“Elder Artanis,” the voice broke out from the other side of the vessel's bridge. Both the Judicator Shran Badaar and the Elder himself moved to the source of the words, who stood. “Zeratul requests communications!”

“On the visage!” Artanis commanded, turning to the pool of mist. The pool turned into the face of the Skey'g'aar in a brief flash. “You had best bring good news, Shadowcaste warrior. New Imperial reinforcements arrive all the time.”

“You need not worry about that any longer,” Zeratul said. “I have enlisted a former Imperial high commander to shut down the shield. In moments, you may begin landing Parrow Lin, and we can finally secure this decrepit world and cleanse it anew.”

“Who is this commander? How did you...”

“That is not your concern, Elder,” Zeratul said, eyes flashing. “You tasked me with results. The methodology is my own, and not to be questioned.”

“I will question...”

“If you prefer, I can execute him. Isn't that what you would do? Execute a member of Imperial leadership in order to cow the remaining soldiers into submission? It would not work, Elder. Instead of submission, you would see a new galvanization. They would attack you with a strength you didn't think previously possible. If you want to send a message, burn this world. Execution does not accomplish that. Execution is a tool only used on those who offer little else of value...” Zeratul said, and then focused his eyes. “Remember that, when next you can offer me only pointless questions.”

The visage faded back into mist. Artanis turned, his eyes aflame with hatred. “He grows more insubordinate by the day!”

“Zeratul was born insubordinate. He grows closer to treason by the day,” Badaar corrected. “I will have the Parrow Lin vessels prepare to launch our Armorlin. I have news as well from Varro Kai. He has forces in position and is prepared for whatever you would ask.”

Artanis raised a fist. “Excellent! Our newest Judicator is proving worthy of his place in the Sacred Scrolls Of The Judicaste. Adjust our position in orbit and target the Imperial reinforcements.”

“By your command, Elder, so it shall be done,” Badaar said, moving to make the nesscessary communications. He stopped when he felt the taloned hand of Artanis on his shoulder. “Elder, is there something else you require?”

“There is,” the Elder said, and he lowered his head. “I am no longer comfortable with Zeratul being our only intelligent operative on the surface of Coruscant. The Armorlin will perform their function, and so will the tek'a'tara, but I need someone to take command ahead of the Judicaste arrival. Someone I can trust. A Cree'Ar.”

“I do not know of any Cree'Ar I can trust,” Badaar said. “We are, in general, a self-interested and manipulative people. However, I do have someone who can do the job you require.”

“Who?”

“Tamplator Isaia Issk,” Badaar said. “He has yet to serve us on a field assignment, but I believe him to be of excellent skill in most regards.”

“If you trust him, than so shall it be,” Artanis nodded, giving his consent. Outside his vessel, the Parrow Lin cruisers shuddered as they launched their Armorlin towards the surface.

Towards victory.

Entaro Artanis.

Abregado-Rae


Varro Kai shifted his massive bulk aside as the Priest Lohr blessed the warships of his fleet tasked with bringing the 'Sword of Borleas' to bear on the weakened enemy.


This particular thrust would be especially painful to the enemy since it would be a repeat of their initial thrust into the belly of the human world of Yaga Minor.


The reason the defenses of the planet were torn apart and rendered asunder was due to the heavy hand of the Sword. A part of his mind wondered why
the metaphorical descriptions of what amounted to a military tactic used weapons of antiquity in their descriptions. Why did not the Priest Caste simply update the descriptions with more modernized terms?


Of course, Lohr would simply call such thoughts heresy bringing no end to the amount of trouble he could cause for Kai. Of course, the charge of heresy also allows the Priest Caste to avoid the issue altogether.


His hand moved over a globe and before him lay the Cree'Ar strategy. The
strength of their forces consolidated by Kal Shora before his ascension and put to use by the new High Judicator Artanis, recently of Homeword, created a strategy that, to Varro Kai, utilized all the wrong tools for combat.


Artanis, however, in a show of magnanimity, condescended to shower Kai with insight. "The plan, Judicator, is about need. That is it's basic construct."


"High Judicator, I do not comprehend this significance of need."


"Varro Kai, you thirst. Therefore you must drink. To obtain water you must have a cup. The immediate need to quenching your thirst is to obtain a cup. Your strategy then, for now, is directed towards this task of the cup. The thirst, the water is irrelevant if you do not have this."


"Our need, then, High Judicator is.."


"Is to conquer this galaxy. That is our thirst. To quench this thirst we must drink. We must begin seizing worlds building our foothold strong. Kal Shora has done this flawlessly but there are many other obstacles to obtain this water besides finding simply a cup.

We need resources. We need strength of arms. Always, our strength in this galaxy is limited and Kal Shora has had to make do with what was at hand. Far was he from the Ariguan, far was he from the ranks of Parrow Lin and the strength of all our other conquered races. Far was he from galaxies of resources for the Dominion holds sway over not one galaxy but many."

Varro Kai was aware of the agreement made with the Black Dragon Empire.


In exchange for the Cree'Ar knowledge of outside galaxies, the Dragons gave them the necessary information to build their own transgalactic hypergate deep within Dominion territories.


Kal Shora was wise to limit his contact with the heretics of this Corusca galaxy.


The arbiters were the typical method of Cree'Ar space travel. The arbiter opens a self-contained wormhold, the fleet enters with the arbiter and all travel to their required destination. However, arbiters were not easy to build nor were they plentiful. Such a campaign as the one they were embarking upon would have been inconceivable without the transgalactic gate.


This gate allowed Kal Shora's forces now under the command of Artanis to draw upon the strength of the rest of the Dominion for soldiers, weapons, and ships...especially arbiters.


"The gate to the Dominion...," Artanis had difficulty considering the gains within this new galaxy as Dominion, especially being so used to residing within the Dominion proper and basking in the glory of red sun. "...is ultimately self-defeating for while we can marshal our strength and strike in a manner worthy of soldiers of Borleas it weakens our other holdings.

The conquered only remain conquered because they are reminded why they are conquered. If this reason were to be removed from their sight for any length of time, they can get...confused."


"The Cree'Ar are dominant because they seek new cisterns of water with which to quench their thirst," Varro Kai concludes and he can see that Artanis is pleased with the analogy.


"So, first, we seek to increase the capabilities of the Nexus with regards to the tek'a'tara. The scientist Vejuun has discovered a way to augment the ability and thus increase our numbers exponentially. This is the first step cementing our status in this galaxy as a power. When we emerge from the shadows we shall meet these heretics face to face. Our blades will taste their blood and they will have no choice but to acknowledge their inferiority.

While we harvested the required resources on the world of Y'tara'Y'teka (Yaga Minor- literal translation: Food with Purpose) Vejuun continued to explore just what the full limits of the Nexus might be along these new areas of research. He made another discovery that I think will prove surprising to one such as you."


Varro Kai knew that Artanis meant 'provincial' for Kai still followed some of the old customs and mannerism.


"This discovery is what ultimately decided where we would test the new tek'a'tara and impliment the next phase of our campaign."


Artanis pointed to the center of the galaxy, "Se'T'ap'a'r'Shora".



*


The blessing of Lohr had ended interrupting Varro Kai's reverie.


"Blessed Judicator, the songs of the gods are at our backs and the Sword is drawn. We only need to strike!"


The Judicator hid his unease at the trembling voice of the Priest Lohr. Such emotion was unbecoming of a Cree'Ar. One did not find enjoyment in serving the great God, one found duty and purpose.


With the numbers of the new tek'a'tara created by the reinvigorated Nexus, dropships were impractical which is why the tek'a'tara were deployed by miniature wormholes straight onto the ground of a world. The capabilities for creating a wormhole with a view to longer, interstellar distances required the use of dark matter which was rare and found only on arbiters.


These miniature wormholes, though, were useful for they rendered a defender's planetary shields all but useless to this kind of attack. These wormholes were generated by troop transports that were not well armed or shielded but, balanced against that, they were, however, very well armored, could carry thousands of tek'a'tara and had very powerful powerplants designed to create and sustain wormholes.


To create this type of wormhole necessary to easily move soldiers, these wormholes were, by nature, two-way thus creating a unique danger. Before this attack, it was rare, in their limited use, that an enemy would try to enter one.


The defenders of Se'T'ap'a'r'Shora adjusted their tactics at great cost to themselves as the Judicator scanned the ever changing accomplishment reports and task updates.


Those transports stationed in one area tasked with unloading the new tek'a'tara onto the human capital world were holding at the extreme range of their ability to create and sustain a wormhole, spaced evenly apart. These had been separated from the rest of the fleet but surrounded by enough gravity anomolies to ensure no interference by heretic vessels trying to microjump to the location and interupt the transport's assigned task.


These Imperial devils were clever, though. One contingent of troopers had counter-attacked one foothold location on the world of Se'T'ap'a'r'Shora and had actually broken and scattered the tek'a'tara. It seemed that there was some issues in categorizing targets since the world was rich with heretic life. At first, the new tek'a'tara simply blasted everyone and everything in sight. It was to be expected since this was their trial by fire and the Nexus was analyzing the performance, tactics and formulating error corrections and strategies for the future.

But that contingent of troopers! When the tek'a'tara had scattered the heretic troopers entered the dispensing wormhole only to appear in the middle of more tek'a'tara awaiting their turn to be transported.

