Summit-class Battleship Fidelitas, Ecnal System

“There’s one warship I wouldn’t want to serve on,” commented Florian, eying a refitted Consular barge slip out of the Fidelita’s manufacturing bay.

“You call it a warship, I call it a death trap,” insisted Abell, “you can add a bunch of rocket launchers and point-defences to a ship, but that doesn’t make it a warship. You have to have the warriors and the hardware.”

Florian let a grin slide up his face, “You don’t believe in the citizen-soldier?”

“Oh, I believe in the citizen-soldier,” affirmed Abell, “I just believe that not everyone can be the citizen-soldier.”

Florian shrugged and picked up another shot glass, “Well, for its worth, I’d rather have them here than have us stay over Dagobah II.”

“Dagobah II?” grinned the Captain, “as much as I hate the backwardness of outer rim worlds, Ecnal isn’t too bad. At least there is an abundant supply of saki.”

“And that’s probably the only thing it has going for it,” considered Florian, “along with the defensivability of the terrain against everyone.”

“A double-edged sword,” agreed Abell.



New Invil City II, Ecnal

“Couldn’t we have thought of a better name?” complained the President.

Everard snorted, “It’s better than New New Invil City.”

“Or New Oldtown,” offered her 3PO unit.

Bonnin winced, “Sometimes I wonder how democracy has managed to survive with the idioticity of some people.”

“Like our people?” smiled the Colonel.

She gravely nodded.

“Well, they did elect you as President.”

Bonnin bared a rare smile, “And you ended up as a Colonel somehow.”

The pilot frowned. “You aren’t insinuating that-?”

“Are you?” asked the President.

“No, I guess not,” replied Terence, running a hand through his chestnut locks.

“But you know that I haven’t asked you to come here from your duties to simply talk about these things. We have a larger concern.”

“The Rimward Defense Initiative?” questioned the Colonel.

She nodded. “They could potentially garner too much outside and internal support. It would mean a power exchange.”

Terence snorted. “I have no interest in your politics. I care that we get our homes back, regardless of who’s in charge. And it doesn’t have to be you.”

“I am your superior-”

“You were,” corrected Terence, “but my official allegiance is now to the Confederation, and more locally to the governor of Ecnal.”

“And Invil?”

“My heart is always with Invil,” answered Everard, “and it was always be so. But you are not Invil, and you never were. Invil was my home, where my family was; the woods where my son and I went camping; where we hunted, and where I learned to fly. But that Invil is no more right now. But I will do my part in getting our old Invil back, regardless of who claims to hold the power of our people’s leadership.”

“I am the people’s heart,” stated Geneviéve, staring hard at the Colonel, “And I will be as long as Invil’s people want me to be their leader. You may think of Invil as some place light years away from here. But at least to me, Invil is its people. We can make any planet into Invil, as long as we have Invilians.”

“Now, will you follow our nation’s concerns in these trying times?”



Revanche-class Star Defender Swiftsure, Transitory Mists

“Well sir, whatta think of them?” asked Captain Rylos.

Costigan snorted. “I think they’re a bunch of F-”

“Sir, the Dahlonega is changing course.”

“Why thank you,” swore the Commodore, “I can never tell when the super star destroyer in front of me is changing orbit. It’s so tiny. As for you Rylos, I think we’re dealing with a bunch of green troops in the newest built old ships. I’m not saying that they’re bad, just that they’re old-fashioned.”

“Peacocks?”

Brailey nodded. “That too. But I’d definitely be up for picking up some of their female peacocks from the groundside. Fine things they are.”

Rylos leaned in closer to the Commodore, “I’d be up picking up that diplomat we’re carrying around.”

“That blonde?”

Rylos conspiratorially smiled, “She looks fine.”

Brailey snorted. “That’s one girl I wouldn’t touch if I were you. She’s connected to Pro-Consul Thorn of the Kashans. She could probably break you down with her political clout if you somehow messed things up with her. Kitty Hawk’s her name right, isn’t it?”

“Yes sir.”

“Funny,” considered the Genarius man, “she doesn’t remind me much of either a hawk or a cat. And don’t even think about it.”

“Ah…yes sir.”

Brailey dismissively waved a hand, “We have more important things to talk about. Like where the hell this Imp armada is…”

“I do not know sir.”

“Why thank you Captain Obvious, that is all I wanted to here from you,” laughed the man, “do you have any guesses.”

“Sir no sir.”

Costigan nodded. “Neither do I. Do you know what that means?”

“We go out to find them?”

Brailey sagely nodded. “Correct, so go over there, and get in that escape pod and go find them.”

“Hahahaha,” droned the man.

“Shut up banana weezer,” rebuked the Commodore, “get to the Flight Controller and arrange some stealth recon flights of the surrounding areas. We should have enough Deathsabers and Shadowcasters to maintain patrols in all of the major shipping lanes at all times.”

“Yes sir.”

“Chop chop, Captain, get to work. Tax payers aren't paying you for nothing.”

Revanche-class Star Defender Swiftsure, Transitory Mists

She let a smug grin flicker across her sweaty face; her steel blue eyes simultaneously enchanting and threatening the man before her. The man’s hazel eyes flared up in determination, and he began his advance with a fierce grunt. Still smiling, she let sinuously let her body unfold into another K’tara stance. She briefly jerked her chin up and down in an almost spiteful nod.

“You can’t always be this weak, Marc.”

The huge man lunged at her with surprising speed and dexterity. Better, much better. You have definitely improved since I have last seen you...She did not bother to try and block the lunging hands; it would be futile for her to try and match his brute strength. Instead, the lithe woman stepped forward into his embrace, with her fist leading. Her left jab lashed out at the man’s eyes, temporary blocking his vision to a more devastating attack, an uppercut to his chin with her right hand. As the man’s hands embraced her, they recoiled; like waves washing to and from the shore. But as the man staggered back, one of his feet surged upwards, half in control and half in sporadic passion, and swung up into Kitty’s arms.

Both black-clad Jensaarai fell back under the recoil of their attacks. Marc rigidly assumed another stance, like a nightmare of a self-repairing battle droid. Kitty lightly licked her lips; her steel blue eyes gazing at the man who moved like an industrial machine. Power and precision, and no grace. Still the same man as he was back in the Academy, but better; improved.

