The air was dank and thick like being inside the belly of some great space worm. The stench of the place seemed to penitrate the very being of the Grand Master of the Imperial Royal Guard, Carnor Jax. The crimson robes he wore had become dingy with dirt and musk. It was, all and all, as he had expected from any world formerly controlled by the Hutts.

He had dispatched several of his brothers to restore Imperial Order to the local government. He himself, however, had another mission in mind. An old grudge that it was finally time to settle.

Troka Sorellan, a former officer of the Imperial Navy, had long since defected from the grand Imperial Order to the rebellion. He was a habitual traitor and proved such once again by becoming nothing more than a war profiteer. This boil on the ass of the galaxy would soon learn that the loyalty of the Imperial Royal Guard never dies, nor does their commitment to the utter destruction of Imperial enemies.

Jax had been on planet for six days now. He had procured a residence and work at a local cantina. The cantina, called Boss' Place, is the club Sorellan frequented most predictably. It was here that this cretin would learn one final lesson.

----

Errant noise bubbled from every seam of the cantina. Sorellan was, once again, at his usual table. Jax, who had been tending bar at Boss' for five days now, kept a keen eye upon his prey, without drawing attention to that fact, of course. A group of corellian space traders entered the bar and ordered a drink. Jax greeted them with a slight nod and a "What'll it be?". After serving them each in turn the traders walked towards an open table, a path which would lead them strait past Sorellan's corner booth.

Now it was time for Jax to put his plan into action. Grabbing two mugs of ale he headed for the Corellians. Once he was close enough he spoke. "You forgot these." Turning swiftly, the two mugs were shattered across the faces of Sorellan's two companions who each slumped to the table. Before Sorellan's eyes could even widen fully at the brutal and sudden attack, the sound of metal quickly sliding across metal was upon the air.

The metalic glaive of the Grand Master was extended to the fool's throat.

"Sorellan. You are a traitor to the Empire and a war profiteer. Your crimes warrant nothing less than death."

With that blood sprayed upon the soft fabric of the booth and splashed across the wall behind it. A thud echoed through the now silent cantina as the man's head fell to the table. Without another word Jax turned to the door and exited in silence, vanishing into the dark, dank night..

The stench was becoming, albeit slowly, a commonplace fact. It was getting to the point where it was now a barely noticable background annoyance. The people themselves didn't seem to notice in the least.

Jax had finished his business with a few more known Imperial Criminals. Now it was time to catch up with the other guardsmen who had made the trip to this festering hole of galactic slime. Slowly the Grand Master made his way into the central capital building.

His face remained cold and emotionless even amid the carnage which he encountered. Walls were bathed in blood and gore. The floors of the building littered with the bodies of fallen guards and others. A slight motion at the end of the hall caused the Grand Master to draw his weapon only to replace it to his side again.

"It is done, brother. Imperial Order has been restored to this hive of scum."

The Grand Master offered a slight nod.

"You have done well, Brother Hannad."

Deep Space - Asteroid Field G86-Delta
Between Saki and Da Soocha V

Captain Millus Therrik scorned and threw down the datapad he had been reading. In text only mode, the words painted a less brutal but no less real picture of happenings on Ylesia. The Empire had taken his home and brought unspeakable horror to it.

Declaration after declaration filled the HoloNet and every news channel that ran thereon, each speaking of amnesty and leniency to those who renounced their crooked ways and turned themselves in. Mercy will be granted to all those willing to embrace the Imperial Way of Life and become legitimate members of society.

Mercy! Therrik spat onto the decking of his cramped and dark quarters as he pondered the words. Reports of the unofficial kind had filtered out of the smuggling center of the galaxy revealing the truth. Indeed, there were many spared once they surrendered their cargoes, weapons, means of defense and livelihood. Other who resisted who shot out of hand. Then there was the matter of the Empire’s Black List, a massive dossier composed by Civil Defense, the para-military Imperial policemen. On it were millions of criminals who had escaped custody or never been apprehended: placement on the Black List resulted in immediate death. The Inquisitoriate, which oversaw Civil Defense, turned a blind eye to all others killed if the named person was on the roll of the deceased. Wives, children, friends, and anyone who had associated with the wanted were massacred.

