Torch Mk I-class Gunship Reprisal, fringes of the Uogo'cor system

Slightly shorter than a Corellian Corvette, and significantly more boxy, a CEC bulk freighter was a common sight across the galaxy, from the crowded space lanes of Coruscant to the fringes of known space. It was this innocuousness that was proving to be one of the Torch Gunship’s biggest assets. Unless one was in close visual contact with the corvette, it appeared to be yet another bulk freighter. Thus, the nearly dozen or so gunships in commission found themselves regularly scouting the Trax Sector, keeping a wary watch on Fossk’s forces and those of any potential power in the region. One such ship, captained by the abnormally aggressive Lieutenant Halsey, had been stationed on the edge of the Uogo’cor system for nearly a week. The said officer paced the converted freighter's diminutive bridge.

“Captain, two more ships reverting from space near Uugo’cor’s gravity well. One appears to be an Xiytiar-class Freighter-”

“Transponder identifies it as the Norwell. The other ship is a blockade runner, the Savannah.”

“Yes sir.”

“It’s always the same ships at the same times. Like a regular schedule.”

The sensor operator blinked. “With all due respect sir, there have been a few unexpected ships.”

The man waved a hand. “Light freighters and the like don’t count. They’re hardly a threat, even to this rust-bucket.”

“Yes sir…ah…sir, a shuttle has just dropped out of hyperspace and is headed right towards. It appears to be escorted by a quartet of Hunters.”

“What?” questioned the officer, “How can they even see us? We’re running silent…”

“They are running without transponders and are maintaining comm. silence.”

“So they’re trying to be stealthy too,” remarked Halsey, biting his lip, “ensign, but everyone to their battle stations, don’t power up anything…yet..that would give our position away to the Norwell and Savannah. And comm., get that subspace transceiver online. We may have to send a message to fleet if these turn out to be hostiles…”

“They’re entering firing range, their weapons appear to be online, but their shields aren’t.”

“Odd, though raised shields would be easy to detect from longer distances. Send them a tightbeam burst asking…ordering to identify themselves.”

A voice crackled over the bridge. “This is the Inferno Fleet shuttle Crimson Flame, carrying passengers and supplies to Reprisal. We are transmitting our passcode, and requesting to dock.”

“Crimson Flame,” demanded Halsey, “transmit your watchcode before approaching closer.”

“Sir,” asked Ensign Hearn, “is this expected?”

“No,” replied the Lieutenant tersely, “which is why I’m a little suspicious of them. Though with the ship types and knowing our location, it’s less so…”

“Passcode checks out sir.”

The captain nodded, tapping a button for the tightbeam transmitter, “Shuttle Crimson Flame, you are clear to dock with us on our starboard side. Our docking bays will be standing by.”

“Acknowledged Reprisal.”



Inferno

“There are few planets in the Sector that Fossk has not outright taken over,” informed Colonel Rith, “most of them because it’s not worth the hassle. Jhensrus is one of those worlds, Uugo’cor is another. These would be planets ideal to quietly capture as forward bases.”

“Jhensrus is less of an option, I think,” replied Dha’tey, staring at the Sector Map, “there is legitimate commercial travel going through the system. Partially because it is so nicely situated near the trade route, and partially because the colony isn’t full self-sufficient.”

“The Torch has been monitoring the area,” added Sei’lar, “and several of Fossk’s ships occasionally pass though the system.”

“Odd,” said Dha’tey, “do we know why?”

Sei’lar shrugged. “Not really. If there were only a few, sporadic ships, my guess would be repairs. But it’s not. Either Fossk does have something on-planet, or he wants to make sure we’re not using it.”

Rith nodded, “That would make sense. There have been more than a few extra patrols on the trade routes. I think they’re becoming more cautious.”

Kolir nodded, “I think that we can safely say then that Jhensrus isn’t an option. And Uugo’cor?”

