Desperate Times

From TFC Galactopedia

A small fleet of ships tore through the silence of space, heading at a comfortable pace away from the Bespin system, a Nebulon-B frigate at the forefront. Three Corvettes and a number of midsized and smaller ships trailed the frigate like so much space junk, most sprouting modifications that made them look more mangled than debris.

A Great Dane was visible through one of the viewports on the frigate, Vreni's Hope, staring, quite literally, out into space. Commander Stratus Lassen, temporary head of the fleet, was aboard the ship for a conference. Early, he took a few moments to just watch. His own ship, the Corellian Corvette Triton, was flanking the frigate on the starboard side, drifting through space, an artificial behemoth. Beyond the Corvette a squadron of X-wings and Z-95 headhunters twined and twisted gracefully about, looping in formations, then splitting up to run premeditated drills. Stratus smiled despite himself as he mentally picked apart the squadron's small mistakes; they were Caia's fighters. He'd have to speak to the other captain about drilling her fighter pilots a little better.

The tan-furred, well-built Dane scratched one ear thoughtfully as he ran down the list of what he neded to do in this meeting, though his thoughts were interrupted after a moment when a shorter, blue-feathered scrub jay wearing a captain's stripe entered. Her head-feathers were long and braided like hair, and she carried herself with the ease and grace of a fighter. A quick nod and a smile for Stratus, and the jay casually took a seat at the oblong conference table.

"'lo, Stratus."

"Caia." Stratus smiled. The two were old friends, shockboxers from Corellia, before they helped to form the motley fleet. Stratus pointed over his shoulder, out the window. "Was watchin' your fighters. Y'gotta get a little tougher on 'em, or they'll be more vulnerable 'n a wounded bantha in a pit full o' krayts when we ever fight the Imps next."

Captain Caia-Marin Pegasi, the scrub jay and commander of the Corvette Solaria, frowned, the expression marring her otherwise pleasant demeanor. "Seriously, Lassen? My fighters could whup yours ten ways into nex' week. Don't worry about them." Stratus grinned, and Caia reached over and shoved him lightly. "Oh, you." They sat in pleasant silence for a few moments, waiting. Caia squirmed in her seat a little.

"Anyone heard from the General, lately?" she asked tentatively, wincing as she saw Stratus deflate a little. He shook his head.

"Nothin'." Caia reached a hand over, resting it on Stratus' larger one.

"Look, Strat, that could mean anything, you know. She might be busy, mayhap you can't get a signal through that Rift, could be that Imps are jammin' it. You know she's tougher 'n durasteel. She'll be fine. You won't have to do this much longer." Stratus didn't smile, but nodded gratefully, turning his hand over to grasp Caia's smaller one. They both looked up when the door swung open once more, admitting an ocelot and a tall harbor seal, both scowling viciously and talking in animated voices.

"Frak it all, Thom, can't we just move the fleet to hyperspace and avoid him? General Anaea will never, EVER forgive him, or us, for this," said the ocelot, shaking his head. Thom Citrine, the harbor seal, moved silently to sit at the table, as Caia and Stratus looked at him wide-eyed, concerned. The ocelot ran a hand through impossibly curly red hair, clutching a stack of datapads in his other. The datapads skittered across the desk as he sat, slumped in his chair.

"Calm down, Jasen, you're going to give yourself the fits," growled the seal, shaking his head. Jasen Tigh, the captain of the third Corvette, Catharsis, glared at Thom, silenced. He gathered up his datapads as Thom addressed the other two captains.

"I just received some disturbing news from my intel a few systems away. It seems we've been discovered - about ten minutes from now, we're going to have some nasty company, unless we figure out a way to deal with this right quick."

"Imperials?" Caia leaned forward. Stratus clenched a fist. They weren't ready to deal with Imps yet, frak dammit. Their fighters weren't well-trained enough, some of the ships still needed upgrades -

"No. But I can't decide if the alternative is better or worse," Thom's voice sliced through Stratus' thoughts. His ears pricked forward, attention fully on the harbor seal. "Who, then?" prodded Caia.

"It's Ackbar." The two captains and the commander stiffened in their chairs. Admiral Sonchu Ackbar, self-proclaimed head of the New Alliance to Restore the Republic. The very Mon Calamarian whose training center Caia and Stratus had decided to flee from, along with the General and about a hundred other trainees, only to reorganize their fellow escapees into an honest-to-goodness sect of the rebellion. They'd recruited others from around the galaxy, others who'd brought with them ships, allies, and funding. They'd even gone so far as to infiltrate and commandeer their flagship from an actual Imperial shipyard, a task that had cost them several lives, but which boosted the morale of the fleet in leaps and bounds. Now their general was off on a mission, and their past was back to haunt or reabsorb them, whichever way you looked at it. Jasen was a relative newcomer, but he'd heard enough stories about the cruelty and absolute fanaticism of Ackbar's followers that he was none too anxious to meet the Calamarian.

"Three minutes, now," said Thom. "What do you three want to do? Inazuma left you in charge, you know." Stratus cast a glance over his shoulder. The fleet seemed so peaceful, minding its own business out here in the recesses of space. He couldn't imagine being under the thumb of the New Alliance again. Looking back to the table, he saw Caia and Jasen looking at him plaintively, clearly awaiting an answer from the Dane. He sighed.

"What choice do we have? We can't outrun him for long, and if we end up halfway across the galaxy running, the General will have a harder time finding us in the long run. We can't fight, either."

"Why not?" snapped Caia.

The Alliance fleet chose that moment to snap in from hyperspace. Each Mon Cal battlecruiser dwarfed even the Vreni's Hope in such a way that even Caia's ruffled feathers wilted. "Oh. That's why, I suppose."

A voice spoke into Thom's earpiece. He tapped it to acknowledge, listened for a moment, and sighed.

"We're being hailed and ordered to submit. Ackbar wants to meet with General Anaea."

Stratus bowed his head and nodded. "Order me a shuttle; I'll go and speak with the Admiral."