STS. LOG-013. (Patreon)

LOG-013."There has been no response from the star destroyer. Long range sensors suggest it has already jumped beyond our scan range in pursuit of the Golden Dividend."Kalani's tone was as blunt as it usually was, even as the general perused a datapad clutched in between his mechanical fingers, no doubt still somewhat put off by the fact that my seemingly idiotic strategy had actually worked.I merely nodded in response, arms folded behind my back as we both stared at the slowly rotating globe of Bracca projected above the bridge's central holotable. The sight was almost pretty, in that trash covered industrial hellscape sort of way.Still, progress was progress.Eventually, my counterpart spoke up again, inclining his head by a fraction of an inch."Do we have a precise estimate on how long we have before it returns?""No." I shot back, glancing over the data streaming in from the BX strike teams that had swept the Scrapper Guild's local archives. "But the good news is that the star destroyer isn't just a garrison vessel. It's a sector patrol ship. Meaning it's responsible for the entire region, not just Bracca."Kalani didn't reply, so I kept talking."The pilfered logs indicate that, according to standing naval doctrine, the captain of that vessel is obligated to give chase. Something regarding the suppression of hostile threats, which a rogue droid incursion certainly qualifies as. If he doesn't go after the 'Dread Pirate Captain Tarantulas' and that ship ends up bombing a civilian colony, he will be assigned the blame. He has no choice but to pursue."Kalani's optics brightened."How long do you anticipate this ruse will hold?"He'd likely already calculated it himself, but I obliged the request."Anywhere between two to five hours. Maybe less if the captain gives up quickly. Maybe more if Tarantulas really gets into character."The general paused for a moment, gaze flicking from me back to the holomap. Then, inevitably, came the question I'd been waiting for."I understand that our overall goal is the capture of intact Separatist hardware, but you have avoided specifics. What are our exact objectives on Bracca?"There was no challenge in the question, something which made Kalani an ironically better partner than most flesh and blood coworkers. He would only intercede if he felt something was wrong, a trait brought about thanks to him caring more for victory than stroking his own ego. It was nice.Eventually, I gestured to the planet slowly turning before us."What you're looking at is one of the Empire's largest post war, at least from their perspective, salvage worlds. Every other scrap yard might be full of clone war wrecks, but Bracca has ships that were grounded after being sorted into a decomission list. Meaning that they bear minimal damage."Kalani didn't interrupt. That was the second reason I liked him."They were meant to be scrapped, but the Guild isn't fast enough to have gotten to all of them, and the Empire is too busy to intervene. That means we've got dozens of functional hulls sitting around at minimum, all just waiting to be powered up. Munificents, Providences, support frigates, starfighters, maybe even a dreadnought if we're lucky. Not to mention droid crews that have yet to be melted down."I stepped closer to the projection, tapping one hand against the image."My goal is simple. We take those ships, reactivate every intact droid we can, assume direct control and command over everything that still power, and then strip the rest for parts. When that star destroyer returns to Bracca, it will find itself outnumbered ten to one."I smiled, or at least gave the impression of one, given the unfortunate facial configuration of my body."Assuming it makes it back in time to confront us during our escape, that is."Kalani said nothing, but the slight tilt of his head suggested satisfaction. Or at least acknowledgement. It was hard to tell with him sometimes.Still, the deck under us hummed faintly as more transports launched from the hangars, diving into Bracca's cloud cloaked atmosphere below.Invasion…didn't quite feel like the right word for what we were doing. There'd been no real resistance yet. The Guild had already folded, and what little security they'd had was either hiding or cuffed in the corner of a landing bay somewhere. After all, this was more like a one sided robbery than anything resembling a real battle.Chuckling internally to myself, I tapped into the comm feeds, watching the organised chaos currently being conducted by yet another of my newly fabricated subordinates far below me, even as I prepared an extra order for the troops, just in case a certain someone showed his face.Oh hey, Widow had gotten into a Venator, neat!