The Black Fleet




The Claw of superstructure and metal extended outward as if reaching out to pluck a yet farther distant star system from the field of dark space to douse its flickering light. The fleet had a good amount of time to form up the defense for the hammerblow that was coming and her estimation of the enemy fell several notches.

General Tagge had sent a short message throughout the fleet but it failed to inspire. For what was there to be inspired about? The fleet had one of the highest standards set before it by their Grand Moff task master and any allusion to their carrying out of their duty would be received as merely a statement of the obvious. How could you excel when 'excellent' was the baseline for all your activities? Even the anticipation of the coming battle was diluted in the knowledge of not only where the enemy would show up and when. How could one find anxiety in that?


Most of her training had come from ground forces and she knew intimately the calm before the storm. The tightening of the throat and unclenching of pure dread at an enemy charge where the only thing that stood between them and their objective was a hundred and thirty-five pound slab of meat called ...well 'you'.

Space combat seemed much more sterile by comparison and the ground-pounders always looked upon the Navy with a hardened contempt. It was probably a resentment that carried over galactic-political boundaries and species alike. Probably the single most uniting factor for all life...

..and here she was standing on the bridge of a capital warship in a clean, pressed, brand new black uniform the sight of which her old squad would probably fall down in laughter comparing her to a Poppin-Jay (whatever that was) or Telan Desaria. Even the thought of their derision caused her cheeks to flush and she wanted to stamp her feet to get the blood flowing for there was also one other glaring fact omitted in all her thoughts of space combat: The bridges of starships were cold!


Air conditioned pansies! A stamp from her foot would probably echo throughout the bridge causing an unforgivable disturbance.


And we would not want to do that or it might interrupt someone from using his finger to push down on that critical 'fire' button that would hurl large gobs of energy at an enemy we know is coming.

The very absurdity of the thought made her question the reputations of those who commanded their fleets. Was the Supreme Commander the great planner the galaxy new him as? Was the Grand Moff this great tactician the galaxy new her as? Or did they just know when the enemy was going to show up and blow the smithereens out of them? While real soldiers, with real solid ground under them, did all the hard work?


There was a ripple of amusement carried around the bridge that she saw from her perch as crewmen carried reports between duty stations and snuck in a sentence or two that cast doubt as to the intelligence of the enemy forces coming to meet them. It reminded her of a school pep-rally where people worked themselves up into a single-minded frenzy. Only this time, there was an undercurrent of confidence that befit the Black Fleet. A confidence born of experience.


"Message from the Surveyor!... Entry Vectors!" the Comm Officer announced for the benefit of the Command Crew.


"Orders from General!"


"Adjust our position relative to the Fleet movement!" the Captain ordered calmly and as the vessel's gargantuan engines flared to point the nose of their warship relative with the Fleet, she saw a flash.


And then another.

And another..

And another..


"Emperor's Mercy!" someone whispered. She had stopped trying to count the points of light that had suddenly dotted the starscape content to leaving the proximity sensors to do their job.

"That must be the entire enemy fleet!" someone muttered and she had to agree. The numbers being made available to the Captain indicated a force of considerable size and even if outnumbered by the Imperials, it was of sufficient numbers to hurt.

The flagship, Requiem, was the first to lance out it's fury at the intruders and the fleet followed suite. Her ship was no exception and the throbbing and humming of elevated power levels vibrating throughout the ship crumbled the contempt building within her as she began to realize the very real and awesome power each warship kept contained.


To have such power to control, command, dominate.


It was heady stuff indeed!


To be the victim of such an onslaught as the enemy was, surely this action would be over quickly!


And that is when the anxiety made itself known, hidden deep within the recesses of conditioned response, within the petulant derision and smooth capability that was termed: training.


It was an anxiety built upon a realization that was slow to come to her but it was the next announcement that brought it home like a sledgehammer to glass. Her fragile perceptions of strength and weakness, so rampant just moments before, scattered like so many shards of glass swept away by a strong wind.


"MISSILE LAUNCH!"

Armor of White


The latest group of recruits, if they could be called that, were no different from the last. Each held to their birth-born beliefs, their own version of 'the way the galaxy worked and why it spit me out' and their own opinions of the organization they had just joined. It was a fact that some even loathed the Imperial Military Machine but that did not stop them from joining.

No.

Many loath smokers, drugs and pornography but that didn't stop people from working for these industries. Because no matter what your ideology, no matter your opinions, there was one fact in this great big galaxy that supercedes all others, human and alien alike:


It was the fact that everyone has to eat.


But it is up to you to determine for yourself what you eat and how well you eat. That takes creativity and that takes doing things you might generally loath at your leisure and on a full stomach. Faced with the discomfort of hunger and the desperation of an empty credit chit, one finds that loathing was a luxury that they just cannot afford any longer.


And this is where she found herself.


