Our unfinished base stood at the junction of several mountain valleys — a natural choke point on a world carved by tectonic violence. Towering peaks ringed the perimeter, their slopes covered in dense, fir-like forests. Below them, thick jungle clogged the valleys in tangled green waves, heavy with mist and moisture.
From above, the base resembled a rough hexagon.
At each corner stood fortified defensive nodes — pillbox-style bunkers reminiscent of the old planetary defense emplacements from my homeworld. Each node housed layered laser cannons of varying output, overlapping firing arcs to eliminate blind zones. The wreckage of destroyed Separatist ships had already been integrated into the outer wall — massive curved plates from Lucrehulk rings forming reinforced barricades.
Functional.
Efficient.
Temporary.
"What shall we do, Master?" Ahsoka asked, practically vibrating with leftover energy. She had not yet spent her momentum from orbit. Fire in motion — that was the best way to describe her.
I clasped my hands behind my back and looked over the bustling salvage crews.
"Oh, Padawan," I said lightly, "we shall follow the noblest of pirate traditions."
She blinked.
"…What?"
The nearby clone commanders exchanged glances.
"Collecting trophies, of course," I clarified. "What did you think I meant?"
That earned a few subtle helmet tilts.
Turning toward the engineering battalion commanders, I shifted tone.
"Listen carefully. We do not know when resupply will arrive. We operate under the assumption that it will not. Therefore, we become self-sufficient."
I began listing priorities.
"Salvage and restore both Republic and Separatist equipment. Communications arrays. All shield generators — including those stripped from droidekas. Droid weapons. Any intact or repairable droids, especially DUM-series pit droids, astromechs, maintenance units. Combat droids are not to be scrapped — I want them assessed for reprogramming."
The commanders nodded, recording everything.
"Recover internal and external power cells. Spare armor plating. Ammunition stockpiles. AAT tanks. MTT transports. Droid bikes. Surviving artillery systems. Missiles and shells."
I paused deliberately.
"In short — bring in everything."
That earned a few faint chuckles through helmet filters.
"Mobilize every available trooper not assigned to perimeter defense."
The clones dispersed immediately, efficient as ever.
I watched them go.
They saw victory.
They saw success.
Many already looked at me with something bordering on admiration.
That required correction.
I called Commander Blam and several senior troopers forward.
They formed up instantly.
"You've all performed beyond expectation," I began evenly. "Zero casualties. Rapid fortification. Adaptive execution."
They remained silent, waiting.
"But understand something clearly," I continued. "You do not serve me."
A subtle shift in posture.
"You serve the Republic. You serve your brothers. You serve the mission."
Their attention sharpened.
"Absolute loyalty," I said calmly, "is not to a person. Heroes fall. Commanders die. If your loyalty is to an individual, the moment that individual fails, you falter."
I let the words settle.
"Your loyalty must be to the objective. To each other. To the chain of command — not because you admire it, but because discipline wins wars."
Commander Blam spoke carefully.
"With respect, General… the men believe in your leadership."
"And that is appreciated," I replied. "But belief is not worship. If I give an order that contradicts Republic interest, you are to question it through proper channels. Understood?"
A pause.
Then, firmly:
"Yes, General."
Good.
They saw me as a hero because I had delivered results. That was acceptable — so long as it never became blind devotion.
---
Ethan approached via secure channel shortly after.
"I have initiated Project War Mantle," he reported.
"Outline."
"Modified hex-frame construction droids based on repair platforms. Expanded tool suites. Autonomous coordination through shared tactical subroutines. With sufficient materials, they can assemble prefabricated hull structures within twenty-four standard hours."
I allowed myself a small nod.
Hex-bots.
Industrial efficiency repurposed for wartime construction.
"Proceed," I said. "Prioritize fuel storage depots and shield emitters."
Above the planet, near the system's gas giant, an automated fuel-processing factory orbited silently. To secure it, I dispatched a force of one hundred troopers, an engineering team, a light cruiser, and a dozen starfighters. Ethan had already begun assembling a company of droids modeled loosely after his own architecture — future garrison units.
Resistance was not expected.
The station was automated.
Installation of defensive turrets and integration into our command network would be sufficient.
Fuel production would secure long-term fleet viability.
And my instincts in the Force were clear:
The Separatists would not abandon this world.
---
As the base expanded — shield generators humming to life, hex-bots constructing prefabricated hangars from scavenged hull plating — I stood alone atop one of the defensive nodes, watching the mountain mist roll through the valley.
There was something else I required.
Knowledge.
The power displayed in orbit was effective — but incomplete. There were limits I did not yet understand. Techniques hinted at in fragments. Gaps in control.
Sith space held answers.
I summoned Captain Ragnos, Ahsoka, and Ethan to a private briefing chamber.
"I will be departing temporarily," I said calmly.
Ahsoka straightened instantly.
"Departing? Where?"
"Exploratory reconnaissance," I replied. "You will remain here with Captain Ragnos. Continue base expansion. Strengthen defenses. Drill troops."
She frowned.
"I should accompany you."
"Not this time."
Silence stretched.
Ethan tilted his head slightly.
"Destination logged?" he asked.
I did not answer aloud.
Instead, aboard a Consular-class cruiser I had quietly reassigned and renamed *Starburn*, I entered the coordinates manually.
Malachor.
The second Consular, *Gearing*, would remain in-system.
I looked once more at the growing base below — fortified by wreckage, powered by salvaged reactors, guarded by soldiers who believed in victory.
Then I turned toward the stars.
There were answers waiting in the darkness.
And I intended to claim them.