Kaine had not expected to come to Imperial Center following his decision but was simply willing to let his retirement and Bhindi's appointment happen by holonet. It was the transmission from an unknown source, showing a shadowy figure who only identified itself as Zeratul, that compelled him to change his plans. It would mean a more public exit and a facing of Emperor Hyfe but that could not be helped.

Zeratul had simply said he wished to return someone to Simon Kaine and he would only feel comfortable doing it at Coruscant. Perhaps the creature could think of a place no more public in case Simon felt some desire of retribution. Perhaps the alien had his own agenda but whatever the case, the Supreme Commander was confident that this Zeratul posed no threat to his plans. Not with two hundred of his warships close by.

The ship was an exact replica of a vessel used by the Black Dragon Empire during a meeting on Vladet (Opening Doors to the Future). It was also a replica of one of the vessels that had attacked the Galactus a few years ago. Whether from the Dragon Imperium or from another unknown origin, Kaine had not learned much more from the encounters and they seemed content to remain hidden. Since no one else within the greater Empire had even hinted at even seeing similar vessels, it was a good bet that their space was not large. Still, his fleet was on alert when the tiny vessel appeared out of its self-made wormhole.

The Supreme Commander had to control his natural curiosity of those with technology and abilities so different from his own and allow the craft to continue unmolested.

Transaction took only mere minutes as a small, Imperial-issued escape pod detached itself and floated towards the Galactus. Kaine had left the bridge to be on hand as the pod was captured by tractor-beam and led gently into the hanger.

The pod did not seem to respond to computerized commands to open and so the hanger crew resorted to simply cutting away at the hatch until it did open.

The bridge reported that the small craft simply waited inside the firing envelope of Kaine's fleet and as soon as the medical personnel gave Simon the 'thumbs up' on the condition of the lone occupant, he signaled the bridge to simply allow the ship to leave.

He did not really hear the bridge later report that the small alien craft simply vanished from sight as a wormhole opened and closed.

"Have my shuttle prepped," he ordered. "It is time I saw the Emperor..."

He smiled to himself as he looked down as the medics took the pod's occupant to the Medical Bay feeling a sense of satisfied closure.

After years of being considered lost, Ibren Chandler of the Victory had been returned. Just where he was lost for all this time was a mystery Kaine looked forward to talking about when his former Second in Command regained his strength. It was apparent he had been through a tough ordeal though he could see no evidence of torture or other such unpleasantness or he would have ordered his fleet to destroy the small craft without remorse.

All the pieces he had set out to bring in had finally been returned and what was left would be a necessary sacrifice.

Pieces necessary to kick the pillars out from under the wall that seemed to be preventing the Dragons from achieving their 'Purpose'. And if they did reach that final goal, that all encompassing conclusion to their own evolutionary struggles, then perhaps it would be enough to sweep them off the board and prevent any further interference from future time travelers.

And if they were removed, then that opened up a whole galaxy of opportunities.


For that to happen the curtains had to come down.


It was time to give his Final Bow.

"Zeratul, you should not have returned the flesh," Kal Shora seethed quietly has he finished his final preparations to leave this galaxy.

He was being promoted despite his wishes while Artanis took over his operations in the Corusca galaxy (Hallowed are the children of the Taj ). As High Judicator?


The thought was maddening.


To be singled out as the Sword of the Cree'Ar, especially after their victory over the Yuuzhan Vong only to have that sword sheathed was an insult.

But he could do nothing at the moment. Now, Artanis was calling the shots, the first of which dealt with the infidels being held by the Dominion.

To what end was still a mystery but the alliance with the machines cut him more deeply than he would care to admit. Allowing the Taj and his Dragons use of their ships to penetrate deeper into the various human/alien factions was as prudent as it was less wasteful.

But to be joined at the hip with these monsters with dellusions of a grandeur that only Borleas Quayver himself could lay claim too was unthinkable.

Zeratul was Skey'g'aar and therefore could not be faulted with following the orders of his betters. But he was also Shadowcaste and if anyone was ever in a position to levy judgement on someone going astray from doctrine, it was he. But to even imply the Shadowcaste duty held to the same degree for Bringers of Fire as it was with the Sanctum of Light and Sky would be tantamount to slitting his own throat. Even Kal Shora shuddered at the thought.