“The Reprisal has been watching it for nearly a week,” responded the Bothan Spy, “there is constant traffic, but it’s not Fossk’s, nor does is it seem legitimate. Ship’s with some less than reputable reputations frequent the area. I would say it’s a smuggling stop if I didn’t have agents on the ground. At one point in time, it was a major pirate den, until Fossk, then with the Imperial Navy, completely eradicated it with an orbital bombardment. They killed off much of the native race, the Uugo, which had been enslaved by the pirates. But within the last few years, more than several outlaw techs have set up shop there. They’re just starting to set up a semi-unified government there. And it looks like it’s going to be a long process.”

“And we don’t see any of Fossk’s ships there why?”

Sei’lar frowned, “I’m not sure why. It’s a little farther away from the lane, but he would be very ignorant to not check up on it.”

“Fossk isn’t an idiot,” added Rith slowly, “and after our raids, I doubt he’s ignorant. He has to something there to tell him what’s going on.”

Sei’ar nodded, “It really wouldn’t be too much of a shocker if he had spies on the ground or if one the stations was secretly aligned with him. In fact, it wouldn’t be too much of a stretch to think that he has purposely made it look unobserved, and then make it set to look like a trap.”

Kolir nodded. “In which case, we’re going to need all of those stations investigated intensely before we make our move.”

“Sir?”

“We’re going to disarm the trap.”

Torch Mk I-class Gunship Reprisal, fringes of the Uogo'cor system

Lieutenant Halsey swung the latch open, allowing him access to the ship’s minute staff room. A single, rectangular table dominated most of the drab gray room, forcing the man to uncomfortably slide between chairs and the bulkheads to his position at the head of the table. Seconds later, the ship’s other officers, dressed in Inferno Fleet crimson, crammed into the room, along with two guests recently taken off the Crimsons Flame. One of them was a scrawny man dressed in an ash gray uniform of support personnel with the tabs of a sergeant. The other one was a humanoid alien of above average height with gray, tautly drawn skin. Halsey was immediately drawn to the being’s dress, which appeared to be basically civilian, save for some sort of chitin-like pauldrons and bracers which adorned the being's arms, and a gunbelt equipped with a battered DL-44. Halsey nodded at the assembly as the outside guard shut the door.

“Welcome to the Reprisal, gentlemen,” said Halsey dryly, “the two of you apparently have some information for us?”

“Let us start with introductions, shall we?” ignored the new sergeant, “I am Sergeant Lawless, no jokes please, of Inferno Intelligence. And this is Gris’nak Lazuli, leader of Uogo’cor Resistance. We’ve been sent from the Commodore himself to coordinate operations between our two groups.”

Halsey leaned back in his chair, clearing his throat. “Correct me if I am wrong, but Fossk doesn’t have a presence on Uugo’cor?”

“Not an overt presence,” replied Lawless, fishing in his pocket, “Some of the higher ups think that he does have a hidden presence here or a pact with one of the tech stations.”

Gris’nak growled. “One doesn’t need an Imperial to suffer from oppression.”

“Errr…no, one does not,” fumbled the Lieutenant, “Can I ask just exactly what we’re going to be doing? Or perhaps the role of my men and ship?”

“Lieutenant, you are probably Inferno Fleet’s resident expert on space traffic within the system and its patterns. You also probably know the most about navigating the area, along with your astronavigator. And that, quite frankly, makes you an invaluable asset for what we are going to do,” commented the scrawny man, finally producing a data chip from his tunic, “more of your brethren Torch gunships will be arriving within the next week, mostly to observe traffic like you have been doing for some time now. But these ships will also be acting as mobile bases to put our men…err…troops on the ground. And you have been placed in charge of them.”

Halsey cocked his head. “Forgive me, but doesn’t it seem counterintuitive to invade the planet directly from our ships? Assuming that we want to keep it quiet.”

Gris’nak revealed a carnivorous smile. “Who said we were going to be invading anyone?”

“Indeed,” noted the Sergeant, “there is quite a difference from being a mobile base and an invasion transport. Perhaps I should explicate the situation a little further. There are two groups of people on Uogo’cor. There are the honorable Uogo people, and there are the offworlders who in the wake of the Imperial destruction, have created trading stations, repair shops, and tech stations. Some of these people are here to escape from Fossk’s tyranny and the burning conflicts across the galaxy. Others are here to make a quick buck, without regards to how it’s done. There is no formal government that represents the planet, at least for now, but instead the settlements govern themselves independently. Recently, the largest and oldest settlement, Fundin, has been trying to pressure all of the settlements to unite under its banner to start the world’s first encompassing government. At least since the offworlders have been around.”

