Admiral Novak

The Defender sat quietly in the vastness of space, hidden in a neighboring system. Repairs were underway, and Admiral Novak was doing everything he could to get his ship back in fighting shape. When the rest of the fleet left the system, leaving Jabiim behind as a lost cause, Novak had refused to go with them. He'd scrounged up whatever spare parts, supplies, and personnel he could before they left, pulling favors and strong-arming his fellow officers to part with what they could. He wouldn't leave thousands of soldiers to die just because High Command labeled the planet "high-risk."

Weapons systems were back online, and deflectors were almost fully repaired. The ship still had its teeth, and with some pressure, he'd gotten one of the other ships to give up a squadron of fighters. But Novak knew it wouldn't be enough. The Separatist fleet guarding Jabiim was too big, too strong. Even if the Defender managed to get through, any ships they tried to send down would be shot out of the sky. And that didn't even account for the storms. Jabiim's relentless weather had windows—tiny slivers of time—where a ship could land. Outside those windows, anything in the air would be torn apart by the weather and their systems would be fried.

Novak stood in the conference room, thoughts running wild, staring out at the star-speckled darkness. One by one, the senior staff filed in, taking their places around the large table. Most of them were clone naval officers, trained to carry out any order given. But there were a few non-clones mixed in—greenies, officers who joined the academy right as the war broke out. Novak eyed them as they walked in, noting their expressions: nervous, unsure, young. The more seasoned officers entered last, men and women who'd served under Novak for years before he took command of the Defender.

Captain Darklo, his second-in-command, was first to take his seat. A human, like Novak, Darklo was born and raised on Coruscant. They'd served together for years, and Darklo was one of the few who wasn't scared to tell Novak what he thought—blunt, honest, never pulling punches.

Commander Churad, who managed personnel on the Defender, was next, followed by the other commanders responsible for various parts of the ship.

Then came Lt. Commander Endoren, the security chief and weapons specialist. He gave a brisk nod to Novak before taking his seat.

Lt. Commander Velea walked in last, light purple skin standing out in the room. A Twi'lek female, she'd joined as chief engineer only recently, replacing the former one who'd died in the ambush over Jabiim. Velea was young, fresh out of the academy, and Novak knew she'd faced trouble because of it, not just that though, also because of her race and how attractive she was. He'd seen the reports—rumors of harassment, whispers about how someone like her didn't belong in the fleet and belonged in a club. But she never complained, never brought it to him, and he admired that. And she'd been doing good work—more than good, given their repairs were ahead of schedule.

The rest of the officers were clones, all sitting down without a word, faces stoic as ever. When they were settled, Novak finally turned from the window and faced them. "Report," he said simply, voice low but clear. Darklo nodded, opening his datapad. As the second-in-command, it was his job to collect all the reports from the different departments and condense them into a single, digestible summary for Novak. Of course, if any details were needed, the full reports were always available, but that was rare. Darklo preferred to keep things concise.

"Engines are at 90% efficiency," Darklo started, his tone all business. "We expect to be at full capacity in the next few weeks. Weapons are stable—though we've lost quite a few turbolasers on the aft side."

Novak's eyes narrowed slightly at that, but he didn't interrupt.

"Life support systems are functional, no concerns there. Deflectors are back online, but they're weaker than normal. Might not take as much of a beating."

Darklo paused, taking a breath before continuing. "The hyperdrive's stable. It's taken some damage, but it should still get us home, sir."

Novak leaned in, eyes sharp. "Is that everything to report, Captain?" he asked, searching Darklo's face.

Darklo hesitated. "There's one more thing, sir," he said carefully. "We've had... some issues with the morale of the non-clone officers."

"Go on," Novak said, his voice cold and steady.

Darklo glanced around the table, collecting his thoughts. "A lot of them are concerned about defying a direct order from High Command, sir," he admitted. "For most of them, this is their first station—first time in the field. They're worried they'll be court-martialed when we get back. And, to be honest... I don't think they're wrong."

