Coruscant


The Administrator, mortally wounded, dove toward Imperial Center. Slowed by the planet’s atmosphere, thick with smog and smoke, the Administrator tumbled into the planet's surface intact and released it’s Reaver scourge upon the Cree’ar and the once proud, now scarred, jewel of the Empire.

"Emperor's Black Bones..." whispered Ortho as the mighty Imperial capital ship plunged it's dagger structure at the heart of the Empire.

At their behest or was it simply a direct consequence of this...this...Reaver scourge?

Was that what these Reavers were? A scourge that compelled governments, powers, people to simply feed off each other? To fell themselves by their own mortal hand?

Captain Gutt felt a burning desire to order the Predator's guns turned onto the former Imperial warship but it had passed by them on it's way to the planet and was now out of range. He could do nothing for the inhabitants of Imperial Center but support General Vos and Moff Thorton.

Unfortunately, the late responses of their scanning equipment showed those fleets pushing through the alien armada's line, engines at the full.

"What are they doing?" he nearly shouted, the tactical showing his position far behind.

"We cannot catch up!" an officer responded, panic also taking his voice.

The two remaining Imperial Fleets winked out of existence as soon as they cleared the alien lines leaving the Predator and any other stragglers behind.

"They ordered us to fight!!" Ortho shouted, his voice almost breaking. "Didn't they?"

"Sir, the enemy's method of traveling may be scrambling the in system signals with some sort of time delay."

"WHAT? YOU MEAN FIVE MINUTES FROM NOW WE'LL GET MOFF THORTON'S ORDERS TO RETREAT??" Ortho was livid.

This was no way to wage war!

"Sir! The enemy seems to have paused. We might take advantage of this to.."

"TO WHAT?" the Line Captain demanded.

"Sir! we could form up some ragtag elements of the remaining civilians. We could flee from this alien onslaught to form a colony.."

Ortho's eyes narrowed. The officer was babbling out of fright.

"There is no point going back to the planet. Change our vector and prepare to jump."

"Where sir! Where?"

Ortho took a look at the telescopic display of Coruscant burning. This was no time to fight. This was a time to hide. They were now behind enemy lines.

"Improcco!" he answered decisively.



The alien armada seemed to reposition itself, the more damaged vessels of their fleet disappearing through those conduits of theirs. And, as they approached the planet, several cylindrical objects shot forth from the enemy towards the former capital.

"What are those?" someone asked from behind the Captain.

Ortho knew what they were ever since the Dragon-Coalition War. It was a weapon every Imperial Captain had to familiarize themselves with.

A Phage missile.



The Predator jumped.

Deep Core


It was not the battle to end all battles as Varro Kai had hoped it would be as the discared Imperial world of Abregado-rae disappeared and the Cree Ar host utilized their unique conduit to cut through the gravitational disturbances that made Deep Core traveling difficult at best for the hyperdrive-faring governments of this galaxy.

The Cree Ar charge to the bright center of the galaxy was not only symbolic but pragmatic in terms of overall Dominion strategy. Not only would they dislodge the Coruscan holdings of the interior but they would strike at the heart of those who also made this galaxy unique, namely, the force users.

The tek'a'tara were one of the keys necessary to expanding the Dominion's borders and shattering the political fragments of their enemy and only now where they able to harness this 'force' to their own ends.

The scores of weapons fire that the multiple wormholes discharged upon arriving struck at .... nothing.


For there was nothing to touch. Nothing to attack.


And in this, even the Priest Lohr was quietly surprised.


Such a legacy of this galaxy and Varro Kai had taken it in the face of no enemy. It was almost shameful.


And as the Cree Ar armada enveloped the world, securing their position and engaged the Nexus defensive measures, Varro Kai frowned at his position.


They were almost as close to the center of the galaxy as one could reasonably get. They had siezed an ancient world shrouded in lore as the birthplace of this galaxy's greatest warriors.


The dust crunched under his feet as he stepped from this landing craft onto the world's surface and stared at the bright sky, so near the center of the galaxy, the brightness of the star fields so close together blinded one from the typical sight of speckled stars across a black field.


The emptiness of the planet was unnerving but it was not without life. For the dirt ended in grasslands and the grasslands, in turn, disappeared under the canopy of trees. From orbit, the world was almost green.


"What are you hiding.." he murmured.


The Cree Ar had arrived in force on Tython.

OOC NOTE TO SOLIR: You can assume that Vos accepted your offer of service. I couldn't figure out how to work the rest of that conversation into this post, though.

The door slid open, startling Colonel-General Wesley Vos out of his reverie, a reverie that might well be considered a stupor. He had been facing out the viewport, staring at the nearly-completed shipyards, the planet Thoraza, and the vast expanse of stars behind it. As the door opened, the sound caused Wes to tense. Spinning, though, he relaxed as he saw his visitors were Colonel Selere, his particular friend and commander of the SS Kommandos, and Admiral Typton, Captain of the Fleet. Returning their salutes, Wes gestured to two seats opposite his own, across the large mahogany desk.

“Gentlemen,” he acknowledged. It had been six hours since their reversion from hyperspace and sixteen after the debacle that had been the most recent Battle of Coruscant. How many has it been? he thought wryly. Eight? Ten? More? It seems like Coruscant has always been the center of the galaxy, always the place over which men fight and die. And now we, like the Alliance before us, have fallen to a new power. Ironic, perhaps. And sad.

Immediately upon reversion, Wes had ordered Typton to compile a damage and morale report for the SS fleet, or what was left with it. He’d also asked Selere to scan the Holonet and utilize all his resources to discover what was going on in the rest of the Empire and its various holdings. Yes, sad, he thought. It is a sad day when the Imperial military must spy on its own and rely on the Holonet for news.

Now, though, he hoped to clear up a number of questions that were nagging at the back of his mind. “So,” he said, “how bad is it?”

Selere glanced at the Admiral, who sighed and said, “Well, General, it’s not good. We lost nearly fifty percent of the ships we took to Coruscant, and the rest are going to need a massive refit before they are combat-ready. The damage these aliens were able to inflict…” His voice trailed off. Shaking his head, he concluded. “It was astounding.”

Typton paused again, and Wes said, “And the good news?”

“That was the good news, Sir,” said Selere. “It only gets worse. Word is that Park Kraken has declared himself Emperor and moved the capital to Vladet.”

“Kraken?” Wes said, surprised. “Seems pretty bold for him. He’s a competent commander, and a smart politician. But Emperor? How well will he do with large-scale strategy? He’s not even part of the High Command.”

Selere nodded. “I thought the same thing, earlier.” Wes raised an eyebrow. “Well,” Selere continued, “according to our information, Kach Thorton isn’t happy about it.”

“Kach Thorton?”

“We intercepted a transmission – private, of course, and encoded – to the effect that Thorton was lining himself up for the position.”

“Kach as Emperor?” Wes asked, both incredulous and disgusted at the same time. “Emperor Thorton? Stang, Force grant I never see the day. He kriffed up royally at Coruscant. Instead of attacking at full strength, he held the bulk of his fleet back to protect the Corridor…” His voice trailed off as a thought came to his mind. “Actually, that makes sense now. If he wanted the title of Emperor –”

“Regent,” Selere interrupted. “Thorton wasn’t as bold as Kraken. Though no doubt once he had secured the lower title, he would have schemed to get the Imperial throne himself.”

“Regent, then. If he wanted the title, he would have to ensure that Zell didn’t survive, and he’d have to make it look like an accident. Failing an actual accident, like what happened, the best way to do that would be to have him ‘accidentally’ destroyed while fleeing Coruscant. If what happened was an accident…”

“It gets better,” Selere continued. “We acquired the message through BICS. Ten minutes later, the message was gone.”

Now Wes’s eyebrows really shot up. “You’re not suggesting a pre-meditated conspiracy between Thorton and COMPNOR?”

Selere shook his head. “I’m not suggesting anything. Accusing an officer of Thorton’s standing of treason is a dicey thing, and I’d hesitate to even contemplate the thought. But something smells, and Thorton’s at the center of it. I sense something more here, something more than we can see.”