It was the heretics this time that scattered which, ironically, spelled doom for the transport for the tek'a'tara began trying to fire at everything, hitting fellow soldiers and their masters eventually causing a hull breach from the inside effectively destroying that transport.

Some areas in and around some portals opening on the human capital were freeze-blasted to clear the area prior to sending the tek'a'tara through. A transport would open a wormhole and then pull out of range causing the wormhole to collapse but briefly cause the area on the planet to be exposed to the vacuum of space. Such maneuvers though tended to make inoperable the surrounding equipment and utilities since they were not made to withstand such extreme conditions. Blast doors would not open or close and so alternate routes were chosen which lead to fighting building by building, corridor by corridor until the inhabitants fled.


As the quantules of information passed before the Judicator's eyes, he saw that this was a battle unlike any he had ever seen before. His campaign on the Steps was a relatively simple affair to this... this madness.



While Artanis retained the majority of the transports, the Judicator Kai was not without. But, in his fervor, Priest Lohr had travelled through the wormhole with a group of tek'a'taras overseeing their smashing of the cities on the planetoid below and subsequent harvesting. The planet was not as armed or as heavily defended as Y'tara'Y'teka had been but they did have vast numbers of those designated Jedi Corps and so had stopped to reap. They were not interested in claiming the world at this time since it would be claimed soon enough. No, all that mattered was the immediate purpose. The eventuality of quenching the thirst would inevitably come if the immediate purpose was taken care of.


And so, while the priest oversaw the harvesting of the Jedi Corps, all orbiting facilities, both military and civilian, were destroyed, their wreckage proving nourishing to the Nexus.


The enemy had not responded heavily but, then again, the enemy knew nothing of the Cree'Ar and so did not have anything to strike but those of their worlds smashed by the current campaign.

An arbiter had taken three of their most proficient and powerfully armed fleets along with their Emperor far away from their empire. The Sword of Borleas had destroyed the Black Fleet of Bhindi Drayson at Y'tara'Y'teka.


When the Dragons were given the Cree'Ar information on the nearby galaxies, the Taj and his Daemun servants began to retreat into the Tion Cluster to create their transgalactic wormhole to reach those designated areas on the Cree'Ar charts. Some races that were not elevated to Daemun they let go to govern themselves and some they outright abandoned. Those abandoned, like the Dracconis, turned on others left behind before being consumed by their madness and became the Reavers. These Reavers left the former Dragon worlds, as the Ratkus suspected they might, and attacked the Imperial Protectorate of the Borderlands (destroying their fleet) as well as those areas of space bordering several other governments. They were now a pestilence.


The Dominion Nexus seized those empty, former Dragon worlds and began to harvest the genetic material needed to form the base of their new Tek'a'tara army. The conquered races of this galaxy would be given a choice to die ignominiously or serve as one of the Unholy and find new purpose within the Dominion.


To be the servant of the Nexus and thus a tool of the Cree'Ar was to put unholy materials to a holy cause. To surrender to the machine was to surrender duty for service and, in the Cree'Ar's mind, that is what the Daemun were. Unholy.


Machine husks with interchangable souls.


The Unholy tek'a'tara were typically derived from those vanquished. Those who had died resisting with their last usage of free will were now made to service the Cree'Ar, their will be damned. For all find purpose in the service of Borleas.


But the Daemun willingly gave up their bodies to the will of the Raktus and a machine mainframe.


The tek'a'tara, in contrast, were powerful in their own right but were also wholly subservient to the will of Borleas and his children, the Cree'Ar.


But what if, in some unforseen way, these Unholy were able to circumvent the purpose the Cree'Ar gave them?


What if... *shudder* ..they were given free will?



Such thoughts were distasteful, yet the next step in tek'a'tara development was proceeding at a rapid pace and the introduction of this new tek'a'tara into the Cree'Ar arsenal made such questions now relevant.


The Priest Lohr would scream heresy, Kai thought with distaste.


Since the incident at the Black Hole, the priest had been uncharacteristically subdued. The Judicator knew the Priest Caste did not look favorably to those who undermined their ability to influence the fleet but eventually, he knew the priest would emerge from his self-imposed shell.


"Prepare the shield ships and the arbiters charged with moving the fleet."


It was time for the Sword to strike.



*


"First, second, and third units, fire!" Varro Kai ordered and his fleet unleashed a massive round of volleys, each targeting a specific wormhole created by an individual arbiter.

The timing of such a maneuver was perfected by a Cree'Ar warrior G'az J'addam and was canonized by the Priest Caste as the Sword of Borleas for J'addam's victory, which was an act of desperation, had come about by the grace of Borleas. Or so the Priests claimed.

Ignoring the losses J'addam incurred fighting the vicious Penx, the Priest Caste made a story up of how Borleas tasked J'addam to reduce the number of soldiers in his army until a suitably low figure was reached and Borleas could step in and carry J'addam and the Cree'Ar to ultimate victory. G'az J'addam had died shortly after his triumphant return under suspicious circumstances and was interred with all the honors a Cree'Ar could accumulate.


The volleys disappeared along with the arbiters towards their intended destination.

Coruscant


Operation Overlord is partially complete and the palace and the Regent are secure. His escorts have been disarmed without major bloodshed and he and his close confidents, including Ciscero, have been isolated from the rest of the palace, who thinks my men are a security detail.

We are proceeding to stage two and preparing to evacuate the Regent at a moment’s notice while I speak with him – by coercion or by blade I will get your appointment to Regent made. I have also uploaded Zell’s full intelligence files on the Reavers and it’s clear they’re falsified – by who I don’t know. But they’ve majorly overestimated both their individual capabilities and numbers.

And be aware that he’s very, very disappointed with you. Not necessarily angry, but definitely surprised that he was outmaneuvered and humbled by it. You have to remember that he is, or at least used to be, the cockiest son-of-a-bitch alive.


"What a load of shit!" Zell exclaimed pushing away the hand that held a vibroblade to his throat to keep him silent as the ISB Director conveyed his report to Thorton.


"First off, you murdered the military guards and aides so the High Command can't get wind of your fucking little backstabbing coup!

And second of all, JUST WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU KNOW OF THE REAVERS!? You are not qualified to make that fucking judgement! You are supposed to be looking out for the Empire's fucking internal threats! Not fucking creating them! Did you fucking forget your job description!?"



Trachta did not react as if he had heard a word Zell was saying. "Shut him up or silence him forever but make sure he shuts up," he ordered in that monotone cybernetic voice of his.


The Regent glowered as the ISB troopers snapped to attention and Zell felt the butt of a blaster in his back.


Ciscero was impressed with the way the ISB had secured the palace executing those military guards that would react at Zell's word no matter what paper-authorization Trachta's people claimed to have.


With the Emperor absent, the Regent was god on earth and there was no organization that could simply circumvent or disregard his orders or will. Doing so was treason and, so, with that realization also came the realization that Trachta could not let either of them live.


Zell would not go quietly and, as a representative of Imperial Intelligence, he had seen too much. Palace internal security recordings and feed could be lost, Zell's orders faked and underlings who carried out the coup made to disappear but all of this means nothing while the Regent lived.


Azrael Zell fought the rebels in the first Galactic Civil War with a zeal unmatched so there was no way he was going to sit by and watch the rebels come back. They may not be republic-loving rebels of the past but, in Zell's mind, rebel scum was rebel scum.


Once Trachta's purpose with keeping Zell alive was done, that was it! The end of the line....hyperspacial reversion... the crossing over of both of them from the living into the realm of the dead!


"We're fucked," the Regent whispered to Ciscero when the ISB guards started to move them.


"I think we may have a hand or two to play," Ciscero whispered back but the old Regent shook his head. "I mean Coruscant!" he hissed.


"Quiet!" a guard said and shoved the Regent. "I'll plug you if you make another sound!"


Trachta was too busy securing the palace, disposing of the bodies of the dead and reassuring those Admirals, aides and the like that Zell was currently indesposed and that their issues would be given the Regent's most urgent attention at the appropriate time. He couldn't say when that was.


In the middle of the fucking fight of our lives! Zell was so livid, if he had a medical droid on hand, it would have cautioned him to calm down lest he give himself a heart attack.


Ciscero could see that he and the Regent were being taken to the Emperor's personal prison cells he had prepared under the Throne Room.


As the blast doors to the prison level slowly opened the palace shook as a shockwave from a nearby massive explosion reached them. Zell's face showed a worried look.

"That was a planetary generator that just blew up!"

"Shut up you!" the nervous guard pushed the Regent with his weapon and Zell fell to his knees.

"I've had enough of this shit," the old man whispered and as debris from the roof fell distracting the guard, Zell turned around snatching the weapon from the surprised soldier.

Before the soldier could react, the Regent immediately pulled the trigger. Ciscero had moved against the other guard who had momentarily frozen wondering if he should actually shoot the Regent. The hesitation was, unfortunately, only seconds and the soldier was able to get a shot off before the Imperial Intelligence agent snapped his neck.


"SON OF A BITCH, THAT FUCKING HURTS!" shouted the Regent holding a spotted hand over his shoulder where a blaster shot had burned through. Between clenched teeth, he muttered, "I forgot how much a fucking blaster hurts!"