The room went quiet. Novak's gaze shifted from Darklo to the other officers, searching their faces for any sign of doubt. "Do you all feel the same?" he asked finally, letting the question hang in the air.

The clones, all bred to follow orders, nodded reluctantly. They'd stand by Novak, fight to the end as he was their commanding officer, but the unease was clear. Defying High Command was a big deal, and they knew it. Novak's gaze fell on Velea. The young Twi'lek sat silently, hands clasped, her lavender face firm and resolute. She was the only one who didn't nod. Novak sighed, he sank down into his chair, leaning on the table. "I know this isn't easy for many of you," he said, voice steady but with a touch of steel. "What I plan to do... it's nothing short of insane. And maybe even suicidal. But let me put you at ease right now—if we make it back to Coruscant, I'll take full responsibility for this. Every action taken here is on me. None of you will face court-martial. None of you will be decommissioned."

The tension in the room seemed to ease, just a bit. But Novak wasn't done.

"That being said, I won't follow High Command's directive," he continued, his voice hardening. "They're asking us to abandon our fellow soldiers on Jabiim. Leave them to die. That's not the Republic I remember signing up for. That's not the Republic I want to serve." He clenched his fist, slamming it down on the table. "So, I'm asking you... trust me. One last time. Stand by me, and I swear I'll get us out of this."

A silence fell over the room, heavy and thick. Then, one by one, the officers answered.

"Aye, sir," Captain Darklo said firmly, nodding.

"Aye, sir," came the rest, each voice strong, unwavering.

"Good, Now that you've all stopped crying about blasted High Command, maybe you can help me figure out how we're going to rescue our fellow soldiers!" Admiral Novak said as his hand slammed down on the table. The force of the blow made every officer around the table jump, eyes wide as they turned to him. "We need a way to neutralize the Separatist fleet, get down to Jabiim, and pull our people out!" His face was set in a deep scowl, the frustration plain as day. "Suggestions?"

For the next few hours, the conference room felt like a pressure cooker. Every officer threw out ideas—some half-baked, others wild and impractical. There was talk of hit-and-run tactics, trying to pull a diversion on the Separatists, sneaking around the fleet to drop in unannounced. But every idea got shot down as fast as it came up. It was all too risky, too complex, or plain impossible. Most of the officers looked deflated; it felt like they were fighting a battle they'd already lost.

"We could rig a few of our shuttles to blow and use them as decoys," one clone officer suggested.

"That might work, but it won't get us close enough to land troops!" another snapped back.

"What about cloaking? Can we hide our ship and move in?"

"Cloaking tech like that? It doesn't exist, Commander!"

Novak leaned back in his chair, rubbing his forehead. The chatter droned on, but he could feel the futility creeping in. They were grasping at straws, fighting over small details. It seemed more and more like the only choices were a full frontal attack or doing nothing at all—and neither sat well with him. Then, Lt. Commander Velea spoke. The Twi'lek engineer had been quiet all this time, listening, taking in everything. Her lavender skin seemed to glow under the dim lighting of the conference room, and her soft, steady voice cut through the chaos. "I have an idea," she said.

Novak, feeling the exhaustion in his bones, gestured for her to speak, raising his eyes to meet hers. "Go ahead, Commander."

Velea sat up straighter, clearing her throat. "The main obstacle is the Separatist fleet. That's what's keeping us from getting to Jabiim. But... we don't actually need to engage the fleet."

There was a pause, and the officers exchanged looks. They looked as worn down as the Admiral did—burnt out, defeated. But this was different. Something new.

"Not engage the fleet?" Commander Churad said, eyes narrowing in confusion. "How will that help us?"

Before Velea could answer, one of the other commanders shook his head, voice dripping with sarcasm. "And what? We're just going to politely ask them to let us land our gunships? Spare me, Commander. That's insane."