Wes snorted. “I’ve stood next to the man, and I know the nerf-herder stinks. But, unfortunately, we don’t have time to investigate. Even if we did, though, at this point such an investigation – especially if it bore fruit – would only serve to further destabilize the Empire. We can’t afford any more destabilization right now.”

“So we’re just going to let him get away with it?”

“Get away with what?” Wes asked. “I don’t like the nerf-herder any more than you do. But we have no proof. We don’t know whether he’s actually done anything. Besides, you don’t go around accusing an officer of Thorton’s status of treason during this sort of crisis. The time for investigations will come, but it will come later. Now, we need to focus on what we can do about these aliens.”

Typton had analysis on that point. “Well, Sir,” he said, “They’re using a type of plasma weaponry – similar to what the Vong used, if you remember their incursion into the galaxy…”

Vos nodded. “I wasn’t there, but I read reports.”

Typton nodded in reply. “Well, it’s similar, but different. Analyzing the recordings of the battle, it appears that they cannot use weapons inside their shielding, only outside it. That gives us an advantage, since it seems that, all other things being equal, our ships are better prepared to handle a slugging match than theirs are.

“Which brings me to their shields. It seems that they are using some sort of gravity distortions, but apparently not every ship has generators. If you pull up the recording…” Wes complied and handed Typton the controller. “See here? These ships advancing on the Borderland Reigns. Watch as they move…there! See, their speed increases perceptively. My guess is that at that point they are free of the gravity shielding.”

Wes’s eyebrows furrowed. “Do we have recordings of other such exits?” he asked, thinking perhaps that they could triangulate from those exit vectors which ships contained the shielding.

Typton shook his head. “We have analysts working on it, but it was a massive battle. As soon as we can, we’ll get you a full report.” Wes nodded his consent, and the Admiral continued. “As far as we can tell, this shielding is strong enough to dissipate light weapons, such as lasers and turbolasers. It’s possible that the disruptors on the Eternals might be able to penetrate it, and even perhaps the STLs, but weapons of less power are rendered useless. Torpedoes and missiles will get through, but…” Typton ran through the images until he found what he was looking for. “See here? This is our first volley of torpedoes. See how they seem to waver here, then start moving in all directions? My guess is that this is a result of multiple layers of shielding, each intended to pull in a different direction.”

Wes nodded, studying the images as they ran forward in slow motion. “I remember that now, though the battle had driven it from my mind. Very interesting. So how do we beat it?”

Typton pursed his lips and let out a breath. “Well, Sir, on a large scale we’re not yet sure. The shielding is powerful enough to even drag our fighters around, though our hot-hands didn’t have much trouble with it. We can’t concentrate our volleys within the shielding, since the gravity drags the missiles apart enough to cause them to have a wide spread, almost like a scattergun blast.”

“What about fighter runs?”

Typton nodded and found the images of the fighter attack. “See here how the fighters are getting jerked around? It took all of their missiles to do that much damage to a single ship, and they had trouble getting there. No, I think it might be good for some work, but not for a grand scale.”

Wes scrunched his face in thought. “You said the ships have to leave cover to fire, right?”

Typton nodded. “We assume that to be the case. Gravity works both ways, and their plasma weaponry is about as heavy as our turbolasers. And you can see here that these ships that attacked the Reigns left cover to fire, and when they did, the Reigns did a lot of damage.”

Wes nodded. “But luring them out of cover is the problem.”

“That’s correct. The other option is to get them to drop their shielding, like we did when we ran through the center of their formation.”

“I’m not doing that again,” Wes said. “We surprised them. They were used to fighting Thorton and the Coruscant Home Defense Fleet. They weren’t prepared for suicidal maniacs like us. The only reason we got away with it is because we caught them off-guard; I don’t think we’ll be so lucky again. They dropped their shields because they didn’t know how hard we could hit, or that damaged ships would resort to ramming. No, it won’t work a second time. Our only option seems to be to identify the shieldships or somehow catch them by surprise. Any ideas?”

Both Typton and Selere shook their heads. “Well, we’ll work on it. Colonel Selere, you had other news to report?”

Selere nodded. “While you were at Coruscant, the Kommandos located a cell of terrorists. It’s proven to be a big breakthrough; we caught up with two of the leaders of the Free Onyx group. Apparently they are working for someone higher up, though. We haven’t been able to extract anything from them yet, but that shouldn’t take too long. I think it’s our first big break in this uprising.”

Wes nodded. “Good. When can I see the prisoners?”

Nothing.

No guards. No prisoners. Nothing but an empty maze of cells. Drawing on the Force, Skygge searched for her apprentice. He was near – she could feel him – but he was not the only one. Someone – something – was coming.

She smiled. It had been too long since she had met a Jedi.

But first things first. She moved quickly down the last hall, to the cell at the end. It was a cell designed to keep a Force user captive, or at least a weak Force user like this one. Staring into the cell, she shook her head. Her apprentice was rocking back and forth on the floor, muttering to himself. He’d lost it entirely.

Igniting one saber, she quickly slashed through the lock, and the door slid open. Her apprentice rose to his feet, smiling – a smile that quickly turned to a look of shock. He stumbled forward, bumping Skygge. Blood and froth formed at the corners of his mouth, the warm red liquid beginning to run down his chin and onto her clothing. Her lips twitch slightly, forming almost a snarl. His handless stubs grope at her, attempting to hold himself up.

She was enjoying this.

Then came the hiss of a lightsaber behind her, sooner than she had expected, interrupting her fun. Now her face did twist into a snarl. For the first time in a long time, Skygge allowed her anger to boil over, if ever so slightly. She waited a moment longer, then withdrew her lightsaber from the apprentice’s belly and, as he fell to the floor still writhing in the agony of his death throes, her saber came around in a deadly arc…

That’s not Leia! she thought even as red met blue. Through the odd, colored light, Skygge studied her opponent. A Jedi, certainly – that much could be read in her determined eyes. But not a powerful one. Alright, Leia, Skygge thought, now you’re just being annoying.

A slight grin formed at the corners of her mouth. Dropping her left hand from her saber, but still holding the other at bay, she placed her fingers only inches from her opponent’s stomach. Teeth bared, lips furled back, she let loose with a blue-white blast of electricity.

Her opponent’s eyes went wide for a moment as the blast hit her at point-blank range. Then she was forced back, slamming into the wall on the other side of the corridor. Skygge dropped her hand and stared down at the Jedi.

It had been a short blast, but with it she realized that she was nearing the limits of her abilities. She’d been drawing on the Force too much, too much for her limited abilities to handle. She might be able to win this fight, but facing Leia alone now was not an option. Unless…

Release me, a voice seemed to say.

“What?” she said, not realizing she had spoken aloud.

Use your anger – it can give you strength. Release me!

“I…”

RELEASE ME!

“NOOOOOO!!!” she cried in anguish. Her guard was down, and she barely saw the blue light descending in time to dive and roll. She was in automatic mode now, and she belatedly realized that it had not been the Force that had saved her but only her extensive combat training. Reflexes, not insight.

Get back control, Skygge, she told herself even as her guard came up to block the next attack. Control…control…control… It became a mantra that began to drown out the other voice, the voice of the creature inside her. The voice of the depths of the Dark Side.

The blades flashed, Natalya driving Skygge back, down the corridors. Her assault was furious, but Skygge could see in her eyes that there was no anger, only determination. As Skygge gained control, though, her defense improved and, finally, she came to a halt, standing her ground. She caught one downward stroke on her blade and thrust her fist forward, bringing it with a sharp crack across Natalya’s cheekbone, splitting the skin. A superficial wound, but it forced some space between the combatants.

“You fought well,” Skygge said as she stood ready. “But you should know that you cannot win this fight, and I have no desire to kill you. You are too much like me for me to enjoy that.”

Vellixum Enterprises HQ, Obroa-skai

CEO Helena Vanessa stared intently over the other board members and fumbled with her datapad stylus as the last protocol droid teetered out of the room. No sooner had the door swished shut behind the 3PO unit when VE’s chief security officer, actually a CSIS investigator, began to sweep the room for bugs. Several minutes passed before the man gave his ok for the meeting to continue. Vanessa cleared her throat.