She was not an Imperial Citizen nor were those next to her and so their standing as a 'recruit' deserved even less than the normal amount of contempt the military officer standing before them would give. And less than the typical amount of contempt was what they got.


"You are not a citizen which means that most of you probably found yourself fighting my brothers and sisters in the Imperial Military at one point or another. The fact that you are here, crawling on your knees to the Empire for work, shows that while you may hate us, while you may have fought us, the Empire represents your best chance at continued life.

Our Supreme Commander may appreciate the irony in such acts but if it was up to me, I would shoot you where you stand right now!"

The group shifted uncomfortably glancing left and right at the ranks of stormtroopers standing at attention.


"BELAY THAT ACTION AND LOOK FRONT AND CENTER!" The officer shouted and all eyes, still nervous, shot forward.

"You grubs will do nothing unless I order it! You will not even breath unless I order it! Do you understand?!"

The nervous eyes began to fill with a questioning glance.


"ANSWER ME!!!"


"S..SIR!" they all shouted, not quite in unison.


"I'VE HEARD OLD WOMEN FART LOUDER THAN YOU GRUBS! I ASKED: IS THAT UNDERSTOOD!?"


"SIR, YES, SIR!" They all shouted.


"I am not some fucking Navy bridge officer! I work for a living you miserable fucks! So when you answer me, you call me by my working name!"


The nervous glances became panicked.


"Emperor's Blue Balls! I am a Master Drill Seargent! How the fuck you grubs filled out a fucking application is beyond me! DO YOU FUCKING UNDERSTAND THAT I OWN YOUR ASSES?!"


She shouted with all of them, "YES, MASTER DRILL SEARGENT!"


"So, you grubs can be taught.." the Master Drill Seargent said in wonder, as if to himself. "I guess the Supreme Commander was right which is why he gets the big credits and sits in a cozy office on Coruscant. But I am the one who has to deal with you grubs and let me tell you that if you make the Supreme Commander wrong, no one will ever know. I will shoot you and pile your worthless carcass into a dirt pit I make you dig!" And, as if the threat was not enough, he spread his hands out, "Look around!"


The wide eyes that were front and center suddenly glanced around and they noted large mounds of earth that seemed to run the perimeter of the compound.


"The Supreme Commander is never wrong." the Master Drill Seargent said with relish.


He was staring at her as her eyes never strayed from looking forward. She had seen the mounds when they left the main applicant building knowing that her decision had put her life effectively in someone else's hands. It was not the first experience with such powerlessness she had found herself in nor would it be the last.


But if there was one thing she learned throughout her ordeals, it was that such experiences passed.


She learned patience.

Shades of Grey



My dearest Portia,

How I wish life was simpler than what the galaxy has put before us. We start out on this great stage full of noble ideals and wishful optimism about the future. As we grow, the metal of our beliefs are tempered by the fires of our experiences and what is eventually forged will either be used to protect or to hurt.

As I wait here, ready for the Master of Ceremonies to call me out so I may take my new position as President, I want you to know that my thoughts are of you and your mother. I wish she could have lived to see this.

I want the best for you.

I want the best for our people.

Our freedoms will be tempered with the fires experience as the rest of the galaxy tries to set itself on fire. There is news about relations between the great governments of the galaxy breaking down and if that happens, war seems all to imminent.

Know that amid all these tales of suffering and darkness, there is always shining a ray of hope.


Your Loving Father




The woman watched the President-elect finish his letter to his daughter knowing that he probably would not send it. It was an odd type of therapy the man used to cope with stress but she had seen stranger. They had won by a landslide as their campaign's focus was on dismantling their tragic colonial expansion program. It was not that the public did not like the idea of tackling the unknown but everything hinged on funding and to offset private expenses in creating the technology for colonization the government had taxed the people. Taxes were never popular and as poor planning and even worse management wrecked havoc with the colonial effort, the drain on the economy became almost unbearable. Already her company had projected massive losses and if not for their satellite branch companies working in tandem to satisfy supply contracts with nearby star systems, the company might have gone belly-up altogether.

The new government had to curb the spending and repeal all their colonial initiatives, get the economy back on track all the while she would be trying to court new contracts.

If nothing else, this administration was to be her cleaning up time for the corporation. The colonization initiative was her brain-child and in the beginning, it pushed the company's funding nearly through the roof earning her a permanent seat in the family-run company board. Record losses threatened to dismantle her meteoric rise and so she turned to the only resource that was both inexpensive enough and yet effective enough to effect damage control: Politics.

Find an idealistic fool and back his down-to-their-roots-and-a-return-to-common-sense appeal and while the people all exercised their right to vote, make taking apart, pulling down and generally destroying the Colonization Program as quickly and efficiently as possible the new administration's number one priority. This would stop the seemingly endless drain of corporate funding and give the people the impression that their vote had a hand in bettering their lives as a small tax relief initiative was implemented.