Zeratul, of course, had heard the Elder's bitterness against Artanis but what could be done? That the Elder had arrived from the home galaxy and given the position of leading the Elder Clan and, by extension, all Cree'Ar was an unparalleled honor. But Kal Shora did not see things that way and it left the Skey'g'aar in a difficult position.


It was uncomfortable seeing such a high ranking Judicator in such a state of... of... impotency.


It was at this moment that Artanis joined them and, ignoring Kal Shora's sullen behavior, motioned both over.


"Your time for departure approaches," he began, nodding to Kal Shora. The High Judicator merely acknowledged the remark without comment and Zeratul relaxed slightly. There would be no blood spilled today despite the hard feelings.


"I shall be in transit for the greater part of a decade, as calculated by the inferior inhabitants of this galaxy. I would appreciate knowing..." the former High Judicator started prepared, despite his bitterness, to carry on with the Recitation of Responsibilities Ceremony from one field leader to another.


But Artanis merely waved him down. An insult that almost demanded immediate attention and Kal Shora's blood rose.


"I expect you back within a half revolution around the Red Sun, Judicator," Artanis stated flatly which punctured Kal Shora's mounting rage with confusion.


"Unless Borleas himself came down from his pillar and handed us personally his celestial vessel, I do not see how such a feat is possible." Kal Shora seemed under the impression that Artanis was toying with him and Zeratul would have agreed with that assessment but the Lord Elder merely smiled and entreated both to follow.


"Judicator, this alliance with the machines is critical to the war effort." Artanis said frankly.


Kal Shora stood stiffly and merely said, "I disagree."


"That is because you do not see them for what they are!" the Lord Elder retorted sharply, his gaze narrowing at the Judicator.


"I see them for what they are not, Artanis! They are not Cree Ar!" Then, casting a hesitant glance at the Skey'g'aar, he amended, "They are not subject to Borleas Quayvar."


"Borleas Quayvar has endured their presence all these millenia. I am sure he can endure them a little longer," Artanis reasoned but Kal Shora would have none of it.


"They need to be erradicated!" hissed Kal Shora with so much vehemence that Zeratul stepped back a bit.


"Zeratul, Tend," Artanis ordered and the Skey'g'aar stepped back and away from the two leaders, both impressive figures in their own right and both very different. The doors parted and he walked out leaving the two alone.


Artanis, for his part, placed a hand on the Judicator's shoulder, "Kal Shora," he started and then hesitated for the Cree'Ar speech was a minefield of innuendo and heresy merely lay behind the wrong interpretation. Generations of blood could be spelled in a statement misstep.


"I fear the Ba'Z'D'aam.." he finally released and the High Judicator's breath drew inward in surprise. It was good that Zeratul had departed.


"The Ba'Z'D'aam", or, translated into basic, 'The Breaking', had been a term that seemed less and less relevant in Cree'Ar culture, mainly because of the undeniable successes of the past four millennia and the Sanctum's twisting of the early beliefs to support that continued conquest. But, even if forgotten by choice from the cultural conscience, it was known that the Cree'Ar belief of old gave more credence to the dire consequences of falling short of Borleas Quayvar's will. The predominate of these consequences was The Breaking. An 'armageddon' of sorts for the Cree'Ar people if they fell astray but, in latter use, was applied to those who were about to be considered tek’a’tara, or, Unholy. This was a misleading facet of truth for The Breaking applied to the Cree'Ar only.


This, Kal Shora knew and to speak of failure, even if written in the most ancient of holy writings, even if glossed over, erased or simply ommitted in later volumes by the Sanctum, could be construed as heresy punishable by death.


Such was life.


Artanis Daz'Da'Mar turned to the reluctant Patriarch-to-be of the Cree'Ar. "High Judicator, the Sanctum has tipped the balance once again within the Cree'Ar leadership. I expect your resources to be depleted for the conquest of this galaxy within the standard revolution."


Kal Shora drew himself up stiffly. "The Sanctum would not dare!"


"You know as well as I do that the Sanctum dictate what 'Truth' is with each new whim and the Makers of Word and Law will write the rules the suit the purpose of the day. If the Sanctum ever found out what my father did with
the Makers of Word, they would send the Shadowcaste after us."