“From your reports, I see that all of newly acquired assets are on their feet, or near there. This means that we can begin work on Project StarWeb soon. Jordan, am I correct in thinking that Shanki’s Whirlwind is near completion.”

The other woman nodded, “The design team is going through some finishing touches. But I think we could rush the unit into production and still have it be a viable competitor on the market.”

“No,” replied the CEO, “we can and will wait. Of course, its current specifications will be needed for the design process….I have hired some of the elements of the design team that use to run Nerfworks, the joint CEC-Loronar venture back in the day, for this venture. Now clearly, this cannot be a droid based product, unlike their last work, but their previous experience will be useful, particularly those elements of the CEC team.”

William leaned back, “You think they can replicate CEC’s success with its line of freighters?”

She nodded, “Granted, many of them had spent some time working on the YT series before and after Nerfworks…in any case, if they can duplicate that success, we can storm the market. The Empire, in nationalizing all of those shipyards, essentially robbed the market of new, small light craft. Granted, Stellar Enterprises began to fill in that gap, but most of their efforts seemed aimed at larger corporations or governments rather than Project StarWeb’s target of independent spacers. Their high technology makes most of their products a bit too costly for those types. No, the greatest challenge for us will not be finding our target audience, nor in pioneering the greatest technological developments in the fields. It will come down to creating a corporate identity in the field rather than our current reputation as a mysteriously buy-happy holding company.”

Grace leaned back, “And that is why you hired the CEC team, right? What could be better than from the makers of the YT-series comes a new line of freighters…”

“Exactly,” smiled Vanessa, “I’m glad that I put you are in charge of the CNN. Essentially, we can use the CEC’s design team reputation as a filler for our own for this project, and as a basis for future projects to form our identity.”

“And what about the secret portions of StarWeb that they cannot know about?”

“They won’t have much of a choice,” said Vanessa, “our only guideline to the design team is the integration of existing components from companies that we already control, whether it be SDW’s hyperdrives or CLS’ computers or DDC weapons. We need only to ensure that those components are suited for our needs before their induction into the actual StarWeb. Like I said, technical difficulties will be the least of our worries. Now, I’m trusting that DEMi can find out all sorts of information about our customers and that CNN can effectively use it for our marketing blitz…”


Some time later…

An excerpt from the Independent Traders' Infonet ...

The VE-420: Does it match up to all of the Hype?

Typically, there is a feeling of skepticism and hope when any new company comes onto the market with a new line of products, particularly in an already well-established market, like starship manufacture. And typically, many such companies end up being ignored simply because the risks are too great to try out a new brand on an item so expensive. But Vellixum Enterprises thus far has refused to be ignored, using subsidiary services such as the Colonial News Net to blatantly blitz the marketing field with the new ship in a way which few manufacturers can match in media connections. I have to admit, the thought of an entire CEC design team designing the craft picqued my interest and allayed some of my fears about the craft, even after VE provided one such craft for reviewing purposes.

In many ways, it does feel like a CEC product in terms of layout and flight characteristics, yet it is different at the same time, mostly from the ship’s components. Much can be said of VE’s extensive use of subsidiary components in the craft, (and although I am skeptical about some reviewer’s claims that such an integrated manufacture reduces costs to the customer by cutting out the middle man, but I digress…) VE seems to have made sure that all components are high grade and close to or just surparssing galactic standards, not some ancient design resurrected by outer rim shipwrights, nor something so cutting edge that not only does it drain an unseemingly amount of credits from its owner, but takes years to adapt too. The most cutting edge piece of equipment is the SDK Whirlwind Hyperdrive, which can truly make this baby soar at x0.8. I suspect once its workings are more fully known, mechanics will be able to modify to move even faster. The dual-core CLS integrated flight computer is really nice if nothing else in that it really streamlines and integrates the mess of different computers typically used on the YT-series.

My main gripe about the VE-420 is its so-called modular weapons mounts. Certainly, there are a wide variety of weapons available from two of VE’s subsidiaries (I’att Armaments and Drearian Defence Conglomerate) that will fit in the mounts, but good luck trying to get anything else to work. VE seems to have designed the craft solely to work only with its subsidiaries’ products, and not much else. For most common owners, this will not be a problem, as VE has managed to set up an extensive support network through the merchant’s guilds across the galaxy in modifying the craft and providing different parts and modifications at a reasonable cost. But for any hotrodders out there, this is almost as bad as dealing with a SoroSuub product in terms of compatibility. There are a great many things in there I would not touch if I wanted my ship to keep working. This all seems to be an attempt by VE to keep as much of the profit that could be made from the ship in its own hands, which is an understandable corporate tactic for a group of neophytes. But it is my hope in future installments from VE, which I look forward to seeing, there will be more product compatibility, possibly even a rerun of the 420 will more incompatibility. That being all said, the VE 420 is an excellent compromise between budget and performance that will doubtlessly appeal to many CEC fans. If VE keeps their product lines up, they may be able to eventually suppliant CEC as the manufacturer of choice if CEC remains in its nationalized state….

The Diamala: a calm, rational race, not given to fits of excess emotion or short-sighted action. A proud people who have built their civilization upon the pillars of hard work, honored oaths, and a fierce devotion to personal right.

They do not belong in this Empire of subversion and subjugation, where Rule of Law equated to Rule of Force. While their neighbors are overrun by an unknown alien threat, the greatest of their defenders are dispatched to the edge of Empire, to dole out vengeance against a Reaver Horde whose wrongs are visited upon some other Imperial Warlord's domain . . . and for what? To turn back immediately, only to leave hundreds of thousands of their own kind dead―or worse―in the depths of that forsaken zone?

There is no honor in this; there is no pride in this; there is no reason in this! Death and loss . . . death and loss are the only rewards for the Empire's compelled citizens.

Imperial Task Force GF-11, attached to the Grand Fleet of the Mid-Rim Protectorate in resupply and asset distribution capacities, was over ninety percent Diamala by crew composition. That is to say: it had been before the Reavers feasted upon their numbers.

Nearly half a million Diamala dead, and all of that so Admiral Druid Carson could decide he didn't like Reaver Space; he much preferred orbit over Rachuk. But what of the hundreds of thousands of dead Diamala? What of the oath they pledged, what of the honor of Empire? Where was their justice? Who would avenge them? Why are their shouts of pain not answered? Loss without purpose is an inexcusable affront.



The story had broken badly, if such a thing were possible. It had been the Ishori, that much was obvious. Someone high up in the Ishori Division of the Grand Fleet had gotten a copy of the official report detailing the loss of the Diamala task force, and they sent duplicates to every news agency across Diamal.

When the Empire subjugated Diamal by force of arms, they had made a point of sending Navy Troopers to secure the ground instead of Stormtroopers, as if black cloth enforcers were somehow less vile than their white plastoid equivalents (Operation: Iron Fury). All these years later, the riot control teams fighting to hold back the willfully enraged natives were wishing for a long-term occupation force here-and-now, not a short-term peacekeeping contingent that had left the world behind years ago.

But perhaps it would not be fair to call these riots. The Ishori riot; the Diamala march. One is an act of passion, the other an act of purpose. And the Diamala purpose today was clear: to show the Empire that this is not a pacified people, to remind the Empire that an oath broken is an oath unmade.

An Empire that would not honor its citizens would not be honored by its citizens!

And as the streets filled with marching Diamala, their brothers in blood and spirit stood aside, opened doors, vacated government districts. No Diamal would ever again harm another Diamal in the name of Imperial Oath.

Three hundred thousand Diamala died by Imperial treachery, Imperial foolishness, or Imperial indifference. Three hundred million Diamala now rose up to voice the dead's cry. What force would silence them they did not know, but it would damn sure take more than a few thousand Imperial-issue riot police.