Imperial Law! Therrik snarled anew when he thought of those left behind: those he had left behind. His wife of eight years and fellow smuggler had been killed when the transport she was on to escape was destroyed by an Imperial Skipray patrol.

At that news, Therrik swore revenge. He would regain his home.

The Captain’s angry plotting was interrupted by the shrill call of his belt-fastened comlink. “ Boss!”

“ What Fermi?”

Fermi Ricool, first mate of the smuggling vessel Shadow, replied nervously. “ There’s a few ships droppin’ out of hype’ a bit away. They’re not Imps.”
&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp
“ Then why call me?” Therrik growled.

“ They want to fall in line.”

Therrik growled again. He was too busy to deal with this! Since leaving Terri, one of Ylesia’s moon cities, several ships had attached themselves to the Shadow’s stern. They had perhaps found some comfort in hiding behind a highly retrofitted Assault Frigate ‘appropriated’ from the Rebel Alliance so many years before.

“ Fine.”

-- Earlier the same day --

Kile Hannad had been placed in charge of the force which would take the capital by storm and by force, if needed. They would, one way or another, place this planet under the Imperial Shroud. These crime-lords and space scum had littered this sector for far to long now.

Kile Hannad and his crimson brothers moved upon the capital building at mid-day. They made no attempt to hide who they were or why they had come. The main doors swung open and instantly blaster fire was upon the air. Blazing bolts of hard light energy flew around and, seemingly, through the Royal Guardsmen.

Without fear, seeming completely inhuman, the guardsmen advanced with fury. Metalic blades glinted dim light and reflected the crimson glow of the passing energy blasts. Blood splashed, bodies fell, gore was scattered, and then.. there was silence.

Now standing alone, the Imperial Royal Guardsmen moved forward once more. Another door breached; Another group of guards and workers throwing vollies of blaster fire upon the wall of crimson death that was the guardsmen. Once again blurs of crimson scattered death and destruction around them.

Yet another door was breached.

One last volley of fire released.

One last defender cut down before an unstoppable force.

Imperial Might had proved itself once more.

Primary Auditorium: Reign-class Star Destroyer Autarch
Celebratory Banquet


The applause had been thunderous when Admiral Desaria completed his speech, either because it was horribly long or highly potent. Either way, the cheer was deafening. The point was made and all understood the occupation of Ylesia was only the first step in the Empire’s conquest of the region.


On a positive note, the crews and officers saw their mission not as one of banishment to a wild segment of space but an assignment of great prestige as every last one of them was a pioneer and Hero of the Empire. Time would tell if such thought would be in vain.


Along the front of the hall sat the captains of the Destroyers and the commanders of the gunships that had recently been swallowed up by the 1st Squadron. Admiral Desaria was perched at their center. Beyond in a mess of circle and rectangle-shaped tables sat junior officers and department heads, as well as those few representatives of the Army that could be spared. The Inquistoriate and its member security bureaus were fully immersed in their tasks and so no red could be found that was not on an officer’s rank plaque or the Imperial Banner.


“ Admiral?”


Baron Telan Desaria, thirty-two year old aristocrat and Chief of the Imperial General Staff, turned his head to the left to see who had interrupted him before he had the chance to bring a half-full glass of cognac to his lips. Standing behind him was Captain Alexis Gromm, master of the Victory-class Destroyer Centurion.


Desaria replaced his glass on the silk cloth covering the table and smiled. “ What can I do for you, Captain?”


“ I was wondering if you might like to dance, sir.”


Though no one stopped moving and music coming from the ship’s orchestra did not dim, hundreds of eyes fixed themselves on the squadron’s commander. There was not one being anywhere on the command ship or assembled from any of its compatriot vessels that knew whether the Admiral would snap at her or most graciously accept an offer from the most attractive humanoid female in the unit.


Peasant Kuati men were brought up to almost loathe females as they were the superior sex in the eyes of the government. Among Kuati males of higher-born status, females were looked on with disdain as unwanted matriarchs blithely ruling a society in which they contributed little to success. When as a young boy Desaria began his career as a cadet-officer at the Kuati Martial Academy, he shed any opinion of females either negative or positive. They were a part of life he accepted. Their allure was something he had always ignored for fear of regressing to his Kuati lineage.