Gris’nak virulently nodded, “These Fundin people are a threat to my people, and those of the other settlements. And they are by far the worst of them. They enslave my people, like the pirates before them. They threaten and intimidate the other settlements.”

Halsey nodded. “Looks like an aspiring Empire to me.”

Lawless blinked, “You may be on to something there.”

“What?” questioned Halsey.

“Nevermind,” replied the Sergeant, “in any case, we have made contact with some of the more democratic and fair settlements. Frankly, they’re worried about Fundin’s expansion and its aggressive nature. And they are currently hammering out an alliance, something to the affect of a mutual defense treaty, to stop Fundin, but it won’t be enough, I think.”

The Lieutenant nodded. “And it won’t free the Uogo either.”

“Right,” acknowledged the intelligence officer, “which is why Inferno Fleet is going to be conducting two different operations. One of which will be sending down small groups of our of own people and equipment to act as military advisors and fight with them against Fundin on the battlefield, the other half will attempt to free as many Uogo as possible from the Fundin as possible, as well as sabotage and espionage operations.”

“When does this start?”

“Now.”

Remote Settlement, Uogo’cor

Three dozen humaniods lined up around the pre-fabricated building. Men, women, and the occasional alien of varying ages. Clothing style was sporadic among them, but none of it seemed to be particularly vogue or in good shape. In their hands, guns; Blasters of almost every make, from the common DL-18 blaster pistol to a T-21 light repeater bought off of the blackmarket; several members even carried cruder slugthrowers. It was probably one of the most ramshackle units Sergeant Lawless had ever seen, or even had lead. He paced up and down the line, looking at each of the recruits with a cautious eye. Semi satisfied, the Inferno Fleet man unholstered his own weapon, a battered DL-44, and paced over to address the men. He glanced about the line. They’re not the best of soldiers, but they’re better than so many of the prissy citizens of the Core Worlds. They’ve been through much, they’re hardened. And they’re fighting to defend their homes. And that makes them dangerous enough. He pointed his pistol at a distant, and roughly made target. With a flip of a switch, he turned off the safety, and in a split second, fired. A ruby dart surged from the pistol to char a lower portion of the target. Lawless turned about to address his silent men.

“Now, if you really want to hit your enemy, you don’t aim for their head,” advised Lawless, “it looks and works nice on the holo games; one hit, one kill. But guess what, in real life, that only works for the experienced sniper. If you see someone coming at you, aim your blaster…err…gun at the torso. If you shot goes high, you hit them in the head. If your shot goes low, it hits them in the foot or legs. It’s the best way to get them with any accuracy, especially since most of you don’t have much experience.”

He looked at their faces. No expression. What the hell? The Intelligence man shrugged.

“Unfortunately, we don’t have much ammo to spare, at least that is my impression on your reserves. That means we won’t really have the opportunity to do any sort of marksmanship training. But if you please, keep my words in mind. They could save your life.”

“But sir,” blurted out one of the men, “what the hell are we going to do about training?”

“There is more to being a soldier than shooting guns at your enemy, Johnny,” replied Lawless casually, “tell me, did you enjoy the company of your fellow men? Are they not your allies in a common fight? The best soldier is not the one who kills the most enemy soldiers. No, the best soldier is the one who can keep his teammates alive the longest. Sometimes, that means shooting the enemy. But just often, maybe even more so, it means not shooting at enemies. It means being able to do basic first aid to keep your people alive. It means not shooting, but staying hidden and biding your time for an opportune moment to hit your enemy. No, what we will work on is working as a team; your bonds and teamwork will be your biggest strength. We will learn basic team tactics, to ensure our survival, and with that, the survival of our freedoms. I’m going to divide you into sets of four. Where I come from, we call that a fire team, and that is the smallest group that you will work with at a time. With a fire team, you have excellent mobility and flexibility, and enough teammates to provide help if you ever yourself into a bind. For the first team: Bayer, Ross, Lange, and von Gneisser. Second team…”

