FicWad

"Here they come," Car'das almost cries out, nervously all but bouncing in place on his feet as he reaches out to point at the display. "Droid starfighters - you see them?"

"Yes, of course," Thrawn merely replies, inclining his head in calm acknowledgment. "All vessels, pull back. Car'das, you said droids can think and act on their own. Do these droid starfighters also have that capability?"

"I don't think so," Car'das replies after a few heartbeats of silence, desperately trying to unfreeze his mind and think as the /Springhawk /begins to move backwards. The sight of so many incoming Trade Federation starfighters would probably be enough to rattle anyone, but the Chiss likely can't afford to wait on him while he tries to get it together. Shaking his head slightly, in the hopes of clearing it, Car'das adds, more firmly, "The Jedi defeated the Trade Federation's droid armies on Naboo by taking out the control ship, after the Neimoidian Viceroy Nute Gunray illegally occupied the planet. That means the droids can't act on their own. These have got to be remotely controlled in groups from one of the battleships."

"Jedi?" One of Thrawn's blue-black eyebrows raises inquisitively, though a faint touch of disbelief in Thrawn's voice hints that the question is prompted as much by actual surprise as by simple curiosity. "These Jedi had to defend a planet of your Republic from the droids of this Trade Federation, and yet the Trade Federation not only still exists but is allowed to keep its droid armies?"

"It's . . . kind of a long, messy story," Car'das explains, unable to repress a grimace at the thought of trying to explain to Thrawn how someone as obviously guilty as the Trade Federation Viceroy Nute Gunray has managed to avoid prosecution for his part in the invasion of Naboo. Trying to explain in as few words as possible, he adds, "A lot of people in the Republic aren't very happy about what happened - especially not since there was supposedly at least one Sith Lord involved, even though they're supposed to have been extinct for almost a thousand years - but too many of the politicians were either afraid that if they pushed too hard for sanctions against the Trade Federation and its allies after Naboo that they'd be risking a civil war or else figured that since the Jedi managed to liberate the planet almost immediately that no real harm was really inflicted on the planet or its peoples, so unfortunately not a whole lot was ever done about the invasion and occupation."

"You have not mentioned these Sith Lords before in our talks," Thrawn notes, turning towards Car'das expectantly.

"A lot of people still think they're extinct," Car'das explains, shrugging. "They're kind of like bad Jedi, only worse. The way I understand it, Sith are the polar opposites of Jedi. The Jedi fought against them off and on for thousands of years, trying to protect the Republic and its peoples, and it was thought that they'd been wiped out in that last battle at Ruusan. Nobody's really sure anymore if that's true, and, since the Jedi themselves haven't said so one way or the other, it's basically up in the air now as to whether or not the Sith still exist. Personally, though, I wouldn't put it past the Neimoidians running the Trade Federation to ally themselves with a real Sith Lord. They care a lot more about their profit margins than they do about the suffering of other sentient beings," he adds, not bothering to hide the bitterness creeping into his voice.

"You do not approve of the actions of this Trade Federation."

It's not exactly a question, but Car'das responds as if it were, anyway. "No, sir, I don't. And I don't know of anyone in the Republic who really does, either, except maybe for their allies in the other big corporations, like the Techno Union and the Commerce Guild. The worst part is that the Jedi probably would've found a way to bring the ones responsible for the Naboo incident to justice, by now, if only the Senate would just let them do their job. But there are too many on the Senate who're in the pockets of the corporations, and the Jedi Order answers to the Judicial Department, under the Supreme Chancellor, so the power of the Jedi to act is limited by the Chancellor, whose power is regulated by the Senate. Which essentially means that the Senate and the Chancellor have the power to dictate what the Jedi can and can't do. And in this case, they've ruled that the Jedi can't touch the Trade Federation or its leaders unless they get caught red-handed doing something else unarguably illegal. So unless the Jedi Order decides to go rogue and punish the Trade Federation anyway, there's basically nothing anybody can do about what happened at Naboo. Or anywhere else, for that matter," he explains, completely unaware that the weightless hand of the Force spirit of Revan Maloch is tightening in approval upon his right shoulder, thoroughly pleased not only at his words but at his undisguised, unmitigated disgust with both the Trade Federation and the corrupt members of the Republic Senate.

"Would the invasion of another sovereign power's territory be considered an illegal act of war by your Senate?" Thrawn immediately inquires, his previously calm demeanor utterly belied by the sudden intensity of his gaze.

"If a complaint was brought to their attention in such a way that they couldn't just choose to conveniently ignore the proof backing the accusation?" Car'das asks back before shrugging. "Probably. But a more likely outcome would be the involvement of the Jedi while the Senate sat around and dithered and waited to see if they'd be forced to act or if someone else could be made to do their job for them."

"Ah. Thank you, Car'das. I shall keep that in mind," Thrawn promises, bowing his head gravely, in promise. Then, turning his attention back towards the unfolding engagement, he calls out to his crew, "Comm? Have you located and identified their control frequencies?"

"Yes, Commander," the comm officer promptly reports. "The control appears to be secured with a rolling encryption system. I estimate maximum range to be ten thousand /visvia/."

"Pull us back to eleven thousand," Thrawn orders before turning back to Car'das. "Ten thousand visvia is approximately sixteen thousand of your kilometers. Does that sound like the correct operating range?"

He stares at him for a moment, blankly. Sixteen thousand kilometers? It seems like an awful lot of room, to him, but then, he has no real concept of spatial distances if they aren't in either meters or lightyears. After a few heartbeats of trying to figure out how small a fraction of a lightyear that might be and finally deciding that it wouldn't really help him to know that, anyway, Car'das shakes his head and spreads his hands helplessly. "I'm sorry, but I don't know."

"No apologies needed," Thrawn calmly assures him, only the slightest hint of tightening around his eyes betraying his displeasure and disappointment (the very presence of which strikes against Car'das' heart, hurting him and making him silently curse his own lack of knowledge) over the lack of forthcoming useful information. "At any rate, we'll know soon enough."

"Enemy fighters still approaching," one of the crewers interjects warningly. "Main group is holding back."

"Interesting," Thrawn muses thoughtfully, tilting his head ever so slightly to right. "The main body appears to be forming a defensive screen around the larger vessels. Considering his numerical advantage, this Commander Stratis seems unusually cautious."

