————
DISCLAIMER
The following is a fan-based FICTION
All Installations of Star Wars are owned by Lucasfilm and Disney. All Installations of Dune belong to Herbert Properties, Legendary Entertainment, and Warner Bros. And any other references to other works all belong to their respective authors/companies and whatnot.
Chapter 6:
Problems Need Solving
"Talking"
'Thoughts'
————
Location: Sharls Mine Entrance 099
Year: 32 BBY
Time: 1:35 P.M
A trio of MAVw Combat Rovers tore across the rocky, ice-coated terrain of Sharls. Sixty-mile-per-hour gusts of frost and snow slammed against their armored hulls in relentless waves, but the vehicles pushed forward without slowing, their reinforced plating shrugging off the abuse with indifference. As the landscape shifted into sharper ridges and jagged mountain outcroppings, the winds gradually weakened, and the ride became smoother as they closed in on their destination: Mine 099.
Inside the second rover, the intercom crackled to life, drawing the attention of the elven Winged Guards and the man seated among them. "We are approaching the mine entrance, my lord Duke. Prepare to disembark."
"Roger," Duke Tyler Atreides replied with a calm nod.
Moments later, the convoy slowed to a halt in a cloud of settling frost. Without hesitation, the Duke unclipped his restraints and rose to his feet, the eleven Winged Shields following in precise unison. He stepped down from the rover with his customized BR8 blaster rifle already in hand, his sharp eyes sweeping the perimeter.
The area had been transformed into a fortified forward operating base. Additional rovers were parked in defensive positions around the mine entrance, while durasteel barricades were being assembled into layered firing lines. Several AH 57 Auto Turrets stood anchored at key angles, their sensors tracking movement automatically. Beyond them, electroshock prongs had been driven deep into the earth in a circular perimeter stretching ten miles in every direction. Any subterranean movement triggering the system would be met with a fifty-thousand-volt surge, frying any living organism in an instant. Full-spectrum scanners operated alongside them, continuously sweeping the surface and underground layers to ensure that if whatever had slaughtered the miners attempted to escape, it would be detected instantly.
Satisfied that the perimeter was secure for now, Tyler began walking across the uneven terrain toward the command tent. His Winged Shields moved with disciplined precision behind him, heads constantly turning, scanning for threats. Reaching the tent, the Duke pulled aside the heavy flap and stepped inside.
Within, a holographic projection of the mine's interior hovered above a central table. Standing before it was Captain Tarik Torgaddon of the Lunar Wolves Company. It had been Besh Platoon from his company that first entered the mine and encountered the creatures. Under orders from Fleetmaster Acheran, Tarik and his company had remained stationed here ever since, tasked with containment until reinforcements or higher authority arrived.
"Captain Tarik," Tyler greeted with a respectful nod.
The captain snapped to attention immediately and delivered a crisp salute. "My lord Duke."
"What's the situation?" Duke Tyler Atreides asked, stepping closer to the holotable.
"Forty-eight hours ago, Besh Platoon of my company attempted to clear out the rebellious miners as you ordered," Captain Tarik reported evenly. The Duke gave a small nod, signaling him to continue. "During the operation, they encountered some kind of subterranean worm."
Tarik pressed a control on the edge of the table. The holographic projection shifted, resolving into the image of a thick, segmented worm, its body covered in a thin sheen of slime and a multipronged mouth like a claw. "These creatures can burrow through solid rock with alarming speed," the captain continued. "They also tore through two of my soldiers' durasteel armor as if it were thin sheet metal."
"They died bravely and will be remembered," Tyler said solemnly. "Their bodies have been returned to their families?"
"Von Miller had no family," Tarik replied, his tone respectful. "Yuneitys did. The shuttle carrying his remains departed yesterday."
The Duke inclined his head once more, then shifted his attention back to the display as Tarik activated it again. The image flickered and changed, expanding into the towering shape of a massive humanoid construct composed of thousands of writhing worms fused together around embedded rocks and mineral clusters.