Rendilli StarDrive Deepdock Wanderer's Home, Kathol Rift

“Where are we going?” Kaiya Adrimetrum asked, hurrying to keep up with her superior. She hated to think of him like that, but the facts couldn't be denied. Jarvis Ragnar the terrorist was her commanding officer.

“I don't know, so stop asking,” Jarivs replied impatiently, rounding another corner in the relatively large space station.

“FarStar was scheduled to disembark three days ago. If you've got a good reason to―”

Jarvis wheeled on her, grabbing her arm forcibly and looking straight into her eyes. “I don't trust myself enough to do this alone, so you're coming with me.” He released her, turned and continued on his way.

She followed, as uncertain as ever of just what made Jarvis Ragnar tick. He must be a terribly troubled man, his whole life shaped by forces beyond his control, until finally he took matters into his own hands through the only means at his disposal. Some called him a terrorist, and Kaiya could certainly understand why, but she knew something they didn't: Jarvis Ragnar wanted to believe, he just didn't know how anymore.

And in that sense, she and he weren't so terribly different. The galaxy's great Republic had fallen twice now in less than a century, and while she fought on in the name of its restoration, she feared its fate if ever it were revived. What did Jarvis Ragnar fear?

A door slid open, Jarvis walked through, and Kaiya followed, to be met by an unfamiliar pair. One was a hulking Coynite, intricate braids and gruesome scars marking him as a truly impressive warrior among his people. The other was a total mystery, hidden beneath a Ubese full-body environmental/combat suit, its own marking giving testament to a lifetime of battle and strife.

The door slid shut behind her, and Kaiya glanced to Jarvis. Whatever this was, it was important.

“Let's have a seat, shall we?” Jarvis said, eyes staring across the small room.

Kaiya followed his gaze to the Coynite, who nodded approvingly, but did not take a seat. She looked back to Jarvis, unsure of what was happening between the two. “Is there no one to announce you,” Jarvis finally said, his tone even.

“This is―” The Ubese began, but was quickly cut off.

“Call me 'Coynite,'” The massive alien answered harshly.

“I will not,” Jarvis said, his tone still even and calm. “Either you have a name or you do not. If you do not, then you are no use to me. If you do, then it will tell me all that I need to know.”

The Coynite growled bestially, his anger at Jarvis evident. Kaiya didn't know what exactly was happening here, but it had something to do with the Coynite honor system and . . . And authority, Kaiya realized.

“I am Jarvis Ragnar, leader of the Wandering Ones and Alliance to Restore the Republic Sector Commander of the Kathol Sector Alliance. As an outsider and guest, I will grant you the courtesy of knowing me before I know you, but you will receive nothing more from me without giving me your name.”

The Ubese stirred slightly, but the Coynite stretched out a restrictive hand, finally speaking again. “I am Ag'Tra Jorl Vir'Saat.” He grinned broadly, his anger subsiding. “As I have for Zozridor Slayke of the Elrood Alliance, I shall defer to your authority, Jarvis Ragnar.”

At that concession, the Ubese at Jorl's side sat, nodding for Kaiya to do the same. She complied, and then Jorl took his seat, leaving Jarvis the only man standing. We sit first, so he is never in a more vulnerable position. It surprised Kaiya to consider that Jarvis had known exactly what to do in this situation. There was so much more to this Ryn terrorist than he had ever let her see; it made her wonder what he was really capable of . . .

“Shall we get started, then?” Jarvis asked. He gestured to Kaiya. “This is Captain Kaiya Adrimetrum of the Alliance Pocket Carrier FarStar, second in command of sector operations.”

“A mere captain, second to a sector's resources?” Jorl commented, nothing about him making any apology for his harsh tone.

Jarvis turned to Kaiya, giving her a once-over. “Congratulations, Kaiya: I do hereby grant you the rank of Grand-High General-Admiral of the Combined Kathol/Elrood Free-Liberty Forces, with all authorities and privileges thereunto implied.” He said this all in an overly officious tone, his manner formal and his face a mask of seriousness.

Then he turned back to the Coynite and smiled broadly. “Kaiya has taken the rank of Captain in memory of the service she once gave to the Kathol Republic and its neighbors. I recognize that her value is not encompassed by her title, and so I grant her the authority that she deserves. There is no person I trust more with the fate of Kathol.”

Jarvis' eyes flickered briefly to the Ubese, and for the dozenth time in only a few minutes Kaiya wished she could see inside that suit.

Jorl seemed to accept Jarvis' explanation, and Jarvis moved on by introducing the Ubese. “This is . . . well, just call him Jim.”

There was no objection from Jorl, which only deepened Kaiya's curiosity; she was being left out of the loop. “What's this all about,” She asked ambiguously, not expecting an explanation as to the Ubese's identity.

“You have read the most recent reports on the deployment of the Imperial Mid Rim's Grand Fleet?” The Ubese asked, his voice a synthesized croak through the helmet's amplifier.

“Of course.”

“They were Diamala,” Jorl said, as if that statement was clarification for something.

“What?” Kaiya asked, only more confused.

“The Imperial losses,” Jim explained, “this Task Force GF-11; it was over ninety percent Diamala by crew composition. Park Kraken and Druid Carson sent three hundred thousand of its alien officers and enlisted personnel to their deaths because of a clerical error. Their solution to that error was to retreat.

“We have reports of organized marching on Diamal to protest Imperial membership. Most local judicial forces are actively departing trouble zones, and the Diamala military is standing aside; their official stance is that they're not allowed to move against national civilian populations without the express request of the government. The only opposition is coming from Imperial, non-native military elements.”

“Honor demands retribution,” Jorl said, managing to keep his anger in check. “The Diamala have been awakened. We have pledged our blades to their cause.”

Jarvis stirred visibly. “No, it's too soon. We can't move yet. All of the pieces aren't in place.” He looked to Kaiya, desperation in his eyes. “It's Kathol,” He tapped the side of his hand on the table, “then Elrood,” he did it again, moving forward a little, “then . . . Diamala's in the Core. Even if we move now, it could be months before we secure safe staging areas for―”

“The time for safety is gone!” Jorl roared. “Now is the moment of action!” He pounded his fist on the table to mock Jarvis' delicate display.

“The Coynite and Diamala sections of the Grand Fleet have forged strong bonds in the past years,” Jim cut in, his voice synthesizer hiding any emotion. “They share a sense of personal pride and personal honor which has allowed them to work very well together.”

“Enough!” Jorl said warningly, turning on Jim. “You will not talk so casually of our honor.”

“Apologies,” Came the emotionless reply.

Jorl nodded, calming yet again. “We Coynites are in the unique position of being able to share in the Diamala outrage without having to suffer the loss of any battle-ready hands.”

“What's the timescale on the Diamala side?” Jarvis asked, trying to find some way of salvaging this situation.

“The Diamala within the fleet are doing their best to play the part of loyalists,” Jim explained. “But someone broke the story to Diamal, we think probably the Ishori.”

“They are quick to anger and very difficult to appease,” Jorl said. “They have a long history of strife with the Diamala, but only recently have their disagreements escalated to actual war, after the collapse of galactic governance and the removal of its moderating force. There is no doubt in my mind that the Ishori and Diamala still despise one another, but I believe their shared hatred of Empire has grown to dwarf that historic conflict.”

“Do we have any sources inside the Ishori section of the fleet?” Kaiya asked, wanting to know who they could trust.

Jim shook his head. “It's mostly speculation, but we think the Ishori leaked the Reaver Incident to generate sympathy within the Diamala populace for a secession action.”

“The Ishori want the Diamala to help them rebel?” Jarvis asked, his doubt evident. “Have the Ishori and Diamala governments begun talks to that effect?”

“We don't know,” Jorl said. “My only contact with the Diamala is through Coynites within the Grand Fleet, and that―as I'm sure you can imagine―is highly restricted.”

“We don't know enough,” Kaiya said, stopping Jarvis' line of questions. “And we're not in a position to find out more. Has anyone been in contact with Alliance High Command?” She directed the question to Jarvis.

His reply was not promising. “I don't think High Command trusts me enough to keep me in the loop. I make my regular reports on Kathol's progress, but I don't get much in return. The fact is: we're just soldier boys to them.”