"That's typical of the Neimoidians who build and run these things. They're known for their greed and their ability to make money, not their bravery," Car'das tells him, feeling a frown creasing his forehead. Now that he thinks about it, though, Stratis' voice had sounded human, not Neimoidian. Neimoidians lack real lips and that, plus the odd musculature of their faces from their over-large mouths, makes it extremely difficult for them to pronounce some words in Basic, giving their talk a distinctively stilted and oddly accented sound. One of the earliest runs he went on for Rak and the Bargain Hunter had been for a Neimoidian named Tad Reedle, and Maris had told him all about the creatures when he'd commented on the fellow's odd speech patterns and sometimes difficult to penetrate, staccato accent. Confused, Car'das finds his frown deepening as he tries (unsuccessfully) to account for the human-sounding voice by figuring out if it would be more unlikely for the Trade Federation to have started selling or leasing their battleships or for them to have actually allowed someone (apparently human) to capture that many of their ships.

"Attackers pulling back," the sensor officer calls out, recalling him from his thoughts to the unfolding confrontation. "Reforming into an outer screen between us and the fleet."

"Apparently, we were correct about the ten-thousand-visvia range," Thrawn concludes, almost pleased enough to smile. "Excellent."

"So what do we do now?" Car'das asks, eyeing the swarming starfighters uneasily and wondering if he should mention his puzzlement over the human-sounding voice to Thrawn.

For a moment Thrawn merely sits silently, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully as he gazes at the displays. "We try an experiment," he says at last. "/Whirlwind/: move to deployment position. Fighter Four: probe attack, course one-one-five by three-eight-one."

There are two prompt acknowledgments, and in no time at all Car'das is watching as one of the other two /Springhawk/-size ships break away from the group, heading to starboard, while one of the nine fighters heads off the opposite direction. "What kind of experiment?" he finally asks, unable to figure out what Thrawn is intending with such a dispersal.

"With so many fighters to control, I suspect the system designers didn't have room to be overly clever," is Thrawn's less than informative response, though his eyes are glittering so much that Car'das has a very bad feeling that he's not going to like whatever this experiment turns out to be. "Let's see just how clever they were."

***

"Incoming!" one of the Neimoidians in the control pits calls sharply. "Single fighter, vector zero-four-two by zero eight-eight."

"The fool," Kav immediately declares with a contemptuous snort. "Does he think us inattentive? Outer group: intercept and destroy."

Doriana's experience with and understanding of actual pitched battles - especially battles taking place in deep space, like this - is much more theoretical than practical, and so he watches the displays silently as the three groups of droid starfighters promptly re-form from their outer picket screen and swing out to intercept the lone alien fighter. They've barely had time to settle into their attack vector, though, before the intruder abruptly breaks off, swinging around in a tight curve and hurrying back to the safety of distance.

"Return them to patrol," Kav orders. Then, stumbling slightly because he is unable to force his lipless mouth into making the proper sounds (and therefore essentially butchers the Chiss Commander's name), he irritably demands, "Does this Mitthrawdo not realize how badly he is outmatched?"

Still somewhat upset over Kav's decision to summarily open fire on the self-named Chiss Commander, Doriana's first instinct is to reply with an acerbic observation regarding the fact that the Neimoidian has only himself to blame for the current situation with the alien force. "Maybe all he wants is to sit back there out of range and watch us," Doriana actually finally points out (after making himself take a calming breath first), carefully keeping the acid out of his tone. Then, making it more a statement than a question, he adds, "I don't need to remind you that we can't afford to have witnesses around when Outbound Flight gets here."

"Do you suggest they are Senate spies?" Kav demands, staring at him incredulously.

"Or they might be from the Jedi, or from Palpatine, or from someone else," Doriana replies with a shrug, spreading his hands wide in a gesture clearly meant to convey the notion your guess is as good as mine. "All I know is that no one this far from the Republic should be speaking Basic - unless they came here from the Republic in the first place."

"He comes at us again, Vicelord," the Neimoidian at the sensors calls out before Kav can frame a response to Doriana's observation. "Same fighter, same vector."

"Same response, then," Kav irritably calls back, leaning forward to study the displays. Frowning, he then mutters, half to himself, "Perhaps he is trying to judge exactly how far our control extends."

"Be careful," Doriana can't quite keep himself from warning Kav, even though he knows that such an admonishment is probably unnecessary and will likely annoy the Neimoidian further, feeling inexplicably nervous about the repetitive pattern. "If they figure out how to jam the signal, those starfighters will go dormant."

"And will self-destruct a few minutes later," Kav merely impatiently notes, not quite snorting in response. "Thank you, Commander Stratis; I am familiar with my own weaponry. See - again he pulls back, no wiser than he was before."

"Unless he's a decoy," Doriana offers, intently searching the other displays. "Don't forget the cruiser that detached itself from the group the same time the fighter did."

"I have not forgotten," Kav assures him with a dismissive shrug. "But that one has merely traveled along our flank, and has made no attempt to attack or move closer."

Frustrated and increasingly sure that they are somehow missing something, some ulterior purpose, about the otherwise quite inexplicably repetitive patterned response of the Chiss Commander, Doriana shakes his head. "He's up to something, Vicelord."

"Whatever it is, it will gain him nothing," Kav merely insists, his lipless mouth pouching stubbornly outwards into a shape that is even more pronouncedly fish-like than usual. "Outbound Flight is not due for another nine days. That is more than enough time to choose how we will deal with this annoyance."

On the display, the retreating fighter suddenly flips over and again charges in.

"Vicelord - " a Neimoidian begins.

"Same response," Kav cuts in. But this time there is a note of immense satisfaction in his voice. "I see his plan now, Commander Stratis. He hopes to drain the starfighters of their fuel and then drive in unopposed. What he does not realize is that I still have all the Darkvenge's starfighters in reserve, plus half of the Seeker's."

"Maybe," Doriana murmurs, his vague sense of uneasiness and confusion deepening to actual foreboding as he watches the exact same scenario play itself out for a third time. Surely someone as calmly self-assured and intelligent-sounding as Mitth'raw'nuruodo could come up with something better than to just run the same simple-minded attack over and over . . . and always on exactly the same vector. Could he perhaps be trying to find a weakness in the droid starfighters' attack formation?

