The High Cardinal, head bowed, deigned not to share his look of incredulity with the alien ambassador. Quickly dispensing with any outward indication of his emotional state, the Cardinal wiped clear his features. With a placid, good natured look he, brows raised, gazed upon the genuflect alien as though the answer were obvious.

He wanted to say, Peace. He wanted to ask, Understanding.

A flood of words, each more insulting then the last in their assumption, borne of the obvious observation filled his head.

But instead he said only, “Peace.”




Shipwright, in his sequestered bunker, turned a skeptical eye towards the holographic image of Admiral Mar-Veil which, in grainy blue-gray, had recently materialized.

“Peace?!”

The Vice Commodore was shocked beyond further comment.

Oddly it was the Admiral who, a man of war and tactics, was the voice of reason.

“We do not know who they are,” observed the holographic Mar-Veil. “We know nothing about these beings. Why are they here? What motivated this attack? Where do they come from? Who are they? When, if at all, do they plan to retake the attack?”

“Can we not get the answers through interrogation?” He added, “After we have secured our own sovereignty?”

The Admiral had to bite his tongue. He had his own comments and questions, but none of those would be of any help here. He wanted to know why the Vice Commodore had no authorized his forces to move up to extreme alert when the first documents regarding a potential attack had been brought to his attention. He wanted to know why the Vice Commodore and the civilian government, under the stewardship of Colonial Mister Ramos, had stalled so long in their talks with the Commonwealth, the Coalition and the Confederation. He wanted to snap at the younger man, tell him that all of this could have been averted or at least prepared for.

He wanted to tell the Vice Commodore that he, Shipwright, was responsible.

His reply, “We do not know for certain that we even have the ability to drive them off. As I said... we know nothing,” did not fully satisfy his aggravation at the situation the colonials now found themselves facing.

“Oyzamndas, whether he knows it or not, is buying us some much needed time.”

Shipwright grudgingly agreed.

An idea struck him.

“Admiral,” he addressed the hologram. “Can you bring our forces in to some semblance of order, can you ready for a counterattack?”

“Of course,” replied the navy man.

“Can you do it without alerting the enemy?”

The Admiral grinned, ear to ear. “Whatever it takes.”

Mar-Veil was glad for the chance to get back on the offensive. Since the initial attack the colonies had been on defense, but they were not ready for a sustained siege. A quick, brutal counterattack could turn the tide.

“Good,” Shipwright scratched his chin. “Do it but wait for my word before we make any obvious moves. Understood?”

“Perfectly,” answered Mar-Veil as the holographic representation of the man dissolved.

Shipwright turned his attention to the goings-on at David Colony.

Maybe, he though, just maybe we can turn this to our advantage.




Elsewhere, nearing David Colony, Captain d'Foose, on the bridge of the destroyer Colonial, was not so sure.

“I've never seen anything like it,” she observed aloud, to herself.

She had been going over the tactical reports, data scans, and images (still and motion) that had been compiled since the attack. Particular attention had been paid to the enemy ships.

“Their weapons, propulsion, shields and even hull composition are... unique.”

Her executive officer, nodded.

Unaware she had been merely thinking aloud, he asked, “How do we fight an enemy we know so little about?”

The Captain, shaken from her contemplation, regarded her subordinate.

“We don't,” she supplied steadily. “We buy as much time as we can to learn as much as we can.”

“And then?” The XO asked.

“We either attack,” d'Foose shrugged. “Or we don't.”



Admiral Mar-Veil studied the mood of those around him.

The emotional state of those in the combat-information-center aboard the carrier, Provincial, was decidedly uncertain.

They, these alien invaders, had attacked the Colonies. It was the first time these people, since coming together under the Gestalt banner, had faced such an attack. And while many, if not most, of those souls had come from war-torn regions and were well versed in the nature of invasion and of refugee this was something all together different. Their dream of sovereignty called out for blood, for revenge. However, their more moderate idealism, one which espoused the values of isolationism, was considerably more temperate.

Their casualties were low, the collateral damage from the initial attack was limited.

Aboard the now destroyed Commonwealth there had been but a mere skeleton crew; a mix of technicians and tradesmen putting the final touches on the grand warship. Gestalt I and David Colony had both been hardened, been made ready for a potential Imperial invasion that had never materialized and so their casualties were also remarkably low.

Just the same, while the Cardinal played his game, he and the rest of the Colonial Defense Forces would make ready to destroy these invaders at the first sign of trouble.

Somewhere out there, the Krakana was shadowing the alien mothership while her sister ships had been strategically deployed throughout the colonies. Able to move about utterly undetected, he saw the MC-170's as key to any counterattack. His ship, in position above Gestalt I, had all her star-fighters standing ready at their ships as did the other carriers positioned throughout the colonies. Each carrier was screened by at least a duo of Colonial Mk II destroyers while d'Foose, aboard the flagship of that line, had been dispatched on a mission of her own.

A truth he would never admit, no matter how this all resolved itself, was that he had never been content to sit on his laurels as the civilian government had done. The reports describing a potential attack, which Ramos and her cadre had dismissed along with Shipwright, had raised the hair on the back of his neck. Despite his numerous pleas to step-up their military readiness, all falling on deaf ears, he had been ordered to do nothing. Outwardly, he had complied with that command. However, as the highest ranking member of the CDF, it had been his privilege to maintain the current readiness level of their combined forces to which end, under the guise of 'training and combat drills' he had begun moving his assets to key positions within the system.

And then the aliens had attacked.

So, no more then half way through his preparations, he had not been able to fully realize his goal of securing the colonies against the orders of the government. What he had accomplished thus far was, however; enough to work with.

Smirking, he studied his displays.

To himself he said, “You bloody aliens better hope the prayer for peace is answered because if it's not...”

Coruscant


That was the problem with an city-wide planet. Any ship above firing down did not have to have an especially excellent aim, nor did they have to be great gunners. Every shot that passed the crumbling shield system hit something.


Towers were hit. Had fallen. Were ablaze.

Transit systems were down as the upper level debris fell to lower levels. Energy systems, Water systems, Waste systems ...utilities all were interrupted, broken or destroyed.


In fact, the only area of the planet that held any sort of security were the midlevels, between topside and the lower levels where the Teka'tara had entered and were making their way up. Being cushioned, the midlevel systems were still operating with something resembling reliability. But the midlevel had it's own problems.


They were reliant on sensors and comms more than those below fighting enemies they could see and those above caught in the devestation and acting accordingly. Those in midlevel had never had a fight taken to them in thousands of years and so, it was easy to think the news of the attacks were the problem of other sectors.

Sure, the power might fluctuate. Sure the news broadcasts might go down but they always came back up.


Even when the mandatory planetary evactuation signal started, many did not move. It was a signal they were taught in school but one that no one had actually heard. There were those who had immigrated to Coruscant who were not aware of what the signal meant, having discarded the bureaucratic papers into the waste recycle bin when they first entered their new home. Those who read the fine print realized something was up but did they dare go up to where the battle was raging in earnest?


It did not help that the pirate signal, Federal Oversight eXaminer, a favorite pasttime to some midlevel occupants, broadcasted that the evacuation signal was a government plot to steal people's homes and reduce the planetary population. The commentator would often give heartfelt and tearful remarks about how society was descending into a godlessness and how if only the Emperor (later Regent) would only become members of the Citadel and accept god back into their lives would Imperial society truly grow to be perfect. The governmental agencies employed by the Emperor and the High Command really did not work all that hard to stop the broadcast for as long as the commentator did not go into rebellious talk, all was well. It also helped that the Federal Oversight eXaminer was a unpublished subsidiary of INS.


In any event, it truly was a testament to how much the midlevel residents depended on the networks for their 'informed decisions' as most were born, grew up, married and died in midlevel rarely traveling outside their sector community. What did they care about events outside their sphere?


Which is what made the attack on Corsucant by these aliens even more tragic for the inhabitants. For when the utilities and other services that, one by one, started shutting down the people, no better than blind worms, began to worry. When those services began to remain shut down the worry turned to panic. Panic gave way to paranoia as people from various communities began to argue about their 'expert' observations and opinions. So, when the lights went out, paranoia gave way to violence.


Now, they wanted to get out.


Now, they wanted to evacuate.


This was not happening in every midlevel sector around the planet but it was spreading as the focus began to change from maintaining to escaping.