"Nice to be old and senile," Ciscero shot back wiping his brow. The ISB mook was as strong as a rancor and snapping his neck wasn't easy.


"Fuck you. Let's go," Zell ordered and Ciscero followed him back to the Throne Room which was surprisingly empty. ISB soldiers and guards were moving quickly about the halls as the cybernetic attackers were breaking through to the surface in various places. Also, the military was finally figuring out something was amiss.


Zell went to Hyfe's personal comm and activated a series of sequences that would gain him a measure of control over the ISB strictures put into place.


"Are you calling the Fleet?"


"Thorton's hand-picked fucks? No. It's too late for that. Kach has unzipped his fly and shown us his weasily pecker. Both he and Trachta have and to be honest, they have the upperhand. If we all die on Coruscant,..hell, if everyone on Coruscant dies and Thorton escapes back to the Midrim he can put any spin he wants on this."


"Planetary Battery 34," came the nervous voice on the other end.


"Zell here," the Regent stated without preamble. "Soldier, I need you to coordinate a series of shots against the ISD Administrator and I need those shots fired now!"


"Umm... Sir..."


"Son, I don't have time for this shit! I need you firing on that ISD now!"


"Yessir... sir... It's moving away from the planet...through the corridor. Civies are all.."


Ciscero saw the Regent close his eyes as if steeling himself against a firing squad. His eyes were hard when they opened, "Fire on that ship, now!"


"Yessir! Relaying Regent command to local batteries... retargeting data coming in..... aquisition aquired.....firing!"


The Number Thirty-Four battery began firing upward, the new firing arc slicing through Imperial shipping that was both civilian and military in an effort to hit the ISD Administrator.

A couple of shots struck the Imperator and the commander of the vessel, realizing someone did not want them to live, began to take evasive action.


The ship escaped the batteries' range.


"Sir... Sir! The ISD Administrator has moved out of range. I am relaying orders to batteries farther out but I seem to be experiencing.... hold on... We have some soldiers here who might be able too.."


A series of shots were fired over the comm before the line went dead.


"Damn, Trachta!" Zell shouted, grasping his shoulder at the same time in pain.


A squad of five ISB soldiers entered the Throne Room and leveled their weapons at the Regent and Imperial Intelligence Agent.


"Excellency, we have them," one spoke through a comlink.


"Kill them," Director Tracta's voice weezed over the link.


"What will you tell Thorton, you backstabbing coward!?" Zell yelled.


"I do not have to tell him anything. Coruscant's position on the ground is becoming untenable but we have done what we need to do. You'll die for the glory of the Empire in it's time of need. Good bye."


The comlink went dead and the soldiers readied their weapons to carry out their master's orders.


"A lifetime of fucking service ending like this is a bitch.." Zell muttered and Ciscero couldn't have agreed more.


To have it all end like this?



...



...



...



...



...




The soldier's weapons did not fire and as Ciscero took a closer look, he saw that the ISB men were struggling against something unseen. After a few minutes, they fell to the ground dead.


"You are the luckiest son of a bitch alive," Ciscero whispered and Zell actually barked out a nervous laugh despite the pain to his shoulder.


In walked the Royal Guardsman Aeacus whom the Emperor charged with protecting his Regent.


Evidently, he had used the good ol' fashion Force hold/choke on the ISB men. Ciscero had no use for the Force, not being a force user himself, but it sure came in handy in a jam. And he and the Regent were in the worst possible jam imaginable.


Traitors jammed up our asses, thought Zell mimicking the agent's thoughts.



"I go away for a little bit and everything goes to hell," the Head Guardsman remarked dryly.



"You never call, never write," Zell gasped out in pain not to be outdone.


"Can the Royal Guard take back the Palace?" Ciscero asked but Aeacus shook his head.


"What would be the point? Kach Thorton and his people have effectively seized the Regency. Forces loyal to Zell are defending Coruscant but it is a dying defense. The shields are collapsing and the corridor is falling apart."


"What?" Zell asked tiredly. "How can the Corridor be collapsing?"


"The corridor was designed to allow for unhindered traffic away from Coruscant for an evacuation, not to allow ships to come in. Kach Thorton moved several hundred warships through it and are now outside Nomansland..." that bitter slip of space called the mass shadow. To achieve orbit, the warships of the Imperial Navy would have to traverse that space on sublights moving slowly against an enemy that was not hindered by the mass shadow. "But that move cost the lives of quite of few of the evacuees. The holonets are jammed with signals going here and
there and most are dissipated by the anamolies so there are no instructions getting out. It is a mess and rather than send hundreds of evacuees out of the area, we end up sending hundreds of more ships into it."


"Goddamn fuckfest..." Zell whispered softly.


"The military?"


Aeacus shrugged, "The High Command is sending soldiers back and forth and trying to maintain some semblance of order but it was Zell keeping the big picture in play. Trachta is a spy and does what spies do best. He is keeping his mouth shut and fabricating lies to keep up the semblance of things running."


"Except we are in a fight."


"There is that small glaring problem," the Guardsman nodded. "My people are out and the window for you is closing. I think it is time we leave this mess to those ambitious enough to want it. What say you, my Regent? Sire?"


Zell had lost consciousness and had slumped down onto the throne.


"Take him," Aeacus ordered the agent. "It is time we left now."



Ciscero looked up when they got outside as the flares of the enemy volleys against those parts of the shield still active seemed to lose their intensity.

Another volley passed completely through striking buildings in the Imperial District.


"The shields are down..." Aeacus commented as if he was speaking an irrelevance about the weather.


Several ISB troopers came before them to hinder their escape but Aeacus activated his lightsaber cutting down some and leveling others with a violent force push.


The Guardsman signaled and part of the floor rose from the Grand Promenade. Ciscero had passed this way many a time and had always liked the view of the Palace, the INS buildings and the Imperial High Command Tower.


As he reached the entrance to tunnel under the Grand Promenade, hefting the unconscious Regent on his shoulder, he turned to take a final look back and saw everything ablaze as the weapons fire from both sides intensified. An enemy craft was streaking downward in flames, the victim of defending fire, and Ciscero saw immediately what was going to happen. Before he could open his mouth, the enemy ship sliced through the Imperial High Command Tower cutting it in two...


..the tower falling down towards the Grand Promenade and Ciscero.


"Aeacus.." the agent started to say when he felt a strong pull downward and he nearly stumbled down the steps of the entrance to a secret tunnel. As the floor clicked back in place, the tower struck the ground shaking the tunnel violently.


The Promenade was burning with the thousands of dead and in one quick moment, the leadership of the defending forces of Coruscant was destroyed.


There would arise a new Empire in the aftermath...

Before...


Reavers

On Goddard’s ship the reaction was immediate. The squad commander, clawing at the medical kit on his belt, moved toward the inert, long-necked alien after quickly checking for traps in the vicinity. “Medic, check vital signs,” he ordered, laying his kit down as the squad’s medic approached. “Fireteam three, secure the area. Teams one and two, continue with the rest of the boarding party further in. Sergeant Humphry, you are in command now. I’m staying here. Lawrence, order in a medical investigation team.”

As two of his fireteams moved further into the alien vessel the Lieutenant looked down at the alien body, wondering what exactly it was they had found as Dr. Goddard, in a frenzied panic, appeared.

Each Reaver ship boarded had a Quermian lying on it's back unconscious but alive. Pushing away liquid, debris and half-eaten food floating in the room, the medic took advantage of the kit provided and looked at the readings of the simple tests he performed.

"There does not seem to be any presence of the viral infection that turns people into walking zombies. There is something there, but it does not seem contagious on a viral level. It looks like the bastards were experimenting on these guys. But I would need to perform an analysis with better equipment than a standard kit if you want more answers."

He turned to the squad commander.

"What do you want to do?"

I thank this Assembly for granting me the opportunity to bid farewell. I am not here to beg for forgiveness, to plead for readmission, to argue and debate and spew venomous contempt. I am here only to remind you of who we are―and yes I say “we,” for in my heart and in my soul I remain ever and always a member of this League, a representative within this Assembly.

The facts stand that the League of Nations was brought into being by the Galactic Empire because it wished to exert authority without the inconvenience of expending military resources. And we played our part so very well . . . until the tragedy―the atrocity―of Glee Anselm; before the Reclamation Fleet of the Galactic Empire arrived, before the Raioballo Republic appeared in-system, before Ukio offered its assistance as a ploy to join our ranks―long before the Ryn stepped foot on that tainted soil―the League was there. And for the first time since my fear of Empire drove me to have Tirahnn inducted into the League of Nations, I was proud. Not of the Coalition of which my people are a part; for it was in a member of the Coalition―the Onyxian Commonwealth―that a gross disregard for the sanctity of life and a criminal act of invasion nearly cost the lives of the Anselmi survivors; but of the League of Nations, who rushed to the side of their member peoples, who cared for them not as political allies or forced acquaintances, but as friends . . . as brothers.