"They would not dare!" Kal Shora repeated just as hotly.


Artanis smiled grimly, "I hold no illusion as to the lengths the Church will go to to protect itself interests."


"But what has this to do with my ...promotion?" Kal Shora asked, wondering where Artanis was going with this 'friendly' conversation.


"The star charts given to the Daemuns were star charts to our territory. Imagine if our holdings suddenly had an influx of an alien, machine empire bent on the ultimate conversion to their form of life. What would the Sanctum suddenly fear?"


Kal Shora's eyes widened at the shell game Artanis was playing, "They would fear an opposing belief, an opposing religion every bit as uncompromising and fanatical as they have built our culture into."


"And they would hand power back to the Bringers of Fire to once again beat back the enemies of Borleas."


"So we regain control of the Elder Clan," the High Judicator remarked. "I am no politician and I am no diplomat.

Why do I need to be Patriarch?"


"Because," Artanis waved a hand at the dark space seen out a nearby window as if encompassing the entire Imperium of the Taj, "when the Dragons do come, and they will, they will be interested in the Nexus. The Nexus is what our entire Dominion is built upon and without it, we would fall apart and it is this... THIS.. is what must be protected. And I trust no one more than you Kal Shora for this task."


"The resources of this galaxy are finite and the conquest here will suffer without an experienced leader at the helm." The Judicator brought up last but his argument was losing fire. If the Cree'Ar were going to be threatened by the Black Dragon Empire directly, no matter how or why, he would defend it with his last breath for Borleas would expect nothing less.



"This galaxy has changed you, Kal Shora." Artanis merely stated. "No longer do you say, 'So it must be' or 'such is life.' You equivocate and it shows in your strategy."


Kal Shora reeled back as if struck by a blunt instrument. "You go too far, Artanis! If you feel the need for an honor duel.."


"Look at us, Kal Shora," Artanis interrupted, "We are in atrophy. Our Dominion is not stagnating in spite of our victories, it is stagnating because of our victories! We have not surrendered in four millenia and now, Now we sit back on such a Dominion that we have come to fear nothing! So vast, so powerful and a good deal of it because of your efforts, my friend. But it is not enough! My father passing into Borleas Quayvar's embrace shattered an era and now, instead of actually fighting enemies on a field of honor, we steal our own lives like thieves in the night. Cree'Ar hunts Cree'Ar under a guise of government, culture and religion. We have become our own enemy and we pay only lip service to the threat posed by heretics, infidels and unbelievers."


"That is not true, Artanis. We do not fear the infidels because they are inferior! They do not realize how vast we are and they do not realize the resources we could bring to bear.."


Artanis turned away from Kal Shora and stared at the fleet of Dominion warships flanking the flag. "Then why has our 'Grand Offensive' stalled, High Judicator?"


Kal Shora's hand went to his honorblade and Artanis' voice rebuked, "If you draw it, prepare to use it."


"You arrive in this galaxy and presume to cast judgment on..." Kal Shora's voice shook with rage.


Artanis turned to him, "I am of the Elder Clan and I can pass judgment on whomever I desire."


It was a point but while the High Judicator did not draw his weapon, he did not remove his hand. A clear sign of his displeasure.


"We have a means to a weapon that would make our finite resources near infinite in this galaxy but we have not moved to secure it. Our attack on the infidel world of Agamar was unceremoniously halted and we have only since removed the resistance of Junction but have not formally seized the location.



So, I must ask you, Kal Shora, in the memory of my father, why do we hesitate?"



Now it was the High Judicator's turn to reflect. The Clan Elder had a point and from Artanis' perspective, the conquest was taking much longer than required, if the reports of the inferiority of the people of this galaxy were to be believed to be even half-truth.


And so Kal Shora told him. Told the Clan Elder about the visit from the future Kal Shora (The Breaking, Volume One) and his message to Zeratul to attack now. To use the Jedi...now.


"Pal’a’la fo’w’a’sha," whispered Artanis. And as the implications were searched out by the Clan Elder he suddenly arrived at a most logical conclusion, "Surely a sign from Borleas! A sign like no other!"


The Clan Elder took Kal Shora by his shoulders searching the other's eyes. "And yet you still linger!?"


