IMPERIAL ADDRESS

The room was crowded – more crowded than usual – and that was all the more impressive considering that the Acheron was still holding station-keeping somewhere near the border of the Onxyian Commonwealth, far from any of the major media outlets.

That had not stopped the media from coming when Bhindi Drayson had called. This was the young Grand Moff’s first public appearance since the devastating defence of the planet Bilbringi, and the destruction of not one, but two, of the Coalition’s war fleets. The INS was of course out in force, but so to were a number of other agencies, those approved to be aboard the Super Star Destroyer.

Drayson smiled thinly as she stepped up the podium, today wearing the black uniform of her Naval command, and not the more elaborate outfit of an Imperial Grand Moff. She waved one hand lazily to quit the expectant crowd.

“I have several announcements to make today.” She started, looking over the assembly, staring into the lenses of the many holorecorders.

"Seven days ago a fleet of Coalition warships under the command of Joren Logan launched a punitive raid on the Imperial world of Bilbringi."

She said.

"That is what Vice-Consul Marth Meer would tell you. The truth, however, is this: the attack on Bilbringi was an assassination attempt. It was an act of war, by a rogue element of the Galactic Coalition.

And it has failed! The Coalition’s fleets are destroyed or captured. Joren Logan is missing, either dead in or exile. And the great Galactic Coalition, the grand experiment called democracy, has failed!

“In response to the Alien attack on our Empire, elements of the Fleet launched retaliatory raids on Coalition shipping and defences. The Empire’s wrath was swift, and only the infinite mercy of His Highness, Emperor Daemon Hyfe, stayed further destruction.

“Ladies and Gentlemen: Major combat operations against the Galactic Coalition have ended. In the battle against the aliens, we are victorious. Prime Minister Regrad has confirmed the surrender of his Coalition in the face of the Empire’s fury.”

She paused, her eyes hard.

“Mission accomplished.

"Today, I am pleased to announce that the New Order has emerged victorious. Citizens of the Galactic Empire, denziens of the galaxy…

“I am here to announce not just the surrender, but the disintegration of the Coalition.

“Even now Grand Admiral Telan Dessaria's ships are moving into the space formerly occupied by the Onxyian Commonwealth, establishing an Imperial Occupation Zone until such time as the region can be pacified.

“Let it be made clear that the Imperial Occupation Zone is not a part of the Empire. Its people – those that remain on their worlds – are not Imperial Citizens, nor will they be until they have earned that honour!

“Resistance will be met in kind – make no mistake, no quarter will be granted for those who defy the Empire.”

She paused again, letting that sink in.

“The Cren Alliance is in talks with the Coalition Prime Minister regarding their future with – or without - the Coalition. The Empire will be dispatching an envoy to negotiate a pact of non-aggression with the Cren.

“My third announcement is this: at the request of His Highness, Daemon Hyfe, Admiral
Davin Essian has reformed the Emperor’s Sentinel Fleet. This fleet is already en-route to Metalorn, to oversee the construction of a new Imperial Embassy there, as agreed to under the terms of the Coalition Ceasefire.”

There were, of course, a thousand questions begging to be asked. But Bhindi, her lips pressed tightly together, said only “Gloria Imperium”, and stepped away from the podium.


IMPERIAL SIXTH FLEET – METALORN

Davin Essian found the larger, more ornate Admiral’s seat at the rear of the ship’s bridge distinctly uncomfortable. Perhaps it was the fact that he had spent the last decade of his career in the smaller Captain’s chair directly ahead, or the fact that this mission was the most important he had led his since promotion some months ago, but he could not help but feel a tad of unease as the ship made its reversion from hyperspace, the new captain calling out for status checks as the fleet formed up around Essian’s flag.

“All present and accounted for, Admiral.” Captain Lucius reported, with a wolfish smile.

“Very well, Captain. Shields up, please, weapons powered down. Launch three squadrons in guard formation, at your discretion.”