We are not a nation, we are not a people; we are not one, united force. We are a League of Nations, the many who would not be one, in whom the ideal of democracy triumphs over the reality of oppression. We made an enemy of the Empire because we saw it as evil and still we chose to do good. To embrace Dantooine was to assert the purity of democracy over the villainy of tyranny. We chose to accept the petition from Dantooine not because we believed ourselves strong enough to defy the Empire, but because we knew that right must always defy wrong, good must always oppose evil, freedom must always challenge tyranny. We stood as a true League of Nations, collaborating under the common bonds of friendship to see the truth of our belief preserved.

Yet . . . something has changed. Fear―this threat of retaliation―has driven many of us to desperation. We forge alliances which our ideals demand we refrain from, resort to methods that our conscience defies. And so here I am, where you knew I would invariably arrive. For there are and have been those within our ranks who do not share in this bond of brotherhood, who do not see the League as anything more than a political construct, the least distasteful among so many unfavorable choices. These sentiments were not altogether unknown to us; some―such as the Colicoid―even made a point of expressing their dislike publicly and frequently. For the founding of this League of Nations was not the optimistic merger that some would make it out to be; many of us―if we would but look back those few short years―would recall that fear was the primary motivator, fear of invasion should we reject the Empire's proposal.

Many of us have found new cause to call ourselves League Members; the Colicoid, unfortunately, did not. We made attempts―as a collective―to secure their sympathy, assuage their discontent, appeal to the spirit of fraternity which had arisen among most of us. But our efforts proved fruitless, and as conflict with the Empire increased, the material necessity of keeping Colla IV overshadowed our desire to reconcile, overpowered our moral imperatives.

A League delegation, dispatched by this Assembly to . . . ensure . . . Colla IV's assistance should war with the Empire ensue, vanished. In days we learned that they had been murdered―quite literally: devoured. Yet the material necessity persisted. There were whispers of drastic action, that military necessity superseded all moral questions. These are thoughts I have only once before heard voiced within this Assembly . . .

I was, quite frankly, ashamed. And in my shame I violated a personal oath: I called upon assistance for the League from an ally within the Coalition, the Cooperative. They dispatched one Ambassador Athan Sahalan, who had had some deal of experience with the insectoid X'Ting and Xi Charrians. And so I surrendered my seat to him, with the charge of resolving the Colicoid Situation peacefully and with utmost haste.

By now the Colicoid representatives had been barred from this Assembly, their transit restricted, and serious thought was being given―albeit in some very dark corners―to military action.

The Ambassador and I drafted the Tirahnn Resolution with help from several League colleagues; it was presented, and ratified by majority vote. At no point were concerns voiced about motive or intent. There was no concealment, no deception or misdirection concerning Colla IV's fate. Its admission into the Cooperative was included within and dependent upon the passing of the Tirahnn Resolution. It was our hope―all of our hopes―that the Cooperative might possess some mechanism better suited to peaceably assimilating the Colicoid into the broader galaxy.

During the entirety of the deliberation process, not once did the Jutraalian Seat speak of concerns about Tirahnn's loyalties, about the fears of manipulation, about the slightest sense of coersion. It now seems that the “loss” of Colla IV―a world which Jutraal had been the most staunch advocate of preserving (by force if necessary) within the League―was an acceptable price to pay in order to see the sole link between the Coalition and League severed.

Why is that? Why did Chaddwick Fearsons―the man who speaks to you of averting war with the Empire mere months after seizing a number of its worlds by force―see fit to come here and convince you of the necessity of breaking your only link to the one external nation that has shown you friendship?

I recall the debate concerning Jutraal's admission, when the size of its standing warfleet―now supported largely by League assistance at the expense of the Glee Anselm reclamation―seemed to make any argument concerning the moral compromise inherent in allying with a militant Emperor to be irrelevant.

Do not forget who we are. Do not forget how we arrived here. Do not forget that the greatest desire of the strongest ally left to you is to replace the very Galactic Empire that you stand at the brink of war with.

You say that I must leave, that I am no longer welcome here; and it is with a heavy heart that I must submit to your will. But I will offer you this: so long as the faintest glimmer of that spirit of freedom which drove us to embrace Dantooine at the expense of Imperial benevolence lives on within this League Assembly, you will find in Tirahnn an ally, friend, and brother. If ever you are in need, if ever you have cause to fear, call upon us. We will answer.

I love you, my brothers and sisters, and would not see harm done to you; not by the New Order, not by the Galactic Coalition, not by false friends within your midst.

May the Light be with you, for the Force has many motives.








Antar IV

Guardsman Ethan Vang could not conceal the unnerving nature of the information he was being forced to assimilate.

“What is it?” The room's only other inhabitant prodded.

Ethan moved the commlink away from his ear, pressing a button on its side. “Say that again,” He ordered.

“Emperor Chaddwick Fearsons has just disclosed the existence of a secret Jedi refuge on Ossus,” The voice said through the commlink. “He is calling for them to serve as peacekeepers within the League.”

Ethan deactivated the commlink, still very much unsettled.

“The Jedi? The Jedi Order survives? And in the League!?” Commander Doc-Tel of the Antarian Rangers was all but beside himself with glee.

Ethan snapped suddenly into action. “The Antarian Rangers have served alongside the Jedi for centuries. Now more than ever you must go to them, with all the forces you can muster.”

“What?” The Gotal asked, confused. “What of our business?”

Ethan was already almost out of the door. He turned around to regard the Antarian Ranger. “There are things of far greater importance than trade routes at stake here. Chaddwick Fearsons, a man who would be Emperor, the man who built a Death Star, a Shadow Jedi―whatever the hell that means―one of the most dangerous beings in the galaxy, has just revealed the existence and location of what may be the last Jedi sanctuary in the galaxy. Understand this, Commander: the Jedi have enemies more sinister, more subtle, and more potent than the Galactic Empire could ever be. There was a reason the Jedi were hiding, and there is a reason that Fearsons―of all people―unveiled them. Go to the Jedi; now more than ever, they need uncompromised allies. Go to them.”

“Wait!” The commander shouted, Ethan already halfway out of the door. “What if we aren't enough?”

The Praetorian Guardsman cracked a smile, his first deviation from perfect soldiery in all his time here. He tossed something at the Gotal, stepping through the door. “Call us: we will answer.” And then he was gone.

Commander Doc-Tel spent a brief moment looking at the commlink, finally pocketing it and tapping the communicator on his desk. “Patch me through to Command, priority one.”

The old Gotal sighed heavily, still unsure if he had just received the best or worst news of his life. The Jedi are alive, and their enemies know this.

"Here they come...," said the sensor officer into her comm unit. She was charged with updating the Grand Moff on the moves that the Reaver fleet was making. Currently it was approaching the planet at an alarming rate.

Whether or not to assault the planet directly or not was not yet derived from the Reaver's intentions. However, Park Kraken did not intend for them to live long enough to determine that even for themselves, assuming that they had yet to do so.

"Striker Squadron, commence your attack runs. May the force be with you, and Gloria Imperium," came the order from Park over the military frequency.

"Copy Home Base. Striker's are beginning our attack run," came the crisp reply before the transmission was broken.

Out on the screens, a half dozen Feram's kicked in their strong sublight engines, approaching the Reaver fleet at reckeless speed. Each towing eight long cylindrical objects, the tugs kept going until they were about ten kilometers from the fore of the Reaver vessels. Dis-engaging their charges, the Ferams peformed a full saggery blossom manuever, but stopped it shy of heading back torwards the planet. Rather, each vessel immediatly leapt into hyperspace, a short jump away that carried them well out of the danger zone.

The forty eight objects that they had dispensed with, although containing no sublight engines of their own, had enough forward momentum by the Feram's charge that they kept going, aided by manuevering thrusters that helped to dispense them amongst the Reaver fleet, some of which diverted to hungrily try and suck up the small metallic food like objects.

Once five seconds from optimal spread point was achieved, a warning beacon was flashed from the objects to Imperial High Command, and from there to the rest of the planetery populace and Imperial commanders and ships in space, a simple yet very important mission concerning the future of their eyesight...

"Avert your eyes from the Reaver fleet for thirty seconds."

There would be those who chose to ignore the warnings and would suffer some kind of vision loss, but most heeded the warnings.

Five...Four...Three...Two...One...

Each of the warhead targeting computers onboard the Triton class warhead delivery missiles calculated that it had reached optimal firing proximity. Thusly, each of the forty eight warhead targeting computers activated the one hundred Megaton yield of Baradium encased within the missiles....

Forty eight brilliant pinpricks of light expanded rapidly into one giant supernova seemingly like sized explosion that instantly turned the nightime of Vladet into a shining daytime. Although the explosion was massive in size, because of the explosive effects of Baradium, the same explosive used in the making of thermal detonators, nothing outside of the explosive radius was touched, nor did a shockwave of any kind affect the planet and the ships orbiting it.

Once the light cleared away, a scant dozen Reaver vessels had survived, still moving torwards the planet. These were the latest Imperial vessels to have been comitted to the dockyards, ones whose sensors had detected the incoming threat and activated the full shields on their own accord. Even with the full shields activated, the generators had been overloaded and destroyed, and hardly anything intact save for the bowels of the ships where the drive engines remained was still functional.

The star destroyers, barely recognizable as the Venerator, a few Eternals from the Yaga Minor reserve dockyards, and some Reigns were all blackened by fire and perforated with holes emitting gouts of flame and smoke as air escaped from the ships.

A small grin tugging at the corner of his mouth, Park turned to the comm unit.