Once again the starfighters chase the intruder away. Once again, the alien ship flies out of range and flips over for another run. The show repeats twice more, and Doriana is just checking the chrono to see how close the starfighters are to their twenty-five-minute fuel time limit when Kav abruptly slams his fist on the arm of his chair. "I weary of this game," the Neimoidian declares, voice dark with impatience and frustration. "You - order the Keeper to move toward the aliens."

"Careful, Vicelord," Doriana cautions as the comm operator turns to his board. "Let's not be too quick to split up the fleet."

"I have been more than patient," Kav immediately counters, voice rising in irritation. "It is time to end this. Signal the Keeper to advance, and to launch the rest of its starfighters into shield configuration - "

"Hold it," Doriana cuts in, voice rising sharply with surprise. The scenario has, quite suddenly, unexpectedly changed. The fighter is again retreating with starfighters in pursuit, but this time the rest of the alien force has also leapt forward, driving hard towards the gap that has opened up between them and the main task force.

"And so they make their final mistake," Kav merely notes with obvious satisfaction. "Signal the starfighters to attack."

The Neimoidian acknowledges the order and then obediently begins to tap at his board. But to Doriana's disbelief the droids don't respond. Instead, they continue in pursuit of the retreating fighter.

"Order them to attack!" Kav snaps again. "What are you doing? Call them to the attack!"

"They do not respond," the other Neimoidian calls back, staring in stunned disbelief down at his controls.

"Impossible," Kav instantly snaps. "They cannot possibly be jamming our signal."

"They're not," Doriana grimly agrees. "If the starfighters weren't getting a signal, they'd have shut down and gone dormant. But they're still flying at full power."

"But they are flying away from us. How can this be?" Kav demands, clearly bewildered by the sudden change in events.

"Never mind the /how/," Doriana all but yelps in reply. "Here they come!"

***

"I don't believe it," Car'das murmurs, stunned, as he watches the droid starfighters ignore the incoming Chiss ships completely as they head mindlessly towards deep space. "How did you get them to do that?"

"The command signal uses a rolling encryption," Thrawn explains, nearly smiling outright with satisfaction as the Springhawk shoots forward past the now vanished outer defense screen. "But with so many fighters requiring signals, I knew the rotation would have to be a limited one. It turns out that there are only three separate encryption patterns for this group. I simply recorded the version the droids would be expecting next, then broadcast it to them with enough power to override whatever their masters in the battleship were trying to send."

"But how could you figure out - oh," Car'das interrupts himself as it finally clicks. "With your fighter always going in on the same vector, and the droids' command always the same come-out-of-this-formation-and-attack-the-enemy-on-this-vector code, the only part that ever changed was the encryption pattern itself."

"Which allowed us to isolate the command we wanted and duplicate it," Thrawn confirms with a small but nonetheless noticeable nod (one that warms Car'das clear through with sudden pride), clearly pleased both with Car'das' understanding and with the success of the ploy. "The secret to successful analysis, Car'das: whenever possible, reduce matters to a single variable."

Ahead, the nearest starfighters in the inner screen are starting to shift positions, moving from their general defense pattern onto intercept vectors. "I don't think that's going to work on the rest of them, though," Car'das has to reply, half warningly and half regretfully. "They're coming from different initial formations, and there are probably entirely different codes and encryptions for them."

"That doesn't matter," Thrawn assures him, still looking so pleased that Car'das finds himself automatically believing him, even though he still can't quite figure out a reason why the Commander should be so confident of success. "All I needed was to get past the outer group and into closer range," Thrawn adds, leaning forward to tap a key on his board. "All vessels: attack pattern /d'moporai/."

***

"Here they come," Doriana mutters, his fingers digging anxiously into the couch cushion beside him in an effort to distract himself from the growing tension. He's well aware that, on the face of it, there's still no rational way that Mitth'raw'nuruodo's pitiful little collection of patrol ships could do anything against the combined might of the Trade Federation task force. No way at all. The alien commander has somehow just gotten past three groups of droid starfighters without firing a shot, though, and that's supposed to be impossible, too. Whatever Commander Mitth'raw'nuruodo might have in mind for his next trick, Doriana has a strong suspicion that he isn't going to like it one little bit. Yet, even through his apprehension, a small, detached part of him is looking forward to seeing just what that trick might be, if for no other reason than that he's sure it will be something ingenious.

He doesn't end up having to wait long. Soon enough, the incoming aliens start widening their formation, sacrificing the protection of overlapping shields to gain extra maneuvering room. Swarms of starfighters from the nearer parts of the task force's defense screen start breaking their own formation in response, sweeping in over a wide, three-dimensional wavefront towards the intruders. Within moments, the two groups are nearly within laser range of each other -

- and then each of the alien fighters launches a single missile.

There's a subtle flicker in the indicator lights of the Darkvenge's computer command board as the starfighters' sensor information is collected, compiled, and analyzed, and the proper response formulated. That response is translated into a hundred updated commands, which are then sorted, encrypted, and transmitted back to the primitive droid brains riding in their armored casings. A sliver of a second later, the starfighters respond to those commands with a rain of concentrated laserfire that blow all nine missiles into shrapnel. "A foolish waste of effort," Kav comments offhandedly. "The range was clearly too great for - "

"Hold it," Doriana immediately snaps, frowning at the displays, eyes narrowing into sharp slits. There's something still moving along the shattered missiles' lines of flight, filmy spots of nearly invisible haze that seem to be growing larger as they speed towards the incoming starfighters, expanding almost as if they were spreading nets . . . "Call them back," he tells Kav, worried enough not to care about the fact that his words could be taken as a challenge, all but vibrating in place with urgency. But it's already too late. Even as the alien attack formation abruptly comes apart, with all eleven ships shooting off in all different directions, the hazy spots intersect their target starfighter groups. After which there are multiple flashes of subdued light.

"They do not respond!" one of the Neimoidians calls out from the computer board, clearly alarmed. "Nine groups of droids have gone silent!"

"Connor nets," Doriana snarls furiously, digging his fingers even harder into the cushion. Nine groups of starfighters, neatly and efficiently knocked out of action.