Novak's hand slammed on the table again, this time harder, and the room fell silent. "I said, let her speak!" he barked, his tone leaving no room for argument. He locked eyes with Velea. "Continue."

Velea took a deep breath, her expression calm. "There's no way we could win a direct battle against the fleet; we don't have the numbers, the firepower, or the element of surprise. So, the solution is simple, we don't fight them." A commander sneered, but kept his mouth shut this time.

"We take the Defender," Velea said, leaning forward, "and we land it. Planetside. On Jabiim."

For a split second, there was dead silence. And then the room exploded.

"That's insane!" one officer shouted, shooting up from his chair.

"You want to crash the ship?" another chimed in, voice rising.

"The Defender's not built for atmospheric flight!" someone else added, gesturing wildly.

Novak didn't speak. He kept his eyes on Velea, who stared back without flinching.

Commander Churad finally stood, banging his fist on the table. "The Defender wasn't designed to land planetside, Commander Velea," he said sharply. "We have no thrusters for landing, no stabilizers for atmospheric entry. You're asking for a suicide run."

The officers nodded in agreement, murmuring among themselves. All eyes were on Velea now. The room grew tense, heavy, waiting for her to either admit the madness of her idea or offer a way out of the impossible. Velea, unshaken, met Novak's eyes. "Using the fighters and smaller craft we have, we can retrofit makeshift landing thrusters. They'd provide enough thrust to stabilize us on the descent and allow us to take off from the planet after we finish the rescue."

Novak's eyebrow arched. "Only to take off?" he pressed.

"Considering the weather conditions and the magnetic field of Jabiim," Velea said, clearly a bit embarrassed by what she had to say, "it's... likely we will crash-land. But, once we're on the ground, we can make repairs to ensure we can get back off."

More murmurs, a few nervous laughs. It was a wild plan, bordering on madness. But it was something. And Novak could see that glimmer of possibility.

"How many ships would we need to disassemble to make your plan work?" Novak asked, leaning in, eyes locked on Velea.

She paused, running the calculations quickly in her head. "Half. We'd need to strip down half of our fighters and shuttles for parts. But if we do it right, it'll work."

Novak's face went blank for a moment as he considered the plan. And then, suddenly, a smile split across his face. "I like it!" he shouted, pushing back his chair and standing up.

A few officers shot to their feet. "You're joking?" one of them blurted out. "You can't be—"

"Do I look like a funny man to you, Lieutenant?" Novak snapped, turning on him with that smile still plastered across his face.

The officer sat back down, silenced, as did the others. Novak looked around the room, meeting every eye, one by one. "Unless anyone has anything better," he said, his voice carrying the weight of command, "we're going with this plan. Lt. Commander Velea, Captain Darklo—you're with me. The rest of you, dismissed."

The officers all rose, some giving curt nods, others looking grim. They filed out of the room in silence, boots stomping against the floor, until it was just Novak, Darklo, and Velea left. Darklo stepped over to Novak's side, the captain's face hard but determined. "This is crazy," Darklo muttered, low enough for only Novak to hear. "But it might work."

"It will work," Novak said firmly. He turned to Velea, who stood waiting. "Lt. Commander Velea," he said, walking toward her. "You'll get everything you need for this plan. Every resource, every spare part. From this point on, we're running on double shifts—every hour of every day, we need this ship ready for descent."

Velea nodded quickly, determination gleaming in her eyes. "Yes, sir."

"Captain," Novak continued, turning to Darklo. "Make sure that once long-range communications are back online, we reach out to our forces on Jabiim. They need to know help is coming and to hold out a little longer."

Darklo gave a nod, already reaching for his datapad to begin sending orders. "Understood, Admiral."

"Good." Novak turned back toward the window, hands clasped behind his back as he stared out at the darkness.