"Have the battlestations finish off the remaining destroyers when they close the range. Use planetery based weaponry if needed to assure their complete destruction," ordered Kraken as he turned his attention back to other, more immediate duties.

'If Reaver fleets were able to penetrate this far, there is no telling where they will show up next. Apart from Yaga Minor and Coruscant, Vladet is one of the most heavily fortified planets in the galaxy. There really is no safer place for the refugees to settle until these threats have been dealt with...,'

"Order the refugee ships in orbit to being descending to the surface of the planet. Put a temporary halt on manufacturing, and divert the assembly droids to manufacturing pre-frabicated homes for the refugees. Also send messages to Rachuk and other planets to increase their food shipments to Vladet," ordered Kraken.

'I need an updated from Brand on what is happening at Coruscant. If the planet is too heavily damaged to function as capital of the Empire, then a new capital will need to be established to ensure smooth command and control of the Empire...' thought Kraken as a light bulb slowly turned on inside of his head....

Coruscant



ISD Predator



"FIRE, FIRE, FIRE!" spittle escaped an excited Captain Gutt as he nervously paced the auxilary control room. An encounter with a large piece of wreckage had smashed the bridge of his warship, killing everyone on it.


Every single mutineer, in Ortho Gutt's mind.


Seeing that the stormtroopers who escorted him off the bridge also died (ironically, it was their deaths that aided in Ortho remaining among the living), Ortho knew that nobody else on the ship knew what had taken place on the bridge.

No one knew how his Second in Command had tried to seize control of the Predator from his able master and put everyone on board at risk.



No one knew how providence had saved Captain Gutt so he could do what he did best.


And no one knew how he had already rewritten history in his own mind.


While the Regent had moved more ships into the area, Ortho's triumphant return to that defending sector was short-lived. Having patched their communications, the Imperator was able to keep abreast of the ever shifting combat.

The enemy was no longer achieving footholds but had secured landing areas on the surface.

How these aliens were able to achieve that despite several sections of the planetary shield remaining intact was unknown to Captain Gutt but he did not have to know. He only had to shoot the enemy dead.

The area was being abandoned as all remaining defending assets were assigned to keep a corridor open for civilian evacuees. Upon hearing that, Ortho fought the traffic control for a position on the far outside sector of the corridor so he could order an immediate jump when things went south.


He'd be damned if he got caught in "Nomansland".



*


When the enemy first appeared, the two fleets Azrael Zell had collected to Imperial Center were scattered in preparation to make the jump to liberate Yaga Minor. They were out of position to defend the capital and the enemy had taken advantage of that fact to get off some opening salvos at the planet before the massive planetary generators could cycle up enough of a charge to active the shields. As a result, the Imperial High Command began to divide the world's area of space in and around Coruscant's orbit, it's mass shadow and beyond into sectors and take advantage of the heavier armour of their fleet's larger warships by relinquishing the area outside the mass shadow to the enemy and trying to form an interlocking system of overlapping fire within.


For the fleets, who were out of position to begin with, to turn around and take those positions despite the damage inflicted on their formations and smaller battlegroups was a testament to their training and precision.


It was a strategy, however, that presumed an incredible loss of material and assets to the enemy should they try to push through the heavies, cross the enfilading fire and still retain enough strength of firepower and will to penetrate the planetary shields and defenses.


But more of the enemy kept arriving and they did not act in a manner predicted by the Imperial defenders and analysts. No, when it became clear that the Empire was expecting to trade blow for blow in it's sector defense, the enemy decided to use first their technology to arrive behind defending positions thus driving the defenders closer to their planet and into the mass shadow (still clinging to their defense strategy) and, secondly, that one aspect of Coruscant's mass shadow against it's defenders, namely, the inability of their hyperdrives to engage. The massive warships of the Empire were not able to impliment formation maneuvers requiring anything resembling speed (such as microjumps) having to rely on their sublights.


The alien frontline armada was comprised of multiple swarms of attack craft whose use of their wormhole system of acceleration cut through the mass shadow as easy as a vibroblade through butter. In effect, the Empire could only use their sublights while the enemy could microjump in and out and inbetween areas of the mass shadow. Each and every massive capital warship of the Empire that remained in Coruscant orbit became it's own wagon train surrounding by circling attackers (except the attackers shot a form of plasma and other exotic weaponry and would vanish before return fire could be plotted and executed. In effect, these warships became simply static defenders.

The alien wormholes allowed their attacking swarms to appear in Coruscant airspace, behind defending starship positions and inbetween defending locations. The fighting was intense, furious and uncommonly destructive for these two great clashing armada's represented the best each side had to offer. It was amazing how the nomenclature in the anatomy of a battlefield could change or be revised as quickly as the flow of the battle itself shifted. Coruscant's mass shadow became known as "Nomansland".


If the aliens had been pressed for time requiring a quick, the Imperial defenders would have probably broken them.


But as that day turned into a second day and the first week progressed, the numbers of alien attackers kept growing. Always growing and as they waited for their swarms to open up an area (as destruction or massive damage claimed an Imperial defender) and move in, the Imperials realized that this was something different.


This was no kidnapping attack as the Confederacy of Independent Systems carried out under Count Dooku decades earlier.


No. This was bloodier.


This was a siege.


By the end of the first week, with the orbiting shipyards, docks and repair facilities critically damaged or destroyed, the Imperial fleet was in poor shape. Round the clock fighting had taken it's toll on man and machine.

The enemy was gaining footholds in the lower levels and the entire Imperial strategy had changed from preventing the aliens from landing, which they were unable to do, to simply preventing the bulk of the alien armada to take up unopposed residence in Coruscant orbit. A losing proposition but it was the only proposition available since outside of Nomansland, gravitic anolomies hindered any kind of real penetration into the alien fleet. At least, until word came down to use what remaining resources were at their disposal and create an evacuation corridor for the planet's population.


It was the ultimate signal of defeat. The entire defending fleets of Coruscant had been pounded down into a few partially working warships, utilities across the planet-city inoperable, damaged and unable to be repaired or just plain destroyed, shields failing or having failed and the citizenship now starving..even then, Imperial stubborness seemed hell-bent on refusing to acknowledge that Coruscant was indeed on it's last gasp before death.


The beginning of the second week saw the abandonment of the sector defense strategy in favor of the creation and reinforcing of the Corridor. The enemy seemed content to allow the populace of the besieged planet to flee through Nomansland and through the temporary corridor allowing them to make the jump to hyperspace and out of the system.

Those planetary defenses still operating tried valiantly to take up the slack as there was no longer any real fleet presence in certain areas around the planet save the Corridor but the defenses were not designed to be a fleet unto itself. But try they did.


And it was into this situation that two things happened:


1. The arrival of reinforcements in the form of:

A. Two small battlegroups from Kach Thorton's Task Force sent to hold the Corridor open since it was clear that the defending units had had their day.

B. An Executor Class starship under the command of Admiral Brand that sat smack center of the Corridor.

C. The remaining Task Force under Kach Thorton, save a reserve, that, after two short jumps outside the system, positioned themselves at the mouth of the Corridor, poised to enter going the opposite direction of the evacuees.

The time it took for Admiral Brand, with Kach Thorton's Task Force in tow, to move down the Corridor and traverse Nomansland would be the time the civilians had to wait before being allowed through.



2. A coup led by Director Trachta under the direction of Kach Thorton.


While the latter did not necessarily affect the battle save for several planetary batteries trying to open fire on one of their own, an ISD Administrator under the command of a Captain Piet, the flagship of a fleet commanded by an Admiral Gilford (who, at the moment, was at Kuat) and presided over by Kach Thorton, it did slow down the lines of communication since the Regent was now isolated from his command with no one experienced enough to take his place.


The reinforcements, however, were a different matter. The two battlegroup units had taken over the organization of the evacuees and changed their escape routes to, presumably, allow for the entrance of more ships. This invariably slowed the evacuation.

The Executor, however, while it too slowed the evacuation even more, did serve to calm down those people who had given themselves over panic. At least they knew someone would be covering their backs as they fled. The arrival of Kach Thorton's Task Force halted the evacuation altogether since his fleet effectively blocked the Corridor from the other end.


Why was this?


The Corridor ranged from Coruscant's orbit, through it's mass shadow (Nomansland) to many kilometers out and, while it might look like a small sliver of space on a holomap, it had to encompass enough of an area to accomodate the massive shipping of a fleeing population of billions.

Even if only ten percent of the population made it out, it would still mean a massive amount of shipping including vessels of various sizes and of varying abilities. Not every ship was in tip-top shape and every ship's specifications and abilities were greatly exceeded. People may sit in their homes thinking about evacuation under fire as this relatively small and orderly circumstance but those people would be idiots. In the panic of flight, some ships collided with each other on takeoff, some being too damaged as they ran into Imperial or alien wreckage in Nomansland calling for rescue ships that would never come, others pushed their sublights beyond redline to clear Nomansland only to have their engine systems burn out completely before they could engage their hyperdrive and escape...


And through it all, what was left of the Coruscant defending fleet tried to keep the space free of attackers and clear enough to ensure that those ships who did make the jump to lightspeed were able to get clear of the system. While the alien attackers could have easily removed this Corridor if they implemented a concerted effort, they seemed content to allow their smaller fighter craft to simply harass their enemies and keep what little remaining effective units the Imperials had busy.