The Captain nodded and turned to his task. Essian relaxed into the grand chair, watching Lucius closely. The years had not been particularly kind to Davin Essian: his black locks, once the delight of every woman and envy of every man in the academy, had greyed. He had gained a fair deal of weight, the result, he thought, of the stress of these past years – rebuilding the Empire after the Wrath epidemic, and defending against the insufferable Galactic Coalition, had taken its toll. But his uniform was perfectly pressed, his boots polished to a shine, his medals proudly displayed. He bore a scar on his chin, the relic of an ancient battle, but it was not Essian’s most striking feature: it was his eyes; deep, blue, and penetrating: not many (including Lucius) could long hold his gaze. Daemon Hyfe had been one of the few who could.

And that, the Admiral realized, is what he missed. It was not the Captain’s chair that he was envious of, but rather he missed the Grand Admiral, who for so long had been Essian’s commander, who had sat in this very seat (for indeed, the seat had been scavenged from the wreckage above Bastion and bolted into this ship when it’s construction was nearly completed) and led Sentinel Fleet to victory against so many foes.

Essian remembered serving under Hyfe in the conquest of Vortex, when Hyfe had been a just an Admiral. He recalled the defeat of the Galactic Defence Initiative, Hyfe calmly issuing orders even as the GDI’s strange superweapon threatened the entire fleet.

Now Hyfe was Emperor, and that task fell to Essian. His blue eyes narrowed as he took in the situation above the target world, the panic as traffic dodged out of the way of the oncoming Imperial Fleet, fleeing like petty criminal’s from a Jedi’s lightsaber.

“Well, My Lord”, the Admiral thought as the Ebony Vigilance slipped into its holding position above Metalorn, “I shall not fail you.”

The Prime Minister stared at the holographic figure of the floating Eclipse-class Star Dreadnaught in orbit around his planet. For several minutes, the Imperial fleet had orbited in seclusion. As previously ordered, all space traffic in the system, both military and civilian, was now gone, having jumped to other Confederation worlds in case of an outbreak of hostilities. In the same mindset, all military personnel on-planet were at their combat stations: starfighter pilots were next to their fighters; gunnery crews had the Flak Towers and LNRs powered up, but not targeting the orbiting vessels; organic and mechanized soldiers were at key installations. Preparations in case negotiations went bad.

“Sir?”

The former CEC captain turned to his aide. “Yes?”

“Everyone is ready, you have to but give the command.”

DeMarkesh solemnly nodded. “Very well, invite the Imperial commander to come down for talks about this embassy. We will allow up to four shuttles to dock on-building. We can provide starfighter escorts if they so wish, or they may use their own.”

“Yes sir,” bowed the man, turning to exit the man’s office.

Kriel watched the man leave and shut the door. He let out a sigh. This can go two ways: good or bad. The Council has only authorized me to allow certain developments with this proposed embassy. Which is good and bad. Bad because my hands are somewhat tied, and good because I won’t be making some of the tough calls. Leaning back, Kriel pulled out an amber bottle from a desk drawer. He pulled the stopper and took a quick swig of the liquid. Kriel nervously smiled as the familiar taste of Corellian Spiced Ale flooded his taste buds. While the taste was there, the alcohol was not: the drink was a non-alcoholic synthetic designed for those who liked the taste, but couldn’t afford to be drunk for next day and a half; a frequent occurrence with those drank the actual thing. He screwed the cap back on and secreted the tumbler back into the confines of hardwood furniture. The old-fashioned door creaked open, revealing Secretary of State Reynolds.

“Well, Mr. Prime Minister, ready to meet this Imperial tyrants?”

Kriel snorted. “No. But it is not as if we ever really will be able remotely comfortable around them. Is the conference room prepped?”

“Yes,” stated the cabinet member, “we’re running some extra security sweeps just to make sure everything goes as planned.”

“Good,” stated the leader dryly, “then all we can do is wait.”

The Ebony Vigilance

Essian studied the surface scans with interest. The Empire knew Metalorn well, having clashed with its defense forces only months before. In those months the Confederation had stepped up its defenses considerably, apparently afraid that the Empire might chose to make their world a target again.