“It’s your turn to start the attack,” grunted the Jensaarai warrior.

She flashed a serpentine grin, “So it is; give me a moment.”

“You can’t always be this weak,” mimed Marc with a reticent grin.

She let her consciousness fade from the room, from Marc, from her very senses. It slowly sank into the currents. She reached for it, felt a tendril briefly jumpstart her fading energy, letting it sink again as she deftly waded into the Force. Her light breathing seemed to grind to a halt as she entered her Jensaarai trance. She felt a spur of energy rush up through her body. Men love surprises. Always.

Her left hand surged out towards Marc only for its advance to be checked by a lack of movement from the rest of her body. The other Jensaarai frowned. Energy rippled through her body out of that hand, producing a blinding Force light. As Marc’s hands instinctively rose up to shield his eyes, Kitty leaped forward with a punch. The jab smashed into the man’s hands and bounced right off. Marc instinctively kicked in the jab’s direction; but merely Kitty slid past it with an elegant sidestep. She advanced again, continuing forward with an elbow smash that crashed into the man’s light-defeating guard.

He stumbled back; Kitty halted. The Force let its own peculiar rhythm flutter through the combatants. Marc mechanically snapped into a balanced guard, while Kitty drew a dagger from a forearm sheath.

No glint of steel emanated from the blade; only the dull glossiness of obsidian. But it was a far cry from that common material. Cortosis, carbides, and metal from the Academy’s structure itself had been molecularly bonded and shaped into a work of art; the lightside version of a Sith sword in dagger form. As she grasped the hilt, Kitty felt the force presence of the hundreds of Jedis who had trained at the Almas Academy lightly impressed into the blade. She let her mind wander into their thoughts and emotions; a portable focus for the light side of the Force. She slipped into a peaceful state of mind that transcended any normal meditation she was capable of doing herself. A voiced roused her from the beyond and drew her back to the dull normalcy.

“Ah Kitty, I didn’t bring my lightsaber to our practice session…you aren’t planning for to go unarmed against that….I hope.”

“Well no,” mused the agent, “but I rather need some practice with it against a lightsaber-”

“I’m a bit tired; I sparred with Laura right before you, but I know that there are others who should be ready for that sort of thing; in mind and body.”

“Who’s the best lightsaber duelist in our missions group, aside from yourself?”

Marc considered, “Probably Marie.”

“If you could be so kind?”

He nodded. “She will probably be delighted to test her mettle against you.”

Commonwealth

Operation Sit & Wait

Day Five


Disgraced infantry captain, Captain Tarn Sarno, entered the Dahlonega’s darkened Admiralty quarters unannounced. In typical military fashion, he stopped just inside the room and waited for his eyes to adjust to low light. The only sound in the stark room was that of a rough brush on leather boots.

“They send you to kill me Tarn?” asked Wilkar, breaking the near silence of his quarters.

“Not today Admiral Wilkar… Not today… Why do you ask?” quipped Tarn, revealing a rare smile as he stepped over a pile of half polished boots.

“Assassins don’t knock.”

“On occasion neither do friends.”

The admiral shrugged and continued to polish.

“Is that prick executive officer carrying out my orders? Scouts? Keeping those fucking mercenary Kashans flanked?” inquired Wilkar.

“Yes sir… We’ve got all the scout squadrons out. They’re all covering their sectors. The second that son of bitch drops to sublight we’ll know. As for the Kashans… Impatient as hell but holding position on our flank…”

Wilkar continued to polish the boot in silence for some time. The tobacco in his lip worked from one side of the admiral’s mouth to the other. “I guess that Costigan fuck still wants to meet with me?” asked the admiral looking up from his boots.

“Looks that way sir… Honestly I think he just wants to see the inside of the Dahlonega… Get a feeling of what kind of hardware he’s got on his flank.”

“The less those fucking mercs know the better as far as I’m concerned…”

The admiral kept polishing, rubbing the brush in tight circles over the same piece of bantha hide over and over again. Tarn watched him in silence.

“You think he’ll show today don’t you Admiral?”

“Yeah… I reckon he’ll show. I’ve got a knack for knowing things like that. Only reason I’m still alive…” answered the admiral as he pulled one of the boots over his foot.
Tarn nodded. “You know you ought to get a woman to pick you out a pair of boots that don’t need polishing.”

The admiral snorted. “Never has a woman been able to stand the sight of me long enough to buy me a pair of boots.” He hung is head low as he pulled the other boot over his foot. “None alive at least… goddamn…” he whispered.

The admiral stood up and looked in his quarter’s mirror. He ran some water in the sink and slicked back his graying hair. His beard which was now gray throughout needed shaving, but he didn’t bother. He looked down at his chronometer, and then he looked up at Tarn.

“I guess it’s about time for him to show up. Let’s go to the bridge Captain.”

* * *

The Transitory Mists filled the Dahlonega’s main viewer. Wilkar strained his tired eyes as if doing so would somehow melt the mists and allow him to see the advance guard of the rogue Imperial fleet. Then it appeared. Blocks of Imperial gray broke the mists like a lightsaber through ice.

"To the Commonwealth Commander hiding in the Transitory Mists. I require an escort to Hapes to present to the Ta-Chume six rebellous worlds that fell under the former control of the usurper, Lucian D'alaetos."

It was the first time Wilkar had heard the voice of the man who killed him every night in his dreams. It was the voice of the man who sat on his chest suffocating him when he lay awake. In his mind’s eye, Wilkar saw his eyes opened as wide as the muzzle of a turbolaser, and himself doubling over and vomiting. He maintained composure even with every ounce of his body screaming for him to give the order to open fire.

“On behalf of the Crown and the Commonwealth, we are most grateful to you, Lord Lupercus, for removing the thorn in our side that was Lucian D’alaetos, but…” Wilkar chose he words carefully. “Under orders from my government and in the best interests of Hapes, I can not allow you or the vessels of your fleet to continue any further, and I respectfully request that you leave the Hapes Consortium peacefully.” Wilkar wondered if a few million kilometers was too far away for a Sith Lord to choke him to death.