The Corridor was too big of an area to cover by the remnants of a fleet that was too battered to defend themselves much less others. The two battlegroups that Kach Thorton sent were appreciated as it allowed for thousands of people to make good their escape.


The escaping ships ran like mad through Nomansland and, once the mass shadow was cleared, automatically engaged their hyperdrive presuming that their exit vector was clear of ships (friend or foe) and any obstruction that would either at best pull them from hyperspace making them an obstacle in the Corridor for ships behind them or, at worst, destroy them when they ran into such things at lightspeed.


If ships broke down in the middle of the Corridor, the Imperial Military had to destroy them to clear the obstruction or thousands of evacuees coming behind them would run into the ship causing a massive explosion whose ripple effect would then close the Corridor.

The remaining ships would be relegated to sublights thus effectively trapping
them within Coruscant's system.


That is why new ships entering halted the evacuation. Fleeing vessels that made it to the edge of the mass shadow could no longer activate their hyperdrive for fear of running into these oncoming vessels and so had to wait. Kach Thorton's inserting battlegroups did not delay things too much for they were stationed along the vectors of other defending vessels. The Executor's arrival further complicated things for now fleeing ships could only use certain escape vectors to make the jump to lightspeed to ensure they did not strike the Executor while escaping. The battlegroups that Thorton made responsible for the coordination the escape had their work cut out for them because Admiral Brand's large warship, stationed in the middle of the Corridor, was in a very dangerous position. If even a small personal craft had not bothered to check (or could not check due to down comm system) and jumped to lightspeed on a vector straight for Admiral Brand's flagship, the resulting collision would have destroyed both ships.


When Kach Thorton arrived with his fleet at the far end of the corridor, at the extreme limits of what the Imperial Naval units there could defend, the Corridor became closed to fleeing evacuees. If Thorton's forces needed to microjump to the end of Nomansland to push towards Coruscant orbit, then those ships defending the Corridor, namely his two battlegroups, would need to have the Corridor cleared of any and all shipping lest the incoming reinforcements strike a ship, the resulting release of energy being large enough to destroy more than half of the incoming fleet and render the other half badly damaged. A situation no one wanted.




*


The ISD Predator had taken up a station out on the far end of the Corridor and Ortho Gutt envied those evacuees who were able to jump out of the system to relative safety. He had been trying to get his ship relieved from it's guard duty because if the severe damage sustained during the fighting but the Imperial High Command was using everything it had at it's disposal.


In fact, Admiral Jaeder of the IHC was telling him this when the Admiral's hologram suddenly faded and then went offline.


"What happened!?" Ortho shouted at his Comm Officer but she was already trying to reestablish a link.


"Did our array go down?" The patchwork was spotty in some areas but if he had to order more people outside to fix it, so be it!


"Transmission ended at the source, Captain! I cannot find any link to the Imperial High Command!"


"Sir!" interrupted a Scanning Officer. "Enemy fighter craft coming from behind!"


"FIRE, FIRE, FIRE!" spittle escaped an excited Captain Gutt as he nervously paced the auxilary control room and the groaning sounds of the charging and discharging weapons capacitors could be heard as those batteries still working ejected their death-dealing light at the enemy.


A fighter was hit has it tried to shoot some strange energy at the Predator and the firing arc veered away from them.


"Sir, picking up a transmission!"


"Let's hear it!"


Captain Gutt was expecting to hear Admiral Jaeder again but, instead, heard the voice of Kach Thorton.



“Soldiers, the Empire expects every citizen to do his duty here today. Gloria
Imperium!”



"Oh my God," murmured the Scanning Officer and Ortho was of no mind to disagree.


In fact, he wanted to puke.

Bridge of the SDD Dominion

Admiral Brand had a hard time not trying to flinch. His shielding station tech reported bow shields rising back to 100%, after they had been knocked down to 98% operating capacity following a collision with a Corellian model light freighter, the ship having been madly manuevering side to side in between refugee ships, trying to flee the holocaust that Coruscant was rapidly becoming.

The wreckage of the freighter had just floated past the bridge as the titantic vessel moved closer to the planet, a few flash frozen bodies bouncing off of the bridge shields. One body in particular, what appeared to have been a middle aged human woman, her eyes and mouth wide open in suprise, perhaps preparing to emit a scream, being the cause of his wanting to flinch.

There was a seemingly endless stream of vessels coming through Coruscant, trying to plough through the corridor devoid of hyperspace singularities, and even more ships either taking their chances with the singularities, or being even panicky enough to attempt jumping straight into the worm holes that the invading fleets had come through, hoping against hope that they'll have a better chance of eluding the alien invaders on the other side rather than on this side of the wormholes.

Brand was tempted to order nukes with proximity fuses fired through the wormholes, but they would never make it through this thick stream of refugee vessels. Even if they did, the missiles would run out of fuel due to the singularities long before they reached the wormholes. Plus, no telling how long of a journey they would need to make once getting to the wormholes. For all he knew, the invading alien fleets had been traveling through the disturbances for years until just now emerging to attack the capital of the Empire.

And yet he doubted that it was quite that long. A few months perhaps, but no the aliens actions and targets of choice, at a time when Imperial strength was reduced, led Brand to suspect that the alien invaders would travel through the wormholes in days, in order to plan and execute an assault such as this.

"Admiral, hostile alien vessels approaching, from starboard," sang out the sensors officer.

"Number of enemy ships?" asked Brand calmly, starting to turn to the gunnery officer.

"Estimated strength, two ships, corvette sized. Perhaps twelve to twenty starfighter class ships as well," replied the sensors officer.

"Very well. Concentrate fifty each of our Heavy Turbolaser Batteries on the two corvette sized vessels. Order Alpha Wing to eliminate the enemy starfighters. It may be overkill, but I don't want to take chances this early in the game," ordered Brand to the gunnery officer.

The starboard side of the Dominion lit up as over a hundred turbolaser emplacements discharged deadly energy beams off into the distance. The green lances of energy started to dissappear into the unknown, when they collided with a smallish but growing object some distance away. A brilliant flash lit up the nearness of space. When the light cleared, the two enemy ships had been reduced to flaming hulks of wreckage.

"The two corvettes have been destroyed Admiral. Four of the enemy starfighters were caught and destroyed by the turbolaser volley as well. Optimal time to starfighter engagement is two minutes," reported the sensors officer.

Brand turned to the starboard viewports to see the thirty six TIE-2 fighters of Alpha Wing receding into the distance, their red ion engine glows rapidly becoming non-visible. The civilian traffic had fortunatley shied away to the opposite side of the corridor during the engagement, allowing the Dominion to continue forwards at a good clip without the entire corridor becoming a bottleneck of snared ships.

"Prepare a shuttle depature. I want ten soldiers to man the Nymph and take the Lamb with a message back to Vladet. Instructions are to deliver the message, "Code Babylon" to the governer personally," ordered Brand to his hangar boss and chief of security. The two men nodded, the former turning to his station, the latter leaving the bridge.

"How are Thorton's ships holding up?" inquired Brand.

"Staying in formation behind us Admiral," replied the sensors officer.

"Very good, inform me of any other enemies," ordered Brand.

On the feeling of a hunch, he went over to stand by the communications station. He had a feeling that sooner or later someone important would want to talk to him.

Hyperspace, enroute from Echtabahn to Roche

"Well..." said Panacka to the assembled fleet commanders. "That was... interesting."

Regrad gave a curt nod. The nuances and minutia of the Echtabahn visit would be worth going over in detail at a later time, in case some small but dangerous point had slipped through unnoticed, but for the moment the big goals where what mattered. He sought briefly for the right words before settling on "An exchange of advisors and diplomats is a good sign."

The SS representative sitting in on the holo-meeting gave a somewhat cold nod. They had the Imperial's most begrudging agreement, perhaps amounting to little more than a cease-fire until the greater threat passed, but it was something. Perhaps far more than some allies had thought they would get out of the fanatical and sometimes single-minded Imperials.

"We cannot linger on this topic for long, I fear - first to Roche, where under the supervision of our Imperial associate we will see to the cooperative protection of one of our most far-flung outposts on the Reaver 'border', then to Donovia and finally to Tirahnn."

"A pity Tirahnn was booted from the League," Yolem remarked. "We could have used their support."

Ruuvan snorted. "Doubtful. The League is pretty toothless, and it's a coreward institution anyways. The Reavers would have to get as far as the core itself before they'd start to care, and by then it would be too late."

Regrad glanced over to see if the Imperial representative would offer rebuff, but he kept a surprisingly diplomatic silence. He doubted if the Imperials had much love for the League right now either, but their fragile alliance was at the moment best not tested with strong feelings and rhetoric. "Moving on..."

A holographic map of their sector appeared before Regrad and his council. "Tirahnn might not be in the League, but nearby Obroa-Skai is. They were only lucky the Reavers halted their advance, and being so close to the Reavers may influence the Rotunda to come out in favour of our defensive compact if we were to take our case to them."

"So you believe we should go to their rotunda?" asked Yolem. "Make our case for the compact?"

Regrad looked around the circle, getting nods of understanding from several key players. "No.

