5.05

The Kuati noble Houses are infamous around the galaxy for their arrogance. Even without the countless apocryphal stories of past intrigues, revenge schemes, and petty squabbles in the name of ego and profit - in that order - all a sapient has to do to confirm that reputation is look upon a map. While trade routes are often named after key systems by the Galactic Astrographic Society and, politics allowing, the name is confirmed by the Senate, the hyperspace route linking the Kuat system to Commenor has no name despite being one of the most heavily traveled routes in the Inner Rim. It has been so long under sole Kuati control it is treated by most as an extension of the Kuat system and nominally under the authority of Kuat of Kuat.

Naturally, we took advantage of the recent chaos to avoid shipping fees and traffic patrols and headed for the greatest port in the Inner Rim. Sitting right on the intersection of the Quellor Run, the Trellen Run, the Commenor Run, and Kuat's privately owned hyper-lane, Commenor is one of the oldest, most important centers of economy and civilization in the entire Republic. While lacking Kuat's orbital infrastructure, the planet has as much landmass as Coruscant with most of it being mountains, arid plains, and desert. With most of its surface being unsuitable for the initial stages of urbanization, the Commenorians directed their efforts into constructing landing strips, airfields, storage areas, and space centers all over their world. Similar to trade-supported metropolises in the early 21st century Earth, they also eschewed heavy industry and their entire economy now revolved around the over ten thousand spaceports and the millions of ships they handled. Spread evenly across the planet's single mega-continent, the ports kept space traffic dispersed and could thus handle transient populations and amounts of goods greater than Kuat and Coruscant combined at the expense of total dependence on outside sources for food, consumer goods, and raw materials.

The tiny, modified YT-1000 light freighter that was the Sprinkle was no more than a gnat in the massive swarm of fast freighters, passenger liners, and the slow-moving leviathans of cargo ships forming a halo around the world. Seeing cousin Jestra expertly handle the timing and maneuvers required to slip through the landing queues unnoticed, it suddenly hit me that I lacked practical flying experience despite now living in a galaxy and civilization with ubiquitous space travel. It had just never been needed; I would either spend my time in the Doughnut, use public transportation, or vastly more experienced pilots like Aurra Sing or my cousin would ferry me around. It was like I was back on Earth, where I hadn't bothered with a driver's license at all until my thirties. In hindsight, it was a glaring inability for any actor on the galactic stage... but when would I find the time to address it? Between mastering abilities in the Force, learning to fight with a lightsaber, dodging the attention of Jedi and Sith as much as possible, gaining resources for the coming war, and putting out fires halfway around the Galaxy, I was beginning to feel the pressure. "Like butter stretched over too much bread", to borrow the words of another unwilling hero dropped into adventures against his will and dealing with powers beyond mortal ken.

At least I'd avoided being nearly as short as he'd been.

xxxx xxxx

​

The storm howling overhead mixed with the continuous sonic booms of new arrivals. The near-whiteout limited visibility to a few hundred feet at best, and made flying for all but the Jedi Aces an elaborate form of suicide. I was not among them; I stood with both feet upon the frozen ground, hair dancing in the wind and trying to escape the simple french braid. Howling gales picked up chips of ice, gravel, and metal debris, turning them into deadly projectiles for anyone that didn't wear armor or a personal shield. I'd gone with the latter, the generator built into the thick collar around my neck and collarbones. Light pauldrons, a semi-rigid chest-plate, and cortosis-lined bodysuit and cape completed the ensemble. More of a personal uniform and flaunting of power and looks than armor, it ensured instant recognition in the battlefield and drew the enemy's attacks like nothing else - which was kind of the point.

Black figures, tiny against the vastness of the snowstorm, marched out of the whiteout in a loose formation. They were followed by the hulking quadruped shapes of all-terrain heavy walkers thumping through six feet of snow, and the smaller, brick-like lumps of fast attack hovercraft. For a moment they stood at the edge of our physical awareness... then the first crimson blade lit. Then another and another, until a veritable forest of them cast a crimson gloom upon the ice. A split second later, and all hell broke loose.

I drew heavily upon the Force until the snowstorm stood still, blaster bolts almost lazily tearing through the air as I wrapped Morichro around me like a second cloak. In my right hand a crimson blade that was not my own lit in answer to the challenge, my dominant hand sparking with lightning when I linked to the elements as my sisters had taught me. Dozens of enemies focused on that crimson blade, hundreds. Their master's own weapon wielded against them was a challenge they could not refuse and so they charged. Thunder boomed once, twice, thrice, the storm punishing those that had ignored defense in favor of recklessness with lightning bolts that shook the firmament. Their numbers though were too many, more than anyone could handle unaided. Unfortunately for them, I was not alone. As they still closed with near-glacial slowness, shapes in robes of brown, grey, and white jumped off their hiding spots in the enemy's flanks, even as snipers guided by the Force took potshots from dozens of miles away. More figures in black rallied, this time from behind me, and light and dark clashed with me in the middle.

A great Shout shattered the Force shields of the closest attackers along with their bones and they toppled like so many puppets with their strings cut. My gaze penetrated through snow and metal and darkness to the reactor of a distant AT-AT and the tiniest exertion flicked the shutdown switch without cutting the fuel feed and the thousand-ton walker exploded. A sharp swing of my saber and its trajectory intersected that of three different blaster cannon shots milliseconds apart, sending them in the backs of three different targets engaged in fights of their own. Uneven steps took me through the chaos of the battle, not making contact with a single bolt I did not choose to divert.

