强壮公弄得我次次高潮小说

Chapter 10

I straightened out my Confederate greys, tied my hair back into a neat ponytail, and triple-checked all my effects. For the first time in seven weeks, I actually cared about my appearance.

“How do I look?” I asked Tuff.

“Like you are about to attend a funeral,” the droid dryly answered.

“Sounds about right,” I chirped, before marching off the ship, “Wish me luck.”

“I calculate a sixteen-point-four-four percent probability you will be punished for your failure,” Tuff said for his parting gift.

“I’ll take those chances,” I shoved a datapad into his hands, “Keep the shuttle warm for me.”

“By your command.”

Geonosis was very red. Arizona stretched on as far as the eye could see, the desolate landscape decorated with wildly strewn plateaus and rock spires. There wasn’t any sort of civilisation to be seen, but I knew inside those mesas were sprawling hive colonies. If I squinted I could probably find the glint of the cannon barrel peeking out of a cave… but even then, does ‘civilised’ really apply to an insectoid hivemind?

Hundreds of Federation core ships littered the vast wastelands like grey welts, their spherical hulls half-sunken into the earth to look like gargantuan missile silos from afar. Several klicks south, Guarlara was being dragged into a great ravine by a swarm of tractor tugs like a body being interned into its tomb. As for its crew… I didn’t really know–my job is to take prisoners, and then hand them off to the people responsible for dealing with them.

Honestly, they could be released in a prisoner exchange or turned into grub for the hives, both possibilities were just as likely. Finding out exactly what their fate entails could be a detriment to my conscience, so I decided I will be better off ignorant.

Even though It was only a short trek from my shuttle to the towering spires of the Stalgasin hive-city, I still couldn’t avoid sand sneaking into my boots despite my best efforts. Sand is coarse, rough, and irritating indeed… but sand is also earth, and this was the first time I’ve set foot on solid earth in months. Bad writing aside, I could fucking kiss the ground right now.

A squad of B2-series super battle droids met and escorted me inside. Out of the baking sun, the surprisingly polished halls of the subterranean colony were pleasantly cool, if a bit stale. The passageway abruptly opened up into a cavernous war room, the filtered sound of chatter reaching my ears.

I continued through even as the B2s slowed their pace to a complete stop. The massive holotable that dominated the room caught my attention first, and then the tall, strikingly blue-skinned woman next. Though her back was turned to me, Sev’rance Tann still posed an intimidating figure. Her pitch black cape was ruffled with dust and singed by blasterfire, frayed at the edges, as she spoke to a holographic figure–whom I recognised as Mon Calamari.

“–as I understand it, General,” the aquatic alien pawed his chin, “I will be cautious.”

“Not too cautious, Commander,” General Tann said, “We cannot allow the Jedi to suspect anything. Make it believable–sacrifice a few ships, if you must.”

“That is a tall order, sir,” the Commander replied, “How can I send my men to battle, knowing it is a trap, in good conscience?”

“I expect you to do your duty, Commander,” she said coldly, “Everything else is irrelevant.”

That was food for thought for the Mon Calamari, because there was a lull in the exchange right after. I took advantage of the opening to insert my presence. I straightened, my uniform snapping as I clicked my heels together.

“Captain Rain Bonteri reporting, General.”

The Mon Calamari turned its thick neck, suddenly aware of me.

“Rain,” he greeted politely.

“Merai,” I dipped my chin.

We had worked together before, albeit tangentially. My service career thus far could be described as hopping between General Tann and Admiral Trench–who was Corporate Alliance, same as Commander Merai. Being of similar rank, we were bound to work together sooner or later. Sooner, in this case, as we worked together to establish orbital superiority over Excarga, allowing Alliance forces to seize the mines on the planet.

“I will talk to Magistrate Argente myself,” the General ignored me, “So speak nothing of this to him, do you understand?”

“Loud and clear, sir,” Merai saluted.

General Tann toggled the holotable, and the Mon Calamari’s holograph winked out. The room suddenly felt a lot less safe.

“That was…?” I prodded.

“Kamino, Captain,” she stated, as if that explained everything, “One of our double agents has warned us that the Republic has uncovered the plans for our strike on Kamino.”

It didn’t take much effort to put everything together. Our impending attack on Kamino had been something of a terribly kept secret for some time now. After Senator Esu invoked the Articles of Secession in the Galactic Senate, spearheading Abrion Sector’s withdrawal from the Republic, the idea of attacking Kamino was floated around. From Passel Argente’s firebranding in political circles–something not many of us were fond about–to increased fleet presence on the Triellus, the ‘idea’ was materialising by the day.