Essian almost pitied them: the turbolaser emplacements and shield generators that pock-marked the surface would be of little use against the Super Star Destroyer's planet-cracking superlaser. IHC had been adamant that the Empire's demands be met.

"Do we have a line?" He asked, turning away from the scans. An affirmative nod from the coms station was all he needed. "And the Grand Moff's shuttle?"

"The Wolf Pack reports she just emerged from hyperspace with the Tyrant." Indeed, the (much smaller) Star Destroyer was even now visible, passing over the northen pole of Metalorn, driving towards the Imperial fleet.

Essian activated his com, selecting the open line with the world below.

"Governors of Metalorn," he said crisply, his hologram being beamed into the offices of all the planet's ruling elite, "Grand Moff Bhindi Drayson, representative of His Highness, Emperor Daemon Hyfe, requests your presence aboard the Ebony Vigilance to discuss the location of an Imperial Embassy in this system."

The words were polite, but there was no mistaking the demand. Within the hour, Drayson would be aboard the Vigilance, and Essian hoped (for their sake) the Confederation governors were, as well.

“Drayson,” repeated an aide.

DeMarkesh leaned back. “So they want it on the Vigilance. Doubtless so that they have a little more control over the meeting. For most people, it is a little more intimidating to have a stormtrooper’s blaster to your back. Makes people more agreeable.”

“One could say that the Vigilance’s presence-”

“An Eclipse’s superlaser has been stopped before by planetary shield systems less advanced than ours. In terms of immediate military resources at hand, we’re really at a draw. They can’t do much to us, while we can only inflict damage if they stay around in system. In any case, arrange for one of the government shuttles to be made ready as per their request.”

“Sir?” questioned an aide.

Kriel smiled. “They may be choosing the ground, and it is their ground. And that is a double-edged sword. Besides, I do have my tooth capsule if something goes wrong. Suicide is an option.”

“It will be done sir,” bowed the aide.



Within the hour, DeMarkesh sat in a Lambda-class Shuttle headed for one of the Ebony Vigilance's hangar. As the massive star destroyer dominated the shuttle’s viewport, the former CEC officer casually played a couple of datapad games. As the shuttle neared the hangar bay of the Vigilance, the Confederation pilot requested landing clearance.

"Grand Moff," Davin Essian's voice was calm, controlled. Bhindi frowned a moment at that - many of the lesser officers who met her for the first time greeted her with something between awe and lust - but Essian was far more controlled than that. His expression betrayed no emotion, other that pride to have a decorated officer such as Drayson aboard his command once again. Essian, Bhindi reflected as she returned his salute, having spent a great deal of time with the now-Emperor Hyfe, was surely used to entertaining guests of such stature.

"Have your analysts completed their scans of the world, Admiral?" She asked, as the honour guard of Stormtroopers and crimson-clad Sovereign Protectors fell into step behind them, the faceless soldiers marching in perfect time, their eerie footsteps echoing from the metallic walls.

"They have, Grand Moff. I have not yet studied the reports in detail, but they tell me they have identified a number of locations on which we might build our embassy."

"And the conditions?" Drayson asked, "The Confederation is aware that this embassy was promised by Regrad?"

"That is a delicate matter, Grand Moff. There is talk that the Confederation may no longer wish to be a member of Regrad's Coalition. I understand there is already a motion (or whatever the democratic fools call the procedure on this world) to secede from the Coaliton."

Bhindi bit back a laugh, imagining what would become of any world that put forward a motion to secede from the Empire. But this Coalition was not like the Empire. No doubt the fool Regrad would let it happen, just as he had let the Empire move so easily into the Onxyian Commonwealth. Men and woman of that sector had fought and died for (they believed) the Coalition's ideals, and Regrad had cast them away, to the mercy of the Empire that he claimed would brutalize and rape them.