Baron Desaria regarded the beautiful woman near the middle of her human life. The most perceptible pair of eyes on him was that of General Maxim, commander of the III Corps with whom he had grown familiar during the previous campaign. Noticing this attention, the Admiral quickly decided if for other reason than comradely and well intentioned spite. His hand brought the glass of cognac to his mouth from which the container’s remaining contents were taken. Desaria wiped his mouth and placed the silk napkin on an empty plate ahead of him.


“ Why the frell not?” A grin grew spontaneous on the Admiral’s face as he rose to his considerably larger form. With a polite gentlemanly nod he extended his arm; Captain Gromm accepted the escort and the pair marched around the centerpiece table, down three stairs, and onto the makeshift dance floor itself.


The assemblage was in the middle of waltz and showed no signs of stopping. The Admiral bowed and took his companion’s hand in his own. They were then off, twirling and swaying about the floor to three consecutive pieces written by an Adrian-era composer from Drall. When Captain Gromm signaled that she needed a rest, the envigorated flag officer nodded and escorted her to the table from whence she had come, seated with several junior officers from her ship. They chatted away as Desaria departed, any signs of fatigue disappeared into the vacuum that was gossip.


“ I didn’t think you had it in you,” quipped Maxim with smile on his face cigarette with elongated holder in his hand.


Desaria smiled at his new found friend. “ Go to hell.”


They both laughed.

Ganath - Independently-Controlled Planetary System


Space went on forever when one peered through almost a meter of transparisteel, safe in the steel carcass of a Star Destroyer. When a being found itself crammed into the small confines of a fighter of any variety or affiliation, space became intimidating. Many an E-wing pilot, after flying their first combat mission protected by shields and the Republic’s best and newest fighter craft, admitted to feeling alone ‘out there.’


There was just as much anxiety, fleeting or otherwise, among the pilots of the most feared combat department in the galaxy: the Imperial Fighter Corps. Many of these humanoids sat in the crash-couches of TIE mkII Defenders surrounded by top of the line technology and a strong hull unheard of with the half-century old TIE/ln series and felt the same thing.


Or at least Senior Lieutenant Antoine Varris did, commander of the 71st Fighter Squadron off the VSD Praetorian. No matter how many of his comrades swarmed around him he shuddered every time he left the magnetic resonance field of a warship’s launch bay.


“ We’re all here, boss.”


Varris listened to his leather flight suit crunch as he turned his helmeted head to the comm. relay on the side of his snubfighter’s ball cockpit. “ As if my sensors weren’t working, Five.”


Vape Five, leader of second flight and the executive officer of the termed-Vape squadron, laughed in reply. “ So this is Ganath?”


Varris whistled. “ That’s what I’m told.”


“ It looks more like Sluis Van!”


Vape Five was not too far off on his comparative assessment. Where the shipbuilding hub of Sluis Van bristled with star yards, stations, platforms, and ships through its entire system so did Ganath. Stations as large as a kilometer in width and height orbited the near-dead world with literally thousands of smaller objects immobile yet secure in their orbit. In the utterly lawless region of Hutt Space it was as close in appearance to a legitimate metropolis as any native planet came.


Files provided to the 71st were small as Intelligence had to forward to every squadron a dossier of some four-thousand planetary systems. The were informed the ‘governor’ was the son of a former Imperial who had inherited the world from his father and controlled all aspects of life close to legitimately: police service was provided, as was electricity, water, sanitation, and medical care. Taxes were small and fixed at a percentage of declared income. Where the world differed from the main line in that those who did not include the ‘government’ in its illicit dealings found themselves at odds with the Police who committed crimes such as arson and murder as enforcement. Extortion was the way of life.


“ Well, what are we supposed to do again. Just show the flag?”


“ That’s it. Break off by flights and do some general harassing. Don’t concentrate fire, be indiscriminate. Make sure every one knows we’re here. Broadcast in the clear so they know just whose flag we fly.”


“ What fun!” Vape Five replied.


Vape Lead smiled and turned his fighter to port, the sound of his accelerating engines filling the cabin even through his head gear. Nearest to him and the three Defenders following in precise order behind was an old Urbikkian yacht sporting more weapons than was ever intended a ship produced for interplanetary courier duty.