Critical support stations were being abandoned as people valued their lives over their positions until, in the end, only the clones were effecting any type of planetary resistance in the batteries or on the ground.


The problem was, the clones had no leadership which minimized their effectiveness.


The coup of Director Trachta had succeeded in severing the Regent's commands shifting the High Command to the fore of maintaining the defense and while they had always managed their various areas, it was always to the grand picture of the Regent. With him out of the picture, individual Admirals and Generals pushed the priority of their own areas of responsibility to the fore which further splintered their dwindling resources.


Still, even ineffectual leadership was still leadership.


Until the destruction of the Imperial High Command Tower.


All bets were then off.


With no centralized command, the defending fleet had no one to coordinate their efforts with and with the destruction of the shield generator for the Imperial Sector, Trachta was wisely moving his people out of the Palace.


The Corridor began to fall apart as ships too damaged to maintain position and defend began to retreat out of the system leaving the civilian's disposition and fates to those task force elements assigned by Kach Thorton to handle them.


The organism of the Empire, both politically and militarily, had been smashed and the survival of this collective entity gave way to a greater impetus: That of simply surival.


The destruction of Empire gave way to the rise of the individual as accounts of valiant efforts, inspired defenses and individual leadership arose detailing grand failures and certain successes. The defense of Sector 7562, Loriel Sector, was one such tale where they held off an alien push until their community was able to evacuate to the closest topside port. Bagger's Corner, a popular pub on level 10,569, Blue Sector Seven, saw crippled veterans of wars past hold the enemy out of their sector for five days until the power failed allowing the Teka'Tara to advance and wipe them all out to the man. Their efforts, however, allowed most of the population of Blue Sector Seven to escape to evacuation transports.


Not all individual conflicts were recorded and not all were on a grand scale but most ended up making a difference between life and death for someone. Some tragic stands delayed the enemy allowing others to have a greater chances to succeed in their efforts to escape. Those communities that lay in the path of the enemy advance upward who were also hell-bent on staying blunted these advances costing the attacking aliens time and numbers. Such communities were eventually overrun but all played a part in the drama unfolding.


The account of a mercentary group dubbed, "The Legion", was but a drop in the bucket of activity surrounding the Siege of Coruscant and yet, it was not without importance to those lives affected...




The Legion



The flight into the Imperial District was perilous as fires raged, fueled by unchecked plasma volleys that were being rained down from above. There was no real concerted effort to destroy the shieldless area but weaponry did rain down and it was to certain effect, making traveling through the area along the upper levels (at any rate) hazardous.


"There!" shouted someone causing all eyes, both covered and windbattered, to gaze at the burning of the fallen High Command Tower.

"Sith-spit!" someone exclaimed as the heat from the fires rose the closer the shuttle got to the ground.


It was then that Sergeant Raythe's hand went to his helmet. "I am getting a transmission from a Royal Guardsman..."


He paused trying to determine a location when he pointed. Solir nodded at the Legionnaire pilot and the craft banked away from where they were going to land and moved away from the former IHC. There were charred bodies littered all over the area flavoring the air with a 'cooked meat' scent. Someone lost their stomach at the smell but that did not distract Raythe from spotting four figures dressed in the garb of Royal Guardsmen.


"Take us down!" the Seargent yelled and as the transport hovered slightly before lowering itself, the guardsmen started to run towards it's descent.


"Seargent Raythe," the trooper said by way of introduction. The helmeted leader of the Guardsmen nodded in response.


"Aeacus," was the simple response.


"What about the Regent?" the Seargent demanded as the Guardsman signaled the pilot to lift off.


The Guardsman pointed to the fallen IHC Tower and stated, with a flat voice, "Dead".


Before the Seargent could response, Aeacus continued, "I believe Regent Zell sent out a courier vessel regarding the succession.."


"Moff Thorton has the ship," Seargent Raythe spit out absently wondering what to do now.


"Indeed," Aeacus replied. "Are you with the Military Command?"


"We are but ISB had assumed command of all local ground units. They mentioned that Regent Zell sent a ship to Thorton and that we should look to him for information regarding who is in command."


"Have you heard anything?" the leader of the Guardsmen asked.


Raythe's voice indicated a frown. "No. But there is still a battle going on."


"We should retreat out of the system since the evacuation order has been given.." Aeacus started but the Seargent shook his head.


"ISB has moved operations out of the palace but has not given the order for us to withdraw from Coruscant."


"The window is closing.." the Guardsman warned but the Seargent shook his head.


"Since Moff Thorton is now in overall command of this area, we will not leave until he gives the order."


"Kach Thorton is in space fighting. He does not have the time to worry about Coruscant's disposition. In fact, he may be purchasing our escape window at high cost to himself. If we fail to take advantage of it, then his losses will have been in vain.."


"NO!" shouted Raythe. "This vessel has been seized for service and it will fight, if it has too, until we receive word from Moff Thorton or Director Tracta."


"Seargent Raythe," one of troopers called, shadowing the Legionnaire's comm officer. "We are picking up a faint signal from the Director. He wants to know if we have located the Regent?"


Aeacus' dark visor turned slightly to Solir and nodded as if knowing what was going through the mercenary's head and stating that he would back the man up.

Getalt Colonies


Captain Vaala's photoreceptors whirled at the Cardinal recording his body temperature and heartrate. It would not be able to let her know if the Cardinal was lying for they had no experience with the people of this system. Just because people of different star systems looked alike did not mean their internal make-up was the same. This was a lesson burned into the Remoran conscience five hundred years prior.


If there was to be a prayer for peace, though, she could not enter into it armed. That would create a paradox of unpardonable error.



*

She had been going over the tactical reports, data scans, and images (still and motion) that had been compiled since the attack. Particular attention had been paid to the enemy ships.

There was, in fact, three ships in the Gestalt System.


The Laerne, 1000 meters long and cylindrical. It's shuttle, 150 meters long. And a one-peson landing craft of 20 meters.


Each vessel was simple in design and effected a large, bulky, block-style construction.

“Their weapons, propulsion, shields and even hull composition are... unique.”

This was the understatement of the century. The only experience the Colonials had had with this enemy was the attack on their 'battlestar' and that had been carried out also by bulky, blocky fighter craft of exceptional size and armour.


That was their first clue to linking the fighter attack with the sudden appearance of this 1000 meter craft and the string of destroyed sentry bases along the hyperlane.


The difficulty was trying to determine the prepulsion as the fighter craft that attacked the Gestaltica (renamed Commonwealth) soon disappeared as quickly as they arrived. The Colonial Command had been browbeating it's tracking and scanning officers and crews laying their inability to not only see the attack coming but to locate where they went as blame for the battlestar's destruction when a savvy scanning officer recovered and reviewed the recorded images of the destruction.


It was popular belief that the ships had engaged a new form of cloak since, if it had jumped to lightspeed, their outpost scanners would have gotten something!. The cloak theory allowed for the enemy's sudden appearance and disappearance. The finding of footage showing one such craft disappearing was hailed as proof of the cloak until this scanning officer recognized and pointed out the lack of effect on the wreckage. Even a cloaked ship would have displaced the wreckage of the battlestar (and there was quite a bit of wreckage) even if the ship had changed vectors. This officer was instrumental in focusing attention on the effects of the wreckage and found that there was some displacement... at the moment of disappearance.


The scanning and tracking officers were exonerated and rewarded leaving Colonial Scientists to postulate about a new way to travel the distance of lightyears, namely, a space fold system.


The emergence of the cylindrical ship Laerne in the Gestalt system did nothing to disprove this theory.


Scientists were torn between a desire to learn more and a desire to blow the enemy from their space. Unique!


The Cylinder seemed solid on all sides and so floated at relative station-keeping giving the Colonials no indication as to their sublight capability until dispatching the 150 meter 'shuttle'. The energy output did not seem all that different than those recognized by the Colony. Sublights were sublights it seemed.


However, whatever these vessels seemed to use as a powerplant, there was no energy barrier was detected. No shields. Even when the small landing craft entered the atmosphere, the armour of the craft took the brunt and so had the appearance of being scorched. But not necessarily weakened.


Scans were coming up empty as to the makeup of the armour shell of both the alien representative and their ships but their scans could not penetrate the hull.