To reject a sign that was surely from the God of gods was unthinkable but with the conquest of this galaxy, a number of things once thought unthinkable had been committed.


The High Judicator continued to speak as if Artanis has not interrupted. "I thought the message clear. I thought my course clear by whatever providence Borleas gave.


I had the body burned."



He remembered his feeling clearly when he spoke to Zeratul:






"Strange that not all of the body burned. If Zeratul had not attended to the duty himself, we probably would never have known."


Artanis shook his head to indicate his continued confusion.


Kal Shora drew out a small clear container holding something like dust that shimmered in the artificial light.


"It seems, Artanis, that metal does not burn."


Artanis took the cylinder and stared at the metal dust inside still confused. "I do not understand, High Judicator. You found metal in a corpse from the future?"


"Not just any metal, Clan Elder, but assemblers."


And then it clicked with the politician. "Ve'r'tesk! Raktus, Taj."


Kal Shora nodded in agreement. "Therefore, this message, this 'sign' from Borleas to attack at once, to use Jedi for their Cor'ai'var now. Do I dare?"


Artanis suddenly understood a great many things. The message was tainted. Was it from Borleas Quayvar or a trap by this 'trickster god', Raktus? And to what end?


"Have you ever wondered, my friend, why this Dragon Imperium merely sits behind it's borders and has remained silent all these years?" The Clan Elder started after a while. "The Daemun envoy allowed me to see what they have been busy working on. It is why their action has only been to delay those they are in conflict with.."


"The Galactic Coalition," Kal Shora murmured. "I had thought their strategy inconceivable to the point of nonexistent when I think of their conflict with the Coalition. Did they want the Azguard waterworld or not? They did not follow up their missile attacks on Coalition worlds with soldiers.."


"Look," Artanis gave a subtle signal and a door opened and a cyborg entered. Obeying a command that Kal Shora did not outwardly perceive, the machine projected a holographic representation of the Dragon's project.


"What is it?" Kal Shora asked, taking in the detail of material constructs surrounding a star.


"They are almost in a position to collapse the star and when that happens, the materials will contract inward creating an anchor point. The subsequent release of energy will be redirected to .."


"Open a wormhole," Kal Shora answered realizing the pattern.


"Not just any wormhole, Judicator. One that is transgalactic. They had a Purpose but what they lacked was.."


"A direction," Kal Shora finished. "And we have given them that with our charts."


"Yes. And when the Children of the Taj begin their Exodus to spread the word of their god to new lands, their own worlds will be...empty."


"Empty?" Kal Shora frowned.


Artanis smiled, "Worlds ripe for use towards our own glorious conquest. Worlds with which we can utilize Vejuun's new creations."


"We will need Jedi," Kal Shora warned.


"There are many worlds with them." Artanis gave a knowing smile. Kal Shora stared at the Elder, "No, Artanis, there are not."


"They are called, Jedi Corps, in their tongue," the other Cree'Ar remarked and Kal Shora paused, thoughtful. It seemed his dear friend had gone beyond duty to soothe his fraying conscience.


"They are not as strong.." he pointed out, suddenly realizing the real reason Artanis had asked the Dragons for the Imperial, Ibren Chandler, who was marooned on a world within the Tion Cluster, and why he had Zeratul return him to Imperial Center.


Artanis, being a politician and Cree'Ar, showed his ruthless side, "Then Borleas be praised there are many of them."


When Zeratul returned, he was witness to something never seen.





Kal Shora had laughed.




Ba'Z'D'aam, indeed.

When one looks at the time period historians have come to term as "The Cataclysm" or simply, "Cataclysm", one would get impression that it was a singular event being described.


This, of course, is a fallacy as it is the romantics that point to single objects or singular reasons for the fall of this or the rise of that. Historians, however, understand the underlying nuances and multitudes of factors that either come together to build an ediface that a particular galactic civilization is built upon or come apart as cracks in a society that culminates in its eventual (and inevitable) slide into anarchy.