Lieutenant Varris gave his trigger a gentle squeeze send three dual-linked bursts of light laser fire at his prey. The vessel’s shields were not up letting the bolts of light impact the hull. Scorch marks replaced worn and paintless hull plating; fire broke out at the lasers’ last hit mark, a fuel cell hit.


“ Two, your turn.”


The Defender to the squadron commander’s left punched his throttle forward and came into position before his superior. Two more Defenders formed up expertly on his flanks, Varris taking the diamond-end position at the rear of the flight. Two picked a fleeing skiff barely suited for vacuum exposure for his target, a target that disappeared after only three independent shots. After rotating again the flight left its mark on a repair dock that doubtless charged exorbitant sums for arriving, departing, time spent, and parts.


Chaos was easily created above Ganath. Several small craft had been destroyed and many others had minor damage. Many had shot back but were too ill trained to hit any of their attackers. Before forming up on their exit vector, Varris made his message clear.


“ Resistance to the Rule of the Empire will be dealt with mercilessly. Remember that when our bigger brothers come to vist.”


The squadron left for its carrier, rest, food, and then another identical mission briefing.

“ All stop.”


“ Helm answering all stop,” acknowledged Petty Officer 2nd Class Corsair from his bow-ward terminal.


“ Scopes clear, Captain. Jump vector secure.”


Lieutenant Maxis Willarum, mistress of the Piedmont, vessel of the Imperial Department of Logistics and Supply, nodded and turned her body to port and the ship’s navigation officer. “ Confirm?”


“ Aye Madam Captain. Point seven-delta-five for Leg Six confirmed.”


“ Very well. Helm, bring us into position, one third thrusters, and jump when ready.”


Seventeen Hours Later – En Route for Ylesia


“ All stop.”


Lieutenant Willarum adjusted her hair, pulled back in regulation style under the M43 cap required of junior officers. Before completing officers’ training at the Imperial Academy’s Bastion Campus, Willarum kept her hair almost a meter long. She had been the subject of much conversation in media circles, her previous career as a news-caster for a small Coruscant HoloNet service. Service to the Empire brought an end to her length, every last strand removed for her freshman year. After that all cadets were allowed to sculpt their manes in whatever manner they saw fit so long as it was not obscene, Willarum began the arduous process of recreating her ‘myth.’

Only having graduated five months’ before, she was not even close.


“ Helm answering all stop.”


The Piedmont was Willarum’s first command as an officer. Like almost every one of her classmates, and indeed her predecessors in almost every class, she would have to endure a year of torturous obscurity before being regarded as a serious officer. She hated the bland and mundane operations she had to perform.


Excitement is too oft the harbinger of Pain: I prefer apathy.
- Grand Duke Murriann Tiara von Desaria, ancestor of Baron T. A. Desaria


“ Scopes – five ships incoming!!!”


Willarum snapped her head forward and looked out of the viewports. A grey and purple cloud of gas drifted nearby, but no ships could be seen. “ Where?”


“ Right on top of us!!!”


Three small craft buzzed the bridge of the seven-hundred meter freighter and banked right. They were a motley collection of ships, one small and two just over a hundred meters, every one coloured in some unfamiliar scheme reminiscent of no known government. Two more ran aft that scanners identified as Corellian Action Transports.


“ Increase to flank! Steer two-five-three!”


The Piedmont just started to whirr to life, its sub light drives igniting in the cold of space. Until now, they had been dormant as they needed only maneuver from exit to entry vector on their long hyperspace trip from a food storage depot to a newly conquered planet. Barely a kilometer was gone when the ship started to rock violently. There were no shields raised as there were no shields.


“ Reactor to full!!!”


DepLog ships had only one asset in an engagement – speed. Other than a superior velocity, they had no chance in a fight for they were not built or even refitted for battle. Rationally, though as part of the Imperial Navy, Logistics did not operate in or near battle zones, only within charted and secure space lanes.


Willarum stared fore and watched a disc-shaped craft roared towards them then yawed to port and disappeared. In its place and true to course were six concussion missiles. She cursed these pirates or whoever they were. She was as good as dead and hated them: she would never be a known persona in the Fleet Office now.


The missiles hit. Piedmont was torn apart, destroyed with all twelve hands aboard and a full hold of foodstuffs.