Therefore, since there were no protrusions from the hull, it seemed there were no weapons to speak of. But there were designs along the hull that seemed to outline ports. Whether for the viewing pleasure of the crew or weapon ports, the Colonials did not know.


While these 'port' locations came in all different sizes and seemed to cover the craft, the Colonials postulated that even if weapons did come out of those ports, they would have a very limited shooting angle leaving "blind spots" for smaller craft. Also, the number of ports seemed to indicate not alot of guns and that was assuming all the ports were weapons.


While they conceded there was nothing fighter weapons could do against that armour and they were not sure what capital energy weapons could do, the fact that they outgunned the intruder gave the Colonials a boost of confidence.


So, while the weapons would surely be unique, they were also not so scarey. And while the armour was unique leaving energy weapons largely ineffective, a memorandum went out across the Colonial Defense Fleet recommending the use of projectile weapons, missiles, torpedos and other such weapons.

Somewhere out there..

Outside the Gestalt System

It stood to reason that if other enemy ships were not in the system, they were nearby. If their system was being probed or if they wanted to know what was going on with the one ship envoy, they would have to be.


The Colonials had guessed correctly.


Outside their system were nine vessels, six of them looking exactly like the 1000 meter craft that entered their system and three of them being 5000 meters in length. The 'port' etchings were much larger and the Colonial ships shadowing them found the armour (while still very thick) was less than what was found on the smaller vessels. Behind the larger 'ports', scans revealed hollow areas causing analysts to believe them to be carriers of some sort.



*


Captain Vaala slowly rose to her feet and as her armoured suit, 2 meters tall, straightened, the Cardinal heard the buzzing of gears being spun. The back of the suit from head to toe seemed to unlock down the middle and peel back exposing the Remoran to the environment of the David Colony.


Captain Vaala was thin, slender and had a gray skin-tone as compared with typical human tones. Her hair was straight, white and not quite to her shoulder. Her eyes were larger than a typical human's though not by much. Her frail features contrasted with the bulky armour suit that she had worn. She was five inches four feet and wore a skin-tight green suit covered all but her head.

As she stepped backwards out of the suit, she put on some sort of dark eye coverings as the light in the David Colony was much too bright.


She knelt slowly and as she did so, she asked a question. Her voice had a type of song quality to it and was soft. It was also unintelligible and so, her suit's external speakers rendered a translation to the Cardinal.


"Now, that I have prepared myself for a prayer of peace, to what should I pray?"

Somewhere on Onyx


The room was dark, all overhead lighting either off or never installed, so it was impossible to assess its true dimensions. Banks of computer terminals sat at the center, some glowing, some merely beeping intermittently to remind those cared to listen that were still alive, if sleeping. Along every wall were tall mainframe pylons, each one glowing a light purple and flicking so much with the transfer and movement of data that their ambience seemed solid.


I cannot complain. Ensign Juriess stroked the foremost of his chins, taking in his surroundings as he did the same time, every day. Sitting as his desk, his only companions once the door closed by the off-going officer were a pair of server droids, each low-intelligence units that tended to the hardware and chittered back and forth in sharp, annoying bursts of unintelligible information. Juriess was glad they did not communicate often. Sighing to himself, he went on with his daily routine.


I am not choked in grease, serving some gun on some warship and waiting for the hull to give and suffocate in space. I am not marching on some rock, getting shot at every other second and eating dirt in between. I am no commander's stooge. I am my own man...and alive. Such was his pattern as he justified his satisfaction at being assigned to monitor the HoloNet receiving station on Onyx. Those four letters made the dulldrum more bearable. It could be worse.


A light atop the receptor unit began to flash, then burned a steady red indicating the arrival of the week's 'Net broadcasts. News, Intelligent reports, letters, all those items for which people refused to wait on regular subspace communiques. Juriess hefted his portly form onto its stubby legs; moving a few meters, he plopped himself down and began perusing the entries. He saw one as it decoded that terrified him...


Conqueror-class Star Destroyer Intimidator
Orbit of Onyx


" Is it true?"


Colonel Ramagduren, a sharp-featured man every piece of two meters, stood calmly before the elongated table where the Grand Admiral typically had his lunch in private. Four other sets of unbelieving eyes pierced his form, searching to answers and hoping against hope the senior Intelligence officer assigned to the Onyx Sector fleet was lying or mistaken. All five seated humanoids woudl have accepted either answer, including His Excellency, the Baron of Raenoria.


" I am afraid it is, Sirs." The red-skinned officer spoke emotionlessly as he always did when reporting. A casual observed might have thought him cold and caulous, not being human and not sharing in the horror his words brought to the soul. Those present knew it was merely his professionalism. " Stretching real-time communications via HoloNet, I have verified from several news agencies and another, less public source. Coruscant is under siege. It is unlikely the planet will hold."


Grand Admiral Telan Desaria took a sip of his dark coloured liquorre, savoring the smoky flavor of aged brandy as only an aristocrat could. Onyx was on the fringe of the Emperor's dominion, far separated from the main stream. While most units of the Imperial armed services were enjoying the splendid comfort of a year's peace, the forces around Onyx had been fighting for their lives. While typical fleets and their officers had only to decide which restaurant to frequent during occupation duties, Onyxian commanders were deciding the actions of ships and squadrons and colonies, oft far above their paygrade. Life had been difficult and millions had died to ward off the Crusade. Victory was elusive and even now the stalemate offered no comfort, only respite.


All that seemed inconsequential in a galaxy built on perspectives. Onyx was home to a hundred million people, defended once by a force of a thousand escorting craft and fifty ships of the line. Two hundred craft and twenty battleships had been stricken from the rolls in a deadly game of cat and targ that had brought glory to the Empire on a banner soaked in blood. But a single engagement above Coruscant - only one planet! - would involve a thousand craft, thousands of fighters, and a hundred ships of the line of every class and calibre. A world of fifty billions!


Desaria steepled his hands, bringing his eyes to the other officers who had joined him for a fine Raltiiran mignon. Obergruppenfuhrer Holtsdorff, representative of the SS to the Grand Admiral's staff, stared into space. Coruscant was his home.


" Gentlemen, our homes are aflame. I see only one option."


Hours later...


" I have every confidence in you, Alfons."


The words came naturally, though they were superfluous. Were it any other way, Vice Admiral Messhir would not be entrusted with command. Both men knew it, looking at each other via comm-panel. They had worked well together fighting Crusader raiders and invaders, the self-made former Fleet trooper and the gifted nobleman.


" I will hold things together until your return, Excellency. I do have a request."


Desaria nodded into the viewscreen, ignoring the flurry of activity on the bridge around him.


" Don't let them take Mechis. My wife..." Messhir trailed off. He needn't have said anything. Both men knew little of Cree'Ar or Reavers but it did not take a vivid imagination to fear for one's family.


" I will do all that a man might do. Fare well."


With the comm channels cleared, the order to make way was given. A flash of pseudomotion later, the Intimidator and a host of Guard ships vanished from Onyx' upper orbit.

There was a long pause, a sigh of resignation, and finally: “We surrender. You best keep your word, Arkanus.”





Before

From the bridge of the Assault Frigate Cavalier, Marshal Kerrick Arkanus directed the largest single engagement of the Rimward Defense Initiative to date. Directly before him sat several massive asteroids, reduced to little more than a faint smudge by the vast distances of open space. But already the darkness in front of that improvised interdictor was alight with the red and green of combat.

Kerrick smirked at the poetic justice of this moment; using the hallmark maneuver of these pirates against them: dropping an asteroid in their path and waiting for its weak gravity to trick their hyperdrive failsafes into forcing a reversion.

And now the bastards will pay! A string of asteroids at their backs, a red giant blocking a full hemisphere, a sizable moon nearby . . . and the might of the Rimward Defense Initiative between them and open space. This moment was the closest to contentment that Kerrick had been in a long time.

But then the double-blast of an Aggressor-class Star Destroyer's main gun enveloped one of the Kaloth-class battlecruisers belonging to the Cooperative fleet element, and Kerrick's mood darkened. There's still a fight to be had here.

The RDI was ideologically opposed to the sort of powerful capital ships fielded in excess by the galactic superpowers. The fact that more and more outlaw organizations were gaining access to such assets made that ideology a difficult thing to work with . . . or around.