This was an attack months in the works, with a disproportionate amount of materiel and effort put into it. Which was a given, considering the target was Kamino. If we suddenly abandon all of it now, the hackles of Republic Intelligence will rise into the sky.

“If we abort, we’ll give away our agents in their ranks,” I surmised.

General Tann nodded shallowly, “I have instructed Commander Merai to fail safely. He will flag a ‘disorganised retreat’ to the Manda System.”

Manda System. I consulted my mental map. The Manda System laid in Republic space–an odd choice for a fallback line. Though maybe it was just to sell the image of defeat, I can’t really tell with General Tann.

“Why can’t we plan our assault around the Republic knowing?”

It was a simple enough question, and really I was asking the obvious. Wasn’t that the point of even having a double agent? If we know that they know, then what they know is now bad intel after all. The General obviously didn’t think so, because her face darkened at the mention of it.

“My hands are tied,” she all but hissed, “Someone wants Magistrate Argente to fail.”

Oh. Passel Argente was the main backer for this cause, investing massive amounts of resources and clout to pull it off. This ‘someone’ must be very important, if even Sev’rance Tann couldn’t do anything about it… wait, oh shit.

My lips thinned; better not press this. I was only a Captain–not even a flag officer!–no need to dip my fingers in matters I do not understand, and likely harmful for my health. It was reassuring enough to know that General Tann was in damage control mode, unmistakably attempting to mitigate the scale of disaster the upcoming Battle of Kamino is going to be–and also roping Merai into her own plans, because she was sharp like that.

I coughed, trying to claw myself out of the hole I dug into, “May I relieve myself of the prisoner here?”

I wanted the Padawan out of my hands as quickly as possible. Not only did I not feel safe with a Jedi down the corridor–albeit in a cell–just keeping a Jedi painted a bright red target on my back. If Barriss Offee wasn’t about to escape via some Force trickery, someone was bound to rescue her sooner or later.

“What is her condition?”

“She is– uh, meditating in her cell,” I said hesitantly, “For several days now, actually. She is eating, if minimally. I have her lightsaber here.”

After taking it, General Tann ignited the lightsaber, producing a short blue blade. The glow almost seemed to sink into her opaque red eyes as she carefully inspected it, adjusting her grip on the handle. Then, with a flick, she shut it off.

“I forwarded your ideas to Count Dooku,” General Tann walked over to a wall–intriguingly smooth, unlike the rest of the cavern–and I followed her, “But he expressed the apparent necessity of converting Offee to the Dark Side. Or, if that should prove impossible, her outright death.”

Her tone of speech told me everything I needed to know of exactly what she thought of that. I cringed at the thought of executing a child–not an adult, for certain–but I supposed that was preferable to another Sith.

“I, however, disagree with his assessment,” she weighed the lightsaber, “I will present this lightsaber as proof of her death, while your orders are to turn her into our operative.”

I– what? This is fucking insane; what am I, a babysitter? Not an intelligence agent, that’s for sure. I was actually speechless.

“You appear reluctant,” General Tann observed.

“I– I don’t have any training in this field, sir,” I gasped, “I am sure someone else–”

“The girl is dead, Captain,” her eyes glinted, “Count Dooku doesn’t even know her name, or even sex. Only three people in Separatist space know her true identity, and you will keep it that way. I do not care about the specifics of your process, only the success of your results. Let me handle the rest.”

“With all due respect sir,” I protested, “What makes you so certain of this operation? My suggestion was merely an uninformed counterargument to what I believed was a poor use of an enemy prisoner of war.”

Sev’rance Tann’s lips twisted wryly, as if she knew something I didn’t, “Well done.”

God damn it.

I restrained a sigh, fixing polite–if cautious–acceptance on my face, “Yes, sir. My next orders?”

I’ll have to think of something later.

The General regarded me carefully for a couple heartbeats, before disappearing Barriss’ saber under her cape, “How would you describe the state of our progress?”

“Progress, sir?”

“Progress towards winning this war,” she clarified.

Well– I don’t really know. If we managed to cripple the cloning facilities on Kamino, then that would be a massive step forward, but right now we just… exist. The secession of the Independent Systems was anything but organised, or even coherent. In some sectors we were striking at key resource worlds–Excarga, Christophsis–and in others Separatist aligned systems were fighting for their very existence against Republic thrusts.

Every theatre saw a different war, with different commanders and different goals. I wasn’t a staff officer–my job was to win battles, not pore over maps.

“Varying,” was the word I opted for.

We were winning some and losing some as far as I can tell from my circles. Us lower ranks weren’t much more than acquaintances of acquaintances, but we liked to stay up-to-date, as well as shit on the top brass.