"The worms are capable of merging into these… walking tanks," Tarik explained. "A single one absorbed over a hundred blaster bolts before finally collapsing. That was after it had already been brought down three times. Each time, it reformed by incorporating fresh worms and nearby stone. When the first finally fell for good, the remaining seven exhibited what appeared to be anger. Their movements became faster and more aggressive. They began charging, swinging their arms, cracking tunnel walls, and overturning hovercarts."
Tyler studied the projection in silence for several long seconds. "This is troubling," he said at last. "Have there been any sightings from other mines in the region? Or anywhere else on the planet?"
"None, my lord."
"Then it may be isolated to this mine," Tyler said thoughtfully. "Even so, I will contact the planetary governor and issue a system-wide warning. If any mine encounters these creatures, operations will cease immediately, and local authorities will be alerted."
"Good thinking, my lord," Tarik replied with a firm nod.
Tyler folded his hands behind his back as he continued studying the hologram. "Did your men observe any signs of intelligence? Any attempt at communication? Or any indication the miners may have breached a hive or nesting ground?"
"We cannot say with certainty," Tarik answered. "My men were unable to advance far before contact was made. The worms did not attempt to communicate in any way. I cannot say the possibility of intelligence is zero, but based on current evidence, I wouldn't wager on it."
"Hmm." The Duke seemed to consider something before speaking up, "The planetary defense force of Sharls consists of merely sixty soldiers. With your three hundred added to their numbers, as well as your small arsenal of Rovers, Repulsor lift tanks, and other vehicles, I trust that you can handle any matter that may arise before feeling the need to call for assistance," Tyler informed the Captain, his tone even, almost conversational.
The Captain's back straightened at the Duke's words, the motion sharp and instinctive. A cold weight settled low in his gut, heavy and certain, warning him that whatever followed would not sit well with him.
"Therefore, immediately, Captain Tarik, you and the Lunar Wolves Company are reassigned to Sharls. You will keep your rank and command over your men, and you will now have the sixty men already stationed here under you as well. If their lieutenant has a problem with it, then tell him he can take it up with the governor, whom I will make sure to inform of the change as soon as I leave."
"Yes, my lord," the Captain replied neutrally.
Outwardly, his voice did not waver. His posture remained disciplined, chin lifted, shoulders squared beneath the weight of his uniform. Inwardly, however, something burned hot and furious. His company served under the 4th Regiment, known across the sector as the Fangs of Atreides. They were the most commonly deployed regiment, the best funded, the most rigorously trained. Their armor was newer, their weapons better maintained, their officers sharper. The only soldiers who outclassed those within the 4th were the Winged Shields, and even that was a matter of specialization rather than superiority.
And now he was being sent to guard duty.
Sharls. A backwater world with a skeleton defense force and a governor who likely spent more time polishing his titles than preparing for war. The thought of his Wolves, men who had seen real combat, who had earned their scars in blood and fire, being stationed here to babysit a sleepy planetary garrison left a sour heat coiling in his chest.
"Good. Thank you, Captain, and give your men my thanks as well. I know how hard this must be for you. Rest assured, you will be rewarded accordingly. Thirty thousand credits will be deposited into every single one of your accounts by the beginning of next week. Goodbye, Captain."
With that, the Duke of House Atreides made his leave, leaving silence in his wake.
The promise of money dulled the edge of the insult, but it did not remove it. Thirty thousand credits per soldier would quiet complaints, perhaps even buy a measure of goodwill among the ranks. It would keep morale steady.
But as Tarik Torgaddon stood there, watching the space where his lord had just been, he could not shake the bitterness settling across his tongue. The Wolves had been made for war.
And now they were being muzzled and put on a leash.