Out of action, but not out of the fight. Connor nets, like ion cannons, are designed to disable and hold rather than destroy, their high voltage shocks meant to temporary knock out a ship's control boards without doing any serious damage to the actual overall vessel. So the momentum of the shocked fighters continues to carry them onward . . . and then, as he watches in helpless fascination, they slam squarely into other groups that have shifted their own vectors to chase the dispersing aliens. Then there are more multiple flashes, this cluster much brighter than the last. And suddenly the gaping hole in the task force's defensive screen no longer has any starfighters left to fill it.

"This is impossible!" Kav cries, his five-cornered hat bobbing as he swings his head back and forth around the bridge. "How can he do this?"

"Get the rest of the starfighters into space," Doriana only grinds out through tightly clenched teeth. "Now."

Kav doesn't need any more prompting. "Order Keeper to activate all remaining droid starfighters," he calls out, the panic in his voice all but palpable. "They will launch when ready. And move all those already launched to intercept."

"Wait a minute!" Doriana objects. "You can't leave our other flanks unguarded."

"Against what?" Kav retorts. "This is the battlefront. If we do not defend it, there will be no other flanks left to guard." Without waiting for a response, he gestures commandingly across the bridge. "Obey my order."

***

"Here they come," Car'das murmurs, anxiously wondering if Thrawn has finally managed to slice off more than he can serve. The Chiss managed to dispatch those first few groups of droid starfighters with relative ease, but tricks like that only work once against a given opponent (even an opponent as cowardly and unimaginative as a Neimoidian). And now all the rest of those hundreds of starfighters are sweeping with inexorable precision around the flanks of the Trade Federation fleet, heading straight towards them. So unless that's exactly what Thrawn has been waiting for . . . Frowning in confusion, Car'das shifts his eyes across the displays, looking for the cruiser that had slipped away from them just before the fighting started. If the main Chiss force is merely a diversion . . . But no, the Whirlwind isn't charging in from the side for a sucker-punch attack. Instead, it's still sitting quietly in space, apparently being held in reserve. Which means that Thrawn has to be intending . . . what, exactly? Looking back at the incoming starfighters, Car'das shakes his head and finally just says, "I hope you've got one Great Father of a shock net up your sleeve."

"We'll certainly have to consider creating such a device if we begin facing opponents like this on a regular basis," Thrawn drily agrees. "Tell me, what happens to these droids if their communication signals are cut off?"

"If the - ? Are you talking about jamming?"

"You disapprove?" Thrawn asks, raising one blue-black eyebrow inquiringly.

"No, of course not," Car'das hastily assures him. "But Trade Federation command signals are supposed to be unjammable. They can change frequencies and command patterns instantly - the minute you block off one part of the spectrum they just shift to another."

"And if you block the entire spectrum at once?"

Car'das just stares at him for a moment, unable to believe what he's just heard. No matter how incredible it might seem to him, though, he can't escape the fact that the Chiss Commander is entirely serious. "You can't blanket the whole area, Commander," he finally grinds out from between clenched teeth. "It's too big. The minute you start, they'll know what you're doing and send a set of contingency orders to everything outside your jamming. Those droid starfighters may not be smart, but they're certainly capable of downloading enough general commands to keep them functioning until they've pounded us to dust."

"Only if there are any starfighters still outside the jamming," Thrawn merely calmly notes. "But it seems our opponent has taken care of that problem for us." He points out towards the displays the, calling Car'das attention back to the actual battlefield. "Even as we close the distance, he is converging all his starfighters into this one small area."

Car'das stares hard at the displays. Thrawn's right - the Trade Federation commander has abandoned the rest of his picket area to bring all his starfighters to the attack. But could he really not realize the possible implications of what he was doing? "What about your own communications?" he finally asks, at a bit of a loss. "If you jam the whole spectrum, you'll be out of touch with your people, too."

"Fortunately, my warriors are capable of more than simply downloading general commands," Thrawn replies, with a hint of immense satisfaction that makes his eyes seem to glow even brighter than usual. "Let's see which side's battle philosophy proves the more versatile." Leaning forward, he takes a deep breath. "Full-spectrum jamming: /now/."

***

For a long, horrifying second, the Darkvenge's bridge is filled with a screech like something from the restless undead of ancient Coruscant legend. Then the Neimoidian at the comm slaps at the switch, cutting off the wail and leaving only a distant ringing in Doriana's ears. "What in the name of - ?!"

"Vicelord - we are being jammed!" the Neimoidian crewer cries out, staring at his board in obvious disbelief. "All starfighters have gone dormant!"

Doriana stares out the viewports, his stomach tightening into a hard knot of distress. The starfighters have indeed locked down, each of them now flying mindlessly in whatever direction it had last been pointed. And swerving with ease through the drifting obstacle course, blasting away at the helpless starfighters as they go, Mitth'raw'nuruodo's alien ships are heading straight for them, the fighters in screening formation ahead of the two cruisers.

"Get our starfighters back online," Kav orders tautly, jabbing a hand towards the Neimoidians at the command board. "Get them /back/."

"We are trying," one of them calls out, obviously distressed and on the edge of panicking. "We have opened laser communications to as many as we can."

Those comm lasers are line of sight, though, as Doriana knows, and, with a sinking feeling, he realizes that this limitation is growing more and more noticeable as expanding clouds of dust and debris from the shattered starfighters begins to block even this last-gasp communication method. A few of the starfighters are coming back to life, but they're being targeted and destroyed by the aliens before they can even start to organize themselves into an effective fighting force. "What about the other ships?" he demands, trying to push away a growing sense of panic. "Why aren't they attacking?"

"There!" someone calls out, and Doriana sees an arm point upwards from one of the pits. "The Hardcells have launched their missiles."

"About time," Doriana mutters, feeling a cautious hope rising within him as five clusters of three missiles each shoot towards the attackers.

The attackers react instantly, though, five of the fighters abandoning their thrust towards the battleships and curving towards the outside of the Trade Federation formation. The missiles, locking in on the movement, follow. "Good," Kav declares with obvious satisfaction. "The next salvo will draw the rest of the fighters away and leave the cruisers undefended. Then our own quad laser batteries can destroy them with ease."