There was perhaps one vessel under Kerrick's marginal command with the defensive and offensive capabilities to match blows with the enemy Star Destroyer; fortunately, it was the same vessel at his disposal with sufficiently sophisticated tactical systems to perform a precision microjump.

The MC80a Star Cruiser Naritus appeared in a flash of light and a streak of blue-gray matter, allowing the gravity of the asteroid interdictor to draw it out of hyperspace at precisely the right location, just on the edge of the string of space rocks. Here and there along its hull were the obvious discolorations of hasty repairs, and a few mismatched weapons blisters supplemented what remained of her standard armament. Even so, she was a battered and war-worn behemoth, long overdue for critical but unavailable maintenance; the power spikes accompanying the initial power-up of her shields betrayed the weakened state of her defenses.

But her weapons sounded with a terrifying ferocity, and her shields held against the initial onslaught of return fire. Alone and engaging the enemy at point-blank range, Naritus succeeded in her purpose, drawing the ire of these outlaws and forcing the enemy Star Destroyer to begin the laborious process of turning about and bringing its main cannon to bear.

Kerrick and his lighter ships had been saved―at least for the moment―but they would have to move quickly to save the lone Star Cruiser.

That is to say: someone would have to move quickly. On the far side of the largest asteroid cruised a formation of starships led by an icon of the Rimward Defense Initiative: the Corellian Gunship Void Cutter, one-time flagship of the Cavrilhu Pirates. Hidden from their enemy by the asteroid's sensor shadow, they pressed their accelerators to the limit, breaking from a collision course with the asteroid-turned-shield at the last possible moment, flying through the small artificial field and moving with the weak gravitational pull of its largest member. The ships emerged on a vector that would bring them along the Aggressor's main axis, the perfect target for their close-range missile barrage. The full force of that barrage collapsed its shields, already weakened by the drain from firing and recharging its main cannon.

As Kerrick and the main RDI formation laid into the lighter pirate ships, the comm lines filled with a broadcast from the Mon Calamari Cruiser. Kerrick nodded to his communications officer and watched the small holographic image that appeared before him, knowing the Mon Calamari captain that stared back at him had been waiting years for this moment.

“This is Captain Genkal of the New Republic Star Cruiser Naritus, to the crews and personnel of the Kavil's Corsair's pirate organization: I require your unconditional surrender. By authority of the New Republic High Command and in accordance with the New Republic Anti-Piracy Act of 17 ABY, failure to surrender will result in your complete destruction.” The voice paused for a moment, resuming with an edge of venom: “You will answer for your crimes.”

As if to accent the Mon Calamari's claim, one of the pirates' medium ships exploded under the sustained fire from Kerrick's formation, hurling debris into the tightly packed pirate formation. In desperation, A few of the pirate vessels made hyperspace jumps in the direction of the nearby moon, pulled back to realspace immediately but hoping to move beyond its gravity well at sublight speeds and make the jump into open space.

Of course, a secondary RDI task force was waiting in low orbit around the moon to pounce on any ships that might try that method of escape, so Kerrick kept his attention fixed on how best to convince Kavil's Corsairs of the futility of their struggle. After another painful few moments of combat Kerrick looked to the casualties list, deciding it held enough enemy names to give his offer some weight.

“Open a channel; I need to talk to Kavil and his Corsairs.”





before

“We'll have to trap him,” The Mon Calamari stated firmly. “There must be no opportunity for escape. If a single vessel makes it out, then the entire engagement will have been for naught. We have to neutralize Kavil without his handler finding out until it's too late.”

Kerrick nodded in agreement, looking at the holographic display of the place that would bear witness to the end of Kavil's Corsairs. “And this asteroid idea of yours; it'll work?”

“It's worked against me more than once,” The Mon Cal answered bitterly. He had been fighting and running from these pirates for years now, since the collapse of the New Republic left him stranded, fighting against an enemy he soon discovered was much too powerful for a lone Star Cruiser to handle.

Kerrick watched the pinpoints representing the asteroids appear on the display, saw space turn shades of gray as it showed the gravitational forces at work. “So we shut down their long-range comms, trap them in a gravity corral, and pound them until they give up or there's nothing left to run away.”

Captain Genkal tapped a few buttons on the projector's console, bringing up a rough approximation of the enemy's fleet strength. Another few commands magnified one vessel for careful consideration. “Our main concern will be their Star Destroyer; in its current state, even Naritus would have a hard time taking a hit from its main gun. Your ships will be powerless against it.”

“So that leaves us with a blitz,” Kerrick surmised.

“Naturally, we'll take full advantage of their surprise and disorganization at the onset of combat. But what we need to deal with Kavil and his Star Destroyer is a trap within a trap. They'll revert, you'll hit them hard, and while they're getting organized we'll hit them with something else.” He paused, not liking what he was about to suggest. “I'll bring Naritus out of hyperspace right on top of them, use the asteroid barrier to drop her right at their flank.”

“And then what?”

Genkal sighed, the stress of so many years of relentless fighting and running showing through. “You've got to hit them with something big; you've got to come to my rescue.”

Something connected in Kerrick's mind, and a feral smile crept onto his face. “I know just the man for the job.”





Before

Zothip knew immediately that this was not hell. Hell wouldn't be this cruel. Through the green tint of bacta, the face of Kerrick Arkanus stared back at him.

“You suffered multiple fractures to your spine,” Kerrick began coldly; Zothip arched his back to assure everything was in working order. “Spiral fracturing of your right arm,” He twisted his wrist and rotated his shoulder, his arm fine. “Severe head trauma,” Zothip looked up, noticing the top of the tank was open and a bright white light was hanging just over his head. Seem to be in working order. Kerric's lips compressed into a thin line, “And irreparable disfigurement of your male―”

The dull thud of Zothip pounding against the bacta tank's transparasteel wall stopped Kerrick short. He smiled at the helpless pirate, shaking his head slightly. “Okay, so I made that last part up; you're going to be fine. Now get the hell out of that thing.”

Zothip drifted slowly to the top of the tank, pulling his breath mask off as his face broke the surface. A technician in white medical garb offered an assisting hand from the attached walkway, which Zothip sneered away, dragging himself up and onto the metal grating with some degree of effort. He met Kerrick at the base of the adjoining stairs, where the other man handed him a robe. “Do you consider me a modest man, Arkanus?” Zothip asked, sliding a thumb into the side of the diaper-like garment that was his only clothing.

“I just don't want you dripping all over my ship,” Kerrick replied, noting the puddle of bacta gathering around Zothip's feet.

Zothip snatched away the robe and pulled it on quickly, still looking a little unsteady. “I don't think you let me cook long enough,” He mused.

Kerrick began walking away, the pair of guards that immediately appeared making it clear that Zothip was to follow. “I've got a job for you.”

“It couldn't wait?” He asked, stumbling slightly as he transitioned from the medical floor to the corridor outside. “Just one more day and . . . wait, how long was I out?”

“We've made a new friend,” Kerrick said, ignoring Zothip's question. “Captain Genkal was kind enough to share some information about the ships that destroyed Task Force Reliant. It would seem we owe our recent misfortune―”

“Leonia Tavira,” Zothip cut him off.

Kerrick wheeled on him, obviously shocked. “How did you . . .”

Zothip shrugged. “Every self-respecting outlaw knows of the moff-turned pirate Leonia Tavira and her Invids.” Kerrick didn't look convinced. Zothip sighed and continued: "It just so happens I had a little run in with her, back in the day."

“What can you tell me about her?” Kerrick asked, resuming the walk through the medical ship.

Zothip shrugged again. “Heartless bitch; good lay.” Breathing deeply, he picked up his pace a little to keep from running into the guard at his heels, certain now that he should have spent longer in the bacta tank. “Alright, alright. She's got a lot of little pets, doesn't do much of the work herself. Kavil's Corsairs, they're the ones who hit Reliant, and judging by how big they've become, I'd wager any one of the Invids' pet groups could have given my Cavrilhu a run for its money. If you value your life, you'll turn around and leave the whole region right now.”

Kerrick rounded a corner, ignoring Zothip's warning. “Captain Genkal says she's pretty much got the whole sector cowed. There's not much in the way of galactic governments out in these parts; we're in the backwaters of the Rim, where people like you and Tavira thrive.”