Revanche-class Star Defender Swiftsure, Transitory Mists

Costigan managed to spare another glance at the new Sub-Lieutenant; fresh from the Abhean Star Academy. Well, not terribly new; he had been on the Swiftsure for nearly three months, but Costigan had yet to figure out his name. Everyone simply referred to him as the "Sub-Lieutenant", as if ranks were a surname or a class of battle droid which the Academies built for the fleet. The man coolly returned his gaze, and Costigan offered him a sardonic smile. And as quickly as he looked at him, the man nonchalantly went back to viewing his monitor.

"We're about to have company."

Costigan whipped his head around; Kitty Hawk was leaning forward on the back of his command chair. A wave of annoyance and surprise started to wash over his mind; only to met and diverted by some unseen influence. The man felt at ease, and Kitty let a sarcastic smile of her own sweep across her face.

"Some darksider," mused the Jensaarai agent, "his presence is unusually strong. He has done many dark deeds."

"Some Lord Luperpants or Panticus or something like that," nodded Costigan, "it's about time; he's late..."

"Sir," reported the Sub-Lieutenant loudly, "we have new contacts coming in; spotted by one of our forward sentry flights-"

"We have a message in the clear coming through-"

"To the Commonwealth Commander hiding in the Transitory Mists. I require an escort to Hapes to present to the Ta-Chume six rebellous worlds that fell under the former control of the usurper, Lucian D'alaetos."

"The voice matches that of the Imperial governor of Corellia," announced a crewmember, "according to our records."

"I think this is our man," muttered the Commodore.

"He is our man," acknowledged the Jensaarai.

"Your man?"

The woman offered a half-annoyed glare at him, "And here I thought that we were starting to get along..."

"What do we do sir?" asked the Captain.

"Send all ships within the fleet to action stations, and prepare all ships for combat," decided Bradley, "but let's not get too provocative yet. I don't want any ship changing position yet, nor any idiot gunner firing a single shot at these people yet. If the Commonwealth and the Imps have something else planned, like actually escorting that idiot, we're not going to screw it up."

"Sir," reported an officer, "our liaison officer has reported that Admiral Wilkar has ordered the Imperial fleet to leave immediately."

"Because the Imps always listen to other government's orders," grinned Costigan, "the Imps aren't going to listen. I want our artillery cruisers to begin orienting themselves at the enemy fleet and to use passive sensors to align themselves with targets based on positions provided by our recon flights. Suffrens are authorized to deploy their targetting drones now to add in that purpose."

Costigan whipped his head around as a set of blastdoors opened on the side of the bridge; admitting a group of Jensaarai clad in their unique battle armors and other clothing. Kitty strode over to them.

"I hope you all know it," considered the woman, "battle is likely now, so this is it. Defend your stations with the dedication that you have shown in your training, and we will make it out all right in the grand scheme of things, and in the life to come. Peace to you all."

Facing the Transitory Mists




Lupercus frowned.


Not at the response from the crusty warrior from the Commonwealth but because something else was telling him...


"We are not alone," he murmured and he glanced at Pitta who raised an eyebrow as the sensors continued to indicate that they were, in fact, facing the Transitory Mists. In other words, the scanners showed him nothing. Not that the sensors of those hiding within the Mists fared much better but they had the advantage of knowing the area and having picked stations of their choosing.


"This Mist is.." the Admiral started to complain but Lupercus raised a hand. "I know about the Mist, Admiral. It has served Hapes for generations."


"Lord," Pitta started carefully, "While I have no doubt that our battlegroups here are more than enough for whatever this person has hidden, if we had everything we brought from Corellia here.."


"We would what?" Lupercus demanded at his Admiral.


"Would these people be any more dead?" Lupercus grinned and Pitta scowled. He hated when Lupercus got into one of his moods, even if it was not particularly malevolent.


"Relax, Admiral. First of all, this is only the first transmission and while a certain amount of rancor is expected from whoever this person is, they cannot afford to kill me."


The Admiral frowned, "I know the Sith live on after death in some form.."


The Dark Lord laughed out loud at that. "If you call that living," he chided. "My statement, my dear Admiral Pitta, is not based on some mystical force-magic but on political reality. It took my good brother an entire year of negotiating with this Commonwealth to bring my people and the Commonwealth together. And even then, after all that, several Consortium worlds chose not to follow the Ta-Chume or the Royal Family and chose to follow the flag of our dear departed Lucian and they created their own government, this.." he waved his hand about, "..Hapan Regency. My brother was foolish for giving them the choice but that is what this Commonwealth is all about, eh? Choice.

What they do not realize is that Hapans will make their choices based on centuries of Hapan traditions. It will be a generation or two or perhaps longer before Commonwealth culture saturates the Consortium but for now... Now! Hapan Royalty matters.

I am dangerous to this Commonwealth now because as ruler of Lucian's Hapan Regency, I bring a legitimacy he never could have. I AM a member of the Ta-Chume's family."


"It also does not hurt that you brought along an entire Imperial Fleet," the Admiral cautioned.


"Hapes will never forgive an outsider dealing with what is essentially their problem. Hapan pride and all that."


"My Lord," Pitta interrupted, "Your reputation and exile.."


"My exile was because of my attack on Dakkon's former wife, the former Ta-Chume and it was a family matter and handled privately. Dakkon dealt with me according to our traditions..." Lupercus' voice darkened, "In the most harshest manner possible but.." his expression brightened, "he was besotted with the wench back then. Who of us has not been a little foolish when it comes to women?"


"Open a channel," the Sith ordered and he glanced out towards the Mists.


"To the commander of the Commonwealth Fleet, I am sure you will be relieved to know that I am not within Consortium boundaries but Regency boundaries. In fact, if you were to exit the Mists, you will be outside your territory and inside Regency Space. You may have been misled by my use of the term 'rebels' in connection with this Regency but, as I am sure you know, they are not rebels towards the Commonwealth for you granted them their political sovereignty with your Hapan Accords. They are, however, traitors to Hapan society, and to the royal family."


Lupercus paused, "You no doubt fear my record in battles and cunning and therefore fear ill from my fleet. In that, you are wise."


His gaze penetrated towards the direction of the Mists.


"I am not here for Commonwealth blood. I am here for a purely Hapan matter and would, further, compell you to contact my dear brother, no doubt attending some Commonwealth government function to meet me on Hapes. I plan to have you escort myself, not my fleet, to Hapes aboard your battleship or other vessel your fear directs to Hapes to present the Regency lock, stock and barrel to my family as a gift. My fleet will remain within Regency space until the transfer at which point I will leave with them. I doubt," he smiled, "that there will be much business my brother would have me attend on Hapes."