Naturally the colonists would have to be dealt with but how long would they last without support from the homeworld? No, they would be coming back soon enough.

She sometimes felt she had been born on the wrong planet but she always sucked it up and played with the hand dealt to her. If you couldn't win with what you had, you were a fool to begin with. Or so her father had said.

The flock had been fleeced.


And now it was time to fatten them up again.

The Black Fleet



Say what you want about an enemy whom you know is coming. Joke with others about knowing where they will strike and when. But do not discount their firepower as anything less than as deadly as yours!


The enemy's capital warships released hundreds, if not thousands, of the projectiles and suddenly the space between them fell away with each burst of speed from the weapons.


It was at such proximity that the auto-targeting gunnery of the defending Imperial Fleet took over, the bursts of energy washing over space like a warm blanket.


A well oiled machine, she thought, her superior attitude suddenly breaking through the slight anxiety with confidence returning.


Explosions littered the area in front of the fleet's position sending scattered bits of metal and durasteel every which way. The missiles, all launched at the same time, sent out a wave of energy of such size that the Imperials failed, at first, to catch the secondary explosions that occurred. They were ignored as several Imperial warships were struck by those missiles that snuck through the automated targeting arrays.

General damage reports were being relayed as her ship shuddered, an errant missile striking the forward port section of the ship, it's energy release causing the protective shield to effervesce slightly as it weakened.


It was then that the totality of the precariousness of her situation actually smashed through the growing confidence.

The navy commanders and planners planned only for their total or eventual victory as a whole. They did not necessarily plan on what ships would win and which would lose.

Here they were surrounded by metal containing destructive powers within, trying to ward of destructive powers from outside all the while surrounded by an environment that could kill all of them should their metal shell fail.


The strategists planned on losing assets. 'Acceptable losses' they were called.


And each ship, especially her ship, would either be an acceptable loss or it would not. It was like taking a repeating blaster to a crowd. You would either be hit or not and the determining factor simply would be 'luck'.


It was something a person intellectually knew at some level but never really faced up to the reality until they found themselves in that very predicament.


If the shield generator had hiccupped, or failed completely, that missile would have struck the hull causing a loss of pressure somewhere and quite possibly a loss of life.


A respect of her fellow sailors bubbled up within her as she realized these people had, countless times, put themselves in the great big crapshoot of space combat warfare rolling the dice with death each time.


And they did not flinch.


But then, what did that say about an enemy who, in a similar situation, put themselves in the middle of such a crapshoot?


Would such sailors, even enemy sailors, who gambled with their lives in one space battle after another allow themselves to be lead by a leader who was inept, foolish or the idiot the Imperials thought them to be?


Would Imperial sailors allow such a circumstance?


It was then that she realized that no one was joking about the enemy's stupidity anymore. Gone were the smirks and jabs as crewmen and women turned to their duty stations and responsibilities knowing that to carry them out in as efficient a manner as possible would contribute to the ship's survival.


Which meant their survival.


"Oh my..." she heard somewhere and snapped back to the Tactical Display in enough time to see that their instrumentation finally had caught the reason for the secondary explosions.



A second missile launch had immediately followed the first!

White Champions



"Who the fuck is that piece of ass?"


The young woman frowned causing the scar that slithered down her left eyebrow to protrude slightly. Part of her did not care what the aging pile of bones said one way or another about her but there was a small part of her that simply wanted to whip out her knife and stab the man up through his chin.

She and her squad had been standing at attention as the Supreme Commander and his entourage walked by. It was called an "inspection" but she did not see anyone hand the officers their weapon for them to check (which was the only inspection that really mattered to her in her line of work) nor did the officers stop periodically to scrutinize a soldier before them.

It was as if they were merely meat and the officers some bureaucratic administrator sent to slap his or her "Grade A" or "Grade B" sticker on them for show, ironcially enough without the inspection such categories presumed.

A vague memory of home suddenly came forward as a voice that had commented on that very thing happening in the secular world but the origin of the mem was lost to her.

Her eyes lost their glaze and as they focused forward she saw that the rather tiny old man dressed in a white uniform of a Grand Moff stood in front of her, his gaze cast upon her as if passing judgment and telling her that she should have been trying to impress him.

Actually, the man probably had an idea of how she might have tried to accomplish that though his gaze also told her that she would have failed miserably. It was the same sort of contemptuous gaze a Drill Instructor gave, set permanently to 'scorn' knowing that no matter how hard your underlings tried, no manner of excellence would crack the scorn and impress you.

The old man drew back as if in recognition of her thoughts and turned to some nondescript Lieutenant murmuring something about a ground-pounders' performance in giving oral sex being like having your rifle stripped down, polished and put back together and all in the scant seconds it would take for her to accomplish the feat with her actual rifle.