"Dismissed," he said, and both Darklo and Velea hurried off, leaving the Admiral alone with his thoughts and the stars stretching out in front of him. The plan was insane. Risky. Unpredictable. And exactly what they needed. The Defender would fall from the sky like a rock, crash through Jabiim's atmosphere, and land right in the middle of the storm. And they would pull every last soldier off that hellhole, or die trying.

————————————————————-

A few days later, the conference room in Cobalt Station was packed with clones, Jedi, and Jabiimi representatives, all standing around the holotable. On the flickering display, the image of a Republic High Command representative stood next to Chancellor Palpatine and Master Windu. The voice of the representative droned on, and although most of those present pretended to listen, it was clear this wasn't a real discussion. High Command had made up their minds long before, and their words were just a formality.

It quickly became apparent that the Republic was only reaching out because they were now on the winning side on Jabiim. But nobody in the room expected good news. They all stood stiffly, faces hard with bitter resolve. So when the representative announced that no reinforcements would be sent, and that their task was to secure key sectors with what troops they had, nobody was surprised. There were no gasps of shock—just the silent tightening of jaws and the shift of tense muscles.

Aubrie, Zule, and Scout were all struggling to keep their composure. Anger flickered in their eyes, barely kept in check. Zule in particular, her expression hard and dangerous, clenched her fists so tight her knuckle went white and on the other the metal screeched. She had been the Padawan closest to the Dark Side for a reason. Master Leska stood silent, looking weary and jaded, barely listening to the words. The clones, however, stood at attention, taking in every word like a new set of orders.

As the signal began to break up, High Command started wrapping up, throwing in empty promises of accolades and praise. "You have done well here on Jabiim," the representative continued with forced enthusiasm, as if trying to convince himself. "Your contributions to the war effort will not go unnoticed, and you will all be honored—"

"And of course," Chancellor Palpatine cut in smoothly, "we extend our thanks for capturing the dangerous Sith hiding on the planet. It is a feat that will not be overlooked."

Half the room scowled at his words. There was only one person they could be referring to, and the title "Sith" had been thrown around too freely for anyone's comfort.

"Alleged Sith Lord, Chancellor," Master Leska corrected, her voice sharper than it had been for the entire meeting.

"Pardon?" Palpatine's hologram tilted slightly, an eyebrow raised.

"He has not had a trial yet," she said. "Any crimes are allegations until proven."

The Chancellor's expression darkened, but only for a brief moment. "Indeed," he said in a lower tone, eyes narrowing before the signal distorted once more.

Master Windu's hologram flickered as he added, "Be safe. May the Force be with you all." And with that, the transmission cut off, leaving only the holotable's dim glow.

The silence in the room was heavy, but it didn't last long. Scout was the first to speak, breaking the tense quiet with a growl. "What a load of bantha dung," she spat, crossing her arms.

Kass glared at her. "Watch your tongue."

"Oh, come on!" Scout snapped back, her voice rising in frustration. "We're supposed to go and capture 'key sectors'? We're down to ten percent of what we came here with! And even when we had more we still got beaten, it's only cause of Jaden we are here now!"

"She's right," Aubrie chimed in, shaking her head. "They didn't even listen to our report about the earthquakes. They're happening all over the planet, and they're getting worse."

"High Command is prioritizing what's important," Anakin cut in, his tone brooking no argument. "There's still a Separatist fleet in orbit. If they reinforce the planet the moment there's a break in the storms, we're done. We need to focus on reinforcing our position before that happens."

"With what?!" Zule shouted, voice raw. "Look around you, Skywalker. This is it. This is all we have!"

A tense quiet filled the room as Zule's words hung in the air like a storm cloud. Finally, Kass spoke, her voice hesitant. "Maybe... we should start conscripting the locals. The militia and our forces alone won't be enough if the Separatists launch another attack."

Captain Orion, standing among the Jabiimi officers, didn't hesitate to respond. "Not happening," he said coldly. "They've suffered enough. I won't ask my people to fight."

Anakin's eyes narrowed as he stepped forward, his presence imposing. "Why not?" he demanded. "This is their planet. You expect us to fight and die for it, but you won't do the same?"