————
Location: Atreides Center of Military Research
Year: 31 BBY
Time: 8:54 A.M
Seated at his desk inside his quarters, Cade guided his netpen across the hologrid paper, watching luminous lines form beneath its tip. Curves and angles locked together piece by piece, turning abstract thought into something solid and real as the schematic for his newly designed ship took shape above the paper and on his computer screen in front of him. He paused briefly as he traced the outline for a pair of heavy quad turbolaser cannons along the side of the Autumn-class heavy cruiser, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.
"Granted, they're not really my designs, are they?" Cade muttered to himself, his tone dry as he leaned closer to refine the placement. "But they're good designs. Not too crazy in size or layout, like something Covenant in design or something straight out of the 40k universe, and equipped with Star Wars tech? They'll pack a punch."
His personal holopad began blinking and beeping softly on the desk to his left, but Cade didn't notice. He was already moving on, tracing internal pathways through the ship's structure as his thoughts shifted to heavier armaments. "The original Autumn had a single heavy coil MAC, but I'm definitely changing it back to two like with the Marathon class," he murmured, more to himself than anything else. "I never paid much attention to how far they ran through the hull, though." His pen slowed as memory kicked in. "The UNSC supercarrier had a Super MAC that ran bow to stern. Could I pull that off here?"
The holopad continued its quiet insistence, one of the buttons on its base flashing white with every unanswered call.
"If I place the first MAC in the upper half of the ship," Cade continued, sketching out the internal spine, "I could run it through about sixty percent of the hull before structural issues start cropping up." He adjusted the diagram and nodded. "The second one would need to sit lower. That could reach seventy-five percent." His confidence grew as the numbers lined up in his head. "That should work. It won't punch straight through a Venator or Providence's shields in one hit, but a fleet of ships armed like this? Three or four shots and their shields are done. And if they get knocked out or disabled, the twenty-eight assault concussion missile pods and the nearly thirty turbolaser cannons can pick up the slack."
Finally, Cade set the netpen down and leaned back in his chair, stretching as tension drained from his shoulders. That was when the persistent blinking on his desk finally caught his eye. He looked down at the holopad just as it beeped again.
"Oh shit," he muttered quietly, reaching for it. "How long has that been going off?"
Grabbing the holopad, Cade tapped the answer button. Much to his embarrassment, the annoyed visage of Padmé Amidala shimmered into view. Her image stood barely six inches tall, tinted blue and faintly translucent, a limitation of the small personal holopad he normally used for reading books, reports, news updates, and logs. Even through the distortion, it was obvious she was dressed far more casually than her usual queenly attire. She wore simple, tight brown pants and a long-sleeved black shirt, practical and unadorned.
"Do you know how long I've been trying to get in contact with you?" Padmé asked, irritation clear in her voice.
Cade rubbed the back of his head, his expression sheepish. "Uhhhhh… uhmm, no?"
"Ten minutes," Padmé replied sharply. "I've been pinging your holopad for ten minutes, Cade."
"Sorry," Cade said, his tone genuinely regretful. "Honestly, ever since coming home, I've just been completely swamped with tasks and training." He frowned slightly, annoyed with himself more than anything else for letting so much time slip by without contacting her.
"It's only been a year since we first met, Cade, and only two months since we last spoke," Padmé said. The edge in her voice softened, concern replacing frustration. "You told me back then that your training had been intensified, that it was pushing you to your limits. Are you alright?"
"The training's been rough," Cade admitted, his expression tightening, "but it's the lessons on top of it that are really testing me. I never imagined my father would personally take over my instruction in becoming Duke." He exhaled quietly. "Learning from him has been… hard."
"How so?" Padmé asked softly, her tone gentle now, inviting rather than pressing.
"Well…" Cade hesitated, then continued, his voice tightening despite his effort to keep it steady. "I told you how he pretty much exiled me after my mother died. When I was at my lowest, he sent me away, and it hurt more than I ever let on." He looked away, jaw setting. "Whenever he did contact me after that, it was always the same. Detached. Impassive. Orders with no warmth behind them."