—The Sheathipede class shuttle cut low through the smoke drenched sky, streaking between industrial towers and rusted, half cut hulls alike.Inside, the commando droids were already standing, weapons primed and locked, even as wind sheared against its reinforced hull, the glow of its repulsors casting scattered light through the haze as it descended into the open mouth of a yawning hangar bay carved into the skeleton of a derelict Venator."Target structure confirmed. Minimal resistance expected." Droned a BX, voice filtered through a clipped audio modulator."Acknowledged." Replied another garbed in captain markings, cycling the charge on its carbine. "Sweep and suppress."The moment the shuttle touched down, the hatch slammed open with a hiss of depressurised air. The BXs moved with their usual grace, fanning out in a programmed formation, weapons raised as they surged down the ramp and into the hangar's dim light.Sparks flew from a half dismantled gunship on the far end of the space where a handful of workers had been cutting through a stabiliser mount. One turned, eyes wide as the black shelled commandos spread across the deck."Down!" One barked as much as its voice would allow.. "Get on the ground or be fired upon!"As was the usual case for organics, there was panic. One of the workers bolted before a stun bolt caught the man mid stride, dropping him like a sack of duracrete. The others got the message as tools clattered to the floor, hands went up, and knees hit metal.Behind them, more shuttles were descending. A dozen in total, some seemingly freshly fabricated considering the distinct lack of paint, others still bearing faded Separatist markings. Their landing gears shrieked as they hit the deck, hatches already opening mid descent.From inside came various noises that brought dread to most of the surrounding workers.The clatter of durasteel feet. The rising whine of charging blasters. The inane, confident chatter of reawakened infantry programming."Roger roger.""Occupational deployment complete!""Hey, is that a clone ship?! Neat!"A swarm of B1 battle droids flooded out in all directions, like pests set loose into a pantry. Within seconds, they were spreading across the hangar floor, forming firing lines, setting up perimeters, and 'helpfully' pointing at random pieces of equipment.A moment later, a ramp lowered from the lead shuttle nestled within the small fleet of transports, and out stepped a tactical droid. Red striped and gleaming with new paint, it moved with mechanical precision, scanning the hangar with impassive white optics.The machine paused as it reached the center of the assembly, surrounded by the now kneeling workers and a growing cloud of smoke from a powered down LAAT nearby. It rotated its head slowly, eyes glancing across the now secured structure."Assessment: Adequate staging ground. Begin categorisation of assets. Priority one: Transports and starfighters with intact structural integrity. Priority two: Fuel cells and stored energy cores. Priority three: Salvageable droid parts and naval components. Assessment of the bridge remains an auxiliary objective."A chorus of roger rogers answered it, several B1s immediately wandering toward the scaffolds stacked with disassembled engines and wrapped pallets of turret components, even as a good few separated to begin rampaging through other parts of the ship's innards.The tactical droid's optics shifted, seemingly looking for anything else that needed doing, before it finally gestured toward the lonely, distinctly scorched LAAT gunship parked at the far end of the bay. "Unit BX-007. Seize that transport. Assess condition and designate pilot."The chosen commando gave a curt nod and strode toward the gunship. As it approached, a trembling technician still kneeling beside the landing gear spoke up in a feat of stupidity, voice cracking."You-uh-it won't work. The-uh…drive core was pulled last cycle. It's…it's offline. We were gonna melt it down next week?"The tactical droid turned its head.Its gait was slow, deliberate, as it stepped up beside the technician. One arm raised with all the finality of a guillotine. The handheld blaster in its grip was levelled precisely at the organic's temple."Directive: Reinstall the primary drive core.""I-I can't-I mean I can, it's just-it's heavy and we-"The construct didn't move."Acknowledgement received. You will reinstall the drive core.""I-I'll need help? My supervisor-""I am now your supervisor, you will address me as Widow. You will receive assistance. Delay will not be tolerated. Begin."The tech scrambled to his feet under the quiet, unblinking stare of the machine. Meanwhile BX-007 stood silently beside the gunship as the worker scrambled toward a side hatch, yelling for his remaining team to get their asses in gear, closely watched by curious (and more importantly armed) battle droids.The T-series turned back to the hangar, watching as another transport finished touching down, disgorging another dozen B1s into the already crowded space, though this was countered by several commandos ripping their way into intact starfighters, activating the stolen machines and taking off shortly afterwards.From above, the sound of a distant explosion echoed through the cavernous salvage yard. Somewhere, another comms tower had no doubt just been blown to slag after trying and failing to get a distress signal out.Excellent, things were going exactly according to schedule, just as Spyder had promised.