STS. LOG-014. (Patreon)

LOG-014.I stood at the edge of the bridge, hands behind my back, watching as an entire scrapyard's worth of recent naval history clawed its way back into orbit.Metal creaked across countless comm channels as old hulls shuddered and strained against gravity for the first time in months, perhaps even years, engines firing unevenly and stabilisers whining from the effort.Several still trailed smoke, a few sparked from various exposed sections, and all of them were in definite need of some serious love and repair.But, they were flying.Dozens of transports and landing craft moved in loose formations beneath us, some weaving back up from the planet's atmosphere, others still darting down to land. Amusingly enough, the occasional LAAT skimmed past the viewport, contrails gleaming in Bracca's dying light, their dust and soot covered hulls stark against the backdrop of space.Above that loose stream of ascending salvage, the reactivated frigates were beginning to fall into formation as well. A lot of them. More than I'd expected to find, and more than I thought the Guild had kept intact. Barely held together in some cases, sure, but they were moving under their own power, which made them mine now.But none of it compared to the Venator.The titanic beast loomed, even in its crippled state. Panels were still missing from its undercarriage, and its dorsal turbolaser banks had seen better days, but the hangars were active, the engines were firing, and the shields (while thin) were holding enough to keep it from tearing itself in half.It drifted into view like the wounded veteran it was, escorted by a loose net of droid piloted ARC-170s and V-wings that looked distinctly cobbled together. And yet I couldn't help but feel something in my chest (or wherever my brain had decided to store old memories) tighten just slightly in what had to be a phantom sensation.Because I remembered that silhouette. Everyone I'd once known did, really.The Venator class star destroyer was iconic in a way few things I'd seen so far were. It was the herald of the Clone Wars, the shape of Republic power (and to a lesser extent) Jedi power. There had been posters in my youth. Toy sets. That one game that let you get one through piracy, something about corruption…Regardless, I'd watched the show, back when I was made of flesh rather than metal, naturally. Seeing the heroic silhouette of that same battle carrier that I'd seen so many animated versions of limping back into space was…Well, it was surreal, really.Kalani's voice cut through the moment before it could sink too deep."The Venator is not tactically efficient for our current structure. Its power requirements are significant, and the crew demands are extensive. We will need at least eight thousand units in order to crew it, which will likely still not result in full operation."I blinked my photoreceptors off and on (an unnecessary motion, but one I had begun to simulate as of late) and turned to face him."...You're not wrong. But we have the droids. Between what we've salvaged here and what the Industrious Profit can fabricate, crewing a battle carrier isn't out of the question.""It is a Republic vessel." He replied, tone unchanged. "Their design philosophy is inefficient. Wasteful. Based upon Core World wealth."A hum escaped my vocaliser, one that I knew had confused my counterpart more than once."Maybe. But it also carries enough fighters to control a star system if uncontested by a similar vessel, and the hull is thick enough to ram through a Munificent or equivalent and limp away after the fact. It's worth keeping."Kalani looked as though he was preparing another counterpoint, but before he could speak-[ALERT: INCOMING HYPERSPACE SIGNATURES DETECTED.]Silent Guardian's 'voice' rang sharp across the bridge's internal comms, formal as always, but with a noticeable uptick in urgency.I turned back to the viewport just in time to see the far edge of the void ripple with the telltale flashes of multiple hyperspace exits, two bright streaks like claws tearing reality open, one after the other.Shit."Guardian." I pinged, already moving toward the command dais. "I see two, how many are there?"[CONFIRMATION: TWO SIGNATURES. PRIMARY MASS CONSISTENT WITH IMPERIAL CLASSIFICATION: VICTORY-I STAR DESTROYER.]It seemed Tarantulas had managed to run the full gauntlet. Excellent.Ignoring Kalani's silent staring, I swept an arm forward for effect, allowing the ship around me to relay my orders throughout the current soon to be battlespace."Assemble the fleet. Bracca has more for us to recover, thus the star destroyer can not be allowed to interfere in our operations."