Reign-class Star Destroyer Autarch
Above Ylesia


Lieutenant Commander Mitchle Taurus placed a nervous finger in his collar and ran it around his neck. Even though Admiral Desaria was not known for executing those who brought him bad news, it was the fear of ever aide-de-camp that their commander might just snap. He brought his hand down and shrugged, making sure his white shoulder cord was in proper place, then signaled the chime for Desaria’s bridge-level office.


The pad beeped in response and the doors whooshed open. Commander Taurus stepped through the threshold feeling like a rookie TIE pilot his first release from a launch rack. The Admiral was standing above a black table placed between his desk and the entrance. Taurus recognized the two-dimensional schematic as he had delivered it early yesterday morning. A Warrant Officer, Third Class, from the Engineer Regiment attached to the III Corps had mapped out an idea for redesigning the Ylesian capital city to something definitively more Imperial and drastically metropolitan.


Taurus came to attention just short of the table and the flimsiplast sheet that hung over it, the sound of his clicking heels reverberating through the dimly-lit office. Most light came from the wall-mounted aquariums Desaria installed on the walls parallel with the Destroyer’s beam. The tanks glowed a dim purple or pink depending on the attitude of the fish within; Yirridorn were native of Raltiir and a favorite of aristocrats galaxy-wide as they emitted a pheromone that changed the hue of their aquatic environment.


“ Ah, Commander. I doubt you came to discuss this?” Desaria gestured at the map as he erected himself to a hair short of two meters.


“ I am afraid not, sir. The transport Piedmont was scheduled to arrive at eleven hundred hours.”


The Admiral looked at the elegant chronometer on his desk. “ Fifteen-sixty-one.” ***


“ The Department of Logistics is fanatical about the punctuality of its ships, sir. Their liaison at Provisional Command requested a patrol be sent out.”


Desaria nodded. By his own initiative, General Maxim had expanded the headquarters of III Corps to become a command and control center for all of the Ylesia system. They appropriated the largest building in the capital city and focused every effort for the reining in of Ylesian society there. Commodore Xatta, high strung officer of DepLog attached to the 1st Destroyer, transferred himself and the fifty odd men he had assigned to him, transferred to the planet as soon as it was occupied.


“ Two assault shuttles followed their course back and checked their drop zones” – places where ships dropped from hyperspace to change direction – “ and found wreckage about five hours from here.”


The Admiral’s face grew stern. “ Cause?”


“ Unknown. From the position of the debris, she tried to run but was hit before her engines could kick into full gear, sir.”


“ Thank you, Commander. Please summon Captain Gromm.”


*** - I believe, given what I have read of Coruscant, it is in the middle of its system and thus subject to longer years than Earth. As such, I have elongated the hours.

Reign-class Star Destroyer Autarch


“ Do you have a moment?”


“ Always. Walk with me.”


Lieutenant General Maxim, commander of all embarked troops serving with the 1st Destroyer Squadron, fell in next to Admiral Desaria.


“ Your walk is a little brisk. Late?”


There was little humor evident on the Admiral-Baron’s face. “ Some pirates hit one of our transports bringing a food shipment here. The route was coded in our Logistics File as usual.”


“ Slicers?” The General returned a salute from the door guards as the pair of senior commanders entered the lowest level of the ship’s main hangar. Technicians buzzed about TIE fighters of various classes taken off their holding racks for maintenance. Pilots oversaw their pet vessel’s care with keen eyes. Off to one side of the bay was a drop ship used to land troops being overhauled. Directly in front of them just inside the magcon shield was a Lambda-class shuttle.


“ Is that Captain Gromm?”


“ It is. I am ordering her to investigate the attack area and see if she can track down these pirates and learn something about them. We will then strike their base and eradicate this latest threat to our claims here.”


“ Oh, I’m sure that’s your intention. But will you…unveil…these orders in your quarters?”


The Admiral’s face was playfully angered and he glowered at his friend. Maxim burst into laughter, unable to restrain himself. He was showing no deficiency in front of his men: in fact, he was showing them their commanders could be human as well.


“ Captain Gromm …”

***This thread is on Hold until Jax returns***

- Until then, it is considered removed from the timeline -