Our opening statement has no better example than the Fall of the Old Republic and the Rise of the Galactic Empire. Romantics tend to put the entire decline of the (Old) Republican society into the hands of a Sith Master working silently behind the scenes. But for one man to orchestrate the fall of such an organization, historians realize, is, naturally, quite impossible. The fall of the Republic and it's subsequent reorganization into the Empire was a culmination of a number of factors acting as cultural stress-points that, at various times in it's twenty thousand year life, revealed themselves. No, these historians all agree that the Sith Master who led the Republic (and later Empire) was not the cause but merely an opportunist who took advantage of a crumbling situation and turned it into a vehicle for personal gain.


Therefore, The Cataclysm also was not an event that had a singular cause but was the result of multiple factors pressed to the point of fracture. Conversely, this Cataclysm was also not a single event, such as a war between Republic and Empire, but a series of events that, when put together, created an environment that would change the scene of the galaxy in a very significant way.


Romantics like to point to the retirement of Simon Kaine as the beginning of this Cataclysm but this would be misleading. He is attributed to being a direct cause insofar that his decisions (or lack thereof) would have affected one of the largest societies in the known galaxy, the Galactic Empire. However, Simon Kaine would not have (could not have) known of the Cree'Ar plan to aggressively push their plans for conquest forward. If any one thing could be attributed to the fracturing of galactic society to the extent that it did, it was the very active and very progressive implimentation of the Cree'Ar conquest.


There was quite a bit, though, that the Cree'Ar Dominion could not account for in their plans. In fact, in the year leading up to Cataclysm...

Tear Ekan - Circa 274 ABY

JUTRAALIAN INDEPENDENCE!

The blood was being cleaned from the intricate stonework that made up the courtyard of the former Emperor-now-turned-Governor. Only, the Governor now was not really the Emperor of the past but, rather, a fake. An Imperial Agent simply known as X. It was a brilliant facade when one spent time to think about it for it kept the Emperor's former supporters shattered and his former people compliant with the new orders being imposed.


The problem with the bureaucrats of the New Order was that even though they used a doppelganger that looked like the Emperor, he had none of those characteristics that made the Emperor the man or the leader that he was (no matter how villified by Daemon Hyfe, Simon Kaine and their ilk).


And so, in a dramatic scene after the final battle, the Emperor Fearsons and his Restored PeFauna Royal Guard made their grand entrance and, in one swift stroke of a simple gesture, showed the people of Jutraal that they had, in fact, been duped by the Empire. The proof was as brilliant as it was simple for while the Empire may have either ignored or forgotten the fact that the people's true Emperor was a Shadow Jedi Master, the masses had not forgotten! So, the doppelganger, having put his trust in the defenses of a planet he ruled with a lie, saw that trust crumble as the resurgent Rogue-Jutraalian Fleet led by Dakkon Blackblade isolated and defeated the Imperial contingent. It was then, beyond the point of no return that 'X' had seen that the game was up and the people knew, when the doppelganger could not defend himself from the force-choke the real Chaddwick Fearsons used to snap his neck in two.


The real Chaddwich Fearsons had stood up and come home and the celebration was enormous.


Jutraal, as Despayre had been, was liberated and the Jutraalian Empire (such as it was) lived once more.


Emperor Fearson's fleet had been salvaged, saved and rebuilt by those supporters who kept the faith and by Dakkon Blackblade, using every contact and connection he knew to keep it ready (Surplusssss). But that ability to maintain a fleet so large was running out and he found himself racing against time to locate Fearsons who had been forgotten in some obscure Imperial prison facility, free him and execute a lightning quick strategy to liberate Jutraal. He knew going in that it would be a messy, bloody expedition with no room for failure but the abilities of Fearsons to use the Force helped boost their edge and they had carried the day.


Unfortunately, the whole of the Jutraalian Empire spanned only two planets and the resources of two worlds were not enough to maintain the fleet that Fearsons now had as well as their respective planetary populations.


And so, they were once again, racing against time.


Their immense size had always been the New Order's advantage even against rebellions from conquered worlds. Their mass of resources could (and would) simply batter away at a rebellious world's defenses until gone and take harsh retribution. It was the threat of this harsh retribution that would stop rebellions before they began because unless a significant number rebelled, they had no sustainability.


Now one might argue that such an arrangement did not work for the Empire under Palpatine so why would it not work now? The answer, of course, is that those factors that allowed the Rebel Alliance to fracture the Empire were no longer valid in the here and now, the most significant being a difference in the ideals and goals of the galactic population. This does not mean that the galactic population suddenly found a heartfelt desire for dictators, theocracies and a general lack of freedom.