The Lieutenant's lips curled in derision as he glanced back at her and laughed in a weasily sort of way.

Her eyes were already hardened so her lack of reaction only served to annoy the younger officer. He stuck his tongue out at her and moved it back and forth as if giving her a demonstration of how a domesticated animal would lap up air. She continued to stare forward the man having already been divorced from her consciousness as he moved away trying to keep up with the old man.

"Company, Dismissed!" came the most welcome order and she would have jumped out of the hanger if not the star system were it not for the commanding voice that kept her at attention while everyone else exited like oxygen escaping vacuum.

The black uniform of the Supreme Commander came into view, his gloved hands clasped behind his back.

"They call you Malice?" he asked softly.

"I was named so on the field of battle, Supreme Commander." she responded matter-of-fact, silently cursing herself. Why did she have to justify a name given to her by someone else? Especially to some Naval commander, even supreme commander?


The old man in the white uniform came up along side the man in black (truth be told, she knew who they were respectively: Supreme Commander Simon Kaine and the old goat was retired Grand Moff Azrael Zell) and muttered, "Not related to that bastard Draclau are you?"

The question confused her and the old man, seeing it, grinned wickedly, "Some Sith who impregnated a Jedi Master and she had his bastard." He laughed with a certain relish.

"I am not privy to the mating habits of the Jedi," she replied with a slight distaste.

The old man's narrowed slightly as the Supreme Commander lips compressed as if stopping a grin. "Tell me, my pounder of the ground sweetie, do you not think that a child born of both powers might not be something special?"

She stared blankly at the old man wondering if he had even seen the after-action report of her recent mission. The force user observer had not only not remained an observer, he had literally tried to subvert their goals by inserting his own. The efficiency of the Corp dropped considerably and it was only due to the singular powers of the person that they were able to achieve mission success. The force user took credit for the action but it was his stupidity that jeopardized the mission to begin with. It was as if a Sith could not win without a massive body count of both friend and foe.

"I would just as soon shoot the little nip and save myself and my fellow soldiers the trouble later on."


The Supreme Commander's grin did break through then.



"You may just be the right person we need for this mission."

Grey Clouds


Portia stopped in the shadow as angry voices came from her father's study. Slowly moving towards the cracked door, she peered in and saw her father trading words with the Intelligence Director.

"May I remind you, Mr. President, that your initial platform stance was too, how did you put it? 'Solve the Colonial Problem'! We are now in your second term and we still are dithering around the problem!"


Portia's father put up a restraining hand, "We have made progress. Our view is for a solution to the situation whereas their concern is more immediate. How are they going to eat when we've slammed the door in their faces and cut off resupply?"


The Intelligence Director narrowed her eyes, "They do not seem to have starved to death in the decade that they have been cut off, much to my regret. It would have made our jobs so much easier if starvation forced their hand into moving back."

The President chuckled dryly, "You should see them! They are resourceful and that they have managed to survive this long is a testament to your Intelligence community's skills. We wanted stubborn, pioneer-settler types able to physically and psychologically take the pressures of colonization. And they have done that and continue to do that even with active resistance from the place they counted on for the most aid, us!"


"The Colonial Project is a bust! It costs more than it ever brought in.." started the Director hotly dredging up the old arguments for the project cancellation.


"At ease, at ease. You have to understand, we uprooted them here and put them out there! We made them go through hardships we knew would arise and when it got to hard for us, we, who were merely investors in their efforts, cut them off! So they made the best of it and have made a home and life of it. They will not come back just because we are uncomfortable with where they are living now. If we broaden our desire to understand them then.."


"NO!" the Director shouted. "Jasre, I understand what you are saying and I understand how the Colonials feel. Now, listen to me as I tell you what the situation really is. The colony is not self sufficient...strike that!.. they are not self sustaining and they have to look for outside support. That support is not, cannot and will not come from us! We will not throw money away on them. They need to come back now!"


"They do not recognize our authority. We threw that authority away when we simply stopped the flow of supplies and money and sent the transports to bring them back without so much as a by-your-leave."


"It was not their choice! The corporation funded them and it nearly broke the company. We made the expense to send ships for the recall and all they had to do was board."


"And leave their homes and everything they worked and sweated for behind?" the President persisted, starting to become frustrated. "Everything we pushed them into.."


"It was not their call!"


"Great Gods, Ayn! They are people! They are not machines! They are not property," the President's voice rose higher, "for your company to do with as they please."


"I have legal contracts to prove that we can," the Director of Intelligence spat back.


"Ayn," the President appealed, "It was coercion."


The woman stamped her feet in annoyance, "This will go away once they come home and .."


"They do not want to come home! Don't you get it? They will fight to stay out there and if we are cutting off their support, then they will look for other options."