As the armies of light and darkness broke upon one another, I stood in their mist, going round and round as if dancing upon the head of a pin... and laughed.

xxxx xxxx

​

I jumped out of the bed with a gasp, the shredded sheets scattering around me like leaves in a whirlwind. Durasteel groaned but held as I reined in raging emotions and a wildly beating heart before the echoes of my nightmare in the Force could destroy yet another sleeping room. I got up, swept heavy sweat off my brow with a pillowcase, and walked to the bathroom. The steaming water and scented bath oils helped me cast the aftereffects of yet another vision into the void, and draw a mask of calmness for the time being.

It was not the first time this had happened. It was not even the tenth. Visions of possible futures were one of the most famous Force abilities I had been happy to do without for most of my new life. Seeing distant places in the present? Yes. Delving into esoteric awareness of the Force either with great focus or after suffering some sort of trauma? Unusual but manageable. Even developing a bit of the Force Sight blind force-sensitive species like the Miraluka were known for had not been unwelcome. Future visions intense enough to damage my surroundings were another matter entirely. They always felt alien to me, the flow of the Force unfamiliar yet more deeply ingrained than in other powers, and always followed by a bitter taste in my mouth and fading screams in the deeper corners of my mind.

I dressed in simple pants and blouse of thick, solid fabric reminiscent of jeans from my old life. The earthen colours, the utilitarian cut, the pockets, even the fabric itself was not something rich heiresses would wear but until the situation improved, my collection of dresses was something I'd have to do without. Replacing the sheets was already enough of a chore. Forcing the door back into shape with telekinesis allowed it to open with groans of protest; a couple more nights like this one and it'd need actual repairs. I made some coffee - it was called caf in this galaxy - and sat in the kitchen to wait. My cousin was nowhere in the hotel that I could see, but Aurra was in the lobby, chatting up one of the locals. From how amusement and vindictiveness hung around her like a cloud while the young man positively glowed with hope and tentative interest, she was fishing for another one-night stand. I left her to her games and focused on my bitter drink and meditation. As long as she cleaned up her own messes and I didn't have to see or hear a thing, her activities were her own.

Jestra returned less than an hour later with a spring in her step and a vibrant, satisfied smile. A brew of contentment, satisfaction, and vindictiveness followed the older, oriental-seeming woman, hinting at her imminent actions.

"The deal went through," she announced without preamble. "The Rodan family agreed to sell a quarter-ton of high-carat chrysopaz gems to House Andrim at the low price of four hundred million credits." She collapsed on a chair, groaned, and poured a cup of caf of her own. "Actually, it's a ridiculously low price. I saw the gems myself; at that quality they should have cost at least fifteen hundred credits per carat, not given away for three twenty."

"The Rodans are not idiots; like every other planetary powerhouse they must have noticed the recent shift in the economy." Because whatever efforts Sidious and his pawns put into keeping the coming war secret, the economic impact was the one thing they could not hide. Perhaps after a thousand years of peace nobody knew how to interpret the rising demands for hyper fuel, structural materials, and rare metals correctly in correlation with the political and social pressures rapidly developing between the Core and the Rim, but even with the idea of a galactic war seemingly absurd the shift away from luxury goods and towards heavy industry had been noticed. "With Kuat fueling a good chunk of their resources into their little secret project, the Banking Clans funding research into Bactoid Automata, and the Trade Federation quietly withdrawing a percentage of their ships for rearming, Commenor is seeing demand for its two primary products slowly dropping with their usual clients."

"Ugh, the economics of war," Jestra commented with a grimace. "Give me a good intrigue or infiltration mission over them any day."

"And that's why our esteemed elders didn't pick you to lead the House despite your pedigree," I countered. Honestly, war on a galactic scale was more logistics and resource management than anything else. For conflicts at such scales it didn't matter that the Jedi outnumbered the Sith ten thousand to one if the Sith could bring the impossibly vast machine of galactic economy under their heel. "Did you get a sample?"

"Here." Jestra threw a tiny package the size of a box of matches at me - not that anyone in this galaxy knew what matches were. The tiny, velvet-lined package stopped in mid-air, floated more slowly up to me, then opened. "Showoff," Jestra accused me and loudly sucked her caf through a straw just to be annoying. Cousins, right?

I ignored that familial declaration of immaturity in favor of studying the four gleaming gems in the box. Yellow-gold and almost shining even in the gloom, the thumbnail-sized gems looked like diamonds with a sprinkling of gold dust. Naturally occurring chrysopaz was one of the two native exports of Commenor, along with mid-quality, relatively cheap brandy. The rare mineral's quality could vary far more than most precious stones, but the samples I held were among the best, matching diamonds in beauty and price. Jestra was right; if the rest of the gems were as good they should not have been sold as cheaply. More than the shifting economy, the confluence of rising tensions in the Rim, the recent chaos House Kuat fell into, and the less than legal moves of the Trade Federation had combined to create a brief opportunity. We just happened to be at just the right time and place to exploit it, and if anyone says otherwise they're filthy liars.

"This is the second cargo we picked up," Jestra noted as she noisily sucked at an emptying cup. "What are we gonna do with ridiculously expensive wine and gems now that the homefront is too hot for business? Thinking of going to Coruscant again? I heard your father has some interesting contacts there."

"The last thing I want to do is move corewards right now," I said with a shudder. If Sidious hadn't noticed the interference to his plans by now I'd eat Ratty without ketchup... note to self: introduce ketchup to the galactic pasta scene. "No, I have another port in mind. As you said, we need to lay low for a time." I drummed my fingers against the gem case, focusing on feeling the soft velvet under my fingertips. "Hey cuz, what do you think about a brief vacation?"

"What do you have in mind?"

"Well... there are only so many good options..." Suddenly, a glimpse of tropical beaches blossomed in my mind, men and women in leotards, swimsuits, or nothing at all frolicking in the sand under the shadow of alien palm trees while beatufil serving girls and boys in vibrant colours passed them ridiculously expensive refreshments and... recreational substances.

"...what do you think about Zeltros?"