Cade's frustration finally bled through. "Even when he greeted me for the trial last year, he didn't hug me. He didn't smile. He didn't even offer a single word of comfort or reassurance." His voice sharpened into a snarl before he caught himself, drawing in a slow breath and forcing the tension back down. "And now, all of a sudden, he wants my full and undivided attention. He's personally training me, personally teaching me how to be the best Duke of House Atreides I can be." Cade shook his head faintly. "It's… discombobulating."
"I can see how it would be," Padmé said, a frown creasing her features. "He's truly shown no love or care toward you at all?" She hesitated, then added carefully, "I mean, I'm not trying to gloat or anything, but I can't imagine my father not worrying over me. He does it constantly." She let out a small groan at the thought.
Cade gave a quiet chuckle. "I take it he's always checking in on you?"
"Him and my mom," Padmé replied, a soft smile touching her lips.
"But yeah," Cade continued, his brows knitting as memories surfaced. "Before all of this, he was different. He was fun. Attentive. He'd take time away from his responsibilities as Duke just to watch me train, or to go on picnics with my mom and me. He'd play with me, or sometimes even train me himself." His voice lowered, heavy with loss. "Now?" He paused. "Now it's nothing."
"I'm so sorry, Cade," Padmé said quietly, her voice heavy with sympathy.
Cade let out a small, self-deprecating chuckle, more tired than amused. "It's okay, Padmé. I've grown to not expect anything from my father."
"Maybe so," Padmé replied quickly, emotion breaking through her composure, "but you should expect things from your father. That's what they're for." Her words came out sharper than she likely intended, fueled by disbelief more than anger.
Cade stared down at the surface of his desk for several long moments, the faint glow of the hologrid reflecting off his eyes. When he finally lifted his head and met Padmé's holographic gaze, his expression had settled into something resigned. "I know that, Padmé. I really do. But there's nothing I can do to change it." He exhaled slowly. "I tried years ago, and it was a lost cause. And judging by how cold he still is toward me, I doubt that'll change anytime soon." He forced a small smile, clearly trying to steer himself away from the subject. "Anyway, how about we talk about something a little less disheartening, huh?"
Padmé's brows remained creased with worry, but after a moment she nodded, accepting the shift even if she didn't fully like it. "Alright," she said gently. "How goes your research? I know it's a passion project of yours."
"Oh, yes," Cade replied instantly, the weight lifting from his shoulders as excitement crept into his voice. "Before you called, I was finalizing my design for a new heavy cruiser. I think I'm going to call it the Autumn-class." His smile widened as he spoke, already picturing it in his mind.
"Another military vessel?" Padmé asked, concern slipping back into her tone. "Cade, I know you love your family's military, but surely your talents could be used for something else, too. You could design cargo ships, or devices that make farming and everyday living easier. Something other than ships, weapons, and armor."
Cade was quiet for a moment, genuinely considering her words. "I've… honestly never thought about making those kinds of things before," he admitted at last, a thoughtful smile forming. He looked back up at her. "Thank you, Padmé."
Her smile returned, warm and relieved, but it faded slightly when he continued. "But the military," Cade said, his voice steady and sincere, "it's in my blood. It's my passion. It's what I prioritize most in life. It's… my everything." He smiled again, this time without hesitation. "I wouldn't be who I am without it."
Padmé sighed. "Just don't forget that your talents can do more than build weapons for war, okay, Cade?" Padmé asked, her tone gentle but earnest.
Cade smiled, a quiet, grateful expression crossing his face. More than anything, he appreciated how much she cared. "I won't," he said sincerely. After a brief pause, his curiosity resurfaced. "Actually, I've been learning more and more about Mandalorian history recently, and I wanted to ask you something."
"Oh, really?" Padmé replied, intrigued. It was usually her asking the questions, not the other way around. "What is it?"