Some government, she thought with a sneer. But then, the Confederation had always done better than the Onxyian Commonwealth. Corise Lucerne, for all his faults, was not the same tired and burned out war hero that Joren Logan was. Perhaps, removed from the shackles of Regrad's rule, they would actually be able to make something of themselves.

Or perhaps not. After the meeting, maybe, she would have a better idea of who and what this Confederation was. And whether they were truly a threat to the Empire.

"Our guests?" She asked, as they reached the conference room, guarded by not only the lethal Royal Sovereign Protectors, but also two of her own Spartan-II soldiers.

"Arriving in the rear landing bay now," Essian responded, checking his chrono. "Which gives us thirty minutes or so."

Bhindi nodded.

"Good. I want to take a look at those survey reports while we wait."

Since Metalorn’s induction into the Confederation, the planet had always been a flurry of industrial activity. The system’s buttery sun bathed the dayside in a golden haze, glinting off the metallic structures far below. Monoliths of steel and stone spanned the entire expanse of the planet; a testament not only to engineering, but to those peoples which had built Metalorn into the industrial powerhouse it now was. No task seemed large enough for Metalorn’s people, no building too grandiose, and no order that could not be completed. It was the triumph of industry over the primitive jungles which once covered Metalorn.

With the escalation of galactic conflict turned to war, to the din of battle, there were those who had wondered not if, but when it would come to Metalorn. For their people’s pride was other’s envy; a crown jewel sitting in a den of thieves. With the same unsatiatable vigor that had spawned Metalorn’s metropolises came the crown’s defences. Massive structures for planetary turbolasers, some the size of large frigates. With the slightest possibility of threat, Metalorn’s defenders scrambled to these towers and took their posts. Elevating barrels to fight back the thieves among the stars. Their vigilance had paid off, and the first Imperial attack on the planet had been beat off with the mighty weapons brilliantly decimating a pair of Imperial scout cruisers. The Confederation learned from that experience, devising a newer, supplementary weapon to fight off the ravaging throngs: the Flak Towers. These new structures dotted the planet almost as numerously as the planetary turbolasers. All of them quickly constructed by the army of EVS construction droids that subtly shaped the planet’s surface.

But the fortress world had not settled only for weapons to fight off the enemy. They had settled for armor in the form of the two layers of planetary shielding. Unlike the towering monolithic turbolasers or the advanced flak towers, these defences were old, diminutive, and arguably, necessary eyesores. From these roughly fifty meter long Gencores came vast webs of energy, equally capable of absorbing a meteor strike or a planetary bombardment. For these things had they been designed, built, and adopted by Metalorn’s people. But there was another, lesser known aspect about planetary shielding known primarily to sensor specialists: planetary shields fouled sensor scans.

One layer would throw off scans considerably. Two layers would make the scans next to worthless. Whatever data the Imperial fleet had gathered by those means was worthless; useless. And given the elite nature of the Ebony Vigilance, a highly trained and well-versed Imperial officer would be reporting that to his superiors. What the Imperial fleet knew about Metalorn was what they could see.

*
Ebony Vigilance, in orbit via Metalorn

DeMarkesh’s shuttle touched down in the Eclipse-class Star Destroyer’s rear landing bay. Sighing, the Governor slid the gaming datapad into a bag. The man straightened his tunic and picked up an especially thick datapad. One reserved for diplomatic work. Given the likelihood of the Imperials wishing to construct an embassy, DeMarkesh had loaded the zoning and construction laws of his planet, his orders in regards to the embassy from the Contegorian Council, examples of embassies across the planet (which especially focused on the those of the successful Vinda-Corp), and generic information about diplomatic relations in general. It was a host of reference work for what seemed to the Metalorn man like a forthcoming series of intense negotiations. A matter which he did not relish, but one that duty bound him to complete. Resolutely, DeMarkesh walked down the shuttle’s ramp to what he expected would be a guard detail. He looked at one of them.

“If you would kindly take me to your superior.”

(I'm not making that thing up about the shield generators either. It is noted here in the lower half of the article)