Torch Mk I-class Gunship Reprisal, in orbit via Uogo’cor

It was a slow watch; the regular space traffic of Uogo’cor moved with the predictability of a well-made chrono. Halsey had only been ten seconds off from guessing when the blockade runner Savannah would arrive in orbit. To amuse himself, the captain toyed with the buttons on his beat-up console. Damage diagnostics, ship logs, sensor readings, and the like all flashed before his eyes, and he paid to them no attention; he only hit more buttons. The crew ignored his antics, and continued with their silent, monotonous routine. Several minutes passed, and a strained voice requested Halsey’s attention.

“Captain?”

“What is it?” demanded Halsey.

“Report from the surface sir,” stammered the communication’s officer, “Fundin…is attacking…everywhere. And they have old Imperial vehicles…Our people are requesting reinforcements.”

“Frak,” swore the Lieutenant, collapsing into his command chair, “we have to at least salvage the mission…give them everything we’ve got. Launch all the pods, launch all the fighters, and move all Torches into position to provide fire support to the ground units.”

Several of the Reprisal's bridge crew exchanged glances. Halsey glared at them, leaving the obvious left unsaid. I don’t like it either, but Fundin’s given us no choice. We’ll have to reveal ourselves, and our alignment with the Liberty League…and that might put us under Fossk’s guns. Frak us. Two red blurs soared in front of the bridge and jetted off to the planet. Two seconds later, four other Hunters off of Halsey’s gunship surged past the Reprisal towards the green and brown mottled planet. In the distance, several bursts of green light criss-crossed the planet, and Halsey spied a minute fireball. He glanced at his sensor board, and one of his Hunter’s winked out of existence.

“Where the hell did that come from?” questioned Halsey.

“The Savannah, sir. It’s opening fire on all of Hunters-”

“Captain Gen is requesting to attack the Savannah-”

“No,” insisted Halsey, “he can go to hell; we’ll take care of the Savannah. The League comes first, tell him to get his rear down there now.”

“Ah…yes sir.”

What the hell? Why would the Savannah attack us? It’s not like we fired on them…Halsey tapped a few buttons on his badly worn console, and the flatscreen slowly shifted to a view of the Savannah as seen from the Reprisal’s long-range EPRs. He glanced at it; an Assassin-class Corvette. Nothing too spectacular or uncommon…but…but that paint job is so…pristine…it’s gotta be new. He frowned. And not many gunrunners would bother to keep their ship so fastidiously kept up, ever. It would make them stick out in normal traffic…so why paint a ship so nicely? The answer hit him quicker than a blaster bolt. Because they’re completely covering up an older paint job. It’s one of Fossk’s ships. Frak. He pushed off with his feet, and his chair swiveled with a squick to face the communication’s officer.

“Better inform the rest of the fleet that the Savannah is one of Fossk’s…we’d better be ready to jump the hell out of here…I want escape vectors plotted for all of the ships now.”

“On it.”

The crimson Reprisal edged closer towards the alleged gunrunner. Scarcely had they entered firing range when both ships lashed out at each other; lines of continual ruby and emerald dashes were strung between the two corvettes. Bright flares of light erupted where the turbolaser bolts met the shields, forcing Halsey to temporarily shield his eyes from a particularly accurate shot aimed at his bridge; his feet wobbled as his ship shuddered under the brunt of the Savannah’s assault. More crimson bolts flooded the space between the two ships as the other Torch gunships coalesced around the Savannah. Halsey barked an order, and seconds later, the gunships were launching salvos of missiles at Savannah’s stern. As each missile slammed into the blockade runner, its shields flared brightly until they collapsed in a dazzling flash of light. Not even a second later, subsequent missiles slammed into the corvette’s engines. Intense fireballs blossomed across the engine block as the explosions met and fed off the Savannah’s fuel lines. The vacuum of space began to suffocate the fires, and Halsey stared at the damage dealt. Flames had burnt off the Savannah’s paint job, leaving slightly charred plating across the hull. But more importantly, the last fifty meters of the ship were next to non-existent; the Inferno fleet officer could only spot some of the corvette’s framework in the area. Sensors showed that the Savannah’s structural integrity and life support systems were beginning to fail. Across the remaining portions of Fossk’s corvette, escape pods jetted off to the planet below. Two of them, however, jetted towards the Reprisal. Halsey squinted.