"What if the people of Onoam suddenly began building starfighters and warships," Cade asked carefully, "but didn't openly declare hostilities toward Naboo? What would you do?"
Padmé frowned slightly, thinking it over. "Well… it would depend on what they claimed their reasoning was for building them."
"To defend against piracy, the Hutts, and the like," Cade answered, watching her closely.
"Hm," Padmé hummed. "That depends on how many ships they're building. If it's a few dozen smaller vessels and maybe a hundred starfighters, I wouldn't see much of an issue. But if they started producing massive capital ships and thousands of starfighters, then yes, I could see that becoming a serious problem."
"And if they were building capital ships and thousands of starfighters," Cade continued, "how would you try to resolve it?"
Padmé straightened slightly, slipping into a more stateswoman-like mindset. "First, I would try to speak with them directly and understand why they feel the need to build so many ships. Piracy is a problem, yes, but not usually to that extent. Second, I would try to persuade them to limit their production to either fewer ships or less powerful ones." She paused, then added, "If that didn't work, I'd attempt to negotiate a treaty. Something that ensured they would never turn those weapons against their fellow Nabooians… or perhaps even convince them to offer protection to Naboo as well."
"And if none of that worked?" Cade asked.
"Then I would bring the matter before the Senate," Padmé replied without hesitation. "I'd seek support from the Senate, the Jedi Order, and possibly the Republic's Judicial Forces."
"I see," Cade said quietly, absorbing her answer.
Padmé studied him for a moment, curiosity finally getting the better of her. "Alright," she said slowly, "now you have to tell me, what was that question really about?"
Cade opened his mouth to answer her, but a sudden voice from Padmé's side of the holo cut him off.
"Your Highness, there's been an explosion in the hangar!"
Padmé didn't hesitate. The warmth in her expression vanished in an instant, replaced by the composed, steely calm of a ruling monarch. "I'm sorry, Cade, but I have to go," she said, her voice shifting into that hard, emotionless tone she wore like ceremonial armor.
"I overheard," Cade replied, already nodding. "Go. Do what you need to do, Padmé. We can talk later."
A small, grateful smile touched her lips. "Thank you." The hologram flickered and vanished a heartbeat later, leaving the room suddenly quieter than before.
Cade stared at the empty air for a moment, unease settling in his chest. "I hope whatever happened doesn't lead to anything crazy," he muttered to himself. "Hopefully it was just some freak accident."
Shaking off the worry as best he could, he turned back to the hologrid and resumed work on the Autumn-class heavy cruiser. The skeletal frame of the ship rotated slowly above his desk, lines of projected light outlining its elongated hull and reinforced spine. He began finalizing the rough overall design, something presentable enough to bring before the same Principal Engineer who had approved the Gladius. If the man reacted even half as positively as he had last time, resources could be allocated within weeks.
His mind shifted to logistics. He still needed to contact the Chief Supply Chain Officer and arrange for the BCA1's gas type to be switched to a cheaper alternative. Letting the BCA2 use the more expensive gas mixture was one thing; it justified the added performance, but having both standard-issue blasters running on it was bleeding the Research Center's budget dry. And with everything else he intended to design and commission, every credit mattered.
That train of thought led him to another pending change: the naming conventions.
The BCA1, essentially the MA5C from Halo 3, converted into a blaster platform, had been a rushed decision. Blaster Carbine Atreides, Model 1. It had sounded clever at the time. The MA5C stood for Misriah Armory, fifth iteration, C-variant. Cade had tried to merge traditional blaster naming structure with UNSC-style military designations. In hindsight, it felt clunky.
The BCA1 would be renamed the M1 Atreides, clean, direct, and dignified. The redesigned Halo battle rifle variant, formerly the BCA2, would become the M2 Battle Rifle. And the newest project, still in early development and inspired by the Halo Reach DMR, would simply carry the designation DMR for now.