“Freedom's Sons operates largely outside of the standard Alliance power structure,” Jim said, explaining the position of the Elrood Alliance, “and all efforts within Coynite space are being handled internally, by their own people. It does a great job of compartmentalizing the Alliance's member base, but information restriction is a double-blind. Nobody outside of Intelligence knows anything.”

“We don't know enough,” Jarvis muttered, echoing Kaiya's and Jim's sentiments. Then his eyes brightened, and he turned to Jorl with a broad smile, which wavered for a second at the Coynite's intimidating features. “How long can you stall the Diamala and Ishori?”

“I will not―”

“Damnit, man! How long?”

“They will not be silenced,” Jorl persisted, though he did not anger at Jarvis' tone.

Jarvis' eyes darted about, a sure sign that he was thinking as fast as he could. He snapped his fingers, a shallow nod marking a conclusion. “Local military. We have to move the Diamala military against the locals now, and in force. We have to convince any Imperial observers that the military is still loyal. If we can get the government to play along that's great; if not, then have the military declare a police state and lock the planet down.”

“The Diamala will not rise against one another,” Jorl warned.

Jarvis sobered. “Then we're doomed.”

“What are you getting at?” Kaiya asked, sure Jarvis had a plan but not yet seeing it.

“Time,” He answered. “I need time. Ag'Tra, you must convince the Diamala to do this thing. They must not move against the Empire until I'm ready. Do you understand?”

There was a long moment of silence where Jorl Vir'Saat studied the Ryn. Finally, he stood to his feet. “I will do what I can.”

“Make no mistake: Diamala may die for this, but their deaths will not be in vain.”

Jorl did not speak again, only nodded and then left the room.

Jarvis turned to the Ubese. “Allara, you have to move the rest of the Elrood Plan forward, as fast as possible.” Something flashed across Jarvis' face, and then he chuckled and looked to Kaiya: “Oh, and drop the charade: you can trust Kaiya far more than you can trust me, and I already know what's going on here.

“Kaiya, we're stepping things up here. Tell our friends in the Republic to start now. Oh, and pack your stuff; you're moving to Yvara.”

“What?”

Jarvis turned deathly serious. “I'm leaving Kathol; you're in command here.”







Before

He was a peculiar man, a face devoid of any emotion, a bald head ringed by some sort of cybernetic implant. He wasn't particularly tall, but his gaunt features made him seem so. Most of all, though: he wasn't supposed to be here.

Jarvis' hand rested lightly on the grip of his blaster, ready to draw and fire at a moment's notice. “You're not from High Command.”

The man shook his head mechanically: a no.

“Are you here to kill me?”

Another no.

“You need me for something?”

There was a slight hesitation, as if the man weren't sure how to respond, and then he opened his mouth and said in a voice that sounded under-used: “I know a place where you are a hero. A place that needs a hero. A place that the Alliance needs.”







After, Elsewhere

It was freezing. Ryn were not meant for such places. Bothans, on the other hand . . . Bothans did alright.

Jarvis slid his gloved hand out from beneath the layers of clothing, thrusting it into the air in a balled fist. “Ar'krai!”

The answer was an incoherent roar. The stories of Jarvis Ragnar had spread far. Here, among a people who had felt the full weight of the Empire's evil, Jarvis was understood, he was praised. To them, he was a man who had been grievously wronged, and a man who would do grievous wrongs in return. It was the heart of Bothan justice; it was the definition of “Ar'krai”. The Empire should have picked someone else's homeworld to make an example of.

Jarvis Ragnar was a man who had accepted his fate; he would one day die in a quest to kill the greatest evil that had wronged him. These Bothans were ready to follow him against that evil.

The lone Ryn briefly recalled what the cyborg had told him so very recently: ”They are a weapon loaded and ready to fire. You need only to point them in the direction of their target.” This was going to be fun.

“You have been marked for execution!” Jarvis shouted, the microphone buried beneath the layers of clothing picking up his voice and amplifying it for everyone to hear. “You have been weighed, measured, and found unworthy. You could wait patiently to die, but you have chosen a more painful path. You choose to fight!” The crowd roared their assent.

“The Imperial Judge has called for your extermination; the only option left to you is to kill him before it is done. Stand and fight, and you will not stand alone!” Again their was a roar of accord.

“I am Jarvis Ragnar, leader of the Wandering Ones, loyal member of the Alliance to Restore the Republic!” Now, there was only silence. This was a moment of revelation, a thing which they did not know. With one claim Jarvis Ragnar had stopped being a lone vigilante and had become emissary for an unidentified quantity.

His voice lost its harsh tones, its deep emotion; it took on the calm pronouncement of fact. "Stand with me, and you stand with a galaxy poised to rebel.”

That got them shouting again.

Jarvis Ragnar had come to Bothan Space. He would not leave it until he was chasing the last Imperial from its borders.

The TIE Phantom II dropped out of hyperspace, silently, almost invisibly. The pinnacle of Imperial stealth technology, the Phantoms had originally been assigned only to the SS Kommandos. With the rapid expansion of the SS, though, several scout units had been equipped with the pricey, high-tech craft.

X4-321C was assigned to one such unit. He had no other name, at least not officially, for he was a clone. A clone. Yes, the Empire still used clones. Grown on Kamino before the Alliance occupation, or Polis Massa, or Centax-2, or Arkania, or Byss, or Khomm, or Lur, or Columus, these clones were bred to serve the Empire.

Most clones were still genetically butchered, as some liberal thinkers cried, to modify their behavior, limiting their autonomy and predisposing them to follow orders. These were bred mostly to be front-line blaster-fodder. Some, though, were given more leeway in their decisions. More autonomy. These were indoctrinated, but they were bred for special task. Some were commandos in their own right; others were ace pilots; still others were scouts. X4-321C was one such clone. His skills fit him perfectly into the role of a fighter-scout, and after training he had been hand-selected to join the SS.

He was proud of that. The SS was one of the deadliest unites ever to be organized within the Empire, he knew, a hammer that never stopped swinging. Butchers, some called them; X4-321C knew differently. Their general was wily, and even when he lost, he was not content to leave a battlefield without seriously hurting an enemy. And Colonel General Wesley Vos rarely lost.

Some claimed his success was due to cowardice; they said he would never fight a battle unless he was assured of victory. Other simply called him a monster, citing his brutality and cold, efficient killing. Still others claimed it was luck. X4-321C knew differently. There were three reasons for General Vos’s success, but these were not them.

First, Vos had hand-picked the best soldiers in the Empire, and many of these he had then cloned and genetically modified to increase their abilities. Second, Vos was a tactical and strategic genius. He knew when and where to fight, and when and where not to.

But, and in X4-321C’s mind most important, Vos also knew how to use scouts, and he acted on good intelligence. That was X4-321C’s job. Attached to the Flying Ghost Squadron, he was one of several Phantom-II pilots whose job it was to scout systems. A small, modified corvette would carry them within range of a particular system, and they would then launch and scout for enemy activity.

Currently, the carrier was in deep space, twenty light years outside the Gradilis system. X4-321C had been tasked with scouting the area around the planet Nirauan, a small world that had barely had any contact with the rest of the galaxy for some years now. No one expected anything to be there, because no one really cared about Nirauan.

So when X4-321C came out of hyperspace, he was shocked to find a massive alien vessel orbiting the planet.

Once he had composed himself and shut his jaw, he examined it closely. He recognized the design; though he had not been at Coruscant himself, he had seen the battle holos. This design was familiar. These were the aliens from Coruscant.

These were the Cree’Ar.

Quickly, X4-321C set his holo recorders and engaged his sensor suite, commanding the computer to record all data retrieved. He began a sweep of the area, getting as close as possible to the enemy ship without exposing himself. When he was done, he swung his fighter around and jumped back towards the carrier. General Vos needed to see this.



“Guardsman Aeacus, Mr. Marakis, please come with me.”

Colonel-General Wesley Vos approached, a thin smile on his otherwise hard features. His eyes still seemed cold as ice; it seemed they never smiled or laughed anymore. He continued past them, towards the detention center.