“Hey, hey!” He shouted, and noticed the guard at his side tense in anticipation. “Tavira's in a class of her own. I got no problem admitting I've pulled some pretty dirty tricks in the name of profit, but Tavira's a monster, you hear me? A monster. The stories I've heard . . .”

Kerrick came to an abrupt stop and Zothip followed suit, but not because of the guards; he was genuinely confused. “What are you trying to pull here, Kerrick?”

In front of them was an open airlock, and beyond it the cramped access port of a Corellian Gunship. Zothip recognized the telltale signs everywhere, from chipped paint to scrapes on the deck plating; this was his ship. This was Void Cutter.

Kerrick pulled his blaster from its holster, though holding it from the top. He offered it to the nearest guard, who grabbed it by the handle, finger resting beside the trigger. “This is how it works, Captain Zothip,” Kerrick said warningly. “One misstep and he shoots you in the head. Understood?” Kerrick turned to the guard: “This is captain Zothip of the gunship Void Cutter; he will conduct his vessel and crew according to the dictates of the Rimward Defense Initiative and the orders of his commander. If he performs any action at variance with that code of conduct, you are to shoot him in the head with this gun.” Kerrick released his grip, allowing the guard to holster the weapon.

“Yessir.” The guard affirmed.

Kerrick turned back to Zothip. “I need good captains, especially now. The rules haven't changed. You are a prisoner of the Rimward Defense Initiative; your reward for cooperation is open space, decent meals, and a view of the stars. But you saved some lives, and that's worth something."

“I won't be your pet, Arkanus.”

Kerrick smiled. “All I need is for you to be a captain. I've got a strategy meeting with Captain Genkal in half an hour; he wants to help us take down Kavil, and I'm inclined to let him. Looks like you'll be having your revenge in no time . . . captain.” Kerrick turned and walked away, shouting “In the head!” and tapping a finger to his temple as he went.

La Galissonière-class Star Destroyer L’Ocean, near Sentry Station Waypoint Two

“…the operation is nearly complete we only have one more ship left. Only two more minutes for the Mercant…sir.”

Just under the murmurs of the bridge crew, Allard muttered incomprehensively; his aged eyes gazing across the light gray hull of his flagship. A variety of cargo ships jetted away from the L’Ocean, letting the refueling tethers retract into their armored compartments. Basile’s cocoa eyes gazed at the sole ship stilled hugging his ship’s hull, one of the evacuation Styria galleons. Several minutes passed before it too slipped away from the star destroyer’s hull to join the evacuation convoy.

“New contacts reverting from hyperspace!” shouted an ensign, igniting a tangled web of conversation across the bridge.

Allard’s eyes darted from the convoy slightly to the side and to the fringes of the tumultuous asteroid belt. A trio of widely spaced grey figures sliced into realspace, putting the CMF evacuation fleet between itself and the asteroid belt. It’s a classic hammer and anvil style attack groaned Basile.

“Ships identified, KDF vessels Pegasus, Seraph, and Steadfast…all ships currently bearing the provisional markings of the CEF…they’re…they’re opening fire.”

“Scramble the alert fighters-”

“Send all ships to action-”

Thick streams of emerald bolts erupted from the sides of the new arrivals, coloring the void in bursts of viridian hue. Bolts surged just over the evacuating Confederate forces, just missing the straggling Mercant, and smashed into the fringes of the asteroid belt; pulverizing rocks into a sea of dust. Turbolaser fire slackened, and dulled flashes of light erupted throughout the nearly created sea. Basile’s mouth dropped.

“New contacts…but I can’t ID them…the dust is fowling up our sensors to no end-”

“The Revanche,” stuttered the line captain.

A large mammalian-shaped shade surged towards the front of the rapidly expanding cloud of dust. It broke free, revealing itself to indeed be the Confederate flagship, leading a massive host of vessels. A new murmur rapidly arose among bridge’s communication crew.

“Priority message from the Revanche sir.”

“Put it up,” demanded Basile, “he’d better have a good reason for this nonsense of shooting up rocks. This isn’t a shooting gallery yet…”

The bridge’s central holo-projector flared to life with a crackle of static. Basile briskly strode over to it, followed by several of his command staff. A reptilian face bathed in argent light greeted him with a snarl that could be a smile, perhaps. Basile glared at the being.

“Who are you?” challenged the grey-haired man.

“Commander Fas’ken, the CEF’s chief communication’s officer,” replied the kon’me callously, “Admiral Lucerne would like to see you and your squadron’s command crew aboard the Revanche…at your leisure, in his words. In grunt speak, it would be ASAP.”

Basile glumly nodded. “I will be over shortly.”

“Excellent sir. I will inform him that you said so.”

“Thank you commander,” said Basile, watching the holograph dissipate, “wonderful conversation. Flight Control, prepare the Poseidon and two birds to accompany her.”

As some guy acknowledged the request, Basile led the rest of the squadron’s command crew out of the bridge foyers and pass its Genariusian guards. The dozen people ambled through the hallways among the glow of alert lights. Anne touched his arm.

“What was that all about, not even a face to face, sir?”

“Lieutenant, you’ll learn it eventually, but everyone above you is a prick,” said Basile, “and Lucerne is the most arrogant among them all. Nobles. What are we going to do with them. Maybe one day the titles will all fall and mean nothing. In my dreams, and in your lifetime I would bet.”

“He has a title?” questioned Anne.

“Not yet…give him a few more years before his father kicks the bucket until we’re reporting to one Lord Lucerne…”

The command crew passed through several sets of blast doors before finally entering the star destroyer’s hangar bay. It all seemed rather empty with most of the star destroyer’s fighters scrambled, leaving only a half-dozen starfighters and a dozen transports laying scattered across the ship’s deck. The crew walked up to blocky ship larger than the lambda-class shuttle favored throughout most of the Confederate Fleet. Things are different here mumbled Basile I wonder how long it will take for our Lord to see just that. The Line Captain made his way to the ship’s cockpit, closely followed by his protégé. Poseidon’s pilot barely acknowledged his frequent passengers before powering up the squadron commander’s gig.

“L’Ocean, CG-10 Poseidon requests permission to launch. We have the Line Captain and his staff aboard.”

“You’re clear to launch...come back in one piece.”

“Because it’s such a dangerous mission-” chuckled the pilot, abruptly cutting himself off from further comment.

The heavily-armed transport slid out of the star destroyer’s hangar bay, shadowed by a pair of Gestalt-made hyperfighters. Basile and Anne gazed out of the cockpit, carefully inspecting the squadron’s deployed fighter screen of first-production run S12s and a handful of rarely deployed S14s. The two gazed at the ever-increasing armada in their midst. Aside from the federal grays, various markings of over forty memberstate navies. From tiny Ampliquen’s Juaire quartet of drone carriers to Thomork’s squadron of star destroyers. Kashan had even diverted several of its more famed ships from suborbital bombardment against its invaders to take part in the expedition. Taicho had gone as far as to send its newly rebuilt navy clad in their traditional green and white regalia; ostensibly to provide combat experience for their green navy. But Basile couldn’t help but wonder if they were present to revenge themselves on the unknown alien species which had briefly managed to enslave them. Should never have given the councilors the ability to give more than what is required by the resolution. At least they can never take more than the resolution.

“By the maker…have you ever seen so many ships?” questioned Anne.

Basile shook his head, “Not since the times of the Republic. I bet our Admiral had those asteroids slagged to make the passage large enough for the fleet to enter safely without some idiot captain worrying about slamming into a rock or another ship when he reverts.”

“Or she.”

“Or it,” countered Basile, “the maker knows that Uffel’s ships are wholly crewed by droids, along with that new member state…the Sojourn people I think? But they’re rather reclusive…”

The Centaur transport flew over the superstructure of the blazing argent hull of the famed Delaborde-class Star Destroyer Dupuy de Lôme; recently coming back from anti-piracy duty in the Mytaranor sector, as it neared the flagship. A swarm of Piranha drones converged the Poseidon and her escorts; forming a close-knit honor guard around the gunship. Basile cursed, wishing to swat away the drones to better see the starry vista. But the Force was not one to favor him, and the Poseidon entered a magcon bay of the Revanche without any of the L’Ocean’s crew being able to see more than the grey fuselages of the droid starfighters. The Poseidon touched down with a light shudder. Basile slapped the pilot on the back.

“That’s the first ungentle landing I’ve had with you.”