No. But the generation living now were not the same as the generation of Palpatine's era where they had taken their democracy and freedoms for granted, consoled by the fact that they would always be there only to one day wake up and realize that they had flushed their ideology down the fresher by giving power to a cruel Emperor backed by an army of clone soldiers who were willing (and able) to enforce their loyalty by gunpoint if necessary. And so, these new idealists acted by cutting the head of the serpent off. Since there was no clear line of succession the Empire tore itself apart feeding off the cruelty and greed espoused by the late-Palpatine. But the death of Palpatine, while significant, did not mean that magically all those things that made the Old Republic grow stagnant and corrupt were fixed.


And this was the reality that the generation of now faced. They saw the work of those Rebel Alliance heroes culminate into the New Republic only to watch it go down in flames. All in the name of 'doing the right thing'. The generation of now had no comforting 'Good old days in the Old Republic' stories as the last generation had. No, they lived in a galaxy where Sith Empires rose and fell, of horrors only thought unspeakable a generation before being broadcast on the Holonet with as much equanimity as the local weather. No, underlying the former idealism was a cynicism that, when repackaged and sold, was termed: Realist.


Was it realistic to expect your government to make everyone happy? Was it realistic to expect all freedoms to be protected all the time in every circumstance?


And it was on this platform of 'realistic reasonableness' that the bureaucracy built up by Simon Kaine kept the people reasonably content. And content people were, according to Kaine, typically apathetic.


In an environment like this, cut off the head of the snake and the bureaucracy would simply appoint a new one. There were just too many programs in place to ensure the mistake with Palpatine would not be repeated.


Then, why did the Jutraalian Rebellion work?


One reason was the fact that its people were not apathetic. Another was its leader was a Shadow Jedi Master who had a personal stake in the outcome and could not be intimidated, bought off or easily killed. A third was the preparations of Dakkon Blackblade in preserving the bulk of Fearson's First Fleet and a fourth was the Union had already began to undermine Imperial Authority on the world through the criminal organization known as the Jutraal Syndicate.


And so it worked.


Only, having worked, could their independence be sustained?


At first, to ensure his people (both soldiers and population) would not starve during TNO's procedural response of isolating/blockading the rebelling world prior to military action, Emperor Fearsons could not afford to be selective about where his supplies came from.


It was this desperation and race against time that the Cree'Ar used to their advantage when they opened a wormhole on Jutraal and negotiated the sale and delivery of necessary supplies and resources. Their ability to monitor the situation, knowing all the while where Chaddwick Fearsons had been languishing and knowing the exact moment of his return was due to the efforts of one Zeratul Dazdamar (More than slightly tempted ).


Their price: All captured members of the Jedi Corps on both Jutraal and Despayre and a data crystal regarding Yaga Minor as the planet had been under Rogue Empire rule at one time (Emminate Truth).


It was a price Chaddwick Fearsons could live with.


Some historians of note often wonder where the Cree'Ar Dominion found the necessary foodstuffs and supplies that allowed Jutraal to sustain it's newly liberated Empire. If personal accounts are to be believed, the typical utilitarian consumable Cree'Ar biscuit was about as tasty as chewing rancor rawhide or economy fiberboard. While this make be acceptable to a society that has no use for entertainment or pleasure of any kind, Chaddwick Fearsons would have accelerated yet another rebellion against his own rule had his people been forced to subsist on them.


So, if not from their own stores, where then did the Cree'Ar get the supplies for their part of the bargain?


These same historians postulate that the Jutraalian needs were met from the coffers of the Contegorian Confederation for it would be mere months later that the Confederation would suffer a massive depression that would nearly drive it bankrupt.


If so, the Confederation was obviously not a willing partner in the arrangement and while historians do not know how the Cree'Ar did it (if they did it) it demonstrated their tactical skill in obtaining something they wanted, namely the Jedi Corps members and Yaga Minor data crystal, while not giving anything away.


It was a tactic that they would use more than once....

"I did not come alone, Zeratul," Artanis revealed when the two were alone.

"More of your caste is here and I intend to use them in very specific ways."