“Run a scan on those two escape pods,” directed Halsey, leaning forward in his chair.

“Ah…they appear to be normal…according to our sensors, both of them have six people in them…it looks like the max for their size according to BoSS regulations.”

“Very well,” sighed the captain, “let’s move to dock with them, but don’t open the airlocks yet. I want all of my marines back before I do that…”

“Yes-”

“New contacts coming in fast!” shouted an officer, “I have one Impstar Deathless One and four supporting starships, about frigate or light cruiser size…they’re on the edge of the system, and moving towards us fast. They’ll be in firing range in seven minutes…”

Halsey swore. “Frak. Comm, issue the Omega Order to all ships; we can’t win this battle…”

The escape pods had scarcely latched onto the Reprisal when the gunship lurched into motion, heading away from Fossk’s newly arrived ships. Other Torch gunships glided away from the battlefield in a full-scale retreat. Starfighters flew out of Uogo’cor’s atmosphere and rejoined the fleet. Within five minutes, Inferno Fleet had floated out of the planet’s gravity well and jumped into hyperspace. As the Reprisal led the withdrawal back to a deep space rendezvous point, the Deathless One and her consorts assumed a geosynchrous orbit with Fundin.

Delta Dx-9 Transport Reprisal’s Ire

The stars spinning like that are something else…space is something else, how anyone has ‘vacuum’ in their blood is beyond me…I think I’m going to hurl…where’s the solid ground and breathable gases? Lieutenant Jan Rayford, commanding officer of the Reprisal’s marine complement, survivor of dozens of battles and missions, and a man who lived on starship, was terrified of space; especially space travel. There are too many different variables that just can’t be avoided, and there’s no hope if something goes wrong. No-one’s around to hear to you scream. You can’t live off of space. But in today’s galaxy, you can’t live without it. The soldier stared out of the cockpit of the Reprisal’s transport and stared at the mottled world that was Uogo’cor. It would be a welcome sight to set foot on actual land again. He glanced out of the corners of the cockpit and noted the Hunters soaring with the Ire with a measured restraint. Doubtless, they want to fly in air again too. He smiled. As if to answer him, one of the starfighters surged forward towards a larger ship in orbit. Rayford frowned, to which the vessel’s commander laughed.

“Rocket Jockeys,” smirked the other man, “never willing to stay with the team, but at least this time it’s for a reason.”

“What?”

“An inspection,” answered Giwe, “Just to make sure we don’t have to be worried about being stabbed in the back…”

A kaleidoscope of bright lights flooded through the transport’s viewport to blind the men. Reflexively, Jan gripped his rifle tighter while Giwe merely stared at his crew station and swore profusely. The shuttle captain banged his fist on the metal dashboard.

“What the frak?!” Savannah’s gone bogey on us,” muttered Giwe, “evasive actions, now.”

The boxy transport careeened downward to its portside, letting Uogo’cor’s gravity well suck the transport to the ground. Staring out of the viewport, the Inferno Marine watched the stars churn, along with his stomach, as the Ire continued its evasive barrel rolls. The Hunters accompanying the transport followed suit, albeit more gracefully. Despite his disorientation, Lieutenant Rayford could see emerald turbolaser bolts flood the area where the transport had flown mere seconds before, and for once, he was grateful of Giwe’s impetuousity. Giwe turned to Rayford with a scowl.

“I’m 'fraid our maneuvers have taken us…well…off course.”

Beneath his battle armor, Rayford frowned. “How far off course?”

“A couple thousand kilometers,” winced the other man, “It just take much when you’re diving and the planet’s spinning.”

“So relieving the League’s capitol isn’t an option?”

“Well, not on time…”

Rayford considered. “What is the closest settlement then?”

“That would be…ah…Fundin.”

“Wonderful,” concluded the Lieutenant, “because you’re going to drop us off there.”

“In the enemy’s capitol? What are you going to do?”