“That wasn’t me,” complained the pilot, “flight control took over when we got within a kilometer of the ship. They tractored us in. Worried about us hitting them.”

Basile glanced out of the gunship’s viewport to see a mass of men and machines neatly lined up. Basile bit his lip. A review…something like that parade review the Imps used to love. Maybe they still do. So you think you’re an Imp now, Lord Lucerne? I don’t really deserve this much honor. Or are you trying to seduce me with power, because I’m not impressed. Grumbling, Basile led the crew down onto the deck of the Revanche.

“A cold greeting too,” said Anne.

“You mean a complete lack of one,” growled the Line captain.

Not even a protocol droid was there to greet them. The rows of Confederate regulars in their camou armor did not seem to notice their arrival. They merely froze at attention like the Paladin II droids behind them; like the finned Multopos aquatic assault troopers next to them; a small complement of Wookiees and Trandoshans next to them. As Basile stared down the row of troops, it seemed that every planet had managed to have some unit present for the occasion, whatever it may. A trio of men seemed to appear out of thin air in front of the L’Ocean’s crew.

“It is very impressive,” said a blonde man, facing General Sahaal, “though a bit of overkill, if you would not mind me saying so.”

“Everyone insisted that some representative force of their’s was present,” sighed the soldier clad in dark blue Graylite armor with etched chartreuse yellow lightning, “and you just know how much I like to pit politics against praticality.”

“Believe me, I know him, and he’s not lying,” said a dark-haired man, “he always left the room when politics came up during the Neo-Grissmath campaign.”

“Gentlemen, Line Captain Basile of the Hyperlane Squadron,” stated Admiral Lucerne, gesturing at the grey-haired man, “Captain, may I introduce you to CSIS Attache Adrian Ravenna, and General Sahaal, current commander of the CEF’s ground forces. I apologize for not being here sooner, but there are items I have been attending to. Some new developments as well, which you might want to catch up on.”

Lucerne handed the man a datapad. As the entourage walked down the lines of army troopers, Basile’s face grew tenser. He handed the datapad to Anne with a knowing look.

“Look at it closely. It’s a sign of the things to come.”



Gestalt System

The Confederation Expeditionary Force’s arrival at the fringes of the gestalt system was probably a record for the sheer number of warships to have ever entered the system. But with its presence not near any of the planets and just outside the system’s oort belt, it was unlikely that they would be spotted by anyone except for the system’s defenders. Lucerne leaned back in the command chair of the Revanche.

“Our condor recon drones confirm the presence of a large alien vessel in orbit over the David Colony. It does not seem to be of similar construction as the vessel destroyed by Station #182. There does not appear to be any fighting going on either,” reported an officer.

“Get me in contact the Colonial commander in charge of the system’s defense,” said Lucerne, glancing to his side, “what do you feel?”

Adrian shook his head, “I don’t know exactly. But I feel more optimistic then what are intelligence is telling us. We might not even need to fire a single round.”

“Nevertheless,” mused Lucerne, “I would be a fool to let our guard down now. All ships will hold formation with raised shields and weapons on standby. Starfighters will stay docked, except for our Deathsaber pickets.”

“Yes sir.”

“Run a passive scan of the area, I would not rather not deal with any surprises or people at the moment.”

Druckenwell

"Helm, bring us to one quarter flank speed. Order all vessels to maintain formation," ordered Admiral Carson to the chief navigator. Around the command ship floated the wreckage that had once constituted a mighty Reaver fleet that had, until the fleet's arrival, posed a significant risk to the world fading behind them.

Having eliminated the enemy fleet in exchange for two percent fleet losses to starfighters, one percent losses to capital ship units, mainly consigned to pickets and small escorts, the Imperial fleet was outbound from the system.

It would in the logistics train that follows the fleet wherever it goes and it's escorts that would see to the reprovising and resupplying of the planet and it's defenders as needed. Kept at the rear of the formation to guard against a possible flanking attack, the Druckenwell Defense Fleet had suffered no losses in the engagement and would remain behind to see to the world's defense against any other possible threats.

Carson's eyes roved from the viewport to the communication officer whom was sitting behind his console monitoring the incoming and outgoing messages and status reports from the various vessels of the fleet and HQ.

"Admiral, message from Vladet, marked CRITIC," reported the officer, catching his gaze.

"Transfer to my console ensign," said Carson, punching in the code to bring the message up and unlock it's contents.

'Vladet under attack by sizeable Reaver Fleet. Currently not requesting reinforcements. Will keep advised.'

Followed by another message;

'Reaver attack repulsed. Enemy fleet destroyed. Minimal losses.'

Carson looked up from the messages.

"Any other high priority messages?" asked Carson.

"Just the archived messages from HQ," replied the ensign.

"Transfer the next oldest one of those to my station," said Carson, again inputing the combination.

'Contruum Borderland Protectorate, under attack by unknown alien fleet. Vastly outnumbered. Requesting reinforcements.'

'Hmmm, that was sent some time ago. If the Reavers are hit and fade, then they may be gone. But any survivors will need our help. We've already recieved scattered reports of pirates and slavers attacking helpless Reaver ravaged planets. We'll head there next.'

"Navigation, set course for Contruum. Orders to the fleet, we'll depart immediatly, be prepared for possible hostiles upon exiting hyperspace," ordered Carson.

In front of the grateful eyes of the Druckenwell Defense Fleet, the Imperial Grand Fleet vanished into the darkness of hyperspace, bound for Contruum.

* * *

Vladet

"So, it appears we have no other choice then?" asked Park, looking around at the various military and political leaders gathered in the briefing room.

"Empire Proper, Yaga Minor are both in utter chaos without proper leadership. Corellia is now under interdiction and apparently in the middle of an insurgency uprising, although we are still waiting for confirmation on that. Borderland is in ruins and unknown status mostly, although our main fleet is out assessing it's status and restoring some sense of order. Onyx is contained, and we've just recieved word that Baron Deseria is on his way with a squadron to the Core, but he won't arrive for another day at least," spoke one of the military advisors concerned with current Galactic status updates, pursing his lips as he thought and recounted the current grim picture.

The group of them, assembled from various squadrons, politicans arriving on refugee ships from Coruscant, high ranking military personnel coming either out of retirement or arriving from other systems and sectors as new battle squadrons were assembled in the local space while helping to protect the resettlement of personnel coming from Coruscant, were in the midst of a debate as to the need for a new leader to take the reigns, temporarily if nothing else, until order can be restored and the Empire adjusted to the current conflicts and going back on the offensive.

"Very well then. With Coruscant still up in the air, I have no choice but to declare Vladet the new provisional capital of the Empire, and I accept the promotion to the new Emperor of the New Order, effective immediatly, until such a time that the current crisis is over, at which time it'll either be declared permanent or amended as needed. We'll inform the media and I'll begin preparing an acceptance speech along with a State of the Empire address to bring our citizens up to current speed," spoke Park with a sudden new conviction in his voice as he accepted his new and unprecedented appointment in post.

Everyone in the room seemed to let out their breath all at once, then a general murmur began as preparations would have to be made for a coronation ceremony, among other things.

"But, I want to make three things immediatly clear, as the new Emperor," interrupted Emperor Kraken, "We need to focus on consolidation, rebuilding, and re-arming. We have a long road ahead of us, one which unfortunatly we'll have to travel down at a much faster speed than we would normally rather cruise at. The time for arguing and bickering amongst ourselves is over. The time for back breaking work to restore the glory of the Empire has now begun. Gloria Imperium," stated Park, raising his fist in the air as salute.

"Gloria Imperium!" shouted everyone in the room, commander or politican alike both raising their fists in response.

The Past
Prior to the Coup on Coruscant

"I've been reading reports that certain governments are becoming more aware of us," Estro Sabrino said as he smoothed the white military style suit he tended to favor.

"Sadly you couldn't hide forever. It was only a matter of time before this happened no matter how careful you were," The black clad figure replied in a metallic voice.

"I'm somewhat surprised you chose to come to us though. Afterall you were in a position of great power and influence. Why do this and not think we wouldn't try to just rip every shred of valuable information out of you?" Sabrino asked with a cold and dangerous smile.

"Because you like to corrupt powerful people."

"True, it seems your profilers did an excellent job without ever knowing who I actually was," Sabrino chuckled as he poured himself a glass of water, not bothering to offer a drink to his guest.

