her. In one fluid motion Blackwind flipped the ship over and the Lancer’s exposed belly was ripe for attack.
Blackwind felt a rush of adrenaline as he lined up his shot then pulled the trigger.