The reason the M2 lacked the Atreides name was twofold. First, the family name was already attached to the M1, and honestly, it felt weird naming both weapons Atreides. Second, he had approached Kellan about naming the carbine after him. But the Mandalorian had refused without hesitation.
So "Battle Rifle" it remained, for now.
Cade exhaled slowly and returned his focus to the Autumn's holographic projection. His fingers moved with renewed precision across the interface, adjusting hull thickness along the dorsal spine, refining MAC placement tolerances by fractions of a meter, and rerouting internal power conduits to prevent overload during sustained firing sequences. The faint blue glow of the projection reflected in his eyes as rotating schematics shifted and realigned at his command.
A sharp beep cut through the quiet of his quarters.
This time, Cade reacted immediately. He reached for the holopad and accepted the transmission within seconds of it activating.
A small hologram flickered to life above the device, resolving into the armored figure of his mentor. Kellan Moone stood rigid even in miniature, clad in full Mandalorian armor, visor dark and unreadable.
"Report down to the training facility immediately."
"Yes, sir," Cade replied at once, offering a crisp, dutiful nod.
Kellan terminated the transmission without another word.
Cade rose from his chair in a single fluid motion. He slipped the holopad into his pocket, saved his work, and powered down both the computer and the hologrid. The projection collapsed into nothing, leaving the room dim and quiet. He grabbed his jacket, pulled it on as he moved, and stepped out of his quarters without hesitation, already shifting his mindset from engineer to student as he headed toward the training facility.
————
Two Months Later...
Cade stood off to the side of the cockpit as the newly produced D2 Condor variant of the D1 Pelican tore through hyperspace, streaks of blue light rippling past. His muscles still carried a dull ache from the relentless training Kellan Moone had subjected him to before his departure. Bruises had faded, but the memory of each grueling session remained sharp. Cade understood the reason for it. His mentor had not been pleased about this trip to Naboo. He was convinced it was motivated by personal attachment rather than necessity. Seeing Padmé again would be welcome, but that was not why he was returning.
The explosion that had interrupted their holo conversation two months earlier had not been an accident. It had been a calculated bombing. Padmé initially trusted Theed's police force to investigate, yet the aftermath of the Trade Federation invasion had left Naboo's institutions fragile. Progress was slow, and in that weakness, corruption had taken root. Entire precincts across multiple cities were compromised, officers exploiting instability for personal gain. Padmé had already been working to expose and remove the rot when the bombing added another crisis to her burden.
Two weeks ago, she contacted Cade with further troubling news. A second assassination attempt had taken place, this time targeting Mariek Panaka, the recently appointed Captain of the Royal Naboo Security Forces and widow of Captain Quarsh Panaka. Evidence suggested she had also been the intended target in the first attack. She survived only because of an unexpected delay. A new recruit had required disciplinary action after spending a night out on the town and returning to the barracks in the early morning hours intoxicated. Mariek had been reprimanding him instead of conducting a scheduled starfighter orientation when one of the N1 starfighters exploded. The blast ignited its fuel reserves, killing two flight crew members and injuring four others. The recruit who should have been inside the craft lived solely because of his misconduct.
The second attack had been far worse than the first. Eight civilians and three Royal Guards lost their lives, and it had happened in broad daylight, in the heart of Theed. Captain Mariek Panaka had been conducting routine inspections of the newly installed heavy blaster turrets when chaos erupted without warning. A landspeeder tore into the square at full speed, plowing through more than two dozen civilians before anyone could react.
As panic spread, four older men stepped from the vehicle and drew blasters, opening fire on Mariek and her escort. The exchange was brief and brutal. One of her guards threw himself in front of her just as the shots rang out. His body absorbed the brunt of the fire, collapsing backward into her and knocking her to the ground. From a distance, it appeared she had fallen dead alongside him.
Believing their objective complete, the attackers fled the scene in the same speeder, vanishing into the city before reinforcements could intercept them.