Rayford considered. “Hopefully draw the Fundin forces back to their homeland, and thus buy us some time for the Liberty League. Who knows? Maybe we’ll get lucky.”

Giwe groaned. “That’s a big maybe…”

Reprisal's Ire, Uogo'cor

The transport just flittered over the prairies, in attempt to fly under Full Spectrum Transcievers, towards Fundin. From the cockpit, Giwe muttered choice words about Rayford’s planning, and just as frequently, glanced at the Ire’s own sensors to see if they were being pursued. Jan stomped in from the main hold with a staccato tread. The Inferno marine crisply saluted the shuttle captain. Giwe raised his hand to return the salute, but looped it around to lightly slap Rayford’s helmet. Rayford just stared at the man.

“That’s for…” blustered Giwe, “if you get my crew killed by flying into Fundin…if not…you can pay me back. I don’t care…”

Rayford shrugged. “All right. How far away are we?”

“We’re ‘bout there,” grunted Giwe, “you can see the city walls from here…”

Jan glanced up to see a set of dusty walls jutting out from the plains. Behind them, the marine could make out a set of sandswept buildings, none of which passed four stories, save one. It was a massive, squat block of duracrete and durasteel; the type pre-fabricated factories are normally built in. Rayford pointed at it, Giwe frowned.

“The Fundin capitol building? What are you going to do? Persuade them with a set of blasters? I bet in a backwater world like this, everyone has a blaster. And I mean everyone…toddlers…”

The armored man shook his head. “I’d rather not land on the roof either…they’re going to see us coming if they haven’t already, and I’d rather not walk into a setup…”

“Well, where should we land? In the building?”

Rayford nodded. “That’ll work.”

“What?”

‘You have missiles,” replied the marine, “punch a hole in the wall, and we’ll walk right in. I mean, how can they prepare for that?”

Giwe shook his head. “You’re nuts, and so are you men. But…”

“But my lowest officer outranks you…”

The shuttle crewman nodded. “Sadly. I guess, we do it. Karnes?”

“On it sir,” replied the co-pilot, turning to face Rayford, “third floor from the top sound all right to you?”

Jan nodded. “That’ll work.”

The co-pilot bobbed his head in turn, fiddled around with a few buttons, and tapped a button. A single ruby flare sprang out from the transport and smashed into the building in a flashy conflagration. The Ire soared forward into the clouds of smoke to nest inside the capitol to disgorge its space marine passengers through its multiple airlocks.

Rayford deftly maneuvered the barrel of his carbine, and pulled the trigger. A trio of blood red bolts sputtered out of the weapon at a cluster of uniformed people emerging from a durasteel blastdoor. The first shot soared clear over the mens’ heads, but the second two bolts surged into the mass of flesh and military equipment, charring both in the process. One of the men screamed; another Inferno marine beside Rayford squeezed his own trigger, sending out a series of bolts which permanently silenced the men, as well filling the room with scent of burnt ozone. The Lieutenant jogged over to the downed men, and prodded one of the bodies over with his foot. Staring at the partially armored cadaver, Jan frowned. He toggled his comlink to the speak to the entire unit.

“Reprisal Marines, be advised, these are not normal security forces. Repeat, not normal security forces. They look and act like Compfarce troopers.”

“They certainly act like it…yeah, their body armor seems identical to what we saw during the Civil War…” reported another veteran trooper.

So what would COMPNOR troopers being doing around here? They’re pretty useless in combat; the only thing even the Empire found in them was their loyalty….So they’re here to ensure loyalty…Fossk has a hand in it. It certainly explains the Savannah and the Imp fleet coming into orbit. We’d better act fast…

“This Twenty here,” informed a Marine, “we’ve isolated a set of these Compfarce troopers. They seem to have a few Blaster Magnets with them…”

“Twenty,” questioned Rayford, “where are you?”

“Ah…second floor from the top, right of the central staircase. You’ll see us, we’re the only Marines up here, now.”

“And the left side got a little fried by Ire’s missile strike,” piped in another Inferno soldier.

“Everyone, I want you at Twenty’s position, and take that position. Those Imperial officers are our primary targets. I want them captured, for interrogation, and possibly, as hostages. As for Compfarce, kill them.”