The Dark Lord of the Sith saw the expression on his soldier's face and shrugged, "If you and your Commonwealth feel that Hapes does not deserve to have the Regency, you may deny my request, at which point, I will content myself to ruling Lucian's former territories myself."


Admiral Pitta frowned for how would Lupercus pull off being a subject of the Emperor or Regent and yet, an equal, holding his own court on Relephon? What would those divided loyalties mean for Imperial soldiers such as himself?

Regent Zell might just brand them all traitors leaving them with no home but Relephon or Lupercus may yet simply annex the Regency to the Empire (under control of his Protectorate of course) bringing yet more accolades and prestige to himself. Perhaps with that popularity of public support (the thought was irony itself) he may make a bid for Azrael Zell's spot?

Did Lupercus have such ambitions?

It was hard to tell with the hedonistic man for he could be utterly selfish ignoring all but his fleshly cravings on the one hand and yet the man advances within whatever society he attaches himself too.


Like a parasite?


He cast a hooded gaze towards his Lord wondering for the thousandth time if the Sith could his mind. He also wondered if his own rising star would be able to ride the Dark Lord's coattails of success or if he would also, eventually be tossed aside like so many of the Dark Lord's underlings.


He knew the Commonwealth man would tell them to go to hell leaving Lupercus to work out his plot for the Regency and Empire in his own way. But a sudden fear overcame the Admiral.


What if the codgy old bastard in the Mists took Lupercus up on his offer? Would the Dark Lord actually give the Regency to his estranged family?

If that happened, Zell was sure to brand them all traitors the only thing remaining would be the manner in which they all were executed.

Zell was nothing if not inventive.


"I would have your answer," Lupercus demanded in the transmission and Admiral Pitta realized that all their futures for their part in this tale was about to be decided by some unknown, unseen gruffy Commonwealth voice on the other side of the channel.


Lupercus, of course, seemed unconcerned or oblivious to his Admiral's anxiety.

Coruscant System



"Too Fast..." the rotund Captain whispered when his subordinates snapped their fingers calling several Stormtroopers over.


"Arrest this man for treason!" the officer shouted and Ortho was lead towards the lift that would take him further into the bowels of his ship.

"Prepare to come about!" the Predator's new commander shouted over the klaxon and Ortho's panic suddenly spiked.

"Wait! No!" he wailed but to no avail. The Stormtroopers held him firmly waiting for the lift to arrive and the doors to part. Ortho could feel the engine's power plants cycling as station pits called out their preparedness to once again enter the fight.


Madness!


"Jump in 3.....2......1 ... JUMP!" and the ship gave a shudder giving evidence to the hasty repairs the Damage Control Teams had carried out.

The burst to lightspeed was seconds at worst, less than a second at best and as the lift doors opened Ortho turned to gaze out the bridge viewports into the madness before being taken away and cringed with what he saw.


Wreckage littered their vision as both Imperial and alien remnants broke apart scattering their failed legacies across the sector.

"Tactical!" he heard his Second in Command, now the ship's Commander, call out when the collision alert sounded.

The Predator's superstructure seemed to groan loudly as debris struck the hull knocking out shield generators and armour plating.

It was almost as bad as exiting hyperspace in an astroid field.

"Shields!" came an order from his usurper but Ortho had already stepped into the lift when another collision alert sounded and an explosion reverberated all about him. He had closed his eyes and screamed as he was violently being forced back towards the bridge.

But the lift doors had closed and he began to fall in the darkness.

It was only a few seconds but it seemed like an eternity and when the lift doors were forced apart allowing light once more to enter inside, Ortho Gutt saw a technician open his mouth in some sort of shout but could not hear him.

The explosive blast still seemed to be blowing inside his head and in his ears and as he took stock of himself he saw his uniform had been torn in several areas and that he had wet himself.

Embarrassment of his fear overcame him and he pushed the technician who was trying to help him out of the lift back. Mustering his strength, he shouted the only thing he could think of in hopes of distracting them.


"FIRE!!!"


"FIRE! FIRE! FIRE!"


Even attempting to shout at the top of his lungs seemed curiously muffled but he saw others who had ran up to join the technician seemed to understand what he said.

Their mouths moved but he still could not hear them but he saw that one crewman was speaking into a commlink presumably giving his orders to the secondary control center.

All of a sudden, the ship shuddered against the energy release of it's remaining functional batteries.

Everyone seemed preoccupied with the damage and not with Ortho's appearance so he relaxed a little.

The old Imperial maxim was true after all, "When in doubt, shoot something!"




Coruscant



The sensor alarm stole the Regent's gaze from the most recent munitions report as an area once solidly red turned gray. Curious, Zell called up the tactical details.


He had run out of curses against Captain Gutt seeing that the enemy, once having broken the back of the sector's defenders, had moved on deploying shuttles in an area now uncontested. The sheer amount of shuttles had suprised the Regent and he had given up that area as lost for one never reinforced defeat.


But now, now the fat bastard had returned and had started shooting the backsides off the alien attacking fleet from behind. One thing the Imperials had seen was that the ships were light on shields and in a one-on-one fight could be dispatched relatively easily but the enemy advantage lay in their numerical superiority and exotic weaponry.


However, when attacked from behind, their numbers and weaponry amounted to little and they were torn apart. The ISD Predator was not answering any sort of hails and was apparently damaged in such a way that it did not even appear as an active unit on Zell's sensor readings.


But it was firing and as it lay waste to the rear guard it's secondary guns began to open up on the shuttles massacring the alien bastards in their own shuttles.


"Roast those fuckers you fat fuck!" Zell shouted quickly issuing orders to those of the High Command to reinforce the retaken position.


It was a bold move, thought Zell. Sacrificing your ships to allow the enemy to advance and returning to beat the shit out of them from behind. It would not win any favor with those under his command but it was damned effective!


The appraising thought was begrudging but it was there.

Raioballo Space
Shortly after the disappearance of Hyfe and the rise of the Reavers

The galaxy had turned on its head. The Empire lost several of its fleets and one of its key worlds. Yaga Minor was just outside of the Raioballo Sector. The system was on high alert. There was a threat on their doorstep that was stronger than one of the fortresses of the Empire, one that had crushed a combined effort from much of the Coalition.