"Maybe," Doriana agrees cautiously, following the fleeing alien craft with his eyes. They're cutting in and out through the masses of drifting starfighters, clearly trying to throw off the pursuing missiles' homing locks. But to no avail. Techno Union hardware is among the best in the Republic, and the missiles maneuver their own way through the clutter with ease as they continue to close the gap. After a few moments, the aliens reach the edge of the starfighter cloud and curve tightly back into it again, driving inward towards the main ships. Again, the missiles match the maneuver. Then suddenly the fighters straighten out and, in near unison, each one drops a small object aft towards its pursuers. And Doriana stiffens as a well-remembered hazy cloud erupts from each of them, unfolding directly in the path of the incoming missile clusters. "More Connor nets!" he shouts out in warning.

But there is nothing that the onlookers can do. While they watch helplessly, the nets envelop the missile clusters and flash their killing jolts of high-voltage current, destroying homing electronics and drive systems alike and leaving the missiles as dead as the drifting starfighters around them. And once again, Mitth'raw'nuruodo hasn't been content to merely protect his own ships from attack. Even as Doriana's hands curl into helpless fists, their inertia sends the missiles slamming into the Techno Union ships. Then there are multiple blasts as sections of hull metal shatter outwards into space And then, like a minor sun going off at close range, one of the ships explodes completely.

"What - ?" Kav gasps, gaping like a proverbial fish out of water. "No! Not from a single missile cluster. This is impossible!"

"Everything Mitth'raw'nuruodo does is impossible," Doriana retorts bitterly. "The missiles must have hit a weak spot."

"What kind? Where could it be?" the Neimoidian demands, almost shouting as panic and fury both set in.

Doriana snorts and shakes his head. "Just watch his ships. They'll be targeting the same spot on all the rest of them," he explains. Then, with bitter resignation, he watches as he's proven right. Within minutes the alien fighters and cruisers have all successfully dodged the desperate flurry of missiles the Techno Union ships have thrown at them, efficiently destroying each and every one of them. The weak spot, Doriana notes with morbid fascination, is the line junction to the massive external fuel cells.

"We must escape," Kav announces, his voice shaking with fear now. "Helm - prepare to jump to lightspeed."

"Wait a minute," Doriana protests, urgently grabbing at his arm. The specter of defeat looms before him, along with the fate of all those who have failed Darth Sidious. "You can't just abandon the fleet!"

"What fleet?" Kav snarls furiously. "Look around you, Stratis! What fleet?"

Doriana feels his throat tighten. Kav is right, of course. All six of the Techno Union Hardcells are gone, half of them destroyed by their own missiles. The seven escort cruisers, never intended to operate against such enemies without capital ship support, are being systematically hunted down and eliminated. Only the two Trade Federation battleships are still in any condition to fight or run. But with their communications still blocked, there's no way to order a general retreat. If the Darkvenge were to leave, it would be leaving alone.

"Jump calculated," the helmsman presently calls out.

"Make the jump!" Kav orders, glaring defiantly at Doriana, as though daring him to argue. "Do you hear me? /Now/."

"The hyperdrive does not respond!" the helmsman almost immediately cries out, his voice bubbling with sudden panic. "It claims we are too close to a planetary mass."

Doriana twists around to look at the row of status boards. Impossible though it may be, that's what the readings claim, all right. Even there are no planetary masses nearby, or even any sizable asteroids. "Malfunction?"

"No malfunction," Kav murmurs, his voice dull and fatalistic. "Merely more Chiss wizardry."

A fresh flicker of light catches Doriana's eye, so he looks back out the viewports. Across the field of carnage, droid starfighters are starting to explode as too many minutes without communication pass and they begin to activate their self-destruct mechanisms. Through the scattered bursts of fire, Doriana can see the Keeper suddenly lurch as the upper surface of its starboard ring half erupts in a hundred small explosions. "Vicelord!" someone calls out, voice shrill with fear and panic.

"I know," Kav merely says with a tired sigh. "The starfighters I ordered prepped are exploding."

Doriana merely nods silently in understanding, his own bitterness having long since faded into a deep sense of the inevitable. The reinforcements would have been flying through the hangar bays when Mitth'raw'nuruodo's jamming began and they went dormant. Tumbling helplessly at high speed down a curved corridor, they would have slammed into bulkheads or storage racks or other equipment. And there they'd lain, tangled and broken, while they waited for their own self-destruct chronos to run down.

"Then it is over," Kav quietly acknowledges. Lifting his hands, he carefully removes his five-cornered hat and sets it with equal care on the floor in front of him. "We are all dead."

"It would seem so," Doriana agrees mechanically, feeling his forehead creasing as a strange fact suddenly occurs to him. With all the death and debris and charred hulks of ships floating all around them, the Darkvenge itself has yet to be so much as scratched. Frowning, he takes another, longer look at the status boards. Except for the inexplicably dormant hyperdrive, everything else seems perfectly functional. "Or maybe not," he adds. "I think Mitth'raw'nuruodo has something else in mind for us."

Kav snorts sarcastically. "And what precisely gave you that impression?"

Puzzled, Doriana turns back to find that one of the alien cruisers has suddenly appeared outside the viewports. It is hovering bare meters away from the transparisteel, its missile racks pointing in to the bridge in silent warning and clear command. "Close down the midline quad laser batteries, Vicelord," Doriana quietly orders. "Then seal the main hangar exits and shut down all the droid starfighters." He takes a deep and carefully calming breath. "And then," he adds, "prepare for company."

***

The final turbolift door slides open and, twenty meters down the corridor, Car'das at last sees the open blast doors of the battleship's bridge. Those twenty meters of corridor are lined on both sides with armed and (somehow, despite the fact that their mechanical nature patently keeps them from feeling such situational tension) tense-looking battle droids, and yet Thrawn doesn't even hesitate. Instead, he strides forward as calmly as if he were merely talking a casual evening stroll on one of his own ships, his two warriors equally sedate as they pace along at his sides. Not wanting to walk that gauntlet but even less willing to cower in the turbolift car all alone, Car'das swallows hard against the dryness of his throat (he has, for most the past half an hour or so, been telling Thrawn just as much about the Naboo incident and the Trade Federation and Neimoidians in general as he can, trying to pass on as much knowledge in as short a time as humanly possible, in the hopes that it might prove to be of some use to Thrawn in the coming confrontation), and then forces himself to follow, so focused on Thrawn and the droids that he likely wouldn't have noticed the presence hovering at his left shoulder even if the victoriously smirking Force spirit actually had been visible to the unaided, untrained eye.