“On it sir.”

Another Inferno marine trotted up to Rayford and saluted. “News from spaceside; our fleet is in a retreat…”

Rayford nodded. “That’s to be expected; how’s demolitions?”

“He’s nearly set,” observed the comm. specialist, “last I checked, he said it would be ready in five minutes, and that was about two minutes ago…”

A cacophony of strained voices temporary flooded his headset comm.. Rayford tapped a button, silencing the sounds of the attacking Inferno marines. A new voice reverberated through his helmet.

“Whatever you’re doing, keep it up,” reported Lawless, “Fundin forces are retreating en mass back towards their capitol. Orbital scans say they won’t arrive for about an hour, hour to a half.”

“We have a more immediate concern,” advised Rayford, “that Impstar in orbit, how exactly are we going to deal with that?”

“The League president can deal with that, he assures me. What are you doing, anyways?”

“Taking a few hostages, and readying to blow up the Fundin capitol building…”

“That’ll make things a bit easier for him, I think.”

President Jimel Tydarr of the Liberty League stared at the floating wisps of light from the holo-projector. The view flickered periodically, showing the images of the ongoing battle between the Fundin forces and the combined forces of Inferno Fleet and the Liberty League. Most showed the allied forces chasing off the attackers: Hunters strafed Fundin convoys to burnt crisps; snipers picked off retreating troopers. But he paid them little attention; these had been the same images floating around for the last fifteen minutes, since when everyone had learned that the members of Reprisal’s Ire had seized the Fundin capitol. He glanced up at an approaching Twi’lek followed by a dust-covered man wearing an ashen uniform. The new man offered a salute.

“Mr. President,” offered Lawless.

“Good to see you, Sergeant was it? How is Rayford? Is everything set?” questioned Tydarr.

“Yes sir.”

“Then it is time to start negotiations. Lo’ark, would you kindly hand me the long-range comlink?”

The alien silently nodded and handed over a black box nearly two times the size of a standard datapad. Jimel fiddled with a few buttons and tapped the box. Satisfied, the president cleared his throat, and tapped another button.

“May I speak to the commanding officer of the Deathless One?”

“Identify yourself,” demanded a fuzzy voice.

“I am President Tydarr of the Liberty League,” answered Jimel, “I wish to open negotiations with your government.”

A new voice, surprisingly deep and resonant flooded his ears.

“I am Supreme General Fossk. What do you traitorous dogs want? I may consider it before I vaporize your precious league…”

“We request to be incorporated into the Fossk Commonwealth, but with some self-governance...”

“What? Why would I do that? You’ve clearly allied yourself with the cursed Inferno Fleet.”

“We hired the Inferno Fleet, and frankly, we can tell you quite a bit about them if you are willing to listen. We can even set up a trap for them, since they’d trust paying clientele…”

“Not enough…I want my men back from the Fundin capitol before I even consider your request.”

Jimel threw up his hands. “That capitol has been rigged to blow up, and frankly, I know Inferno Fleet is holding your men hostage. I have no power over that Fleet; the only power they accept is money, and we have none of that any more.”

“But you just provided us with some valuable information, hopefully…” replied Fossk, “and if this proves to be true, we can talk. But until then…don’t do anything foolish, or defiant. I will send a shuttle down to the surface to ferry you back to this destroyer, where we will talk. Fossk out.”

Jimel quietly set down the box.

“Will it work?” asked Lo’ark.

Lawless nodded. “More likely than not. Fossk just lost many troops in this failed Uogo’cor intervention. Nearly over three-fifths of the Fundin assault forces were actually Fossk’s men, and with them killed off, his army has taken a blow, and it’s already getting strained by the sporadic revolts on Entrus. He won’t want to fight unless he absolutely has to. Reducing everyone here to rubble only costs him money, while he could make it off of you with taxes if he accepts the League’s request…”

Jimel leaned against a table. “And while we seem to cooperate with them, we actually hurt them. We will fulfill our promise. Our best technicians and engineers will head to Inferno to help build your fleet, and we will do our best to infiltrate their circle and provide information to the Fleet.”

“And that, is more than noble to us,” replied Lawless.