The Black Dragons were no more, but they left an infecting threat known simply as the Reavers behind. The battered Coalition East was right on their doorstep and as the Reavers expanded they were bound to clash with them. And could a foe that can expand its numbers so easily, be stopped?

Progress on the Pan-Coalition trade route known as the Silk Road came to a halt. The route was scouted and some of the way stations had begun being worked on, but as things crumbled in the galaxy so to did the Coalition. When the Cren and the Sinsangese learned of what Regrad had done by launching an assault on Kamino without consulting the other representatives, they were alienated. The Azguards had once again went out and risked instigating the Empire.

The people were not angry at just the thought of war. They were angry at the thought of war being instigated by a minority that had control of their international affairs. When the Cren left, and talk began to start of Sinsang picking up the slack in terms of ships, manpower, and so forth it all became too much. Chairman Chao tried to allay the fears of the people, saying the Azguardians would never press a course of action that lead to war when the alien threat and the Reavers were still very real and far more pressing.

Sadly one night while giving a speech praising the Azguardians emancipation of the Kamino clones, to the dream of freedom, he suffered from a heart attack. He died before reaching the hospital, the cause of death accredited to his large weight and poor state of health.

The lack of a strong leader within the Democratic Sinsangese for Tommorrow to unify under gave the Progressive Sinsangese a chance to force an election. It had only been two years since the last one rather than the traditional three, but the Sinsangese Senate approved it. Once again, bickering erupted about choosing sides.

Ambassadors and diplomats came and tried to plead cases. Most claimed to not want to interfere but Sinsang was an economic gem in the Rim. There was talk that the Empire wanted it merely as an ally and willing partner for a forward base in reclaiming Yaga Minor. The Coalition wanted to keep it to produce better weapons to secure the Eastern Province from the Reaver threat, and they needed the extra wealth. The Commonwealth, and many others came forward, all with different claims and promises.

However, the real decision came at a secret meeting in a dark boardroom.

The Union’s leadership had gone silent. No one had heard much from them and one of their only organizations still running was on Sinsang. The operations they started with the League of Nations were getting out of hands and the new middle managers trying to step up were weak fools. Profit was falling thanks to this, and things were getting sloppy.

When things get sloppy, messes happen.

Things were heating up between the League and the Empire, almost to the same level it was with the Coalition. The trick was however, the League lacked strong leadership right now. If they put to it, they could bring both the Union in check AND take control of one of the more powerful factions in the Galaxy right now.

It was a gamble, but the risks were weighed and it was decided that the chance of profit far outweighed the risk. They found a small party who they could manipulate, and set them up.

To the people, it seemed that there was a new party for a new day. That was ready to face the challenges and was free from the baggage of the other big name parties. They preached a free Sinsang fighting for their freedom, and becoming better and stronger than before. They wanted a Sinsang helping the League become the leader of democracy in the Galaxy. Even the businesses rallied for them, and praises came from all over of the hope of change.

The Sinsangese People’s League won a surprise victory to the cheer of the people, and began working on pulling away from the Coalition and submitted its formal request to join the League of Nations.

The new Sinsangese chairman, Cheong Hwan, was a younger man as far as politicians go. Slim, well kept, and with only a hint of grey to his dark hair. A charismatic, fresh face to sell the same old thing.

The best puppets are the ones that can pull strings to.

------------------------------------

A fat tanned man, with oily skin and hair was slowly turning red. He dressed quite garishly by normal standards, with a bright shirt on and gold chains hanging around his neck. He was beginning to bald and had a bad attempt of a comb-over to try and hide it. He sat behind an old desk, in the back of some cheap dive. Normally, a representative of the Council wouldn’t deal with this kind of scum.

But sadly, this type of scum had somehow managed to consolidate a number of Union criminal possessions in the League. So far things were going as badly as they would be expected….

“And you rice eating cock suckers need to learn that that this is Tony Angelino’s turf! And if those FUCKERS want me to bow down to them, they better come with their balls on a platter. Capiche?” Tony yelled at the top of his lungs as he slammed his fist into the desk with a resounding crack. “Now get the fuck outta here, I don’t want to see your Singy ass in here again!”

“Very well…” Came the lanky Sinsangese man as he bowed to Tony, turning and leaving. As soon as he’d stepped beyond the borders of the shop, an eruption of flame came from within. The flames didn’t even phase the Sinsangese man as he walked on, leaving the scene calmly to the landspeed waiting for him.

As it pulled away, the light began to shimmer in the seat next to him. Seemingly forming out of thin air, a shapely Echani woman was suddenly there.

“I must thank your masters. I never knew how well a Bothan Stealth Field would work with a silent Echani. I guess it’s because you don’t shed perhaps?” The man said with a smirk, pulling out a credit chip from his jacket pocket. “Either way, here is the rest of your pay for that job. We will be pulling over up ahead and you may leave.”

A suitable distance from the building, the car pulled over and their little ace in the hole was gone as quickly as she had appeared. With that, he pulled out a comlink.

“Tony has been taken care of. Let Ferranti know that they have our support to proceed in taking over Angelino’s territory. I will be back in an hour’s time. I expect dinner awaiting me. We have a long evening….”

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Fear is sometimes all the authority you need in the criminal underworld. The men who had tried to rise up in the ranks were not men of quality. It was why they had been trapped where they had been. With the proper allocation of force, those weak men and their spineless underlings quickly were tempered into a closer approximation to where they stood before the disappearances.

The Council had no plans to advance the Union any further. They would try their best to maintain it, but they would no try mucking around with the plans of the likes of Hilter. Men like him may appear gone, but they somehow always show up again. Normally at the worst moments…

For now, Sinsang had the leverage it needed. Shortly after taming the criminal underworld of the League, they were accepted into the League of Nations.

It was time to begin the next phase of their plan.

Wilkar, the man commanding the Commonwealth largest fleet ever assembled outside the Commonwealth Proper growled under his breath.

“I guess I’ll just have to kill him then…”

Vice-Admiral Wilkar was not stupid. He did not expect that he could use words to persuade the Sith Lord from attempting to enter the Consortium. In many situations, words were never an adequate substitute for action or killing specifically. Wilkar knew it was probably vain to hold on to that forlorn faith in words, but he reckoned he had lost nothing by asking nicely first.

