Despite the absence of several of the fleet's highest-ranking admirals, the Officers' Assembly was alive with conversation. Every table on the upper level was filled; crystal glasses caught the light from the vast transparent ceiling panel, reflecting the glow of Lantilles below.
Commander Rernatuan Kinaun waited with visible anticipation. When he had announced that a Jedi General would be joining them, the reaction had ranged from skepticism to outright disbelief. But once he emphasized that this particular Jedi was… unconventional — and highly effective — curiosity overtook doubt.
Then I arrived.
Conversations softened into murmurs as I crossed the floor toward Kinaun's table.
"General Dagon Marek," the commander announced, rising slightly. "Gentlemen."
Polite nods followed — measured, professional.
Introductions began.
"Captain Kasimus Bregos, Captain Orto Detroit, Captain Smith Cortez — Acclamator-class commanders. Grand Captain Ichiro Fukuoka, defense coordinator for Lantilles. Grand Captain Darin Ilizio, liaison to the Fourth Sector Fleet. Line Captain Jizéo, Trade Route defense. Commander Hazam Tirimaki, Southern Squadron. Vice Admiral Masae Reborn. Rear Admiral Lewis Surabaya, commander of the Lantilles Fleet. Captain Roy Fokker. Captain Qing Ozmo, Intelligence. Colonel Lyonen Tamauskas, Supply."
A respectable gathering.
Wine was poured.
"A glass of Corellian?" someone offered.
"I won't refuse," I replied.
The first exchange was cordial. The second, strategic.
---
Captain Ozmo activated the holo-projector embedded in the table. A three-dimensional galactic map shimmered into existence.
"Several dozen additional systems have declared for the Separatists," he reported. "The Corporate Alliance has formally aligned with them. The InterGalactic Banking Clan is… sympathetic. Fighting intensifies on Atraken. The 416th Corps has deployed to Teyr. Engagements ongoing on Malavare, Hypori, Ukio, Delgado."
The map zoomed to the Twelfth Sector.
"Our current holdings," Ozmo continued, circling a cluster of systems, "are near maximum sustainable capacity. Most surrounding worlds are either CIS-aligned or sympathetic. Fortunately, no major fleet concentration has entered our sector yet."
I leaned forward, gesturing across several systems.
"Castell. Saleucami. Jabiim. Felucia. Boz Pity. Lianna. Tula. Raxus Prime. All under varying degrees of Separatist influence."
A few brows lifted.
"You're well informed," Ozmo noted.
"Forewarned is forearmed."
Commander Tirimaki folded his hands. "What do you believe their next move will be?"
"They're retooling," I answered evenly. "They didn't expect the Republic to field a competent standing force so quickly. They were prepared to fight bureaucratic relics. Now they're recalibrating. Within weeks, expect millions of additional battle droids and hundreds of hulls redirected to contested sectors — including ours."
Rear Admiral Surabaya spoke next.
"There are reports of a certain Grievous taking command of the Separatist army."
I took a slow sip.
"Rumors suggest he's… effective. Ruthless. Mostly prosthetic. More machine than organic. If he's as capable as they claim, we should expect adaptive strategy."
No panic followed. Only calculation.
Good officers.
---
Discussion shifted to logistics.
Colonel Tamauskas cleared his throat.
"Seven clone regiments arrived recently. Four were reassigned by higher authority. I retained three for this sector. Equipment allocations remain… insufficient."
"I'm compensating with captured hardware," I replied calmly. "Reprogrammed CIS droids as auxiliary labor and expendable infantry."
Captain Detroit blinked. "You're deploying captured droids?"
"When necessary. Better them than clones."
That drew a few thoughtful nods.
Surabaya leaned back.
"We can assign you one Dreadnaught-class heavy cruiser. And a regiment of the Lantilles Militia."
"Appreciated," I said. "Specifications?"
Captain Roy Fokker finally spoke.
"Six hundred meters. Modernized locally. Crew complement nine thousand — reduced from earlier models. Ten heavy turbolasers, twenty quad mounts, light batteries. Hangar refitted — two squadrons of Z-95 AF-4s."
"Solid platform," I observed. "With selective structural reinforcement and fire-control optimization, it could outperform its original design."
Surabaya smiled slightly.
"Modifications were partially inspired by old Katana Fleet schematics."
Interesting.
"I'll accept the transfer."
---
Vice Admiral Reborn turned toward Kinaun.
"Didn't your ship host Academy graduates today?"
"Yes. They're downstairs."
"I suggest assigning several to the General. Their postings haven't been finalized."
"I've already chosen," I said.
That caught their attention.
"And who would that be?"
"The four seated with my Padawan."
A pause.
Kinaun tapped his wrist-comm.
"Ahsoka."
On the lower level, Ahsoka Tano looked up from a table surrounded by stunned junior officers.
"Yes, Master?"
"Inform your companions they are to pack and report to the *Marat*. They now serve under my command."
There was a visible delay as comprehension set in.
Then Ahsoka beamed.
"That's wonderful!"
Above, several senior officers exchanged amused glances.
Kinaun watched thoughtfully.
An unconventional recruitment method.
Effective, though.
---
Later, conversation turned quieter — more technical.
I made a request.
"Access to several salvage vessels operating under Lantilles authority. Wherever we fight, wreckage accumulates. The CIS recycles its droids rapidly. We should do the same. I intend to refit the Consular corvette into additional Hammerhead Aegis-style cruisers — modularized from recovered components."
There was a long silence.
Surabaya finally nodded.
"On one condition. The project remains classified under Lantilles jurisdiction."
"That's acceptable."
I lacked a shipyard. They possessed discretion — and a Moff had more experience preserving secrets than the Jedi Council ever would.
Agreement reached.
---
Eventually, formalities dissolved into smaller discussions. Strategic whispers. Personnel speculation. Trade route vulnerabilities.
I leaned back in the armchair, letting the wine settle.
It tasted… alive.
Through the Force, every note unfolded — mineral undertones, aged wood, distant sunlight from some Core World vineyard.
A fleeting thought drifted through my calm mind:
Enjoy this moment.
War rarely allows them.
I closed my eyes briefly.
The galaxy was burning across dozens of sectors.
But tonight, for a few hours, beneath crystal lights and above a planet that still believed in the Republic, we planned.
And planning — more than passion, more than heroics — would decide who remained standing when the flames finally died.