“Gentlemen, it appears your story checks out. I suspect there may be more to the story than you know, but it has been most helpful. For your service, Mr. Marakis, I am authorizing your commission as Captain in the Imperial SS Kommandos. Your mercenaries will also receive commissions, to be dealt as you see fit. Lieutenant rank or lower, please.

“Guardsman Aecus, I am having you transferred to the SS Kommandos as well, with the rank of Major, to be attached to Colonel Selere’s staff. We’re going hunting for the shabu’droten that were responsible for the attack on Coruscant, for the disappearance of Emperor Hyfe, and for the death of Regent Zell. For the sake of the Empire, I hope they are all the same.”

The door to the detention center slid open. “Gentlemen, if you have weak stomachs, I would suggest you wait here. I’m about to interrogate a terrorist, and my methods have been described as worse than brutal. Your choice.”



Three hours later, Vos emerged, smile slightly fuller. He had the information he needed to end this terrorist threat permanently. As it turned out, the higher power in the terrorist organization was someone within the Imperial hierarchy. In fact, it was someone in the SS.

Vos reached the hanger bay of the Tyrant and boarded his personal shuttle. Half of Selere’s Kommandos – including the new additions – were accompanying him now; they might be necessary. If Vos was right, this would not be an easy capture.

They reached the orbating station quickly and exited without fanfare. Striding through the halls, they soon reached the quarters of Colonel Hwidlife, a fairly new officer transferred from COMPNOR to be an administrator of Thoraza’s orbital defenses. Vos nodded to Selere, who whispered an order to one of the Kommandos. The Kommando stepped to the side and raised his carbine. Selere hit the access panel, and the door slid open.

Chaos.

The Kommandos charged in, blasters ready. The Colonel was already up and moving, faster than a human should have been. Twin blasters discharged, each shot hitting one of the attackers, only their strong Katarn armor saving their lives. The rest each fired several times, but to no effect; this colonel was fast. Finally, a blast from behind them tore out the colonel’s legs, and another shot severed his right hand at the wrist. Even as he raised his left arm to fire, Vos drew and shattered the pistol.

The Colonel scowled and tried to rise. Smoke issued from his legs, and now it was Vos’s turn to scowl. “Something’s not right. Stay back.” Hwidlife sneered, but it wasn’t a normal sneer. It was twisted, somehow. Inhuman.

“Can’t capture me, General?” he asked his voice sounding somewhat robotic. “Are you that incompetent?”

Selere raised an eyebrow. “That thing isn’t human.”

Vos nodded. “Kill it.”

Selere smiled. “Gladly.” Raising his repeater to his side, Selere sent ten blasts through the thing’s twisted mouth, blowing its head to pieces.

Vos furrowed his eyebrows. “Take that thing out of here, and send it for analysis. I want to know what it is and how it got here.” Turning, he motioned for Selere to follow him. “Something’s wrong,” he said quietly. “I want you to put Nyang and Red Squadron on the SS. Examine every COMPNOR transfer. When you figure out what that thing was, I want to know if any of them are similar. If they are, kill and replace. And we don’t accept any more transfers from COMPNOR until we know what’s going on. Understand?”

Selere nodded.



The carrier dropped out of hyperspace, its message already transmitting. Vos received it almost immediately, and his eyes brightened. “This is good,” he said, smiling fully now, though his eyes were still full of hate. “This is very good. We’re going to strike back.”

Efreeti-class Battlecruiser Husdant, somewhere in Deep Space

“…the Aeacus is looking good, for a green crew at her helm…”

Dha’tey glanced at the Husdant’s sister ship and let his fur rippled. The Aeacus had been the main project at Hell’s Anchorage the last few months. Even in its most skeletal form, prisoners rescued from Longwind had begun training on her until the day of her completion. For all of their training though, Dha’tey was not sure how the Aeacus would actually perform in battle, where situations are immensely more complex than any training could simulate. But the state of the Aeacus was the least of his concerns, keeping the rest of the battle-worn fleet was his primary concern. He had lost a battle to this new Imperial commander, and yet he had managed to redeem himself by rescuing his men, and even some of their equipment, but the damage had been done. Inferno Fleet had lost its reputation as being unbeatable; Dha’tey had lost his reputation of being unoutwittable. Both were so invariably linked that the Bothan wondered how the fleet managed to stay together after their defeat. His victory and much propoganda from Sei’lar had recemented most of the fleet, but the bonds were still tenuous. They could easily break apart again, perhaps for good, if they took another severe loss.

“…unidentified ship entering the area…looks like a blockade runner, and not one of ours…” informed a commander.

Dha’tey turned his weary eyes to the vessel, “Don’t interfere with its operations-”

“The corvette is beginning to run…but it’s firing on us-”

Dha’tey shook his head, “Ion fire.”

The computerized cannon batteries of the Husdant and Aeacus lashed out at the interloper; easily overwhelming the other ship’s electronics in mere seconds. The Bothan sighed. The new message propogated from the Empire to fire on all red-painted ships had been a hassle for everyone, because Inferno Fleet was not the only group that utilized red as their base color. Most of the old republic vessels, especially the consular cruisers, plying the lanes still retained their all red colors. Even the various ships of the former Imperial military had ships of the same color such as the Crimson Command or the havod-armored star destroyers of Admiral Kendel, or any other havod-plated vessel for the manner. Yet if the directive instigated all sorts of misunderstandings or accidental fire exchanges in the core, it was virtually ignored in the space out of the League’s influence, and thus rarely affected Inferno Fleet, which typically outgunned anything it encountered in any case.

“The target is disabled,” reported an officer.

“Good, send in anonymous rescue call for the corvette to the nearest planetary authority,” ordered Dha’tey, “we don’t need to kill innocents or needlessly make enemies. Besides, I think we made it clear through word of mouth that we aren’t interested in blowing everyone up…”

Sei’lar snorted, “I’m not sure if word of mouth makes it this close to the core. We’re not in our native terrain…”

“No,” agreed the other Bothan, “but that is because we have not made it ours yet.”

Runo was seething as he paced the lounge aboard the Spinning Dagger.

“I still can’t believe we’re doing this,” he growled, talking to no one in particular, though all of the Legionnaires were present. “Provisional ranks in the SS Kommandos … Wonderful, I get to be a karking Imperial lieutenant…”

“You do realize that ‘provisional’ means that we’re not actually in the Imperial military,” Brel reminded him, probably not for the first time. “That also means we can give up our status with them and leave if we feel like, I’m pretty sure.”

“Depends on how Vos would take something like that,” Renneth muttered.

Seated near the entrance to the cockpit, Solir remained silent, as he had done for ten minutes while his people aired their frustrations. He had discussed the matter with Runo and Brel prior to his meeting with Colonel-General Vos and they had agreed that it was in their best interest to pursue employment by the New Order. Times were hard for freelancers, and it was becoming harder and harder to find work that didn’t involve pledging allegiance to one of the galactic governments. Runo had not been happy about the decision, given his history with the New Order under Palpatine, though Solir suspected he would be hearing these tirades for some time.

“It’s a good thing we get to stay as a crew,” Runo continued. “There’s no way I’m taking orders from some puffed-up, karking power-happy Imperial officer who thinks he knows fighting better than I do…”

“Nothing will change for us aside from who is providing our assignments,” Solir spoke up finally. “That much has been assured. For the moment, this is still our best option. As soon as we return Councilor Kersh to Obroa-skai, we will return for whatever task Colonel-General Vos chooses for us.”

Everyone nodded their agreement, some more enthusiastically than others. Runo was still grumbling, something about the fact that they would at least be paid for their services. That was a clause in the agreement with Vos’s people that Solir had made a point of securing.

Beside him, the Legionnaires’ mechanic, Trann Kar’vegos, suddenly got up out of his seat and strode into the cockpit. Solir wondered if he was secretly upset about their decision – the young man had a tendency of keeping his emotions to himself – but the only thing that was evident on Trann’s face was a look of mild distraction. Others watched him leave but no one said anything, going back to their own muted conversations.