General Tann made a signal with her hand, and the wall suddenly shimmered–revealing itself to be a vast observation viewscreen. For a brief moment, it was like staring into a portal to another dimension. A factory– no, a factory city, because the chasm was large enough to fit the entire Royal Palace of Onderon whole, so that I could not even see where it ended.

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

Machines pounded heaps of armour into shape, while flapping Geonosians carefully carved focusing crystals before fitting them inside huge spheres of crimson metal. Manufacturing stations attuned repulsorlifts before twisting alignments of conveyor belts carried all the pieces towards assembly areas to be fitted together by wingless workers.

This isn’t a droid foundry, I realised, this is a tank plant.

“I would describe our war effort as directionless,” General Tann commented, “Geonosis is now manufacturing droid divisions around the chrono, and this will be the first of many Decimator foundries on the planet. Tell me; what can a hundred Decimator brigades do?”

“Conquer the galaxy,” I answered immediately.

A single Decimator was a terror on the battlefield. A battalion can take a planet, a brigade a star sector. A hundred brigades? Forget tactics, that many and you had a brute force great enough to bludgeon any government into submission.

The Decimators were a secret Republic weapons project before General Tann stole them on Eredeen Prime, before using them to wreak havoc in the Mid Rim–striking as far into the Core as Sarapin. Their turbolasers were capable of ripping through AT-TEs and LAATs like paper, and were protected by so many shields they were virtually impervious to precision air strikes. Each unit was a mobile fortress.

I don’t think they were ever meant to be mass-produced, but Geonosis has its own way of doing things. If my memory serves right, Geonosis was the place where the foundations for the Death Star were laid–as implied by that one scene where Dooku pulled out the plans in a war room similar to this one.

“Then why haven’t we?” Tann asked.

It was a rhetorical question I couldn’t answer. Mostly because I didn’t want to answer. I could already sense the direction this conversation was heading. This time, however, I actually gave some thought about throwing in my lot with her. It was either Trench or her, and while they had equivalent ranks across branches, let’s be honest even the most cavalier admirals would defer to her when it came down to it. Even without an official title, Sev’rance Tann was second only to Count Dooku himself.

My career prospects will be very bright under her.

As for Grievous… I don’t know why he’s still missing. I don’t really know what changed for that to happen, but eh– the guy was said to be a Jedi killer and the best general in the galaxy, but he got one-tapped by a fucking blaster so I’m not sure how much credence that claim actually has. Not that he looks like the kind of upstanding guy to care about his subordinates, so Tann probably is my best bet.

“Vinoc, Karoc, come here,” General Tann flicked a finger, “Pay attention.”

Two human males emerged from the corner of the room, startling me. They looked… unassuming to say the least, but the lightsabers hooked onto their belts was enough to make me wary. Even more Sith? Jesus Christ, these people are coming out of the woodworks.

I thought Sidious adhered to some Rule of Two or something. Maybe it doesn’t even mean what I think it should.

“We are losing this war,” Tann said bluntly, leading me back to the table, “The Senate is divided, and every man in power is after their own goals. Wat Tambor pursues his rivalries in Ryloth, and Passel Argente chases personal glory in Kamino, taxing Separatist resources to do so. Even Count Dooku exploits the emergency powers granted to him by the Senate to employ military assets for personal gain.”

She toggled a button, and a hyper-detailed map of the galaxy sprung up from the holotable.

“My Sarapin Campaign was the closest we’ve got to crippling the Core Worlds,” General Tann scowled, “I could have pressed the offensive, but Dooku demanded I withdraw to Krant to oversee the production of more Decimators.”

I shifted nervously.

“So long as the Droid Armies do not have a Supreme Commander, Dooku has the authority to act as one–” and there it was, “–Captain, am I incorrect to say you have contacts in the Senate?”

“No, sir,” I said, “But convincing them–”

She raised a hand, “That will draw undue attention. I need the Parliament to come to its own conclusion. Dooku appears to enjoy the powers vested in him, but I cannot concede to the fact that a political figure is the chief commander of our military forces.”

Well, that was a first. But you know what, I can work with this.

“I require your expertise, Captain,” General Tann acknowledged, “What can be done to move the Senate to make me Supreme Commander?”

I mentally weighed my decision. I’ve been shooting down bribes and clout from other officers for a few weeks now, and there will be many raised eyebrows if I suddenly jumped onto Tann’s ship. I had no intention to make enemies among the ranks, so I had to agree with the sentiment that the Senate had to come to its own conclusion.

But I’ve worked in marketing before, and am quite familiar with this specific consumer base.

“Permission to speak freely, sir?” I steeled myself.

“Granted.”

