The battle began like a symphony, conducted by Kaelen.
On the green plains, the Gungan Grand Army advanced. When the Federation tanks opened fire, their projectiles found no target. They ricocheted off the massive Gungan shields, which glowed and flickered as they rotated their frequencies, exactly as Kaelen had designed. Battle droids marched forward, a metallic tide, only to be met by a rain of blue energy spheres. Kaelen's "Boom-ba-sodas" detonated silently, emitting electromagnetic pulses that fried droid units by the dozens, creating gaps in their ranks that the Gungan warriors exploited with savage ferocity.
In orbit, the brave pilots of Naboo's Bravo Squadron launched their assault against the blockade. They ignored the Lucrehulk control ship's firepower and focused on a single, almost insignificant point on the outer ring. Kaelen's coordinates were perfect.
And in Theed, Padmé's assault team moved like ghosts. They reached a palace side door, sealed and guarded. "Back," Kaelen ordered. He placed his dissolving disc on the lock. There was a hiss, a flash of sparks, and the lock melted into a puddle of molten metal. They entered.
"This is too easy," Captain Panaka whispered.
There's nothing easy about this, Kaelen thought. The hard part isn't getting in. It's getting out alive.
They reached the main hangar, a cavernous space filled with Naboo starfighters. Their goal was to use the fighters to reach the communications tower and cut off the Viceroy's transmissions. But a cloaked figure awaited them. Darth Maul.
The Dark Lord said nothing. He simply ignited his double-bladed lightsaber, a crimson glow promising death. Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan moved to intercept him, their own green and blue blades springing to life. The battle for Naboo's fate had split, and each front was crucial.
As the Jedi engaged Maul, Padmé's team dashed towards the fighters. That's when things started to go wrong.
Chaos Ascendant
We're in the middle of a hangar shootout. Surprise! The Viceroy isn't that stupid. He left a welcoming committee of battle droids. We take cover behind the elegant Naboo starfighters. Blaster fire ricochets everywhere.
"Plan B just became Plan A!" I yell over the din. "Forget the fighters, let's go through the service corridors!"
As we retreat under fire, I see the kid, Anakin, hiding in a fighter cockpit. Kid, no, bad idea. A second later, blasters impact the cockpit console, and the fighter springs to life. The kid, by sheer luck and a lot of raw talent, takes off, spiraling into the space battle.
Well, that happened. Add it to the list of problems. Priority: low. Current priority: not dying.
We fight our way through the palace corridors. Every corner is an ambush. Every door, a potential trap. My little tricks keep us alive. A droideka appears, deploying its shield. Before it can fire, I throw an adhesive disc that releases instant-hardening chemical foam, blinding its sensors and giving us seconds to flank it.
But there are too many. They corner us in a large room with balconies, just below the throne room. We're trapped. Over the comm, the Gungan general's voice is strained. "Our shields are starting to fail! The fire is too intense!" Ric Olié's voice from space is just as desperate: "We can't break through! Too many droid fighters!"
The symphony is falling apart. It's becoming noise. Chaos. Padmé looks at me, her face smudged with soot, her expression asking: Now what, genius?
And my brain, my glorious, fucked-up brain, clicks.
The problem isn't the individual droids. It's their coordination. They're all networked, controlled by the ship in orbit. But that's a wide-area network. What if... what if I could screw with the local area network? I don't need to shut down every droid on Naboo. I just need to shut down the ones in this room.
I drop to the floor, plugging my datapad into a wall data port. The code is a wall of encryption. But with my 12% synchronization, I no longer see a wall. I see the bricks.
The droid commands are simple. Move, target, fire. But to keep them from shooting each other, they have a friend-or-foe identification (IFF) protocol. It's a constant data pulse. If I could flood the local network with billions of false IFF pings... I could create a feedback loop. They'd go crazy trying to identify everything and everyone at once. Their processors would overload.
It's a crazy idea. The amount of data needed is monumental. It would require processing power I don't have. I felt a sharp pain in my temple, the familiar sensation of my brain hitting a limit. But desperation is the mother of invention. And I am the father of desperation.
Don't think. Don't calculate. Feel the flow of the data. Break the pattern. Become the chaos.
Something broke inside me. A mental barrier. The pain transformed into an icy, electrifying clarity.
EXTREME COGNITIVE STRESS DETECTED
CREATIVE SOLUTION UNDER REAL COMBAT PRESSURE ACHIEVED
SYNCHRONIZATION INCREASED: +5%
TOTAL SYNCHRONIZATION LEVEL: 17%
NEW SKILLS UNLOCKED:
- Complex Systems Engineering (Basic Level)
- Psychological Warfare & Manipulation (Basic Level)
A new understanding flooded my mind. I no longer just saw the bricks; I saw the architecture of the entire building. I saw how the IFF system was connected to the targeting system. And I saw its most beautiful, stupid flaw.
I typed a single line of code. An elegant, perfect virus. It wasn't even an attack. It was a question. A logical paradox sent as a priority data pulse. "This statement is false."
Victory and Its Cost
It happened instantly. The battle droid aiming at Padmé stopped. Its head spun 180 degrees and fired at its companion. All across the room, droids turned on each other. Some simply stood, their heads endlessly spinning. Others started walking in circles, firing at the ceiling. The chaos Kaelen had unleashed in his mind was now reflected in the metal army.
"Now!" Padmé yelled.
Taking advantage of the confusion, they climbed the ascension cables to the throne room. They surprised Nute Gunray and his cronies, who watched in horror as their invincible army self-destructed. The capture was swift and decisive.
At the same time, in space, a lone Naboo fighter, piloted by a scared and lucky child, zipped through enemy fire and launched a pair of proton torpedoes. He wasn't aiming at anything in particular. But the torpedoes flew directly towards the shield regulator reactor, the weak point Kaelen had identified. The chain explosion was magnificent and silent. The Droid Control Ship broke in two.
On the plain, the droid army halted, collapsing like puppets whose strings had been cut. The Gungan Grand Army, battered but victorious, roared in triumph.
In the hangar, Darth Maul's blade light extinguished. Qui-Gon Jinn had fallen. But a enraged and focused Obi-Wan had avenged his master, slicing the Dark Lord in two.
The battle was over.
Kaelen leaned against a wall in the throne room, his datapad still smoking slightly. He was exhausted, his brain aching, but alive. Padmé stood by the window, looking out at the liberated city. She walked over to him, her face a mix of relief, grief for the losses, and absolute awe.
"What you did down there..." she began.
"Gave them a logical headache," Kaelen said, with a tired smile. "Turns out droids aren't good with paradoxes." He rubbed his temple. He could feel the 17% of Rick Sanchez's mind racing through his veins like pure caffeine. It was exhilarating and terrifying.
The war for Naboo was over. But Kaelen knew, with the cold certainty of his new psychological warfare ability, that this was only the beginning. They had won a battle, yes. But he had just helped create the man who would, one day, become the Emperor. And that was a paradox he would have to live with.