"Yes!" Orion shot back, his voice filled with anger and pride. "We've stayed loyal to the Republic for thousands of years! Through famines, through plagues, through pirates! So fighting for us now is the least you can do!"

"Now, hang on!" Kass tried to mediate, stepping between them.

The tension erupted. Voices rose, insults were thrown, and tempers flared. Some clones reached for their blasters; the Jedi put hands on their lightsabers. Weapons were nearly drawn as the argument spiraled out of control, soon becoming hostile.

"QUIET!" Master Leska's voice boomed, enhanced by the Force, shaking the walls of the room and silencing everyone instantly. Her eyes were sharp, cutting through the tension like a blade. "Arguing like savages will get us nowhere!" She looked directly at the Padawans, her face stern. "Especially you five. Have you forgotten yourselves?" The words stung, and the Padawans hung their heads in shame.

Master Leska exhaled deeply, her composure slowly returning. She moved to the holotable, activating the display to show a holographic image of Jabiim. "I disagree with High Command's priorities," she said firmly. "I think these earthquakes are far more worrying than any Separatist reinforcements."

Captain Orion nodded. "They're planet-wide, and only getting stronger. Three lakes in this sector alone have dried up."

"What?" Scout said, leaning in. "How does a lake just... dry up?"

"Deep cracks formed in their beds, drained them dry," Orion answered, his face grim.

"What could be the source?" Aubrie asked, staring intently at the projection of the planet.

"We've been trying to triangulate it," Orion said, pointing at various parts of the map. "But it's difficult to pinpoint. We're getting closer, though."

Master Leska nodded. "Good. Keep at it. The rest of us need to be ready to move out and strike when the time comes." She looked around at the gathered faces, all scarred and tired but resolute. "It's unlikely this is a natural phenomenon. I believe Captain Orion is right—it's a Separatist weapon."

"The timing is suspicious," Aubrie said. "The planet only starts quaking after the Separatists suffer a major loss?" A nervous tension filled the room, the unspoken fear settling over everyone like a shroud. The idea that the Separatists had a weapon capable of causing earthquakes. Scout took a step forward, biting her lip. She felt an uneasy whisper in the Force, a faint tug of something wrong, something dark. She leaned over the holotable's controls. "Computer," she said quietly, "simulate the conditions of the planet if the quakes keep increasing in intensity."

The holotable hummed to life, and they all watched in stunned silence. The planet's surface started to crack and crumble, deep fissures forming across continents, ripping through mountains and cities alike. In the simulation, tectonic plates buckled and tore away, massive chunks of land falling into the sea. The entire planet shattered under the growing pressure until it finally split in two, fragments exploding into the void of space. Aubrie's hand flew to her mouth, eyes wide with horror. "By the Force..." she whispered, the words trembling.

The Jabiimi in the room reacted worse than the others—some cried out in shock, others cursed under their breaths. Tears formed in the eyes of a few, the reality of the destruction cutting into their hearts like a blade. Master Leska just stood there, staring at the holotable as the simulation played out to its bitter end, the chunks of Jabiim floating lifelessly in space. Even though they had fought so hard, even though they had survived the battles and endured the storm, it all seemed for nothing. The realization hit like a tidal wave... they were going to die. All of them.

She took a step back from the table, her voice low and full of dread. "We need to find that weapon. Now. I want every available person on it. Scouts on speeders, drones, every vehicle we have—whatever it takes. We have to stop this before the damage becomes irreversible."

There were nods of agreement all around, and within moments, the room was filled with movement. Everyone rushed to carry out orders, to search, to fight for survival. They filed out quickly, the storm of urgency washing them away. All except Captain Orion, who stayed behind, lingering by Leska's side.

"I don't think I need to tell you what happens if we don't stop this," he said, voice heavy with grim certainty.

"There's only so much I can do without support from the Republic," Leska said, leaning against the holotable, the weight of it all pressing down on her shoulders.

