Star Wars: From the Clone Wars to Starfaring Heroes

Chapter 36 - The White-Handed Fleet (Please continue reading)

"...Come with me!"

As soon as Vinok finished speaking, he turned and walked towards the other end of the corridor.

In that instant, Paris considered running away, but then felt it was inappropriate. In this unfamiliar environment, the main problem was that Vinok had a lightsaber hanging from his waist.

Currently, compliance is the wiser choice.

Only after she has figured out the ship's structure, guards, and communication channels can she begin to plan her escape... or send a distress signal to the Jedi Temple.

When Paris snapped out of her reverie, she noticed that Vinok had already taken a few steps forward, so she quickly followed. Stepping barefoot onto the cold metal deck made her flinch slightly.

They passed through an oval observation window, outside which lay a vast, desolate planet, its surface a sickly yellow and brown under the starlight, its thin atmosphere like a murky veil.

"This is the Lax home planet," Vinok's voice rang out from the side, pointing out the window: "Welcome to the Lax Star Base, the headquarters of the First Fleet."

As if to complement his words, a huge, angular shadow slowly drifted across the planet.

A separatist "Conqueror-class" heavy cruiser.

Facing the observation window, its iconic beak-shaped bow and the huge eye-like patterns painted on both sides are clearly visible in the cold starlight.

Paris had never seen a cruiser so close before; it felt like standing at the feet of a giant beast.

Her situation suddenly felt incredibly real, like a knife pressed against the back of her neck.

This is deep within enemy territory.

Even if Master Luminara wanted to save her, it would be impossible to find her in such a massive separatist fleet base.

Paris was glad she hadn't acted rashly.

Otherwise, she might not even be able to leave this base.

She is now truly alone, at the mercy of these people, participating in their strange games.

"...You're saying Dooku thinks I'm dead?" Barris murmured, her gaze still following the receding cruiser outside the window. "Aren't you serving him? Why are you keeping me alive?"

Vinok wrinkled his nose, his expression turning serious. "I followed him back then because... I had no other choice. Now I've found another way. As for why I'm keeping you around," he glanced at her, "I don't know either. Brigadier General Rein has his plans."

They stopped in front of a turbine elevator, where a tall, green-skinned Quarenman and a Salustman with huge eyes, both dressed in work clothes, walked out talking in hushed tones.

They stepped aside and waited for the two people to come out before quietly going inside.

The elevator interior features smooth metal panels.

After the door closed, Vinok pressed a glowing floor button: 3rd floor dock.

The elevator vibrated slightly and then began to descend.

“That lady… Brigadier General Rein… she called you Jedi?” Barris suddenly realized.

“…” Vinok coughed lightly in surprise, his expression somewhat strange, “No…no, Brigadier General Rein is a man…”

A... a man?!

Paris felt a sudden heat on her cheeks. She tried desperately to recall what he looked like... but the specific image of Raine in her mind became extremely blurry and impossible to fixate on.

She couldn't picture him exactly in her mind, just as she couldn't picture the exact form of the Force.

But for some reason, Paris remembered that his overall profile and feel were somewhat like those of Master Luminara.

The image of Raine shrouded her like a huge mystery.

“And… I won’t say I’m a Jedi.” Vinok cleared his throat, pulling her out of her awkward thoughts. “I grew up in the Jedi Order, just like you, but I didn’t become an apprentice or have a master. You know, you’re lucky, Miriel… in the Temple, we always look out for each other.”

There was a subtle, almost imperceptible emotion in his tone.

After a while, Paris understood what he meant and said, "You are... a member of the logistics support team."

Vinok nodded, his gaze fixed on the light filtering through the elevator doors. "After the evaluation, my brother and I were assigned to Torrend, in the Tyon sector. There are very few people like us in Torrend and Orman. I guess this is the Republic's way of showing that it still cares about the Outer Rings... a symbolic presence."

There was a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

The turbine elevator emitted a soft ding, the vibration stopped, and the doors slid smoothly to both sides.

A more pungent and mixed odor wafted over, filling the air with the smells of welding metal, fuel, ozone, and sweat...