There are dozens of droids on duty on the bridge, most of them service and monitor units that are seated or plugged into the various stations in the control pits. Standing in the center of the quiet activity are just two actual biological beings, waiting together beside the vacant helm chair: a tall Neimoidian adult in elaborate robes, his lipless mouth set in an ugly scowl; and a much more sedately dressed, carefully blank-faced human male of about forty or so who frankly looks a lot more like a clerk than a military commander to Car'das. Thrawn doesn't even pause before heading down the walkway directly to them. He comes to a brisk and precise stops exactly three meters away and then simply stands there, still and silent, for a moment, seeming to size them up. Then, deliberately, he swivels to face the human, apparently in response to something he's either seen or sensed that Car'das simply hasn't picked up on (and is evidently so subtle that, even afterwards, he can't, for the life of him, pinpoint what it might be).

"Commander Stratis," the Chiss Commander then announces, nodding his head in greeting. "I am Commander Mitth'raw'nuruodo."

"Stratis does not command this vessel," the Neimoidian stiffly proclaims before Stratis can even open his mouth to answer. "I am Vicelord Kav of the Trade Federation. And /you/, Commander Mitthrawdo," he adds, not even bothering to try to force himself to pronounce the Chiss Commander's complex name correctly, "have committed an act of war."

"Vicelord, please," Stratis immediately interjects, his voice calm but with a warning edge to it. "Recriminations will serve no useful purpose."

"Do not think you have gained anything with your audacity," Kav continues, ignoring his companion completely. "Even now, I could destroy you where you stand."

He gestures, and from behind them comes a sudden metallic racket. Car'das spins around, shocked, his heart freezing as a pair of droideka destroyer droids roll into view and come to a halt just inside the bridge blast doors. They unfold into their tripod stance, and a second later Car'das finds himself staring down the barrels of four pairs of high-energy blasters.

"Vicelord, you /fool/," Stratis bites out urgently. "What do you think - ?"

"Calm yourself, Commander," Thrawn soothes the distraught human with an almost infinitesimally small smile. "We are in no danger."

Carefully, hardly daring to breathe, Car'das turns his head. Stratis' eyes have gone wide, his throat muscles tight as he grips the Neimoidian's arm. But Thrawn merely stands quietly, his face expressionless as he studies the droidekas. The Chiss warriors have their hands on their weapons, but have chosen to follow the Commander's lead and so refrain from drawing them.

"Interesting design," Thrawn comments, his voice mild and utterly untroubled. "That shimmering sphere - a small force shield?"

"Uh . . . yes," Stratis replies cautiously. "I assure you, Commander - "

"Thank you for the demonstration, Vicelord," Thrawn interrupts, turning his glowing red eyes back to Kav. "But now you will send them away."

For a long, terrible moment, Car'das sincerely thinks that the Neimoidian is going to defy Thrawn's order the way he'd ignored Stratis' rebuke. The Chiss and Neimoidian lock red eyes, and for half a dozen heartbeats the bridge is utterly silent. But then Kav's entire body seems to wilt, his eyes dropping away from Thrawn's stare as he half lifts a hand towards the droidekas. Looking back over his shoulder, Car'das watches in relief as the destroyers fold up again and roll their way off the bridge.

"Thank you," Thrawn notes, nodding politely. "Now," he continues, voice hardening. "As I asked you before: please state your intentions and those of your task force."

"A task force that no longer exists," Kav immediately puts in, his voice hovering between anger and dejection.

"That loss was your doing," Thrawn merely counters. "All I wished was a civilized answer." He turns to Car'das and raises an inquiring eyebrow. "Is that correct? Civilized?"

"Or just /civil/," Car'das obligingly replies, feeling his face warming at being suddenly dragged into the middle of the conversation, even though Thrawn had warned him, before they boarded the ship, that he would call upon Car'das and his knowledge if the situation seemed to warrant such a move. "Or /polite/," he then adds, unable to keep himself from narrowing his eyes at the Neimoidian, who unfortunately seems wholly unaffected by the glare.

"Civil," Thrawn repeats, as if testing the word against a set of actual guidelines as yet unknown to Car'das. "Yes. All I wished, Commander, was a civil answer."

"Yes, I understand," Stratis acknowledges, his eyes locked on Car'das. "May I ask your companion's name and origin?"

"I'm just a visitor," Car'das quickly replies. The absolute last thing he wants is for these people to know his name, even though he's fairly certain that, at this point, it's already far too late to avoid it, so deep is his level of personal involvement in the Chiss Commander's actions. "That's all."

"Not quite," Thrawn corrects him, his voice suddenly sufficiently flat and cold to give Car'das just enough time to brace himself against what he knows what must be coming next. "Car'das was simply a visitor. Now he's my translator." Thrawn's expression hardens even further then, creases of tension springing into existence at the corners of his eyes as his gazes tightens. "And my prisoner."

Back aboard the Springhawk/, when he had been so rapidly trying to bring Thrawn up to speed on the overall character (or lack thereof, as it might better be termed) and tactics of the Trade Federation and the Neimoidians who're currently running it, Thrawn had apparently come to a final decision of some sort regarding Car'das. In the final few moments before the boarding party would depart from the ship, Thrawn had, therefore, in a rare show of trust, taken Car'das aside and made a point of privately warning him that, given both Admiral Ar'alani's clearly demonstrated interest in both Thrawn's movements and his actions, as the Commander of Picket Force Two, and the suspicious coincidence of this so-called "Special Task Force One" appearing in Chiss space so soon after the uninvited arrival of the /Bargain Hunter in a nearby area of Chiss space, it might prove necessary for Thrawn to publically accuse Car'das and his companions of espionage in front of both Thrawn's warriors (so as to establish a plausible reason on record as to why he and the others are still in Chiss space, should Admiral Ar'alani choose to investigate these events as well) and the leaders of this Trade Federation task force (so as to lull them into dropping their guard enough to allow Thrawn to find a way to get them to let slip enough information for Thrawn to figure out for what actual purpose - special or not and apparently also classified or not - the apparent invasion force has actually come into Chiss space when and where it has so suddenly and seemingly inexplicably appeared). Car'das hadn't really cared for the idea at all (and quite honestly still isn't exactly keen on being used as a foil against the Trade Federation commanders in such a way), but he also hadn't been able to deny the logic of the plan, especially not once Thrawn had brought Admiral Ar'alani into the mix, and so had reluctantly agreed to play along and be suitably distressed if Thrawn suddenly found it necessary to publically declare Car'das' status as his prisoner.