"This little alliance of ours is one of necessity and convenience for the people of the sector, but for the galaxy at large it would become a target for politics and advantage. If we make our case publically to the rotunda, we'll only raise the profile of our operations amongst the galaxy at large and in doing so open ourselves up to... outside influences."

The Imperial representative inclined his head a fraction of a degree. They were not stupid men, and they understood how the politics of nations could stand in the way of what needed to be done on the battlefield. For this, Regrad was relieved.

"We will circumvent Obroa-skai's League membership, but make an ally of its government. Their council of elders have a reputation for cunning, and will see the difference between regional and galactic goals."

"And if they do not?" spoke the Imperial representative - the first words they had uttered so far.

Regrad held their gaze for a few moments. "Then, if need be we will find a way to make them see." This seemed to satisfy the SS representative, who leaned back.

"After Obroa-Skai we'll ride down the Hydian way and make a few more local stops before Varn - the cooperative has a strong presence there and it'll make a good point to touch base with them. I expect by then we'll have all the major players on side and can integrate the smaller independant worlds along the borders with our forces via smaller, protective garrison fleets."

"That seems to leave a large part of the Reaver containment zone uncovered," Panacka remarked, drawing a finger along the rimward border from Radarn to Anzat. "What about those worlds?"

"The Reavers have been pushing out mostly corewards," Regrad explained. I've sent a smaller fleet out of Tammar to complete a rimward patrol around the former Tion Hegemony. Just a few smaller worlds like Ossus, I don't expect them to turn up anything our mid-level strategic organizers won't be able to integrate without our direct involvement. By the time we reach Varn, we should be able to call on an alliance that spans the entire border of Reaver space, and a few worlds on the inside if Ferguson's teams manage to break in and make contact with a few Imperial Borderland worlds the Reavers are sieging."

As the compact's leaders discussed and debated the merits of their plans, the smaller, secondary Coalition fleet continued its rimward patrol of Reaver Space. Approaching the planet Ossus, they didn't expect anything more than a backwater local navy and government to deal with...

“Gotcha, you spidery freak! Ha, ha! Twenty-one – beat that, Soshie!”

As he entered the cockpit of the ]I]Spinning Dagger[/I], Runo Ganetta winced at the massive bellowing coming from the hatch for the port side turret. He heard the heavy drone of the quad laser cannons in the gunwell, followed by another whoop of delight from within.

Another discharge sounded from the gunwell on the starboard side, followed by a sharp voice calling out, “Try thirty, you kriffing slug!”

“Thirty! How the kark do you have thirty, you damned sand-devil! Twenty credits says I can top that in –”

“Will you two keep it down in there!” Runo finally snapped at his fellow mercenaries.

He heard a slight scraping sound from his left, followed by Eleddol’s head emerging from the port gunwell. The muscle-encrusted Krish bore a huge grin on his chiseled face that made his ears practically disappear in his shaggy red hair.

“Just having a little fun, Runo,” he said to the Legionnaire’s second-in-command.

“Have to keep busy!” Soshiomn called from the other side, though he did not emerge from the gunwell. Runo understood why when he heard the cannons firing again, followed by a pleased shout of, “Thirty-one!”

“Cheating bastard!” Eleddol swore at the Nikto, and then disappeared back to his own cannon with nothing more than a wave to his commander.

At a loss, Runo headed further into the cockpit. He had to admit that Soshiomn was right; the Legionnaires needed a way to keep busy while they sat on the docking platform that they had claimed weeks earlier, unable to leave until Solir and their other missing companions returned. Mercenaries measured their downtime in days at most, never weeks, and having a bunch of armed fighters twitching in boredom and impatience aboard their ship was not something that Runo wanted to experience.

He settled down into the pilot’s chair, arranging his long black coat so that it draped comfortably over his legs. The Legionnaires that had remained behind aboard the Spinning Dagger had been taking shifts monitoring the communications and sensors in the cockpit; the transport’s pilot, Kuwa’aven, had just gone back to the lounge a few minutes to join her comrades in a game of sabacc, meaning that it was Runo’s turn to stand watch.

Just as it had been for three days, there was nothing on the board but the distant signals of approaching enemies.

Runo had no idea who these attackers were that had besieged Coruscant. Part of him was curious what unknown entity could have caught the New Order so completely by surprise. The Yuuzhan Vong had been the last threat from beyond the stars, but the universe was pretty big, so there was always the possibility of more baddies out there waiting to spring. These … creatures, though, had a strangeness about them that bothered Runo on a level he could not understand. He could see them through the forward viewport, sneaking forward onto the docking platform, only to be destroyed by the ]I]Dagger[/I]’s gunners before they got too close. He knew as he watched them that these arachnoids were testing them, trying to gauge the Legionnaires’ defenses in preparation for a real attack. When that attacks would come was anyone’s guess, but he knew that his comrades would be ready.

For now, there was nothing he could do but keep busy like everyone else, instead of worrying about when they were going to get off this doomed planet … and if he would have to leave one of his closest friends behind in the process.

Vanquishing the thought, he opened a channel to the Legionnaires’ other vessel: the Nek’s Tooth, resting just behind the Dagger on the outer edge of the platform. Cartan, the Firespray’s usual pilot, had been over there for the past two days, preferring to keep a watchful eye on his “baby” as long as those creatures were about. Runo made sure to keep in touch with him so that the lone Legionnaire was not too isolated.

“How do things look over there, Cartan?”

The responses came back a minute later; the Ryn pilot must have been away from the console. “Nothing out of the ordinary,” he quipped. “There hasn’t been any traffic around us for a while now. Not sure what that means.”

“Probably just means more people are getting off-planet,” Runo said, though he knew that was a lie. The Dagger boasted a powerful array of sensors, the kind that could rival some military ships, which allowed them to keep an eye on what was happening just beyond Coruscant’s atmosphere. Runo had been watching for some time now, and he could see that the evacuation corridor that the Imperials had managed to open up was collapsing. If anyone with a working ship didn’t get out soon, they would lose their chance completely.

Good thing we don’t need chance. One way or another, we’ll get out of here.

He was about to sweep the area with the communications suite, just to see if they had missed anything, when the long-range sensors started wailing and flashing. Runo sprang to find out what was wrong, seeing the computer’s warning of an incoming collision. Confused, the Naboo mercenary looked out the forward viewport, trying to figure out what was happening.

His face paled as he saw the brilliant streaks of fire blossoming from the sky and falling toward Imperial Center like rains straight out of Hell. He knew instantly that the attackers had finally broken through the planetary shield and were proceeding to bombard the surface.

The first blasts struck the city, and Runo saw skyscrapers crumble just before the jarring impact rocked the Dagger on its landing gear. More concussions followed, overloading the inertial dampeners with the sheer ferocity of the attack. As he tried to keep from being flung to the floor, Runo bled as much extra power to the shields as possible, even though he knew that one of those blasts would incinerate his ship regardless.

In the distance, between buildings, he thought he saw flames lance into the Imperial High Command Tower, sending it crumbling to the ground.

The rumbling abated, at least in their area, and Runo could finally let out a breath. He checked the sensors to see the bombardment continuing elsewhere, but thankfully their little platform had been spared. He also noticed that those arachnoids had disappeared for the moment.

He was about to try to signal Solir, as useless an effort as that had been the past three days, when he noticed more blips appearing on the sensors. Confused and then worried, he looked out the viewport once again, to see the large entrance at the other end of the platform grinding open under the force of multiple hands. Even before the door had parted a full meter, people were trying to squeeze through, screaming in terror and looking for safety.

Safety in the form of two armed starships, fully fueled and waiting to leave Coruscant.

This might be a problem, Runo mused with a grimace, and then he flew out of his chair and started calling people to the landing ramp.



Lee informed them that they were less than a kilometer from their destination when the whine of incoming energy blasts reached their ears. The small company of Legionnaires raised their weapons, looking around for an attack from any direction, with Kersh safely in the middle of their group. Only when it was obvious that there were no attackers nearby did Brel Nayigon think to look up.

She stared at the incoming bombardment in awe, watching with sudden helplessness as the waves of energy streaked toward them from the attackers in orbit. Beyond the planetary shield, there was nothing to protect the spires of Coruscant from that kind of assault. She was rarely one to give up hope, having learned from a hard life as a Chev slave that losing hope meant giving up part of your freedom, which was a terrible price to pay to anyone. Even with that, Brel’s immediate thought was that the buildings around them, and anyone inside, were doomed.

“Everyone, find cover!” Solir shouted nearby, struggling to be heard over the increasing sound of the bombardment.

The Legionnaires scattered, vainly looking for somewhere that was safe from the assault. They were in a small plaza, filled with shops and open-air cafes that had already begun to fall apart from disuse. A thin walkway nearby connected the plaza to a tall apartment complex nearby, too far away to offer them any shelter. The alcoves and alleyways were the only potential cover for them, and Brel knew that none of it would be any help. Nevertheless, she scurried toward the nearest shop on her left, dragging Sammel Kersh behind her until they were both crouched beneath a large stone statue of Emperor Hyfe.

When the first energy blasts struck nearby, Brel felt as though the entire plaza was going to fall out beneath her feet. Kersh cried out in terror, but she held the councilor in place even as chunks of stone began to rain down from the shop behind them, littering the ground like rainfall. Fire blossomed across the plaza as one of the cafes disintegrated, and the sounds of splitting cables and exploding permacrete could be heard everywhere.