As they stepped out of the elevator and into the enormous dock space, Paris suddenly asked, "Why did you join the separatists?" Under the huge dome, various types of spaceships were docked, maintenance racks stood tall, and all sorts of robotic arms and towing vehicles were busy at work.

“Because the Republic doesn’t care about us,” Vinok answered directly, his voice barely audible in the empty space. “Torund and Orman can’t provide the Core World with valuable resources, so we rarely see Republic officials, and we’re rarely supervised by the Agricultural Corps or the Ministry of Justice. I…we’ve gradually realized what most Separatists have realized:
The Republic doesn't care what happens in the Outer Rings. If they show any concern, it's only to take what's ours...like taxes and raw material supplies. So when the Tyon Sector declared independence, we...decided to join them. Some people have already grown attached to their 'new home,' while for others...I guess it just doesn't matter."

"Don't mind?"

Paris asked in confusion as she stepped over a thick pipe on the ground.

“Yeah, it doesn’t matter!” Vinok shrugged and said, “We’ve lived there for many years and are used to the environment and the people. When Abrion declared independence, some of the Jedi logistics personnel from Uguio also joined the Separatists. The situation was similar in many outposts on the outer ring. Wherever your home is, that’s where you stand, or rather… go with the flow.”

So how many Jedi members actually joined the Separatists?

How many Jedi chose to stay when their homeworld separated from the Republic?

How many desperate places are impossible to leave, or where do people feel they have nowhere to go?

These thoughts made Paris uneasy.

She looked around the enormous dock, her gaze sweeping over the busy robots, alien engineers, and human crew.

A sliver of anticipation stirred within me, a hope that I might see more figures with lightsabers at their waists among these people.

Anti-gravity tractors towed massive engine components, manned transport planes weaved through scaffolding, cargo conveyors hummed rhythmically, and pipe-laying machines welded new pipelines...

Like other military shipyards, this place was busy, but the expected scenes were nowhere to be seen.

Everyone was like a programmed cog in a machine, busy with their own tasks, maintaining the hundreds of warships moored in the massive dock or visible in orbit through atmospheric shielding rays, ensuring they could sail normally.

No one with Force sensitivity was found.

"So you didn't fall into the dark side?"

This question had been swirling in Paris's mind for a long time.

Then a shadow swept across Vinok's face, and his eyes dimmed, as if he had been crushed by an invisible weight in an instant.

“There was a time…” Vinok’s voice lowered, “when Torrend fell.”

Paris instantly realized that she had touched something she shouldn't have.

She pursed her lips and didn't press the question further, but she couldn't help thinking about it in her heart.

If Vinok didn't completely fall to the dark side, how many Jedi have fallen to the dark side during the war?

Like Count Dooku...

“Right there.” Vinok’s voice pulled her from her heavy thoughts. He pointed to a berth deep in the dock: “The interplanetary frigate ‘Repulsion,’ the flagship of the Whitehand Fleet, is there. No one can find you there.”

The implication is that neither Count Dooku nor Master Luminara can find her.

HMS Repulse was a Generous-class frigate with a rugged and practical design.

The separatist insignia on the ship's hull had just been repainted, a vibrant blue overlay on a mess of grime, ochre, and rust stains in varying shades.

The patterns formed by these stains were completely incomprehensible to Paris.

Is this a disguise?
But this is an interstellar spaceship, not a ground vehicle.

As she followed Vinok closer to the ship, Paris discovered that these were not random graffiti, but a meticulously hand-drawn scene of a battlefield.

A group of primitive, simple figures armed with spears and bows are fighting against all sorts of strange creatures.

She could recognize some of them, including Naboo long-toothed cats, Alderan deer, Batu bears, common Nefarians... and strange creatures as large as Banthas with heads similar to those of Altoran.

The painting surrounds the entire ship.

Upon closer inspection of the monotonous background color of the hull, it is impossible to discern the meticulously drawn patterns.

The only thing that stood out was a huge white handprint painted in pure white on the upper hull of the bridge.

Barris speculated that this was the origin of the name of the "White Hand" fleet.

“He said it’s a cave painting from the Ondron Cave.” Vinok’s gaze swept over the battle scenes. “But none of the creatures depicted are from Ondron… Alright, let’s get on board. You’ll have to get used to the crew…”

"They're a bit...special."

(End of this chapter)