Still, despite all of that, and even in spite of the warning inherent in Thrawn's abrupt change of tone and demeanor, Car'das nevertheless feels his mouth drop open at the Chiss Commander's words, and for the second time in two minutes his heart freezes solid within his chest. "I'm what?" he cries out in unhappy protest.

"You and your people arrived uninvited in Chiss space," Thrawn reminds him darkly, face a forbidden frozen mask. "Now, less than three months later, an invasion fleet from your people has appeared. Coincidence?"

"These're hardly my people, Commander!" Car'das protests, indignant enough at the comparison between the Bargain Hunter and the Trade Federation that he doesn't need to try to pretend to be both offended and shocked. "I swear to you, I knew nothing about this and I had nothing to do with it," he then promises, unable to think of anything else to say.

"And we're not an invasion fleet," Stratis adds, inadvertently falling into the trap that Thrawn is setting for him - a fact that Thrawn does absolutely nothing to betray.

"Make me believe that," he simply demands, his voice darkening even further. "Both of you. Now."

Car'das looks helplessly at the visibly confused Stratis. Despite Thrawn's warning - without which, he frankly doesn't know what he would have thought or done, how badly he might have reacted to such a seemingly serious accusation - the whole trip has, quite suddenly, gone sideways, as far as he's concerned, with the turn in events is leaving an extremely bad taste in his mouth. And he has a bad feeling that it's only going to get worse from here on out. "Commander?" he finally entreats, not bothering to hide his own misery over this turn of events.

Stratis' green eyes flick to him and then back to Thrawn, a thoughtful expression suddenly appearing on his face. "Very well," he replies, gesturing towards the side of the bridge. "There's an office back there where we'll have more privacy."

Thrawn inclines his head slightly in both acceptance and command. "Lead the way."

With a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, Car'das obediently follows.

***

Doriana leads them to Kav's command office, his skin prickling with anticipation and the beginnings of a faint stirring of fresh hope. Only an hour ago it had been all over for him, the mission a complete failure, Doriana himself numbered among the walking dead. Even if their attackers were to allow them to return to Republic-controlled space, he had been all too aware of the payment that Lord Sidious would demand for his failure, and he had despaired over his inevitable and unpleasant death. But now, suddenly, all that seems to have changed. Perhaps. If he plays this right. Maybe. Just maybe.

"Please make yourselves comfortable," Doriana invites, gesturing his guests politely towards the seats facing the desk as he circles around the massive carved-wood structure and sits down in Kav's equally elaborate chair. Out of the corner of his eye he can see the Vicelord glowering at him for that, but he has no time now for petty Neimoidian pride. "May I offer you some refreshment?"

"No thank you," Mitth'raw'nuruodo says in an exquisitely polite tone as he and a miserable looking Car'das sit down. The two Chiss guards, as Doriana has expected, remain standing in the doorway where they can watch everyone in the room as well as keep an eye on anything that might be happening on the bridge proper.

"All right," Doriana agrees as pleasantly as possible before taking a deep breath to help him focus his full intellect on the task at hand. This is it: do or die. "Let me tell you about a project called /Outbound Flight/."

He starts at the beginning, describing the project's origin and its mission and making sure to emphasize the Dreadnaughts' size and weaponry. "Interesting," Mitth'raw'nuruodo merely notes when he's finished. "But what does this have to do with us?"

"The fact that Outbound Flight is a danger to both the Republic and your own people," Doriana promptly tells him. "You remember my mentioning a group aboard called the Jedi? These are beings of great power, but who are also dangerous troublemakers."

"In what way?" Mitth'raw'nuruodo just as promptly demands.

The Chiss Commander's voice overrides Car'das' incredulous cry of, "What?!" but only just barely. Mitth'raw'nuruodo's gaze flicks momentarily towards his self-proclaimed translator and prisoner, but he says nothing else. After a few heartbeats of hesitation, Doriana decides to ignore the young man's patently disbelieving outburst and simply press ahead for all he's worth.

"They have very rigid ideas of how people should act and what they should think and do," Doriana flatly declares, carefully watching Car'das out of the corner of his right eye. This would have been much easier without the presence of someone who could be expected to actually know something about Jedi, but Mitth'raw'nuruodo would have been instantly suspicious if Doriana had asked that the young man be left out of the conversation entirely. And that leaves him no choice but to walk a narrow line between making the Jedi look dangerous to Mitth'raw'nuruodo while at the same time not saying anything Car'das would know to be an outright lie. Luckily, despite his initial outburst, Car'das mostly only seems to be surprised (not actively angered) by Doriana's assertions. At the same time, he can also see a growing uncertainty in the young man's face, which he takes for a sign of Car'das' own ambivalence about the Jedi. (Thank the stars that the Jedi's arrogance, coupled with their increasingly obvious inability to do anything about the growing chaos and stagnation within the Republic has had people all across the Republic starting to wonder if their alleged guardians of the peace weren't perhaps more noise and bluster than genuine effective defenders and protectors!) "They feel that they have all the answers," he continues, a growing confidence in his tack causing his voice to grow slightly louder, "and that everyone else should submit to their concept of justice."

"Yet, you say they are traveling to another galaxy," Mitth'raw'nuruodo merely calmly reminds him. "Again, how then does this affect the Chiss?"

"Because before they leave they intend to explore some of the unknown parts of our own galaxy," Doriana replies, wishing that the Chiss could be as easy to read as Car'das. So far, he doesn't have a clue as to what kind of impression this is making on him. "If they arrive in Chiss space, they'll certainly attempt to impose their will upon your people."

"Attempt is the correct word," Mitth'raw'nuruodo replies, his face instantly hardening. "The Chiss do not simply accept alien concepts without careful consideration. We certainly do not submit to domination. By /anyone/."