To meet short term goals, capitulating to Lupercus’s request, seemed like the appropriate course of action. Wilkar shook his head without actually doing it. He knew that those versed in the Force were capable of considerable action. The admiral knew he was not exactly sure of Lupercus’s capabilities, but if what he did to the Coalition over Corellia was any indicator…

Wilkar’s executive officer leaned in to whisper in the admiral’s ear.

“Sir, the Dahlonega has a colony of nearly fifty Ysalamiri living within the ship’s gardens… Perhaps this would be an opportunity to make use of them?” The captain sounded smug in putting forth an idea the admiral had not thought of, but he was correct in his assumption

“Get the zoologist down there. Give him anybody he needs to get those things mobile,” ordered the admiral.

The communications officer took his hand off his headset as he turned in his seat to face the admiral.

“Sir, the Confederates are asking for an appropriate vector of attack to avoid our field of fire.”

The though that maybe people would not have to die today enter the Admiral’s mind.

“TELL THEM TO STAND THE FUCK DOWN!” snarled Wilkar. “I don’t want them fucking this up. Make sure you tight beam that transmission. I don’t want to give their position away to the Imperials. They may be fucking mercenaries but they’re our ace in the hole by the force…”



Colonel George Simones cringed as he looked at the boarding torpedo that he was asking the men of the Death Watch Regiment to board in a few short minutes. The torpedoes had been rushed to the Dahlonega so quickly that the Coalition seal had not even been painted over yet.

“Captain how did we acquire these… this hardware?” asked the Colonel to his adjutant.

The captain pulled the straps tighter on his blast vest and checked the magazine in his carbine one more time. “The Coalition defaulted on another one of our loans. They didn’t have the collateral in liquid assets last time they refinanced so they put some of this shit up to make the margin,” answered the captain.

The Colonel shrugged. “Don’t spend what you don’t have.” The commander of the Death Watch Regiment rasped and whispered these days more than anything. In the desperate times at the opening of the Domain War, the Commonwealth Army had tried to use poison gas on the Domain Forces. The technique proved ineffective, but a malfunction in the Colonel’s breather had left his voice ruined for life. If the regiment was ordered to board the Imperial flagship, he would use a microphone to command his troops.

Simones turned to meet eyes with a young ensign sprinting into the hangar carrying a piece of flimsiplast.

“Sir! A message from the Admiral! Your eyes only!” strained the ensign through breaths.

Colonel Simone quickly read through Admiral Wilkar’s barely legible scrawl. He frowned and turned to his adjutant.

“Looks like we won’t be trying out those Coalition shit shows after all,” he keyed his microphone. “REGIMENT ON ME! TO THE MAIN HANGER!”

“Governor Darksword,” Wilkar could not bring himself to refer to Lupercus by his Sith title. “I have decided to grant your request, but you must understand we will be taking precautions given your… unique abilities. You may come aboard at your leisure.”

Wilkar shrugged on the inside. This was probably a bad idea, shuttling a Sith Lord to see his brother with whom he was not on the best terms, but facing off against the Corellia Fleet did not strike Wilkar as any more intelligent either.

Core-ward Periphery of the Onyx Cluster
Present Day


Crevix sat at the center of a system with the same name, having harnessed ensnared twenty worlds with its gravity that now lazily drifted around it in a complex dance of orbit and rotation. Most of those worlds sustained life, even those that sat at the edge, the most recent inductees the Crevix circle. As a system, Crevix was unique in that its largest world was its farthest out, baffling scientists who happened by until they stopped to investigate, finding out the twentieth body from the sun was actually a massive ball of gas wrapped around a trapped stellar body of ice and rock. The blend of white and purple mists served as an attraction of beauty, made all the more resplendent when no worlds blocked the sun’s rays, creating a wondrous display of colors and shapes. Tourists had come and gone for a hundred years…

…until darkness overtook the beauty. The hand of the Crusade had fallen over Crevix: where once colonies thrived as they farmed or mined or built to their hearts content, sending riches and glory to their far-flung masters, there existed only depots and garrisons and sources of manpower for the foul usurpers – they mined too, only it was not jewels or ore or fuel they harvested; it was people. Slaves.

As he looked out of the transparisteel viewport, tint valiantly but vainly shielding him from the Crevix’s light, Grand Admiral-Baron Telan Desaria saw no beauty from the cloud-covered planet of Iah’dra. Instead of delighting in a scene of untouched glory of the gods own making, his face twisted into a mask of disgust. Beauty was now sullied by a dozen low-orbital platforms crossed with tubes and pipes and humongous storage tanks that sucked gas from the swirling mass below. Mining was far from anathema to the Kuati; he closed his eyes and imagined just how the mining was being done and that angered him so. Imperial citizens being forced at blaster-point to toil until their deaths then replaced by another malnourished captive who would until he could work no more: the cycle would continue until the supply of slaves was exhausted.

“ Sir, we’re in attack position now.”

Desaria broke his gaze, having finished muttering a silent prayer. Spinning on a jackbooted heel, he moved to the center of the bridge and mounted his command chair. Iah’dra expanded before and above the bridge, filling nearly all of the forward viewports; crewmen worked at their stations and terminals, keeping as quiet as a litany of beeps and twirps would allow.

“ Very good, Captain. Group One, execute.”

On either side of the Cuirassier-class Heavy Cruiser Malefactor, swift frigates and angular gunships ignited drive engines and peeled off from formation. They dove low under the line of six cruisers then oriented themselves towards the demi-planet and rocketed off. As the distance between the mining platforms and the incoming Imperial ships lessened, the group dissembled further into three-ship squads, each one zeroing in on, closing with, and stopping near one of the gas platforms. Not a shot was fired.

“ Scopes?” queried the Admiral, black gloved hands steepled in front of his be-medalled torso.

“ We have incoming, sir. Tracking a dozen ships, all Crusader types. Only one capital ship, a Pike cruiser.”

Barely had the report completed when the center of the viewport became overlayed with a green grid which magnified the platforms and made all visible and clear. Then the view shift to the right to the rim of Iah’dra where both Crevi’x rays and a formation of hostile ships crested the horizon. They came on quickly, losing all cohesion; only one small corvette remained at the side of the slower, but heavily armed cruiser.

“ Captain Vorran, as you please.”