"High Elder, beware that the sword does not cut the wielder," warned the Skey'g'aar.


"Not if the sword is nowhere near me," mused the High Elder holding the infidel data crystal from the greedy human emperor, Chaddwick Fearsons. He finally handed it to Zeratul, "Let the Nexus make sense of this data. What I require of you..."


And the Elder told the Skey'g'aar what would be required.


After a moment's thought, Zeratul held up the crystal. "The data will be outdated and old."


Artanis grunted at the obvious observation. "These infidels build upon the old. I have no doubt that there will be some changes due to their instinctive fear but it gives you a foothold. And for Shadowcaste, that is enough."


Zeratul stared as the High Elder walked away reflecting on the casual mention of his station and caste and the implications, if any, that stirred.

Royal Guardsman Aeacus was formally announced as the first of Emperor Hyfe's Royal Guard...

"Sire, aliens are attacking Yaga Minor as we speak!"


Emperor Hyfe grumbled casting an amused glance at his Guardsman Aeacus. He felt the other's amusement transform as it rippled throughout the other Guardsmen within the Palace.


"Is Supreme Commander Drayson still alive?" he asked, wondering when he would ever have the power to simply know.


Aeacus frowned, perhaps thinking the Emperor sounded too wistful which was, in any event, very unEmperor-like.


Why wish someone dead if you were Emperor? Simply do it!


But perhaps things were not that simple.


"The attack changes nothing!" Hyfe finally snapped as several of the Imperial High Command representatives started babbling like fools about doing this or that with regards to the attack.


"Yaga Minor is one planet in the entire Protectorate. There are more than enough soldiers and ships for Drayson's appointed Moff to beat back the attack and hold! Even should that Moff piss away his forces, even at a quarter strength, there is enough to not only protect the region but also field an offensive force, if necessary!

Fearsons is the real enemy! Fearsons is a fool of a Jedi but a powerful one! And he is also a fool with a fleet! So we will glass his planet Jutraal, then proceed to Despayre and glass that planet and then, THEN we will deal with these meddlesome aliens!" sneered the Emperor.


Those representatives of the Imperial High Command bowed low seeing the displeasure of the Emperor and wanting to leave with their lives. There was nothing known publicly about the Emperor executing people out of hand as Lord Vader was known to do but there were stories. There were stories...


"Who the fuck are these aliens!?" walked in Grand Moff Zell, exclaiming in derision slapping his datapad.


"Ah good, Zell!" Hyfe clapped his hands and the representatives of the IHC fled.


"So, when are we shipping out of here to fuck up Fearsons?" the old Grand Moff asked. "I am sorry, but we should have just shot the bastard!"


Daemon Hyfe chuckled at the prospect. "Soon," he started but then paused. "At least,I will be. You, on the other hand, shall remain here to oversee the arrival of the 5th and the 10th Fleets."


"Why the fuck do you need me here for that? Any fucking Commodore can.."


"No!" The Emperor's voice rose. "These fools from the High Command don't know up from down unless they are issued orders. With Drayson injured and myself leading the First, Second and Third Fleet to Jutraal, I need someone here I can trust."


"Get that poppycock, Desaria over here then.." complained the old man and the Emperor's mouth tightened.


"He's too far away, as you well know and...."


"And Park Fucking Kraken had to get himself blown up (Update on Grand Isle bombing)! What the fuck is going on? Can't fucking Imperials stay the fuck alive anymore?"


Not wanting to go with Zell in what was shaping up to be a trip down memory lane, Hyfe held up his hand, "Xa Fel has fallen." (Crimson Tides: I Am Become)


Zell was chuckling, "Remember that time when...."

His voice trailed off as the Emperor's words finally registered and the old man's face clouded, "What the fuck?! Was there a distress signal? What is the High Command doing about it?"


Hyfe shook his head, "Not quite. I feel a presence and one that is not Vicirus..."


"You mean Vance Jas?" the old man interjected as Hyfe continued, "...or Lupercus or any of their followers."


"Then get Lupercus to check it out since Sithy things are his.."


"Lupercus is not on Corellia.."


Zell became annoyed, "Well, where the fuck is he?"