“Your brand recognition is already quite high,” I remembered my holocalls with my cousin, Lux, “The issue is that a third of the Senate do not support any Supreme Commander. Another third are so deep in corporate pockets they will never accept a foreign party like you.”

“An entire third do not believe in the necessity?” General Tann glowered, “Can they not see that we are pivoting on the backfoot? And now the Outer Rim supply lines are in enemy hands–this entire theatre is cut off!”

“Because we are winning, sir,” I said gingerly, “News from the front passes through so many channels of propaganda that effectively none of it reaches the citizens. The frontline systems are well aware of the war, but the Foundry of the Confederacy still does not quite believe we are even fighting. It’s why the Peace Faction still believes in a ‘bloodless’ conclusion.”

Tann scoffed, almost in disbelief.

“The Sarapin Campaign has proved strategically worthless, now that the Core has recovered,” I pointed out, “Excarga and Ryloth are corporate enterprises, and a waste of military resources. Axion was a tactical victory, but does not mean much. All of them are sold to the masses as ‘brilliant’ and ‘major’ victories, and proof of our just cause. Meanwhile, our defeats on Muunilinst, Cyphar, and Lianna? I doubt a single civvie on Raxus has heard of them.”

“What are you saying?” one of the Sith apprentices asked.

“I’m saying there isn’t a Supreme Commander because we are already ‘winning’ without one,” I carefully checked the General’s expression, but it was painfully blank, “If we want to start getting into their heads, we need ‘real’ proof we are losing the war. If we want to market a Supreme Commander, we need to market the necessity for a Supreme Commander.”

“...What do you think, Vinoc?” Tann asked.

One of the apprentices–Vinoc, presumably–shook his head, “If what the Captain says is true, then there is no way we are getting through the propaganda machine. Not unless we somehow have more credits than the corporations.”

The situation really was bleak. It was obviously in the oligarch’s best interests to keep using military resources to pursue their own goals, so they had their hands so far up the media’s asses they could spin the narrative of the war to suit their interests without consequences.

“Do we need to?” the other apprentice, Karoc, questioned, “We just have to overwhelm them with the truth.”

Shit, I can’t believe I’m agreeing with a Sith.

Sev’rance Tann turned around, face blank, “Are you suggesting we start losing?”

She said it as if the idea was insulting, and even unthinkable.

“I concur, sir,” I immediately stepped in, “We are winning tactical victories without any strategic concern, but we can also do the opposite; losing meaningless worlds is still losing worlds. Right now, the war is being fought in the Trailing Sectors and Western Reaches, far from our main population centres.”

Vinoc quickly caught on, “We can engineer defeats in the New Territories and Trans-Hydian. If the Republic starts pushing up the Perlemian, the propagandists will have no choice but to accept that the war has come to the Confederacy.”

Okay… maybe these guys aren’t so bad, after all.

Karoc leaned over the holotable and zoomed towards the Perlemian Trade Route, which thrusted straight into the heart of the Confederacy, “The only problem is that we also know the importance of the Perlemian, and have fortified it to Malachor and back. Some of our most powerful fleets regularly patrol the hyperlanes in the region.”

I rested an arm on another, grabbing my jaw, “The Clysm Fleet is stationed at Salvara, guarding the gate of the Foundry. I am well acquainted with its leader, Commander Trilm. Maybe we can–”

I stopped myself midway, abruptly aware of the dangerous silence pervading the atmosphere. In a brief moment of stark awareness, I realised I was advocating for willfully losing to someone who hated losing–and as far as I knew, didn’t even know the meaning of ‘defeat. There was an odd sense of camaraderie between the three of us as we waited for General Tann to react, internally cringing as I half-expected her to blow up in our faces.

It never came. In fact, nothing came. The blue-skinned alien just continued to stand by the holotable, staring into the galactic projection wordlessly. As the minutes ticked away, I checked my chrono–six minutes–and stamped down on the impulsive urge to wave a hand in front of her face.

“Our logistic lines in the Trailing Sectors have collapsed,” General Tann suddenly said, making me leap out of my skin, “With Hutt spacelanes in enemy hands, the entire salient has turned into an unsustainable pocket. We have two options: use our remaining strength to break the encirclement and abandon the region, or concentrate forces on both ends the Bothan and Gamor Runs to reestablish direct connection between the north and south.”

“The government will never accept abandoning an entire theatre like that,” I noted.

“Then we are left with but one choice.”

The General used the holoconsole to map out her strategy. Currently, our theatre centred on the Corellian Run was isolated from the rest of Separatist space. We had been using the neutral Hutt Space to circumvent the Republic encirclement, but that was no longer possible. Unlike our holdings in the Western Reaches, this front wasn’t self-sustaining, which meant we were now running against the clock before we ran dry.