A few moments later, Trann poked his head out of the cockpit. Now he looked worried, even a little scared.

“You might want to come take a look at this, guys,” he said simply, and then disappeared back inside.



The ]I]Dagger[/I]’s cockpit was deathly silent once the HoloNet transmission that they had just received dissolved into static. Despite the cramped space surrounding him – the cockpit was not designed to house the fourteen Legionnaires, especially including Zempin, their Herglic medic – Solir felt isolated in the chilled fear that had settled over him. He could still hear the words of the Cree’Ar leader, this Artanis Daz’Da’Mar, in his mind.

“Why do you pay for the price of what differences they have?”

Runo, as usual, was the first to speak. “Is anyone else as freaked out by this guy as I am?”

“He just started another Purge,” Kuwa’aven said in a whisper, as though she couldn’t quite fathom what they had just heard.

“Except that it won’t be simply Jedi that are hunted this time,” Renneth replied. “Every Force user in the galaxy is a target now.”

Solir had not yet taken his eyes from the holoprojector. He could hear the horror in the voices of his Legionnaires, and he agreed with them. What Artanis was proposing was the annihilation of the galaxy’s Force users, one and all; it was quite possibly the most heinous declaration in history. This was not one side of the coin trying to destroy the other for ambition or disagreement, as Palpatine’s Purge and others like it had been. This was a holocaust initiated and fueled by hate.

Is it that, really? The unbidden thought came to him, and though he tried to push it away, it refused to relent. Was Artanis doing this for hate? As far as Solir knew, the Cree’Ar had no reason to hate Force users, though granted he knew next to nothing about these invaders. The most terrifying part of his speech was not his decision to eliminate the galaxy’s Force users, though. It was the fact that the argument for their elimination seemed to be solely by logic, and, on some level, Solir could feel that Artanis’s proposal made sense.

For over three hundred years, Solir had seen the disputes between governments, and the way that the Jedi or the Sith had fueled these disputes, sometimes for their own purposes. Though he had the utmost respect for Jedi, ever since that fateful day where he met one of their most powerful Masters, he knew that their quest for galactic justice and their prolonged conflict with the Sith had wreaked wholescale destruction across the galaxy. If the Jedi and the Sith could not impact galactic affairs, war would certainly not become a thing of the past … but would it not improve the situation? If these powerful beings with their mystical talents could no longer shape the galaxy, who could say that the average men and women left could not finally stabilize the galaxy?

Despite the hideousness of it, Artanis’s proposal had the potential to save the galaxy. The fact that he recognized this filled Solir Marakis with terror.

“I wonder if we should rethink our enlistment with the Imps,” Runo said, crossing his arms. “There’ll be a lot of Force users out there needing to find someplace to hide. Good money, maybe – eh, Solir?”

The Legionnaires’ commander did not respond. He stared at the holoprojector a few seconds longer, warring with his thoughts, before turning and leaving the room.



After the other Legionnaires had dispersed, either discussing this new twist in galactic affairs or lost in their own thoughts, Brel pulled Herret Myyl aside in a corner of the lounge.

“Do you mind if I ask you a question, Herret?”

The Iktotchi mercenary blinked once, undoubtedly surprised. During his brief time with the Legionnaires he seemed to have spoken very little with anyone, and the others had determined that he did not like to talk and therefore tended not to approach him. This would be the first time that Brel had spoken with Herret in at least two months.

“What do you wish to ask?”

Brel hesitated, and then said, “I know that you have a little bit of precognitive ability. Your people are known for it. Does it have any connection … to the Force?”

“Many of my people have developed foresight and precognition because of an enhanced reception to the Force,” Herret replied. “However, some of us develop the ability naturally. It is usually impossible to tell one way or the other. Why do you ask?”

She hesitated again. She wasn’t even sure if she wanted to have this conversation – had been determined not to have it with anyone – but what they had just seen in the cockpit changed things. There were questions that she needed answering, and suddenly there was no more time for her to hold off.

“I’ve noticed that I … can sometimes sense things before they happen,” Brel told him. “I can also get a sense of what people are thinking or feeling sometimes. I … it’s only been over the past year or so, and really rare, but … I’m just not sure if…”

“If you are Force-sensitive,” Herret finished for her.

Brel just nodded, nervously biting her lower lip in a way that she hadn’t since she was a child performer.

“My parents were both talented in the ways of the Force,” Herret said. “I learned from them a few ways of testing if someone is Force-sensitive, though these techniques sometimes do not work for my people. Do you wish me to test you?”

“Yes,” she answered immediately. “Please. I … I need to know.”

The Iktotchi nodded once, and gestured for her to follow him toward the rear of the ship. Brel followed, knowing that beginning with this moment, nothing was going to be the same.

*


Capricia



"But killing babies is ok, you dark-hearted bitch," Tyscio called drawing the Sith Knight's attention away from the retreating Natalya. His voice had carried from the hall he was advancing in, his saber drawn and prepared.

The Sith, having stepped out of the room from which she had dispatched her underling to fight Natalya, did not respond to the implied taunt but simply smiled at the tendrils of fatherly anguish disguised over the Caprician's devil-may-care attitude he projected. She began to backstep towards the prison room, her arm rising in preparation to blunt his coming attack, her eyes narrowing in purpose for she felt no life-saving compulsion for Leia's consort as she had for Seth Vinda's daughter.

And that was when Leia, having masked her force presence, slammed into the Sith Knight knocking her hard against the steel wall of the prison hall. The attack was so sudden and so surprising that Skygge tasted blood in her mouth from the impact. Her smile vanished as Leia left no doubt as to the purpose of her attack.

She meant to finish the Sith off once and for all. The Jedi were nice and forgiving usually but their patience did have limits and Darth Skygge had just exceeded hers.

The Jedi Master tried to follow up her initial attack with several stabs of her saber but the gut-reaction of the Sith to swing her blade with her backhand even as she hit the wall prevented Leia from filling the gap and plunging her blade through Skygge's stomach.

While Skygge's backswing did not strike anything but it did buy her a couple of seconds to desperately grab the edge of the doorway to the prison room of her ill-fated progeny and pull herself in even as Leia's follow-up swings struck the wall where the Sith had been seconds before.

Tyscio reached Natalya and started to help her up making sure she was not hurt. He started to move towards the door to help his wife skewer the murdering Sith when Natalya touched his arm, drawing his gaze down the hall where he had just come from.


A feral shout of frustration echoed from the distance as one of the other Sith apprentices who was led on a merry chase by the simulacrums had tired of their sparring with an opponent whose only purpose, it seemed, was to tire the other out. Their frustration began to take its toll and it showed in the handfull of detonators they began to use. The paneling in the prison maze blew outward exposing the intricate circuitry of the hardlight projectors, housing arrays and receiving buffers causing the simulacrum to lose cohesion and disappear.


Exhausted, bleeding, cut but triumphant, the Sith apprentice approached her master whose force presence was dispensing panic. Exhaustion and a stress that was entirely internal began to take their toll amid Leia's relentless assaults.


That was the problem with anger and holding onto it. Exhaustion and stressed stripped anger of strength as easily as severing their heel tendon stripped a person of the ability to stand.

Skygge's arms were becoming steel weights the more she fought off Leia's probes.


The Jedi Master stood between Skygge and the exit out of the prison room and Skygge was finding it hard to concentrate as her own sweat began to sting her eyes.


Leia, however, was both calm and confident in the force even as her contempt over the Sith's hunt of her children blazed forth from her eyes. And it was then that Skygge realized she would not be alive much longer.


It was then that she realized she should have already been dead but the Jedi Master had been holding back, toying with her desperate desire to get out of a trap that she had walked into (albeit to avoid an earlier death). When Leia drew back to take the measure of her enemy, Darth Skygge felt her skin come alive in pain and she realized that with all her thrusts and counter-thrusts, Leia had grazed her several times. Her mind had been so focussed on keeping the Jedi's blade from her gut that she never felt the flickers of sliced and burned skin here and there.