The Director of Intelligence smiled grimly,"That is what I wanted to tell you... We are counting on the Colonials to do just that. Since the Colonials have refused our legal and lawful orders to pack it up and come back to us, we have no choice but to declare them rogue. If they so much as talk to any criminal element, we shall bring the full might of our military on them and they will be forcibly dealt with!"


"No!" shouted the President, aghast at the implications. "The people will never stand for this.."


"The people believe what we say in the media. If bringing these 'rogues' to heel brings the cost of fuel down for them, what do they care what happens to a world light-years away?"


"The Colonials.."


"Rogues," corrected the Director. "That is the official term the Intelligence community will use for now."


"They have ties to homeworld. They have family here. Do not think your propaganda and corporate infomercials will blind everyone to what is going on. Tell me that you will not dishonor our military with these acts. No, promise me!"


The Director of Intelligence stared at the President with a clinical eye. The man could be moved even if he did have implaccable ideals. She sighed.


"Jasre, this is going to spiral out of control and you will have to decide which side of the line you want to be standing on. I will not have the military move against these rogues. I will grant you that for now. But they will turn to outer system resources and that puts homeworld at risk and if these outer system elements so much as twitch our way, there will be military action. Also, I will strongly suggest that you halt your visits out there and that you curb the activities of your teenage daughter."


Portia's breath nearly stopped.


"What does Portia have to do with this?" the President asked warily.


"You take her with you. She will develop an unhealthy sentiment with these rogues and if they turn to unsavory characters like pirates.."


"...to find food?" the President interrupted.


"...turn to unsavory characters and pirates," The Director stubbornly continued, "then it puts not just you but your daughter in jeopardy. And what a boon it would be for them, or so they would think, in taking the President and his daughter to further their cause."


"Liberty?" the President asked quietly.


"You can keep your quaint ideals, Mr. President. Just do not get in my way, do not get in the way of my family, do not get in the way of our company. We have big plans. You may yet prosper in ways you never dreamed possible."

The Black Fleet


Such a maneuver had it's risks and to have two waves of missiles either active during transit or active during the quick reload was dangerous indeed!

The second wave struck the fleet and it was a strike that made the Imperials sit up and take notice. If this was a crapshoot, the shooting did go both ways.


The vessel shook violently causing machinery to vent and spark as many were thrown to their knees. The Captain had managed to maintain his grip on the railing and was barking out orders over the alarms that sounded out warnings that the ship was in pain.


"The Guardians saved our lives," the Second Officer murmured as he helped her to her feet. She could briefly see the defensive ship pulling away, probably at the order of General Tagge. In any event, they had carried out their purpose and would be nothing but scrap of they remained.


She whispered out a quick prayer of thanks to the retreating ships knowing that she would never be able to make fun of the Navy the same way she did as a ground-pounder. These people were courage personified.


Either that or they were insane.


The Tactical Display flickered and then the holographic projection's light solidified as steady streams of power ran back into the ailing bridge systems. Damage had either been repaired or lines rerouted. Perhaps entire sections had been cut off from power so repairs could be effected. But whatever the damage control and engineering teams did, their priority was always the shields and weapons systems.


After a few minutes, her attention was back on the enemy fleet that was still approaching, apparently taking residence within the Claw formation of the Imperials. With either endpoint at a 90° angle effectively facing each other, the enemy was getting pummeled from both flanks.


It was also, she suddenly saw, where the enemy leader had positioned his or her strongest vessels. If the Empire could dish it out, they could take it. And take it they did all the while advancing.


As a ground-pounder, one of the rules of warfare was never to do what your enemy expected. In the beginning, they had all laughed at the enemy's advance into their space because it was what they expected. But as she now looked at the way the enemy had positioned their fleet (a position they had arrived in with!), she saw that they were prepared for the multiple-sided attack. Which meant they expected it.

Which meant the enemy was predicting them!


And when you do something the enemy predicts, it usually meant they were about to do something you would not like.


Heavies on the outside, lights on the inside.


The recipe was mixed and nearly cooked to perfection.


Then, as if an invisible timer chimed, the flavor of tables turning suddenly exploded onto the scene.


Between the heavier armoured vessels shot forth the more nimble ships of their fleet at speeds that hurled them across the Imperial lines within seconds.


The heavy tracking guns began to pound away at the fast moving vessels the moment they left their protective cover but the Imperials could only afford to get off a few shots as they brought those large guns back towards the heavies that continued to provide support fire from their position within the center.


It was up to the secondary batteries to catch the fast attack craft of the enemy and as they shot between the Imperial vessels it was these batteries that opened up unleashing a wall of destruction. Unfortunately, the enemy attack vessels did not remain in one place to be at the receiving end of the wall and quite a bit of the power run-off struck the side shields of their sister ships as the enemy slipped past. Some of the unfortunate enemy ships were struck at the right place, at the right time simultaneously from both flanking Imperial heavies causing the vessels to erupt in a flash of superheated metal and plasma.