The vehicle was later discovered abandoned beneath a tarp in a narrow alley within Theed's lower districts, an area many had begun to refer to as the slums. Investigators combed the speeder for prints, fibers, any trace that could lead to the perpetrators. They found nothing. The interior and exterior had been meticulously cleaned, wiped down with professional care. Whoever had orchestrated the attack had planned it thoroughly and left no obvious trail behind.
With nearly half the planetary police compromised and the Royal Security Forces stretched thin by inexperienced recruits, Padmé had reached the limits of what she could contain alone. She needed someone she trusted, someone capable of both investigation and decisive action. That was why Cade now stood aboard the Condor as it cut through hyperspace toward Naboo. His best friend, and if he was honest with himself, the girl he was steadily developing feelings for, had asked for his help. So he had not hesitated to come to her aid.
"Coming out of hyperspace now, Lord Cade," one of the two pilots called from their seat in the cockpit.
Cade gave a small nod. "Once we arrive, transmit our clearance code and proceed to Theed. We've been authorized to land in the Palace hangar."
"Roger that, my lord," the pilot replied, dipping his head before turning back to the controls.
Cade inclined his head once more and stepped away from the cockpit, moving into the troop cabin of the Condor. The interior was dim, illuminated only by low red overhead lighting that cast long shadows across armored forms. Soldiers lined both sides of the compartment, seated in disciplined silence. Their dark green camouflage armor absorbed much of the light, while the crimson glow of their visors burned steadily in the gloom. All twenty-seven men wore full helmets, their posture rigid, weapons secured but ready.
The armor they wore was experimental, a product of Cade's own designs and the relentless scrutiny of an engineer named Kylain Deova. Deova had approached him a little over a month and a half ago with open admiration for his concepts, yet he had not been shy about pointing out weaknesses. In Cade's eagerness to recreate a more UNSC-inspired aesthetic, he had unknowingly sacrificed several practical advantages that traditional Talon armor provided. It was Deova who forced him to confront that oversight.
Rather than take offense, Cade had appointed him Project Engineer and ordered him to review every single design without restraint. While Deova dissected the flaws, Cade rebuilt the armor from the ground up. The result was what now surrounded him in the Condor's cabin. The new plating retained the layered resilience of Talon standards while incorporating reinforced pauldrons, heavier chest protection, and improved mobility joints. The silhouette carried hints of 40k Imperial Guard influence, blended with broader armored segments reminiscent of Space Marine design, all refined with a cleaner, more modern finish.
Though originally intended for standard Talon deployment, his father had made one thing clear. If Cade was going to Naboo to confront domestic terrorism and corruption, he would not do so with two squads of ordinary troops. The choice had been blunt. Either he traveled with Winged Shields, or he did not leave Caladan at all.
Cade wore the same armor as the men seated around him, though his was marked by subtle gold accents along the pauldrons and chest plating. The helmet, however, remained clipped to his belt rather than sealed over his head. He preferred to keep his face visible when dealing with allies. It was a small gesture, but one he believed mattered.
The Condor shuddered as it tore through Naboo's upper atmosphere, the faint tremor running through the deck plating beneath their boots. A moment later, one of the pilots' voices echoed through the cabin over the intercom. "Approaching Theed now."
Cade turned slightly and looked toward Master Sergeant Cooper Jask. "You heard the pilot. Be on your best behavior, would you?"
Jask's helmet tilted just enough to suggest a smirk beneath the visor. "My lord, we're Second Company. We'll defend you with our lives. But if you expect us to kneel and kiss the Queen's hand, you'll be disappointed."
Cade shook his head faintly. "Nothing like that. Just basic respect."
There was a brief pause before Jask spoke again, his tone more serious. "My lord, I know you have a poor image of us after what happened."
Cade's expression darkened slightly at that.
"But we're not pirates," Jask continued firmly. "Please, Lord Cade. Have some faith in us."