—Captain Thoren Malek stood rigid at the prow of the Persecutor's bridge, boots planted wide, hands clenched behind his back in textbook military posture as the stars elongated into smears of silver.He did not blink.As a matter of fact, he didn't move at all, really, aside from the way his jaw shifted ever so slightly when he ground his teeth. The muscles there had been working overtime ever since the chase began."A single Munificent?" He'd snarled when the alert came in. "That's all? A leftover hulk playing pirate in the backwaters of my sector?"But then the damn thing had fired at them. A long range volley, practically harmless, but still more than enough to remind everyone present it was a rogue warship.It had activated weapons systems against an Imperial ship, that was the most important part. The crew had scrambled, raised shields and powered guns, only to watch the rogue Separatist vessel peel away and burn toward the system's edge, sputtering like a wounded animal.It had been an insult.And Malek, like his father before him, did not take insults all too well.That Munificent shouldn't have gotten away. It should've been ripped apart in orbit, cored like a rotten fruit, broadcast as an example across every sub sector channel on why two-bit pirates couldn't just pick up old relics to start playing warlord with.Instead, it had danced away like a cartoonish villain, all broadcast bravado and childish taunts, which in turn had revealed that it was being captained by (at least according to some of the clones on board when questioned) some kind of malfunctioning tactical droid of all things!Yar har har, indeed.He scowled deeper just remembering it.Beside him, the stars snapped back into focus as the Persecutor exited hyperspace in fast pursuit, the glow of Bracca's broken planetary ring cresting into view beneath them."Report!" He barked."Hyperspace exit nominal!" The navigation officer responded crisply. "No anomalies in trajectory. Bracca is within sensor range. No hostile contacts detected at immediate proximity."A beat passed.And then…"O-Open broadcast incoming captain, present on all frequencies and unencrypted."There it was, right on bloody schedule.Malek's eye twitched."Put it through."The bridge speakers crackled once, twice, before that same damn voice slithered into existence over the comms, artificial and smug in all the ways a droid had no right to be."Greetings, Imperial scum. It is I, dread pirate captain Tarantulas. I am once more calling to taunt you for the express purpose of hindering your pathetic organic morale."Malek's nostrils flared.The voice continued, unhurried and borderline conversational."Your pursuit techniques are admirable, linear and determined. I would almost call them droid like, albeit they are not effective enough to be compared as such. Yours is more like a hound chasing a landspeeder with no legs…by the way, I am obligated to remind you that your mother is still a schutta."Something that might have been an amused exhale of air disturbed the bridge somewhere behind him, near the sensor area."Please respond with a rating as to the effectiveness of my insults. I would like to gauge which have been of higher use, though as of present accusing your organic creator of prostitution appears to draw a more intense response, as evidenced by your failed attempts to fire upon my vessel.Malek didn't turn. He didn't need to. The air around him dropped ten degrees as his silence calcified into rage."They won't be able to pull that arcing manoeuvre here." He noted. "Launch all TIEs. Ready tractor beams and bring us into-""C-Captain!"The shout came from the sensor officer, a younger ensign with a cropped buzz cut and a face suddenly three shades paler than it had been two seconds ago."I-uh-I have multiple contacts. M-Massive contacts sir!"Malek turned as the young recruit swallowed."Sir, we're detecting at least five, no, six additional Munificents closing from vector two-oh-nine. Multiple frigate class signatures from various other directions as well. Transports, fighters, patrol vessels-s-standby, I think one of them's a Venator? Sir, I-"The deck beneath them thrummed as the Persecutor's sensor arrays finished updating.The holographic table blinked to life in a wash of red and yellow, icons flooding into existence like wasps from a nest. The new vessels weren't just approaching the Persecutor. They were moving to encircle her.Malek stared as countless fighters began to pour out from the ragtag fleet, what must have (at the very least) been hundreds of the damned things streaming towards his ship as a concentrated swarm.Then, slowly, an awful little smile began to stretch across his face."...Ah, so that's how it is then."