Her ship shook violently as such an explosion struck against their shields and hull overloading circuits and sounding yet more alarms throughout corridors.


"Tell the Fierce to stop their bloody firing!" shouted their Captain to the Comm crew as their sister ship's secondary weapons continued to fire where the enemy ship had once been. The damage to their section of the ship allowed the Fierce's weapons to slice through them like butter and she wondered how many throughout the fleet would die to friendly fire.


Too many, she concluded also noting that it was a stupid way to die.


And then, just as quickly as they came, the enemy fast attack ships were gone. Perhaps they hoped to race to the planet the Imperials were defending. Perhaps they thought they had passed the worst the New Order had to throw at them.


If they thought any of those things they would be in for a big surprise.


A large starbase-size surprise standing before the enemy inside the line and their ability to play havoc behind those lines.


She watched the display split into two allowing the commanders to keep an eye on the battle taking place behind them with the starbase and the battle taking place in front of them with the enemy heavies who were, at this moment, maneuvering closer together. She could not figure out why until sensor analysis verified that their shields were not only extended but overlapping.


It reminded her of an armoured creature retreating into it's shell when threatened by a predator. It was a defensive maneuver and she wondered at that for it seemed the enemy expected to simply sit there and take what the Empire was dishing out.


And General Tagge was only too happy to continue dishing it out as the ISD Acadia limped out of position only to have the Maranello take its place. He seemed hell bent on ensuring the complete overwhelming shower of weapons fire remained continuous and it became a waiting game.


How long until the weapons firing expended their cycle against how long the reinforced shield generators went into automatic cut-off.


What was the point to the enemy stance?


She began to realize that General Tagge had pretty much kept his attention on the enemy heavies content to leave General Herst of the starbase to deal with the enemy attack wings.


Attack craft and light carriers were launching their loads but not at the starbase but at....



..the shipyards!?


Was the destruction of the manufacturing facilities really that important to invest the amount of tonnage and expend the amount of lives the enemy already had to achieve?


Evidently the enemy thought so.


The station reconfigured to account for the direct attack upon the shipyards but even that simple maneuver betrayed a weakness that the enemy pounced on!


The combined weaponry from the remaining enemy units and fighters aimed their payloads at the stabilization thrusters of the station. Their destruction suddenly allowed the massive station to be gripped by the massive gravitational pull of a nearby mass shadow.


The timing couldn't have been better for the station was pulled into orbit of the shipyards causing a catastrophic collision.


Such a collision would have captured her entire attention if not for the sudden appearance of the very large, very black dagger of the Acheron.


It was pulled out of hyperspace by the gravity well projectors of ships placed at the far flanks effectively shutting the back door to the enemy fleet heavies huddled together in a defensive formation.


Two enemy ships vanished from existence from the point-blank battery fire the Super Star Destroyer lanced out and at that point, she felt every bit a Navy Officer.


Grand Moff Bhindi Drayson had arrived.

White Shadows



The amber light blotted out her vision as the window was suddenly lost from view as the opening widened revealing the hanger deck outside. The shuttle ride from the Galactus had been uneventful and left her with nothing but her thoughts to keep her company. And they were not pleasant thoughts.

The bastion of Bhindi Drayson's power, Yaga Minor, was not a place one volunteered to visit nor was it a vacation spot. The shuttle captain had whispered in awe as targeting sensors blatantly pinged off their position for the myriads of defending guns that were no doubt tracking their every movement.

Even as her mind began to clinically peel away the obstacles the planet would no doubt throw up for defense, she had to concede that the planet could and probably would fend off every attack except from one truly determined to pay the price of conquest.

Perhaps not the price of bodies for they were plenty enough but just the sheer expense of material, equipment, ships and guns would be extraordinary.

And as she stepped out of the shuttle, viewing for the first time the personal guards of Grand Moff Drayson, her mind began to assess just what the survivors of Yaga Minor's defense guns would have to face. If... big if, they managed to reduce the defending guns to slag.. If.. big if.. .they managed to land retaining some sort of cohesive, coordinated strength and if... big if... air superiority had been established, the true fight for the planet could truly begin in earnest and those forces...those survivors who beat the odds of all those "if's" would face the same brute monsters that emotionlessly faced her now.

Spartan II's and Drayson's pet military soldier-projects were whispered about in dark circles of the Imperial High Command but she had never actually seen them. Simon Kaine preferred his own versatile Spartan I's, supporting the stormtrooper contingents but the Grand Moff? She had bred monsters .. there really was no other word for them..and she saw, in her mind's eye, those survivors being beaten alive as their masses fell against the conquerors enmasse.

Yaga Minor might have been made famous by Isard's Imperial Intelligence but it was made legendary by Drayson's iron grip of raw, solid power.