Suddenly she could hear Solir shouting, miraculously audible over those terrifying sounds, screaming for them to make a run for the walkway. The Legionnaires’ commander was already in motion, gesturing for his soldiers to follow, shouting for them to hurry, that reaching the ship was their only chance. Brel pulled Kersh to his feet and started to follow, spotting Renneth, Pwar and Lee doing the same from various corners of the plaza. In seconds they were all running for the walkway like a pack of nerfs fleeing a ferocious predator.

Brel was four steps behind Solir when she reached the walkway, still dragging Kersh behind her. Just as she stepped onto its raised, metallic surface, a thunderous boom shook everything around her like the clap of a mighty god. The Chev mercenary fell to her hands and knees. On the ground, she was surprised to feel vibrations shaking the walkway – vibrations that she somehow knew the walkway would not survive. She didn’t understand how she knew, but only that when she looked up, she was already expecting the walkway to crumble.

It was because of this that when the metal began to splinter four steps ahead, she had already started screaming Solir’s name.

The Legionnares’ commander spun back toward his comrades as walkway began to fracture into a hundred pieces, beginning mere feet between him and Brel. The cracks were already spreading toward her feet. Her training took over immediately, forcing her back to her feet, pushing Sammel Kersh, their responsibility, back toward the plaza. At the same time, she watched as Solir leapt from the other side of the chasm that was forming in the walkway, desperately reaching for purchase on the disintegrating metal.

He missed.

As soon as Kersh had stumbled back onto the stone floor of the plaza, in the arms of the other Legionnaires, Brel broke into a sprint toward the remains of the end of the walkway. She dropped to her knees at the edge, looking down for some sign of Solir.

She found him immediately, and her heart leapt in her chest. Her trusted commander had landed less than three meters below on a twisted support strut jutting out from the side of their building. He was just now rising to his feet, moving carefully to avoid slipping from his narrow purchase.

“Solir, are you all right?” she called down to him.

“Lucky is the best word to describe it, I believe,” Solir replied. He looked up at her, and she saw that some debris had sliced open the skin above his left temple. “I could use a hand up, though.”

Brel shifted so that she was lying on her belly, simultaneously untying a line of cord from her belt. The distance was too far for her to grab Solir on her own, so she needed something to bridge the gap. She twined the cord around her arm four times before she lowered it down to Solir. He grabbed it with his both his hands and nodded that he was ready.

Another rumble shook the building, this time originating with a bombardment somewhere behind them. The force of the tremor traveled quickly down the building directly to where Solir was standing. He cried out in surprise as the strut he was standing on fell free beneath him. The breath rushed out of Brel’s lungs as the entire weight of the older man’s body pulled on her shoulders, pinning her to the ground.

Clenching her fists around the cord, she managed to hold it tight, protesting the sudden pain shooting through her body. Brel gritted her teeth and focused on the sole thought of keeping her commander from falling into the bottomless chasm beneath them. Solir Marakis was more than just a commander to her. He was a trusted leader and confidante, the man who had rescued her from a life of servitude to a circus manager from Vinsoth and granted her a place in one of the most talented mercenary companies in the galaxy. She considered him to be one of her few friends. There was no way in Hell that she was going to let him die now, not when they had already been through so much. Not when the center of the universe was crumbling around them and they needed to escape – all of them, together. She refused to let go. All she had to do was hang in there until someone helped her pull Solir up, at which point they could go back to running for their lives back to the Dagger.

She was wondering why none of her comrades had come to help when two gauntleted hangs closed around the cord below her hands, taking some of Solir’s weight from her shoulders. She turned, expecting Renneth or Pwar, and was surprised to see the helmeted face of an Imperial stormtrooper.

“I’ll help you pull him up!” the stormtrooper said through the filter on his helmet. “On the count of three … One … two … three!”

In unison, Brel and the stormtrooper pulled up on the cord, yanking Solir roughly toward them. As soon as he was close enough, the Legionnaires’ commander grasped the shattered edge of the walkway. They helped him back up by grabbing his shoulders and then hastily moved back onto the plaza in case the rest of the walkway decided to collapse.

Ever the calm soldier, Solir simply got to his feet, brushed the dirt from his clothes, and nodded to Brel in silent thanks. Then they both turned to their mysterious savior, standing a few feet away. Brel noticed for the first time that six additional stormtroopers had joined them on the plaza, weapons raised and eyes watchful on the surrounding buildings. Behind them, she could see four more soldiers seated or lying on the ground, each one wounded and/or bleeding. Even the ones who were still standing looked pretty battered; one was even missing his helmet.

“Thank you for your help,” Solir said to the man who had saved him. The markings on his armor identified him as a sergeant, probably making him the commander of this unit.

“Glad to be of assistance,” the stormtrooper replied in a gruff baritone. “We had just entered the plaza when we saw you fall. I was the first to get to you.”

Solir nodded again as he took a moment to survey the sergeant’s squad. “You look like you’ve seen some considerable action, Sergeant. How is Imperial Center faring?”

“The aliens have landed troops all over the planet. They were here even before their ships reached orbit. I don’t know how they did it.” The resignation was clear in the stormtrooper’s voice. “We were part of a larger unit, trying to hold back the attackers a few kilometers from here. That obviously got shot to hell. We’ve been trying to meet up with the rest of our forces for two days. What’s your story?”

To his credit, Solir did not hesitate before he spoke; somehow the man never feared revealing his true identity, unless their mission was specifically undercover. “My name is Solir Marakis, and these are my Legionnaires. We’re a mercenary company from the Outer Rim. Currently, we are under the employ of Councillor Kersh there, whom we have been escorting since before the assault began.”

Brel got the sense that the stormtrooper was eyeing Solir closely behind his helmet, as though he was trying to glean something from what the other man had just said. It was like the sudden flash of insight she had gotten before the walkway collapsed; she couldn’t quite explain it.

“Escorting, you say?” the stormtrooper finally said. “You must have a ship, then?”

This time Solir did pause before saying carefully, “Our company does own and operate a small transport.”

The sergeant seemed to smile behind his armor. “Then we’ve found a way for you to assist us in turn, then!” he said. “We’ve been trying to find a transport that can help us rejoin our forces and get our wounded to a proper medical facility. Your ship can get us exactly where we need to be. How far away is it?”

“With all due respect, Sergeant, our services have already been hired by Councillor Kersh. Until we have completed our employ with him –”

“Maybe I didn’t make myself clear, Mister Marakis,” the stormtrooper interrupted, a steely edge forming in his voice. “I wasn’t planning on hiring you. This is a time of war, which gives me the authority to commandeer any transport in the name of the Empire. You and your people are going to help us rejoin our forces or you will be considered enemies of the state. Now, where is your starship?”

For several moments, Solir said nothing. Brel watched him carefully, trying to gauge what was going through his mind. She could see the tension, the conflicting decisions fighting in his mind. On the one hand, their responsibility was to get Kersh to safety and receive payment for their services. On the other, there was a very real possibility that these stormtroopers would incarcerate them or simply shoot them if they refused. The Imperials also had wounded that could die if they did not receive proper treatment, which Brel suspected was also weighing on Solir’s conscience. She looked at the other mercenaries and saw that they were ready for whatever their commander ordered, either compliance or not. Nearby, Councillor Kersh was watching the exchange with trepidation, though he did not seem inclined to assert his authority as the Legionnaires’ over what the Imperials wanted.

Finally, Solir bowed his head, and Brel knew that he had come to a decision. It was also not the choice that he preferred.

“Our ship is less than a kilometer from here,” he said. “We can take you there now and help you rejoin your forces. At that time, we must be allowed to leave in order to take our charge off-planet.”

“Agreed,” the sergeant said with a nod. “The Empire thanks you for your services. We should get moving.”

The other stormtroopers began collecting their wounded as Solir ordered Lee to find them another route to the docking platform. The commander did not look happy as he and the droid started down a side street, leading the Legionnaires and their new “friends” to the safety of their ship. As she fell into step at the rear of the group, Brel noticed the sergeant and the stormtrooper who was missing his helmet collecting several pieces of gear into their packs. Knowing that they would catch up, and partially hoping that they did not, she continued out of the plaza, hoping that they would not have to do anything else for the Empire today.



As they carefully loaded the last of their gear, Sergeant Raythe said to the other stormtrooper, “You’re sure about what you heard?”

“Absolutely,” Gedge, Raythe’s acting second-in-command, said with a sharp nod. “The message came directly from one of the Guardsmen. They evacuated the Regent just before the High Command was hit.”

“Then Aeacus is on his way with Zell right now,” Raythe mused. “Send a transmission and let him know that we’re on our way.”

Gedge fell into step beside the sergeant as they both started walking out of the plaza. “Are you sure this is a good idea, Bandus? I know how much you hate Zell, but to do this now… And what if Aeacus catches on to what you’re planning?”

“The timing is perfect,” Raythe grumbled. “And don’t worry about Aeacus. We’ve got the answer to his interference in your pack. I swear to you, Gedge, that by this time tomorrow I’ll have crushed Azrael Zell’s throat in my hands…”