Following a pre-set batch of orders, the thin-framed Balmorran turned to the helmsman and issued commands the Grand Admiral turned out. He listened onto to key phrases in the fabric of words around him from tactical officers, sensor technicians, and Intelligence coordinators. He needn’t have listened to the Fleet Operations officer, for the rumble of deckplating under his boots told him the cruiser was moving at near flank speed to intercept; he had enough faith in duly commissioned officers of the Imperial Navy to trust without confirmation that the five Curiassier’s behind were matching speed and maintaining formation.

The digital timer below the viewport ticked down until the numbers blinked red then flashed to green: maximum, then optimum range for the ship’s heavy weapons had been achieved. The Grand Admiral paused a second more as the line of warships came parallel to the platforms and struggling friendly frigates and gunships. Crusader ships mingled among them, firing wildly and seemingly careless as to whether they struck the unshielded platforms staffed by their comrades and captives. On came the cruiser which loosed a shot from an oversized turbolaser mounted on its blunt prow, missing the fast frigate that was its target and immolating the immobile platform that dared be in its path. Gas tanks belched flame as fired chased pipes and tubes until the entire mass was barely recognizable. None knew how many enemies had died in the errant shot; all knew the answer to how many loyal Imperials perished – too many.

“ Captain, open fire.”

The cruisers, arrayed broadside to the enemy and thus showing the most teeth, opened up with all manner of cannon. Heavy turbolaser turrets spat neon energy at a pace as slow as it was lethal; lesser cannon in single casemates and triple turrets loosed their charges in kind. Waves of green looked eerily at home chasing towards a planet of swirling purples and greys, almost as if the plasmized botls yearned to be among friends, similar gases to those that had been harnessed, refined, processed, packaged, loaded, and loosed to give birth to themselves. None remained after the furious cannonade, not even the enemy cruiser, having been set on by a flurry of torpedoes from vengeful frigates, freed from the fight.

“ Captain, all ships: Phase Two.”

Frigates aligned themselves with the platforms then turned away from the gas planet. Tendrils of gravity wrapped around the platforms as reactors spun up to maximum output – tractor beams were locked on. The large industrial structures had small thrusters which kept them tethered in orbit, but they could not fight military tractor beams. The frigates pulled and pulled; one at a time, the platforms were stolen from Iah’dra’s grip. They were pulled away into deep space where the large cruisers took up positions between them and the system’s depth from whence danger could come.

And danger did come.

“ Sensors, Captain: four large warships in bound, preliminary scans show as Crusader battelships. Contacts One through Three are known, Contact 4 is of a design not previously encountered.”

“ Acknowledge Sensors.” Captain Vorran trotted from the aft control corridor, skidding to a stop next to the Grand Admiral. On a Star Destroyer, he would merely have had to look up; Cuirassier Cruisers had a single-level bridge. “ Sir, shall we launch fighters?”

The Grand Admiral was exactly as he had been for the whole of the engagement, unmoving from his rigid pose. Only his eyes darted back and forth in their deep-set sockets, raping every item they could view of every detail the moving on to another target. His steepled fingers had not even tapped one another, even as the ship had rocked with a few lucky shots from the enemy cruiser. In the past year, as the war with the Crusade intensified, he changed. Six months ago, when the enemy laid siege to Onyx, making off will more than a half-million citizens and badly mauling his flagship, the normally energetic aristocrat had slid quickly into introversion. He had earned the nickname ‘Iron Admiral;’ now, witnessing first hand his stolid, stoic demeanor, Captain Vorran knew why.

“ Bring us about; all cruisers to reform battle line. Fire by batteries as the enemy ships come within range. Primary targets to be reactors and weapons. Do not launch fighters.”

The good Captain swallowed hard, summoning every bit of courage a ten-year veteran could muster. He leaned closer to the flag officer and spoke as quietly as he could be understood on a bridge in action. “ Those ships outclass us, sir, even if we disengage the platforms and bring the escorts to bear.”

Desaria did not even flinch. “ Thank you, Captain. Commence firing when we’re in formation.”

The Crusader battleships closed, slowing appreciably to give their gunners a better chance at accuracy. A vertiable wave of energy washed off the four Crusader ships, pounding the Imperials without mercy or relent. The stubborn ship’s shields held, but only barely; the Curiassiers were being violently knocked about.

Reports streamed in from all over the Malefactor of injured crewmen, overloaded conduits, and bursting hull seams. While the shields held, the stress the projectors placed on reactor and hull were more than designed for. Men screamed while medics and droids ran as quickly as they were able; while their efforts were superhuman, their success was measured in a horrible ratio of lives saved to lives lost.

Captain Vorran felt his heart sank as he listened to the communications officer report of the heavy cruiser Tannen, a report from her auxiliary bridge. Every senior officer, along with every crewmen near the command deck, was dead.

“ Subspace distortions, Grid 21A-635-53F!”

Vorran considered for a moment what death might be like. He opened to his eyes to take one last look at the bridge before the shields went down, but instead he found himself staring at three familiar wedge-shapes on the central status display. A trio of Star Destroyers had knifed into the system and were returning in kind the acts of the Crusader battleships. Heavy weapons thundered in the vacuum and continued to do so after one enemy ship broke away to escape into hyperspace. The others were pounded until they could fire no more. Normally, the Destroyers might have stopped firing, giving quarter to the survivors of such a withering fusilade.

Not to slavers, however. The Crusader ships were pounded until sensor technicians gleefully reported all oxygen supplies on the enemy ships were depleted or burning up.

Vorran sighed relief as the Grand Admiral stood. The Iron Admiral closed the distance and stopped for a second, letting his cold, green eyes stare down the slight Captain. “ You are not always privy to operational details, Captain. Have faith.”





The quarters given to the Grand Admiral were the best on the battleship Vehement; old regulations from the days of the First Emperor mandated every destroyer built to have an admiral’s cabin, whether it was to be a flagship or not. Commander Grimalt had never been in them before, and it was not what he expected. Instead of bright, opulent fixtures, he could see little in the low lighting, aside from the Iron Admiral himself silhouetted at the viewport against the backdrop of hyperspace. The executive officer came to a smart attention, clicking his heels as he tried to squeeze a centimeter onto his height. “ We have evacuated all civilians from the platforms, sir. We have accounted for twenty thousand. Unfortunately, we discovered about half as many bodies.”