It was symbolic of the entire Protectorate and it was symbolic of the woman who commanded it.

"I have orders to appear before the Grand Moff," she clipped in crisp military -style speech.

The soldier moved the barrel of it's gargantuan weapon away from her but only slightly taking nothing for granted. Without speaking, it turned and began to march towards a hall whose doors parted as an unseen sensor noted an invisible threshold being crossed.

She instinctively knew she was to follow and as she moved forward, another soldier moved in behind her.

She stared ahead noting that the halls were utilitarian in nature and reinforced. These were not the pedestrian friendly compu-terminals that answered tourist's questions and pointed the way to the nearest restroom.

No, those that entered these halls were expected to know where they were going and how they would get there.

The walk from the hanger to the offices used by the Grand Moff were closer than she thought they would be but as her mind tried to pattern the floor plans (those that were declassified enough for her eyes to see), she realized the room's positioning was strategic.

Perhaps there were similar hubs spread throughout the defense matrix of the planet and if so, that spoke of an incredible infrastructure designed to manage, control and eventually overcome any defeat experienced on the planet's surface.

The Grand Moff resembled the Supreme Commander in that respect. Whereas Kaine preferred to keep his options open throughout his planning, so too Bhindi Drayson in combat.

The opening to the office rose almost instantaneously startling her out of her reverie. A slender but short woman with long dark hair stood before them with her back facing them staring down in what looked like a metallic pit that rose to waist-height.

The closer she drew, she saw that the pit was actually a giant holographic projection giving the Grand Moff an unprecedented look at the current (up to the minute) status of anywhere on the planet her whim or specific interest carried. Figures in Aurebesh scrolled here and there too fast and too small for her to distinguish.


Statistics? Status reports? The Holonet news?


She quickly snuffed these distracting thoughts from her mind as she neared the woman.


"Captain Malice, reporting." she clipped off standing at attention.


The Grand Moff did not turn, which was her perogative even if it was, well, rude. Given what she'd seen so far, she found could get used to rude.


The woman-king straightened slightly and turned her head as if looking towards something else to her right while tapping her left index finger on the rim of the metallic pit.


"Strip."


The word was an order. It was clear. And it was made with authority.


Malice let the order wash over her like a cold splash of water, keeping her eyes steady and her demeanor stern.



"Yes, Sir! At Once, [/i]Sir[/i]!" she firmly clipped out, stamping a foot to remain at attention even as the humiliation and implications of the order took hold.


With her eyes remaining narrowed and cool she raised a hand to reach for her lapel to undo her uniform top. Unwaiveringly, her voice softened slightly.


"After you, Sir."


Technically, she did not and was not refusing the order. In fact, she indicated verbally as well as by action that she was ready, willing and able to carry out the order. Such was expected of the military, soldiers and officers alike.

She could not, she would not disrespect that. Even in the face of personal humiliation.

To refuse a direct order was tantamount to treason.

To refuse a direct order from Bhindi Drayson was tantamount to a death warrant.


However, a leader leads.


Her indication of her willingness to carry out her orders by following her commanding officer was her test.


What sort of leader was Bhindi Drayson?


One who would see her degraded for her own amusement or one who would degrade herself before her soldiers?



Grand Moff Drayson completed her turn casting an amused expression at the Captain. "I can see why Kaine likes you." she murmured, her voice light despite it's coldness.


The order was forgotten as both women sized each other up.


And then the Grand Moff's durasteel backbone flexed and sharpened, "The Supreme Commander wants you to have an education. We shall provide it."

Gray Areas



Colonial Two - Promise



"Mark," Portia looked at the slightly older boy and wondered what he was thinking. "I am afraid that Director Rand wants to destroy you."


The boy smiled slightly, stroking the girl's hair softly. "No. She may want too but she cannot simply blast us from orbit. It would destroy her credibility and besides, it would interfere with her vaunted legality. No, it's just another coercion tactic to motivate us to simply give up and go back to the homeworld."


"Life is not so bad there.." Portia murmured, slightly hopeful until the boy laughed.


"No. I am sure life is good. But, my love, it is not so bad here either. Is it?" his eyes searched hers and she relented happily.


"No. Life here isn't so bad. Even your food is better."


"It's what's for dinner! Isn't that right, Scar?" the boy joked shouting out to a rather scary looking fellow that walked by. He merely grunted and Portia tensed, sitting up. "Mark, are the Colonials in business with criminals?"

"Entrepreneurs?" he asked innocently.

"Pirates!" she hissed.

"Babe, they are the only ones willing to feed us. For a price, granted, but it's a far sight better than what homeworld ever did for us. Our great leaders decided to write us off and stop supply shipments so now we go it alone. We are our own homeworld!"


"Mark!" Portia was both shocked and awed. To see her man passionate like this made her feel a swelling of pride but it was tempered with worry. Independence was not on the corporate agenda.


