>>5666048Suzel makes a hysterical noise somewhere between a laugh and a choke. “Easy for him to say, huh?”
“I agree.” Trykov’s voice cuts in over the intercom, the Clone’s voice grim and wary. “That thing’s mounting ten of those weapons – you’d need one hell of a defensive screen to block them.”
<span class="mu-i">That ship has the bulk of a corvette, the firepower of a frigate, and the handling of a Force-damned fighter.</span>
But you say none of those things, leaping to your feet. Ceyla comes up, wobbling and steadying herself against you. At the raised brow you give her, she shakes her head. “I’m fine, master. No concussion.”
“Check your seatbelt next time,” you say gruffly, but not unkindly.
Her cheeks flush, but she scurries back to her seat to do what you said. To Suzel, she complains: “Next time warn me before you do something like that again, okay?”
The Nagai rolls his eyes, but his reply doesn’t have any bite. “Sorry about that.”
Water under the bridge as far as your concerned. Right now, the <span class="mu-i">Albatross</span> isn’t where it’s supposed to be.
“B-33. Transmit what you’ve found to the convoy. Freighters might not have too many turrets, but maybe Jolt-Squadron can make up the difference. All hands, strap in tight. Suzel…” you pause, looking your pilot straight into his eyes. “Get us back in the fight.”
To his credit, he doesn’t go completely off the handle. Even as Ceyla and the droids jerk around in their seats to stare as if you’ve grown a second head, your pilot has the decency to palm his face and sigh very heavily. “…you’re sure about that, boss?”
You are. It doesn’t matter that this milk run’s been spoiled and spiraled into something beyond the expected. If not for the starving slaves on Ulsind, then for the lives within the surviving ships of the convoy.
The duty of a Jedi is to defend and protect – so it had been even before the order had bound itself to the late Republic.
From his turret, Elba growls an affirmation. Trykov holds his silence, but you can sense his resolve and training solidifying. Ceyla looks green at the gills, but she swallows her bile, and nods firmly. Even HK-82 has the good sense to remain silent as S-19 and B-33 sound off.
“…good thing I clocked in some extra sim time,” Suzel mutters, re-orienting for a shot back into the action. The ship jolts as he opens up the throttle, charting a course directly towards the battle. “Hoo, uh…might’ve been piloting ships lighter than the <span class="mu-i">’tross</span>, though.”
The E-9 hurtles through space, burning at maximum speed on an intercept trajectory, weaving through patches of drifting rock and space debris. A shudder runs through the ship, and the overhead lights flicker as both dorsal and ventral turrets activate with a sharp whine of hydraulics and gyros. Eight kilometers away but fast approaching, the battle has reached a fever pitch.
(cont.)