“ And the Crusader prisoners?”

“ We’ve removed all weapons from the platforms and sealed them into several warehouse blocks on each platform. We are due to arrive at Onyx in two hours where we will offload them.”

“ Are they provisioned?”

Commander Grimalt considered the question. The platforms had some rudimentary foodstuffs, but the prisoners would not be able to get to them from the chambers they were locked in. “ Not really, sir.”

The Iron Admiral never stopped staring out the viewport. “ Break the tractor, Commander. Let them drift in hyperspace for the remained of their lives. They’ll starve, eventually. Needless to say, they will have plenty of time ponder the price of enslaving Imperial Citizens.”

Out of habit, Grimalt came back to attention, clicked his heels, and hurried out of the cabin back into the corridor. When the doors closed behind him, he considered the gruesome possibility of starving to death. A wretched way to go! For a moment he wondered if the punishment was fitting. Then he stumbled on the truth – he didn’t care. They were slavers, and they deserved whatever they got. Grimalt headed off towards the bridge.

Colonel-General Wesley Vos slowly rested his forehead on his palms and sighed. Nothing was going right recently. The team at the listening post had uncovered next to nothing. The data from the computer didn't help any - it only showed an attack by Clone-Wars Era Commando Droids. The central core of one of those droids showed only that the droids had been carrying out their last given mission, a mission apparently programed into them at the end of the Clone Wars, just before they were deactivated. Which meant only that someone had found them and reactivated them. It was a dead end.

The team on Onyx had done little better. They had uncovered the type of weapon used in the explosion; it appeared to be a thermal detonator of sorts, or several, of Commonwealth make. But that meant little; the Commonwealth would not be foolish enough to use its own weapons in an attack on the Empire, even if they had reason to attack, which, incidentally, they did not. None of this made any sense, and it was starting to frustrate him.

Thumbing his comlink, he keyed for the bridge. "Admiral Typton, what reports do we have from Coruscant?"

The reply was quick in coming, but not encouraging. "Not much, sir. It appears that something has attacked the planet, though we don't know what or how many. Some scattered images came in showing alien ships, the likes of which I've never seen before. Our computers had no data on them other than that they appeared to be the same sort of ship that hit Yaga Minor."

Taking a deep breath, Wes made a decision. He would be criticized for it, certainly, and might even lose his job, but he was not going to let the center of the Empire fall to these aliens, even if he didn't like the new Regent much. Besides, it would give his ships practical experience against these creatures for the upcoming attack on Yaga Minor. "Admiral, contact all ships. Have half the Guard fleet remain here and continue exercises. Have the other half begin running scouting patrols along the edges of the Occupation Zone; have them look for anything suspicious. I want them travelling in battle-group strength; Desaria would kill me if I lost any of his ships."

"And what are we to do, Sir?" Typton asked, already knowing the answer.

"Leave the Belerophon and Azurius fleets here to guard the Occupation Zone, and form the Tyrant and Visectus's fleets for a hyperspace jump. We're going to Coruscant."


Coruscant System


Two light years out from the planet itself, the SS fleet dropped out of hyperspace. With no real-time military intelligence, it would be unwise to jump straight into the fight. They were far enough out now to send in recon and get some actual knowledge of what in space was going on at the Imperial capital world.

On the bridge of the Star Destroyer Tyrant, Vos glanced at Admiral Typton. "Admiral, have those TIE fighters been fitted with hyperdrives properly?"

The Admiral gave a curt nod. "Yes, Sir. The recon flight is ready, Sir."

"Then send them in."

Typton activated his comm. "All ships, this is Admiral Typton. Launch TIE Flight Recon 1."

From a conglomoration of ships, fourteen TIE fighters dropped from the hangar bays and formed up in front of the Tyrant. With the replacement of the standard TIE Fighters and Interceptors with the Schutzstaffel as the SS's main fighter, these fighters had been retrofitted with hyperdrives specifically for recon missions. They had not been used in a fight yet, as SS Kommandos in TIE Phantoms were usually used. But with the Kommandos occupied on Onyx and other planets, rounding up terrorists, more conventional methods would have to be used.

In the lead TIE, Ensign Roth Hanoi ran a final systems check, then called into his comm, "All pilots, this is Recon leader, check in." As the TIE pilots ran through their callsigns, Hanoi took a deep breath. He hadn't been out of the Academy very long; in fact, he had only recently been assigned to the SS. He considered it a privilege to serve with such excellent men, but he still had the distinct feeling that he was not ready for this honor.

As the pilots finished, Hanoi closed his eyes and sighed. This was it. "Alright then," he said. "You know your business. Let's get to it." And with that, the TIEs launched, each on a slightly different vector. They wanted to cover as much of the system as they could.

Hanoi had only been in hyperspace about half the time he expected when he was suddenly jerked out by something. "What the..." he started, then thought, There shouldn't be any bodies of gravity here! What... He looked around quickly for an interdictor, instinctively starting his recon sensors and transmitting live audio and visual feed back to the Tyrant. There was nothing there to look at, though his sensors did detect small gravitic anomalies all around him.

"Tyrant, this is Recon Leader. I've been pulled out of hyperspace early. There's gravitic anomalies all over the place here. It's impossible to hyper in. Orders?"

The reply came back over the comm. "Recon Leader, this is Tyrant. It's happened to every one of your flight. Return home; we have an idea.


Coruscant System
ISD-V Tyrant

"You think this will actually work?" Vos said quietly.

Typton shrugged. "You want to get to Coruscant as a united fleet and not get stuck, scattered, and killed, then yeah, it's the only thing that'll work. Will it work perfectly? Who knows."

Wes cursed, a rare thing for him, then turned to look out the viewport. What the Admiral had suggested was dangerous for every ship in the fleet, not to mention the fact that they still had no intelligence on the enemy that was attacking the Imperial capital. No. He couldn't risk it, not without direct orders. And at least he had something to report to the Grand Admiral when he returned from wherever he was. No, the battle against this enemy would have to wait.

Turning back to Typton, Wes said, "We can't risk it, not without a direct order. As much as I hate to say this, turn the fleet around. Head back to Thoraza. We'll keep sending recon flights in, but we can't do anything right now, not until we figure out what is going on. And I can't risk running half my fleet into the planet. No. We're going home."