"More so because I was a criminal before I entered into the service of the New Order. I tire of Imperial politics, already I've given aid to some amongst them in their own little bids of power. Sooner or later the powers that be would realize someone was helping and I have no desire to face charges of treason. Better to find a new employer, don't you think?"

"You'll understand my concerns that this is some sort of massive deception for the Empire to finally infiltrate and break the Union," Sabrino said as he regarded the man in front of him.

"Then why not give it a reason to forget about you?"

"My agents have done what damage control they can. We can only do so much without that getting noticed as well," Sabrino muttered, gripping his glass a bit more tightly.

"I suggest something on a scale far more grand. A lie so profound that no one will be able to disbelieve it."

"What precisely are you suggesting?" Sabrino raised an eyebrow curiously as he looked into the glowing red photoreceptors of his guest.

"That you sever connections with your agents."

Sabrino almost choked on his water as that was said, he coughed slightly and looked at his guest with distrust now. He knew very well he needed to be wary of this man, one for whom deception and manipulation were second nature. However, it was clear that his time with the Empire was very much over as he'd brought with him a valuable amount of classified data. If that wasn't an act of treason, Sabrino didn't know what was which meant his guest was very much at his mercy.

"You must be joking, that would trigger off chaos within the organization," Sabrino retorted almost immediately.

"Precisely. The network will splinter and use up your visible resources. Well, at least the stupid parts of it will. I imagine those with more vested interests will simply assume they are free to go about their own business again. In a way, it will weed out the fools from your organization so that only the most capable are left standing."

"That's a rather brutal method of cleaning the ranks, don't you think?" Sabrino asked with a wry smile.

"Brutal, but effective. The governments will pick the fools apart, extract what little information they have and then discard them. To your opponents it will be a grand victory against the nefarious shadow organization which have given them so many headaches."

"But it will destroy the Union," Estro replied levelly.

"Don't play games with me, Sabrino. The Union has hidden assets, this Super Star Destroyer for example. I'm rather curious how you got it."

"A great deal of effort and bloodshed. But it makes for a very functional mobile headquarters once we did a little internal restructuring here and there. Still I suppose I can tell you. We do have hidden assets we keep hidden from the galaxy," Sabrino replied as he put his glass down.

"Like your disposable soldiers and those dreadnaughts?" The guest asked, reaching into a pocket and tossing out a picture of a Necrotrooper.

"Precisely. A private army and fleet which very few in the Union know about save for those on the Committee. Even then only those who play a major role in operations like Hilter or Tagge."

"Tagge? Really? I didn't even consider him a possible traitor. He's been sticking with the Empire this whole time and doing business with it..."

"Precisely. As antagonistic as we are to the Empire, we still maintain portions friendly to it so as to reap the benefits. So you suggest we disrupt ourselves?" Sabrino asked with some skepticism.

"Yes, it will be suitable considering recent events that have come to my attention. Things could become very chaotic soon and a destabilized Union would make it seem as if the organization is collapsing. Offer up the weaker agents as fodder for the governments to sweep away."

"I see and once things reach a certain point, we reassert authority. Reform the Committee from whatever is left to begin again. I suppose I should have considered that but I'm generally too distracted keeping the Committee in line. I think you've just earned yourself a position with us. Afterall, you have nowhere left to run, do you?" Sabrino asked as he walked over to his guest and offered his hand.

"No, but I think I'm going to like it here," He replied as he stood and shook Sabrino's offered hand with his gloved one.

"Welcome to the Union, Trachta."

Several Months Prior to the Coup
SSD Midas

"I have to admit, we were intending to use this new model for something else. However, I suppose I can make adjustments for you," Dr. Mengax noted with annoyance.

Trachta was still admiring the artifical muscle and skeletal structure of the currently skinless Human Replica Droid the Union's chief scientist had been developing. Doctor Mirothu Mengax was a genius, a savant even, but he utterly lacked any concept of ethics. This was the precise reason the Union had recruited the twisted scientist to their cause. The total lack of an moral guidelines combined with the Union's vast resources was more than enough incentive to keep Mengax loyal and constantly developing new horrific toys for the organization's operations.

"It will be like me?" Trachta asked as he looked over at the Falleen scientist.

"It will be you," Mengax retorted with a derisive snort and twirling the end of his knotted hair through his fingers thoughtfully.

"Explain," Trachta ordered sharply, his metallic voice making it sound all the more ominous.

"We'll make a personality engram of you and put it in the droid. It will think its you and act like you. Honestly, you're so heavily cybernetic no one will probably notice until its too late once I make the needed adaptations to it. Oh and the grafting of cloned skin obviously," Mengax noted as if this was just a minor detail.

"It will be sufficient to fool those it needs to then?" Trachta asked as he regarded Mengax with his glowing red photoreceptors.

"Honestly, I've told you it will work. I suggest you drop the xenophobic attitude that I am somehow incompetent," Mengax retorted angrily.

Trachta just chuckled, a very inhuman and dead sounding noise as he stepped closer to Mengax. The Falleen almost immediately backed away from him with a concerned expression but could do little before Trachta produced a small knife he'd hidden on his person somewhere. He put it under Mengax's chin, pushing just hard enough that if the doctor withdrew it would draw blood.

"I don't give a damn what species anyone is, you egotist. Humans as just as rotten and expandable as aliens. So let me give you this thought. If that droid fails me and I survive, I'm going to use this knife on you in terrible and fascinating ways. I'm quite the scholar on forms of torture."

The two stared one another down before Trachta calmly made the knife vanish, stepping back. Mengax rubbed under his chin, but was bit unnerved by such a brutal personality as Trachta's. If he had any guess he'd have to say the cyborg had turned his pains and anxieties into a terrible and consuming misanthropy. That helped to explain his willingness to betray even his Imperial masters to the Union.

"Fine, the point is taken, now get out of my lab," Mengax glared at Trachta.

Trachta merely nodded and withdrew from the chamber where his second-in-command, Rohm, was waiting outside.

"So I take it the final arrangements have been made?" Rohm asked curiously.

"Yes, Rohm, the Union will hold their end of the bargain. We're too valuable for them to simply discard," Trachta replied as he looked over at his aide.

"I've sounded out the men on this. A lot of them are with us on this, anyone else has been silenced and disappeared. No obvious tracks for anyone poking around to find easily. Are you sure you want to go through with this?"

"Never more sure, Rohm. The Empire has rotted from the inside, grown fat and weak from dominance. In a way, what we are doing is helping it. Of course it will be treason, no matter whom wins. The ISB, my ISB, will detach itself from the rot and corruption to pursue our own agenda. The paradigm will continue even if the host dies."

"I'm still concerned someone might catch on before we act," Rohm replied, always playing the role of challenging Trachta's plans so as to help him forumlate them better.

"They'll be too distracted by other things going on to notice the ISB is up to something. Technically to them, we're always up to something, just never anything of this scale or intent. By the time our plan is revealed it will be too late. You must have everything ready for us to withdraw though, Rohm. That is your task. I can deal with the High Command."

The pair walked on through the massive ship towards the shuttle bays where their transport was waiting. The knowledge of the location of the Midas would have been devastating to the Union's mobile capacities if not for the fact Trachta had no intention of sharing that knowledge. He came and went as he pleased within the Empire as most were generally too terrified of him and his reputation to risk spying on him. Not to say there were not attempts, but they were always dealt with brutally and violently enough to send a clear message.

"I can't believe they managed to get their hands on a Jutraalian SSD though," Rohm muttered as they passed guards in black fatigues and berets.

"Chadd Fearsons left quite a few weapons and warships behind, including this ship. To think it was almost completed when the Jutraalians surrendered. The Empire would have gotten it if Sabrino and his Jutraal Syndicate agents hadn't carried out their plan to steal it," Trachta noted with some amusement.

"Who is he, anyways?" Rohm asked with curiosity.

"A man with an axe to grind with the galaxy, Rohm. Just leave it at that. Best not to dig too deeply on our new employer," Trachta replied warily now.

"True, I suppose there's no going back now, is there?"

"No Rohm, we've damned ourselves by simply meeting with the Union. If we go back on the deal now, they'll just share this fact with the Empire and we'll be good as dead. No; better to go on with the choice than face certain annihilation."