To restore our supply lines, our allies in the north will have to take the key Republic stronghold of Daalang, which bottlenecked the Trax Tube, Bothan Run, and Gamor Run. Meanwhile our fleets in the south will have to smash through Bothan Space to link up with the north at Lannik. A label in Aurebesh spelled out: Operation Sidestep.

The issue? Our fleets are overstretched. To undertake such a colossal offensive, we will have to redeploy our strongest assets from the Trans-Hydian, creating a ‘void’ of military elements on the Perlemian. It was the perfect bait for Republic Intelligence. We just had to make it believable.

“We will transmit this memo on secured lines to all our fleets in the region,” Sev’rance Tann looked uncharacteristically grim, “However, this dispatch will also have to travel through Republic-held transceivers to reach our allies in the north. Unfortunately, the encryption keys we used just happened to already be compromised by enemy intelligence. But we don’t know that.”

“The Republic will realise the Foundry has been left virtually defenceless,” she continued, “And press a major–but cautious–offensive in an attempt to reach Raxus Secundus and end the war. This will light a fire under the Senate, forcing them to elect me as Supreme Commander. Then, we launch our counteroffensive from the south and outflank them."

“How will we make sure the Republic doesn’t advance too far?” Vinoc asked, “We only want to frighten the Senate, not actually threaten Raxus.”

General Tann looked at me, “I am promoting you to Commodore, Bonteri. Return to Raxus for your shore leave and assemble a new fleet. Use my name and authority as you wish.”

What the fuck? Am I expected to hold back the entire Open Circle Armada!?

I didn’t let any of my thoughts show, “For what purpose, sir?”

“First, to keep the Republic from our key worlds like Metalorn and Ringo Vinda. Maneuver so that they are only able to take strategically meaningless systems such as Casfield, Aargonar and Chorios. Systems that we can afford to lose, but are close enough to fear-monger about,” she explained, “Second, our raid on Gualara’s archives have uncovered a wealth of enemy data, including their supply corridors. Use them to plan logistic raids in order to slow down their offensive.”

On one hand, I got my promotion. On the other hand, my first task is to single-handedly stop an entire Republic offensive. You know what, I really thought my promotion would be a more satisfying moment than this. But hey–I’m now a flag officer, so I finally have greater access to resources I need to work out my contingencies. Not to mention I was practically handed a blank check.

“By your command,” I said duly, “However, the hit-and-fade tactics required for this operation necessitates organic commanders. I find that droids are too inflexible for this kind of adaptive warfare.”

General Tann fingered her comms, “Vinoc will serve under you as a captain. What of Commander Trilm? Can she be trusted? Which corporate pocket does she belong to?”

I noticed a wingless drone enter the battle room from the corner of my eye, “None. I believe she received her commission from Count Dooku himself.”

Tann’s features sharpened, “How loyal is she to Dooku?”

“Trilm is the opportunistic sort–” like me, but I guess that’s why we get along, “–She’s loyal to whomever she benefits from.”

“Then can she be converted to our bloc?” Karoc interjected, “How close are you with her?”

I squirmed. I slept with her once, after we got wasted at a drinking party not long before the Battle of Geonosis. We were celebrating our recently acquired commissions with a bunch of other officers–but nobody needed to know any of that.

“I can bring the Clysm Fleet to our side,” I said faintly.

The Geonosian drone shuffled right up to me, holding up what looked like a folded blanket with a rank insignia plaque lying on top of it. The Confederacy’s rank pins were unique, designed so that it was entirely contained in a Confederate roundel and thus stitched right onto the shoulder. The commodore’s rank had the first–the top triangle–second, third, and fifth sections coloured in grey.

I gingerly plucked the effects out of the Geonosians hands–very carefully, so I wouldn’t have to touch the insectoid–subconsciously realising that General Tann had planned for this promotion in advance. She only used the promotion to dump not one, but two utterly unreasonable missions on my head, while effectively preventing me from protesting in any actual capacity.

“Very well,” General Tann gave me a pointed look, “I have prepared for a frigate to be added to your squadron, in order to cover up the loss of Resistance. You will take your command back to Raxus through the Triellus, in order to bypass Republic space. As long as you move quietly, the Hutts won’t notice three ships passing through their territory. Is there anything else you require?”

I quietly looked down at the new uniform in my hands. You know, now that I have hopped ship, I might as well milk it for what it’s worth.

I met General Tann’s red stare, “I will need a commission and a naval lieutenant plaque. Sir.”

I added the ‘sir’ to sound more polite.