Her boyfriend, oblivious to her musings, snapped, "It is either that or starve! Scar is even going to teach me to fly. It's time we took a stand in actively defending ourselves!"


That definitely sounded dangerous and Portia's mind raced furiously, "But Mark! Didn't your agri-business start to pick up? Aren't you growing your own food now?"


"We were. But a corporate missile laced with a chemical derivative designed to render your crop worthless doesn't exactly help." the boy spat out sardonically. Then paused knowing he said too much, "Umm.. Portia, you'll have to forget that last bit. I was not supposed to tell anyone."


"But why?!" Portia exclaimed. "If Gallidor has crossed the line to push this into a civil war, people should know..."


"Know what, Portia? Know what? People should know the corporation that employs their husbands, wives, mothers and fathers is more concerned about the bottom line than the Colonials it left out to hang? Better to send a missile that renders our food worthless because it costs less than sending a garrison to haul us back to the homeworld! You think the public is going to come to our aid?! So what if Gallidor crossed the line! They will point to us doing business with the criminals and say we crossed the line. That we are no better than the pirates that gave us food! And they would be right from a certain point of view!"


"But pirates?!"


The boy waved about, "Who else is there? The only star kingdoms in our area do business with Gallidor, so who will they believe? Someone they do not know and who, to defend, will cost untold credits or the business partner who lines their pockets?"


Portia frowned thinking, "Mark, what if you could hit back at the corporation? If you can capture proof of the corporation moving against you.."


The young man flashed a smile. "That's brilliant!" and Portia felt a flush of embarrasment. Then he added softly, "The only problem is that the corporation's ships are protected by the Navy. Intercepting a freighter is one thing but a warship?"


"What if.. What if I could get word to you about where the fleet is at any time?"


Her question surprised Mark. She could see that. And she also saw how his worry for her clashed with a chance for the Colonial movement to independence.


If she had at one time questioned her love for this man, she no longer did.


"I won't have you do this, Portia. I will not have you in danger.."


"Mark, I'll be on homeworld. What danger will there be? Mark, I want to do this.."

The Black Fleet



Wreckage.


That was all she could see in the viewports.


Broken, twisted, blistered remnants of steel and flesh all floating about to some unheard symphony as light reflecting off the planet lit up the bits of metal that still boasted a shine.


The destruction of the enemy had been complete but she could not rid herself of the feeling that they were still living only at the mercy of that great entity called: Chance.


It had been a while since she had come to the feeling of complete powerlessness and it was a feeling, even though she hid it well, gnawed at her soul slicing away at the durasteel walls that had taken years to erect.


Her eyes moved from the tactical data pouring in through various machines and from the clearly visible destruction the Imperial fleet had wrought towards the simple blackness of space.


Black Space.

Black Uniforms.

Black Fleet.


There was peace in the simplicity. Perhaps a self-deluding peace when set against these engines of destruction but peace nontheless.


There was something in simplicity and she began to see the familiar pattern her mentor, Bhindi Drayson, set about in everything she touched.


Kaine's plans had a way of seizing or destroying souls knowing the body would follow.

Drayson's planning merely took into account the body and the soul be damned.


Her lips quirked into a slight unexpected smile at the religious allusion.


There was an appeal in the Grand Moff's way of doing things and she would have to think on this a little more.



*


"Well, Captain Malice. What did you learn?" Bhindi Drayson's voice did not exactly match the coldness of her eyes but Malice had learned the woman's nuances.


She cocked her head to one side and remarked, "That ideologies give way to superior firepower."


The Grand Moff chuckled lightly, "That they do, Captain.


And in that instant, she understood.


What Intelligence Director Ayn Rand had said to her those many years ago when they arrested her father for treason.


Her poor, idealistic father who wanted reconciliation but stood in the way of corporate profits and her homeworld's most profitable membership into what would soon grow into a galactic community.


What was her father's love when set against the designs of economic progress?


What was her love when set against the ambitions of entities larger than her?


Good and Evil were merely labels. Right and Wrong merely points of view.


Labels, opinions, politics and the abstract all bowed to the reality of a situation.


And the reality of it was that these things all bowed to whomever wielded the larger stick.


"Justification," she murmured remembering how excited Mark was to be flying a fighter and be a part of the ambush set for the corporation bent on destroying them.


They had been raiding corporate freighters for the better part of the month when they had hit the jackpot thinking they had finally nailed Ayn Rand to the wall for using her connections to better position her family at the expense of the Colonials.


As it turned out, Ayn Rand was as ruthless and as smart as she portrayed herself.


The Intelligence Director had kept her word to her father by not using their Navy directly against the Colonials. That did not bar her, however, from manipulating and using another government's navy.


"Justification through superior firepower."


The old pain subsided.