"Master Jedi," Orion said, voice sharp and full of fear he refused to show. "There are over five billion people on this planet. Five billion with no way off."

Leska's eyes met his, and she could barely muster the words. "I... I'll do what I can," she said, gripping the edge of the table so tight her knuckles turned white. Orion gave a solemn nod and left without another word. And with the door shut, Leska was left alone.

She sat down heavily, her breath coming in shallow gasps. Her chest tightened, and for a moment she couldn't breathe, couldn't see anything beyond the darkness closing in around her. Her hands shook, tremors she couldn't control, and she gripped her robes, digging her nails into her palms. Her vision blurred, the holotable's lights turning into shapeless blobs as fear clawed at her throat. The hope they'd once held flickered like a dying flame, ready to snuff out at any moment. And they all felt it—the impending collapse, the slow, grinding dread that whispered of doom.

————————————————————-

The Jabiimi capital was a ruin—a graveyard of twisted metal, shattered stone, and the burned-out shells of buildings that had once towered proudly over the landscape. Now, only crumbling walls and debris-littered streets remained. The city had been ravaged, left a smoldering, hollow wreck after Jaden had set off the explosives. Rain poured down in a torrent, flooding the cracked streets, turning them to mud and filling the air with the heavy stink of scorched earth and rot.

Streets were filled with the bodies of Jabiimi nationalists, most were half-buried under rubble or crushed beneath fallen buildings, faces frozen in agony. Some still gripped their weapons in lifeless hands, and around them, in heaps that stretched as far as the eye could see, lay the broken remains of thousands of battle droids—crumpled metal, blown-out circuits, limbs scattered across the ground like discarded scrap. Blaster burns marred the walls of the buildings still left standing, deep craters pockmarked the streets, and the rain turned the ground into a sludge of mud and ash.

Amidst the ruins, there was a sudden tremor. A pile of rubble—one of the larger mounds, formed by the collapse of what was once the city's main tower—began to shift. Rocks and metal groaned as they tumbled, until suddenly, the entire pile exploded outward with a deafening crash. Debris scattered in all directions, smashing against the ground, as a figure pushed itself up from underneath.

Alto Stratus stood, rising out of the rubble, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He was a sight to behold, half of his body was burned, scorched skin barely hanging on, and his left arm hung uselessly at his side, bent at a sickening angle. Blood oozed from open wounds, mixing with the rainwater that soaked him to the bone. His face was twisted in a mask of fury and pain, teeth clenched, eyes wide with wild rage. He planted his feet on the ground, struggling to stay upright, the muscles in his legs trembling. For a moment, he just stood there, taking in the wreckage, the destruction around him. The city, the capital of his home, gone...

Then, a roar tore from his throat. It was deep, guttural, and filled with rage, echoing through the ruins and rattling the broken buildings still standing. Alto threw his head back, bellowing his anger to the stormy sky, his roar carrying over the rain and thunder. The sound seemed to shake the very earth beneath him, resonating through the ruins, a sound of pure hate and fury. He screamed until his voice was raw, until there was nothing left but a hoarse, animalistic growl. The rain kept pouring down, beating against his burned flesh, streaming down his face, but Alto didn't care. He was alive. And every drop that fell only fueled his rage.

Alto Stratus stood there, breathing hard, surrounded by the dead and the rubble of the capital. He clenched his fists, shaking with fury, the storm crashing around him as if echoing the fury that boiled inside him. After his roar only one word escaped his lips.

"Jedi..."

(AN: So this was mostly just a set up chapter for the drama that's gonna be coming up. The mass shadow generator is tearing the planet apart yet our heroes have no idea about this terrifying weapon. Admiral Novak is coming to save all of them with help from a sexy twi'lek engineer. Next chapter will focus more on Jaden as he learns to control his new ability and is finally released from his cell. Anyway I hope you enjoyed the chapter.)

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