Leia's eyes narrowed and in that moment of pause, the Sith knew the reason for the Jedi's hesitation as sweat, blood and skin dripped onto the prison floor.


Her nerves were pins of fire burning her flesh, her muscles were starting to seize up from the strenuous running and fighting of the evening and not since the assault on Xa'Fel by the Crusaders had Skygge felt so worn. It was as if the walls she errected around her heart and mind after each battle, each encounter and display of force prowess were built with increasingly inferior materials.


She realized, in that moment, acting within the plans she had set into motion by the now dead apprentice whose empty gaze stared back up from the floor, that her facade of power and strength was not the stuff reinforced with steel but had dissolved like sandstone set against high pressure water.


Her tired mind was in panic but she could not determine if it was at being vulnerable against those outside or against that which her walls kept bottled up inside.


It was a cusp moment that many Jedi in the past faced with calm demeanors and closed eyes... at peace with a galaxy that would otherwise have seen them dead. It was a cusp moment that Darth Skygge would be damned if she would go quietly and calm.


If panic was all she had then that was what she would use.


"Good-bye", Leia's mind seemed to say as she pivoted to gather her strength for an attack that Skygge had no hope of defending against.


And that was when Darth Skygge's apprentice reached the room releasing her remaining detonators.


"Move!" Tyscio shouted as Natalya held up a hand in an attempt forestall the distance of the detonator. The device exploded in mid-flight, it's shockwave advancing on Tyscio whose body shielded the Vinda woman against its force. Both were thrown back farther, a second detonator striking the ceiling and exploding causing a brace to disconnect and fall through.


Leia was thrown to the side as the brace smashed into the prison room wall crushing the body of the dead Sith apprentice. Skygge used the fallen brace as a ramp to move out onto the outside roof of the prison structure as alarms were blaring in the distance. The apprentice who had thrown the detonators was injured but had climbed out with Skygge and the Sith Knight nodded approvingly. Her aching fingers toggled a hidden slave device that would recall their ship.


It was time to leave this wretched planet.


Tyscio coughed slightly and rolled away from Natalya who seemed to lay unconscious. "Lose something?" came a taunting voice and the Caprician looked up to see the second apprentice of the murdering sith-bitch. Tyscio sighed a tired sigh as the Sith stood over Natalya pretending to offer Tyscio's saber back to him as if in fair play. Not that the Sith cared about fair play for Tyscio was too far away to grab the saber.


"You're a sonofabitch..." the Caprician coughed out amid the dust and smoke.


The apprentice's lips spread into a sardonic grin that suddenly froze in place as Tyscio's saber activated piercing the Sith through his mid-section. As he began to double over losing his grip on Tyscio's lightsaber, it remained in mid-air held in place by Natalya's hand that had shot up from below activating it.


"You're a dead sonofabitch," Natalya corrected before disengaging the saber and attempting to sit up.


Her head began to spin and she groaned.




*



The transport's running lights were visible as Skygge moved her hair from her face at the edge of prison roof. Already, law enforcement vehicles were entering from below in an attempt to ascertain the damage inside. Any minute they would be crawling over the roof but, hopefully, not before Skygge and her remaining apprentice were on their way.



"Where are you going?"


Even as the thruster's screamed overhead, Skygge heard Leia's voice behind her. There would be no disguising the steel in the Jedi Master's tone and it chilled the Sith to her bone.


With the wind howling between the figures, the ship roaring overhead, and sirens blaring below, it seemed there would be no end to this night's dance of death.


Her apprentice hissed and started to draw their own saber in a futile attempt to protect their master but a wave of Leia's saber send a force strike that put the apprentice on their back.


The ship was hovering but Darth Skygge knew she would not be able to summon the strength to make a jump and deflect any attack of Leia. If she somehow made it to her ship, she knew exposing herself to the attack would leave her crippled.


So the Sith used the only trick she had left.


Her voice.


"Do you think, Leia Organa, that your children will be safe even if I am dead?" she asked, turning around activating her saber. It's extraordinarily long handle was actually two sabers connected and she kept the other edge retracted.


"They will be safer," the Jedi Master quipped back. "And just maybe, your dead body would give others pause."


It was hard cold logic that stopped Skygge's taunts in her throat for her own self-image gave the words truth. If she, Darth Skygge, heir to the Sith Order after Xa Fel, was killed by protection of the Jedi Master's children, would other, lesser Sith still try?


YOU ARE NOTHING!


Darth Skygge's eyelid twitched at the voice within herself.


RELEASE ME!


"After thousands of years, you should know by now, Jedi, that you will never stop the Sith!" The tired smile on Skygge's face masked a movement by her free hand.


"And when will you Sith ever realize that you will eventually face the consequences for your bad choices in life?"


RELEASE ME!!



Darth Skygge let out a frustrated cry as both she and Leia attacked at the same time and as they struck, a blinding white light enveloped the Sith's mind before she lost consciousness.



...


...


...


...



Leia climbed back up to the roof only to see the dot of light grow dimmer as the Sith's transport retreated farther from Capricia.


"Leia?" Tyscio's voice broke into the Jedi Master's reverie and she turned to see he and Natalya join her on the roof.


"System Security may yet catch them.." Natalya offered but Leia shook her head.


"They are Sith. They are very adept at hiding in the shadows. They may be cowards in life and death but they are self-serving cowards."


Tyscio looked at the blast marks on the roof, "Whoever was on the ship was a bad shot."


Leia sighed, "She had her ship slaved and did not have time to have it target anything. Enough shots collapsed what I was standing on. I felt her presence go dark as I fell but there is no body so I do not know if my strike was true or not."


"Well good riddance to bad rubbish. At least she's gone." Tyscio concluded and he moved in to hold his wife. "Let's get out of here.."


"Guys?" Natalya's voice interrupted their hug and Tyscio's look of irritation at the interuption of a tender moment vanished when he followed her eyes to the government military shuttle that was approaching.


They waited until the shuttle hovered down next to them. A door slid open and Scipio Arien jumped down. She looked pleased at finding all the Jedi in one place and, taking them all in with one look, started, "We have a problem..."



...


...


...


...


Darth Skygge opened her eyes feeling drained.


"Steady Master," she heard her apprentice admonish. The ship was dark which translated into silent mode which, then, meant they were hiding from system patrols. If there were poweful force-users in any of the Commonwealth vessels, there was always the possibility of them 'feeling' the presence of one with the power that Skygge possessed. The apprentice was too weak to be of concern but now that she was awake, the Sith Knight was another matter.


But all that Skygge felt was her labored breathing.


"The ship fired.." Skygge noted with a small satisfied allbeit tired smile.


"The ship fired," her apprentice confirmed and looked at a medical monitor overhead.


It was then that Skygged realized she was hooked up to various devices. She tried to flex her hands but found only a numb sensation.


Startled, she tried to sit up, "What is..?"


The apprentice's firm hand held her in place. "Remain lying, Master."


"What happened?" The Sith Knight tried to remember for found other images coming up in her mind rather than a playback of her last fight.


"The ship fired throwing off the Jedi's attack. Her saber caught your blade's handle causing it to explode in your hands."


Skygge felt a stab of fear as her eyes darted to the bundled wrappings over where her hands would have been. "Were they?"


"You still have them, Master," the apprentice commented as they read the results of the latest passive sensor scan.


"If not for your saber exploding, Leia's saber would have sliced through your shoulder and down into your heart. As it was, you both were forced apart so only the surface muscle was penetrated. The tip of her blade missed your heart."


Darth Skygge looked down at the emergency gauze and medical stitching that trailed the left side of her body from her shoulder to an exposed breast.


The medical monitor beeped and a solution was injected into Skygge forcing a sudden sluggishness of her wits.


"Get some sleep, Master. We will be out of this system soon enough."


But Skygge did not hear the other's voice. She was not even concerned about the physical damage to her body for in her mind, replaying over and over were the images seemed to invade an otherwise mind empty of any other presence.


Images of fire.


Temples aflame, banners swept aside.


She was shown a glimpse of the past. Or was it the future?


Strange creatures.


There will be war..


And then, there was nothing.