The pair boarded the waiting shuttle, making their departure back towards the Mechis Cluster and Trachta's personal ISB fiefdom. There were plans to be set into motion.

The Past...

High Cardinal Oyzamndas delivered his sermon from the pulpit of his church which was, in fact, more a lecture hall then vaulted, buttressed temple. His garb, plain as it was, did little to accentuate the grandeur of his position.

“David teaches us to be tolerant,” he spoke. His intonation was not that of priestly pomp. Continuing, added, “David teaches us, through his way, to spread tolerance.”

“Yet how can we rationalize the two if those with whom we are tolerant are not tolerant in turn? How can we encourage tolerance in the intolerant if we are expected to be tolerant of their intolerance?”

The Cardinal, his gaze piercing, studied the assembly.

Those present, the youth of David Colony, studied him in return. With rapt attention they focused on him so intently that he imagined the heat of their attentiveness searching to peer through him, the vessel of David, and glean the truth.

“We are taught to demonstrate tolerance through tolerance in the hope that our actions elicit a positive reaction in others, those who are not of our faith.”

“However, our faith does not require us to convert others, to spread the faith to those who do not wish it or who do not seek it willingly. To which end David, in the Volume of Precepts, teaches 'like unto like, same unto same'. And so we build around ourselves a society of like minded individuals. We are taught to avoid conflict by avoiding mixing idealisms.”

Pausing, the High Cardinal searches the faces of those present.

“So many young faces, I see here today. Boys and girls who will grow, who will become men and women, the body of the generation which will inherit Gestalt from its founders. The value of Davids teachings cannot be lost on you. The better you understand the Way, the better equipped you will be to guide the future of Gestalt.”

From scripture, he quoted, “Gather around, students of the Way. There are many faiths. There are many species. There are many cultures. And so it is our responsibility to ensure like unto like, same unto same. We must be tolerant of others and tolerant of their ways in the hope that they too will be tolerant of us. Do not seek to create converts of the unwilling. Do not convert the unlike, seek out those who are the same as you and build a society of them. As we refine impurities from food and from fuel, so too should we seek to purge any impurity from our way of life.”

“We,” the Cardinal broke from quoting, “are not to see others as inferior. We are not to condemn them for their choices. We are expected to live our own lives and to let them live theirs.”

“And that is the core of the Volume of Precepts; the teachings of David tell us how avoid conflict and compromise by avoiding those who would bring it to us or who, in interacting with them, we bring to them.”

“The Volume of Society says, 'Go from the clustered centers, go away from the densely populated. Seek out a place of isolation, a place far from the influences of others where your influence will not spread beyond your own colonies. Bring with you those who understand the methods of a successful society. Build a gestalt society and your people will prosper.”

“Gestalt,” repeated the Cardinal.

“Gestalt,” he said, once more. “A collection of physical, biological, psychological or symbolic entities which creates a unified concept, configuration or pattern which is greater than the sum of its parts.”

“And so our national identity, more then simply a title, reflects an ideal... one we build based on the teachings of the Way of David.”




The Present...


On The Fringes...

Captain d'Foose, her vessel on the outer edge of scanning range, stood stoic and silent as her ship and crew, rigged for silent running, did likewise.

Visible on their long range telescopes, so far out they seemed as mere dots, was the rest of the alien armada.

For a very long while no one spoke.

Until, breaking the silence, d'Foose uttered, “Well, now we know it's not just the one.”

The Colonial had her already impressive sensor suite tied in to the system wide network of satellites and telescopes which proliferated between the planets and colonies of Gestalt. Having improvised a network of interlinked scanners, the crew were able to get a fairly complete picture of the fleet make-up and in turn beam that information back to central command aboard the Admirals flagship, the Provincial.

The captain, likely echoing the thoughts of her superiors half a star system away, commented. “It's not the number of ships alone that worries me. It's their composition, their combat potential. I'm sure we have a distinct strategic advantage, or we would if these were Imperial warships. But the simple fact that we know nothing, less then nothing, about their ships...”

“Means we can't plan an effective counter strike,” her executive officer completed the thought.

She nodded, “It's in the hands of the Admiralty now.”

Another oppressive quiet fell across the bridge.

“Captain...”

Snapping her head to the side, d'Foose turned a stern glare on the speaker. The voice had come from the sensor officer who had been coordinating the network through the efforts of his subordinates.

“We have reversions.”

Brow raised, d'Foose immediately wondered if the aliens were bringing in reinforcements.

“Numbers and locations, sensors.”

“It's coming in now...”

“... we're not getting an accurate number but it's a large grouping... wait... it's...”

“Yes,” growing impaitent, d'Foose demanded, “what is it?”

“It's... They're Confederate captain. It's the Revanche!”

In that moment d'Foose was not sure if she should cheer or cry.



Gestalt I

Lance Shipwright shot out of his seat.

Instantly the events taking place on David Colony fell out of focus.

“A Confederate fleet?!”

Of course, he was speaking to himself.

He was elated.

Tapping commands in to his console, Shipwright opened communications with his command center on Gestalt I.

A young, eager officer answered his summons, “Vice Commodore, go ahead.”

“Put me in contact with that fleet! I want to know who is in command.”

A moment of radio quiet followed before the voice of the young officer supplied, “We can't raise them.”

“Why not?” Shipwright demanded.

“Um,” the voice sounded hesitant. “It looks like they have comms with the Provincial, Vice Commodore. They're beaming the Admiral.”

“Damn,” Shipwright cursed.

He was not present on David Colony handling first contact.

He was not in contact with CDF headquarters.

He was not leading the civilian government response.

In that moment Shipwright felt totally cut off.



Aboard the Provincial

“It is good to see you Admiral Lucerne.” Admiral Mar-Veil spoke to the holographic representation of the Confederate commander. “I was starting to think your invitation had been lost in the mail.”

The Admiral chuckled, “And you, Admiral. Where is Shipwright?”

“He's safe,” replied the Admiral. While he was relatively sure this was a secure line, the lack of information regarding the alien technology caused him to remain somewhat guarded. “I'm sending you a status report now.”

Mar-Veil gestured at one of his officers, “Send the package.”

“The short of it is this; we were attacked by an unknown alien force at 1330 hours GST. The priority seems to have been the colonial battle cruiser, Commonwealth, which was utterly destroyed in the opening attack. However no attempt was made to land forces or otherwise engage other colonial installments. Just over five minutes ago the aliens made contact on David Colony and the civilian government wants to see how this plays out before any military action is authorized.”

“Our guess is that the aliens discovered our hyper-lane, back tracked and ended up here. We're still in the dark as to the cause of their attack but if you're here now, I'm guessing your people came to the same conclusion based on the loss of communication starting with Station 182.”

Corise Lucerne nodded, confirming as much.

He then asked, “It's your command Admiral. What would you like me to do?”

Admiral Mar-Veil shrugged, “I'm under orders to wait and see how this thing plays out. But you're not... I would suggest you do your best to remain undetected. The sudden arrival of an armada could kick the aliens back on the offensive and we still don't know much about them. Everything we know is in the status report package. I'd be happy to know what you think when you get a chance to go over the data.”

“For now, as the kids say, be cool. If it comes to blows again, I'll be happy to know we can count on you for support.”

Lucerne agreed.

“It's a shame about the battle cruiser,” Lucerne observed by way of consolation. “And your losses.”

“Well, that's the thing about ships and men; we can always build and train more.”

Lucerne smirked, “Agreed Admiral. Lucerne out.”

In that moment Admiral Mar-Veil felt sure that if it came to it, the aliens would be utterly destroyed.




David Colony...

“To what should you pray?”

He repeated the question.

“To your god or gods, you should pray. Should you have none; pray of the teachings of David that we should come to tolerate one another. Pray of David that the lives lost were not lost in vain. Pray of David or whatever gods you hold dear that here, now, today our two peoples can come to understand one another and build peace, not dwell on the destruction that has brought us to this point.”

“Of you, of your motivations, we know nothing. And while it may be our right to feel outrage at your actions, we will choose instead to pray for tolerance that you, that I, that we might be able to forge something of worth from this event and not end up hurting one another further.”

“And so I will pray, I will pray of David that the people of Gestalt forgive your attack upon us that we might understand the reason for it.”

“And so I pray.”

In that moment Oyzamndas hoped for his sake, for the sake of his people, and for the sake of the aliens that peace could be brokered.