STS. LOG-007. (Patreon)

LOG-007.In the end, I was forced to concede that Torrid as a base of operations simply wasn't suitable for my means. Not yet, at least.A choice needed to be made, and as the circumstances dictated, I was the only one available to make that choice, unless I wanted to just give up on life and put our respective fates into the hands of a B1 or something.Thankfully, human memories or not, I was still a machine made for strategy, and by my calculations, the strategic calculus was clear from both an immediate and long term perspective. Our position on this world wasn't tenable. The Empire's arrival was merely a matter of time, and when, not if, it occurred, we wouldn't be prepared for a conventional confrontation. At best, we'd put up some token resistance. Perhaps cost them a few lives, before they glassed the planet, and us along with it.Even now, in the early days of their repurposing of Republic equipment and infrastructure, their superior firepower and resources easily outmatched any defences I could scrounge together, which in and of themselves were already stretched thin as it was, considering I'd been forced to repurpose most of my burgeoning army into some semblance of a work force.Thus, the only true option beyond digging my head in the sand and awaiting my inevitable execution made itself clear.We were leaving. The sheer efficiency of a distinctly inorganic legion proved itself in that desire, namely in the fact that my evacuation plan was set into motion within mere hours rather than entire days, as soon as various elements reported positive confirmation of their new positions, as dictated by both myself and my makeshift OOM council.We weren't abandoning the planet entirely, of course. Our resources were still far too limited to do so. Instead, we were focusing on extracting the most vital components of our force before everything else. Our remaining starships were being loaded with our most crucial assets and personnel (though from a certain point of view, the latter could also be considered the former, if one wanted to get technical about things), while the remaining infrastructure, equipment and soldiers we couldn't carry with us to the stars were being abandoned to whatever fate awaited them should we fail to ever return.Though I still held some hope I'd be able to come back for them at some point. Waste not, want not, and all that.After all, Torrid was a vast, arid world, its landscape dominated by endless deserts and sparse, sand covered mountains. Despite its barren appearance, the planet offered numerous hiding spots for a small (by the usual standards of the Confederacy at least) force of droids. Indeed, the desolate terrain provided ample nooks and crannies where our tireless holdouts could remain concealed, particularly if equipped with the necessary supplies needed to conduct maintenance and sustain their operational readiness, at least until they could be recovered.To this end, thousands of battle droids were being dispersed into far smaller, more manageable units. Our remaining shuttles worked overtime in that regard, transporting these groups to their designated hiding spots, each one carefully selected to maximise their chances of evading detection.In the meantime, our garrison of commandos (those that hadn't been reassigned to my personal hierarchy), who had been tasked and left with securing the outpost and the Imperial prisoners left within, prepared for their own contingency plan. Their primary mission was to mislead any potential enemy forces that might land on Torrid, creating diversions and sowing confusion before going to ground themselves. Secondary to that objective of course was actually keeping the makeshift prison itself running.As for our starships, the task of extricating them from the planet presented its own set of challenges. Azure Dawn and Stormbringer, Silent Guardian's sister frigates, were already in orbit, hovering above the planet while we finalised the departure of the remaining transports. Our singular Core Ship was also in the midst of its ascent and would soon be joining the fleet in orbit as well.My own vessel, however, required more effort to prepare for evacuation. For a while, it almost seemed that abandoning Silent Guardian, or even scrapping her for parts to support our other ships, might have been the more pragmatic choice.Yet I found myself unwilling to part with her so easily.In our short time spent here, she'd established herself as far too important of an asset to leave behind in my mind. She had been more than just another ship to me, she was a trusted base of operations, a modernised (sort of) intel interceptor with a (admittedly rather basic) personality that had grown on me in spite of the fact that it was likely due to some coding fault somewhere within her primary matrix.Still, she had a knack for engaging in conversation, which, while unconventional, had made her an endearing presence compared to the usual chatter of the B1's, or the no nonsense attitude of the BX's.[ALERT: SCAFFOLD IS HOLDING WITHIN ACCEPTABLE LIMITS. ALL NON-ESSENTIAL DROIDS HAVE VACATED THE IMMEDIATE AREA. PRIMARY ENGINES ARE COMING ONLINE...NOW.]Mentally casting the long tangent of thoughts aside, I clenched the console in front of me tightly, my other clamp of a hand holding down the appropriate comm link indicator to ensure I was transmitting to the entire crew."All hands, the launch operation is now commencing. Brace for attempted lift off."And that was just about all the warning anyone got before Silent Guardian stretched out her metaphorical legs with a burning roar of starship grade engines, the groan of the makeshift scaffold my small army of repurposed B1's had built around her managing to reach me even through the hull.Thankfully, said scaffold was part of the field that droids most excelled in. Logic. Without getting too in depth about the process, the repurposed metal (taken from several of the transports that had been deemed irrecoverable) would act as essentially a guiding sled, allowing my Munificent frigate to blast her way out of the canyon at a running start, and to take off without splattering all of us against a bunch of rocks....Assuming I'd gotten the mathematics behind it correct. Which I was pretty damn certain I had, judging by the mere fact that I could literally feel the ship sliding along our makeshift sled for more than a few seconds without exploding.From there, well, it was definitely one of the bumpier rides I'd experienced, but in the end after more than a few scrapes and startled yells from the B1's aboard the bridge, the warship was finally free of her stone cage.[NOTIFICATION: I AM NOW AIRBORNE.]It was certainly an impressive feat, and one that would have been impossible if we'd been aboard anything heavier than a Munificent. Thankfully, Silent Guardian was a (relatively) lightweight gal."Status of structural integrity? I would rather not lose you mid flight."Unsaid was the fact that losing her would also mean losing everyone on board her as well. Including me. Something I'd like to avoid if at all possible.[HM.]For just a second, I almost swore I felt whatever the electronic equivalent of a purr was within the command net I'd focused and interfaced within the warship.[HULL IS HOLDING. ESTIMATED TIME TO BREACH ATMOSPHERE WHILE UTILISING SUBLIGHT DRIVES AT BELOW OPTIMAL LEVELS: FIFTY FOUR MINUTES AND SIXTEEN SECONDS.]But then it was gone, and my attention was quickly being drawn towards the holographic projection coming to life in front of me, several lines tracing the route we would be taking to link back up with the rest of the fleet."...Redirect power to your engines. Increase direct draw to forty percent and reorient to follow behind transport three. That should save us some time."[BY YOUR AUTHORITY, FLEET COMMANDER.]