For several seconds, Cade simply studied the armored figure before him. The memory Jask referenced lingered unspoken between them, a shadow neither needed to define aloud. His mother's death. At last, Cade gave a slow, reluctant nod. "I'll remember your words, Sergeant. I hope I can rely on them."
Jask dipped his head once in acknowledgment before reaching down and lifting his M2 Battle Rifle, checking its weight and balance as the Condor began its final descent toward the Palace hangar.
"Landing now, my lord. Ramp lowering in ten." The pilot's voice carried through the Condor's cabin.
Cade nodded to himself and stepped toward the rear. Behind him, the Winged Shields released their harnesses and rose in practiced unison, rifles in hand. They formed two straight parallel lines a short distance behind him.
The Condor settled onto the floor of the Theed Palace hangar with a light tremor. The ramp began lowering in a smooth, controlled descent. As it dropped, Cade caught sight of the reception waiting outside and felt his brows lift slightly.
Royal Guards. A lot of them.
He started counting because of the sheer number of them and had to stop somewhere in the thirties as the ramp finished its descent. There were easily fifty present, maybe more, arranged in orderly ranks with crimson robes and polished helmets catching the hangar lights.
The ramp touched down with a solid clack, and Cade descended first, his Winged Shields following at a measured pace behind him.
At the center of the formation stood Padmé in full queenly attire, makeup flawless, posture straight, expression carefully neutral. Handmaidens stood nearby, Royal Guards forming a protective perimeter around them.
Cade approached her and allowed himself a small, warm smile. He saw the faintest shift at the corners of her mouth in response before she extended her hand to him in formal greeting. For a fraction of a second, he considered simply shaking it.
Instead, he bent into a half-bow, took her offered hand gently, and pressed a deliberate kiss to the back of it before releasing her and rising to his full height.
The shock on her face was immediate.
Cade had to fight to keep from laughing as her carefully constructed royal composure cracked for just a heartbeat. He straightened, offering what he hoped was a charming, confident smile rather than a foolish one. "Queen Amidala, I'm overjoyed to see you again."
God, he hoped he didn't sound like some discount Disney Prince who practiced that line in a mirror.
Judging by the bright, genuine smile that spread across Padmé's face, she didn't find it corny in the slightest.
'Oh, thank God.' Cade thought with a silent sigh of relief.
"I am too pleased to see you in person again, Cade," Padmé replied. The warmth in her smile faded into something more restrained. "Although I wish it were under better circumstances."
Cade gave a small nod, his own expression sobering. "Speaking of the issue at hand, where is your Guard Captain? I assumed she would be here with you."
Padmé's composure tightened. "Because she has been the primary target of these attacks, she has chosen to keep her distance from me whenever possible. She believes her presence only increases the danger to those around her."
He swept a quick glance around the hangar and noticed more than a few pilots and support staff lingering nearby, watching the exchange with poorly concealed curiosity. The Royal Guards were disciplined, but the rest were not so subtle.
"Perhaps we should continue this somewhere more private," Cade said quietly. "I don't like the amount of eyes on us right now."
He could not fully explain it, but the sensation pressed at him. That subtle, prickling awareness at the back of his mind. The feeling of being observed by someone who was not simply curious.
Padmé studied him for a moment, then nodded. "Of course. Follow me. I have had rooms prepared for you and your troops during your stay."
Cade inclined his head in thanks.
Padmé turned, her handmaidens and Royal Guards falling into motion around her as she began leading them out of the hangar. Cade stepped after her, the Winged Shields following in disciplined formation behind him.
He kept his gaze forward, but his senses remained alert.
Whoever had orchestrated the attempts on Captain Mariek Panaka's life was still watching and waiting to try again. He knew for a fact they would try to again.
And Cade intended to find them before they succeeded.
————
A/N: Welcome to the sixth chapter of my fic: Star Wars: House Atreides!