"Of course not," Doriana immediately agrees, his cautious hope glowing a little brighter. The Commander's response is proof that both species and professional pride are the hooks into Mitth'raw'nuruodo's heart. And that is indeed excellent news, for those are things that Doriana is certain he can work with and turn to his advantage, using that pride first to make the Chiss wary of domination by the Jedi and then to turn him and his warriors against Outbound Flight as a whole. "But I warn you not to underestimate them. The Jedi are ruthless and subtle, and I daresay their power is beyond anything you've ever encountered."

"You may be surprised at what we've encountered," Mitth'raw'nuruodo retorts, his voice suddenly grim. Abruptly, he stands up. "But we will discuss such matters later. Right now, there is other business that requires my attention."

"Of course," Doriana hastily agrees after a heartbeat of startled silence, rising to his feet as well. "What do you wish us to do in your absence?"

"For the present, you will both remain on this bridge," Mitth'raw'nuruodo replies, his flatly commanding tone making it plain that he will not tolerate argument on this point. "I will send for you when I wish to see you again. In the meantime I will send aboard a team to examine your vessel and its equipment."

"Never!" Kav instantly snaps, once again ignoring the clear warning that Doriana's whole mien is telegraphing towards him (and also quite utterly unaware of the fact that a certain coldly furious Force spirit is, once again, currently using the Force to deliberately trigger a flood of anger-causing hormones in his body). "This ship is the property of the Trade Federation - "

"Quiet!" Doriana cuts him off, glaring furiously at the Neimoidian and trying to decide if the thrice-blasted fool truly might understand so little or if he were actually actively trying to sabotage Doriana's efforts. "We will, of course, render any and all assistance they may require."

"Thank you," Mitth'raw'nuruodo replies, once again in that icily perfect formally polite voice. "They will have new orders for you when they are finished. You will obey those orders."

Doriana immediately nods his acquiescence. "As you wish."

Mitth'raw'nuruodo looks at Kav, then, staring at the Neimoidian until Doriana feels as if he could reach out and touch the tension growing between them. For whatever reason, though, the Neimoidian chooses to remain silent this time, and, after several pulse-pounding moments in which Doriana can only wait and pray that Kav will not do or say anything to foul things up any more than they already are, Mitth'raw'nuruodo abruptly turns to Car'das. "Come."

They leave the room then, the Chiss guards falling into step behind them. Doriana waits, watching until they have disappeared through the bridge blast doors, before turning to Kav. "With all due respect, Vicelord, what in the name of your grub mother do you think you're doing?" he then snarls, not bothering to hide either his fury or his disgust with the Neimoidian's foolish behavior.

"That is /my /question for /you/,"Kav merely counters, surprisingly enough sounding at least as furious as Doriana feels. "Do you simply turn your back downward and give over our lives and property to this primitive backworld alien?"

"Look around you, Vicelord," is Doriana's grim counter. "This primitive alien just wrecked our entire task force. And unless I blinked and missed it, he didn't lose a single ship of his own in the process."

"And you wish to make him even stronger by offering him access to Trade Federation secrets?" Kav all but screeches in response, such is his incredulity.

Again, Doriana takes a deep breath. "Listen to me," he then says, enunciating his words carefully. It's almost as if he were back on Barlok, trying to walk those idiot Brolfi through a simple assassination scheme, and only his iron will keeps him from simply exploding and letting the idiot know precisely what he thinks of him and why. "We've failed our mission. Even if Mitth'raw'nuruodo turned tail right now and left us in peace, there's no way in the universe our single battleship could take on Outbound Flight's six Dreadnaughts. We would have no choice but to return to the Republic and face Darth Sidious's anger . . . and I can assure you that you would wish you had died today, torn apart in agony by the Chiss fighters." He lifts the index finger of his right hand then, forestalling the inevitable outburst from Kav. "Unless."

He lets the word hang tantalizingly in the air. "Unless?" Kav finally breaks down and asks several long heartbeats later, his voice subdued.

"/Unless/," Doriana continues, "we can persuade Mitth'raw'nuruodo to destroy Outbound Flight for us."

For a long minute then the room is silent. Doriana is beginning to worry that he may have lost Kav completely when the Neimoidian's shoulders suddenly slump in defeat. "I see," Kav says at last, his voice oddly flat. "Do you think you can do that? And if you can, do you think he can achieve that victory?"

"I don't know," Doriana has to admit, though he hates to do so when Kav is already behaving so irrationally. Before the Neimoidian can lever his response into some kind of protest, he then adds, "He's no fool, though, and he surely knows that my description of Outbound Flight and the Jedi was horribly slanted. Odds are he cut off the talks so he could go off and get Car'das' take on the whole thing."

"But why would he listen to a human he believes to be a spy?" Kav immediately objects.

"He wouldn't. But then, he doesn't believe Car'das is a spy, either," Doriana retorts, smiling tightly. "If he did, he certainly wouldn't have said so right in front of the man. I think he just wants us to believe that so that we won't think he'll listen to Car'das advice."

Kav shakes his head with a mournful expression. "This is too complicated for me."

"Yes, I know," Doriana instantly agrees, voice dry. "That's why you have to leave everything to me. /Everything/."

Kav rumbles something under his breath that sounds as if it might be a Neimoidian curse. "Very well," he finally growls after a few moments of silent fuming. "For now. But I will be watching you."

"You do that," Doriana says, just barely keeping himself from snorting at the Vicelord. "Just keep in mind that your life is worth a lot more than your pride."

"Perhaps," Kav replies, almost weirdly noncommital for someone who has recently been so furious. Doriana, though, simply scornfully assumes that the Neimoidian has blustered his way through his entire reserved store of strength, and lets the sudden stillness slide as a simple sign of defeat, entirely unaware and unsuspecting of the fact that he has, through his condescension, just made the Viceroy his enemy for life, and that the Neimoidian's silence is simply a mask to hide the Viceroy's crystalizing fury. "But you say Mitthrawdo does not believe your warnings about the Jedi. How then will you convince him to destroy /Outbound Flight/?"

"If necessary, I have more in my persuasive arsenal than just lies about the Jedi," Doriana quickly assures him. "Trust me."

There's another heartbeat of silence. And then the Neimoidian shakes his shoulders back and pulls himself stiffly upright. "Very well." Kav inclines his head in agreement. "For now."

***