"HOW THE HELL SHOULD I KNOW!" Hyfe suddenly had had it. "YOU WILL STAY here on Imperial Center and you will coordinate with the reserve fleets while I am on campaign. We will deal with Xa Fel later!"


Grand Moff Zell, now unceremoniously unretired, grumbled but nodded. He had been so used to mouthing off whenever he felt like it since all the big decisions were made by other people, what did he care about consequences? Since he did not answer for them he felt liberated to give everyone his running commentary on everything. He pointed a finger at the Emperor, "Since you're taking the Ebony Vigilance, you would do better to simply blow Jutraal the fuck up with your superlaser!"


Hyfe grinned, "Since someone has tried to take out high ranking officials before (Apparitions: Specters of the Truth), I will leave Aeacus and a cadre of Guardsmen to protect you."


"What about you?" Zell shot back, narrowing his eyes at the Guards.


"I will be on an Eclipse Star Destroyer, my personal flagship, surrounded by Admiral Essian and his best soldiers and with the Force under my command. Additionally, I will also take two Guardsmen. I think I will be ready for whatever comes my way. You, on the other hand, are liable to get stabbed by some young ensign you try to take advantage of."


"Better not or she'll be court-marshalled," grumbled the old man but Hyfe was already walking out.


"Imperial Center is yours, Zell."

Cree'Ar

So' Pren watched the infidel fleet assemble over the world-city and felt a trepidation for this was surely a fleet of power. It was, in fact, three different fleets come together being led by the largest warship he had ever seen.

The Arbiter had remained cloaked behind a wall of gravitic eddies; essentially hiding behind a small wormhole that went nowhere. It had remained there ever since transporting the human prisoner of the Dragon Imperium to the one called Kaine. By offering the transfer, they had gained something very important: Safe passage into Coruscant space.


Now was the time of decision.


A final shuttle had arrived to the flagship, presumably carrying the Task Force Commander or Captain and, after a time, the fleet began to adjust their vector aligning their position to make the jump to lightspeed.


By the Grace of Borleas!


He adjusted his own controls as the Nexus worked out the details for it would have to be timed just right.


The short acceleration and final jump to lightspeeds and beyond.


Wait for it...

Wait for it..


The hundreds of vessels suddenly boosted their engine output and their hyperdrives transitioned the takeover as a flash of energy went off the scales..


NOW!


The Arbiter expelled it's own burst of energy and the tiny wormhole expanded exponentially as the infidel's fleet made the transition from conventional thrust to the hyperdrive motivator's power drives.


And in one instant, the fleet and the Arbiter were gone.






"I tell you, Aeacus is it? Not even the Force will be able to stop a superfuckinglaser from ripping the crust off your planet like the skin of a fruit if..."


"The Emperor!?" the Guardsman interrupted clearly sensing something was amiss by his bewildered expression.


"What the fuck about him?" Zell muttered when alarms began to sound and soldiers were running here and there.


"He's gone.." the Guardsman further enlightened, which, truth be told, did not enlighten Azrael Zell much.


"The Fleet!" several people from the IHC Staff who are always on standby came in and began babbling.


"SHUT THE FUCK UP!" Zell shouted. "Now, one at a time, what the fuck happened!?"


As they began to talk, Stormtroopers began to become more and more visible. What Zell gathered was that the entire fleet was swallowed up by some wormhole from some ship that resembled the ship that visited earlier and was used by the Black Dragon Empire visiting Vladet.


Fucking Kraken coming back to fucking haunt me!


"Theren!" Zell called out as the Praetor, Theren Gevel, walked into the Palace, "What the fuck is going on?"


Theren Gevel looked at the old man, "The Emperor entered hyperspace inside of a wormhole that lead to destinations unknown. You are now Regent and Imperial Center has only a minimal defense fleet. What are your orders?"


Grand Moff Zell stepped back a little shocked for once in his life. "What the fuck?! Aren't you supposed to take over?"


Gevel gave a grim smile, "I only take over if all of you are dead and/or the Empire conquered. Since you are still among the living..."


Zell began to think about the implications.

"Fuck me," he whispered.

Change is coming.


The man smirked at the thought of the old terrorist Brutus Nogoth's claim after his attacks on various planets (Press Release).


The terrorists may be silent now or they may be dead but however their lives turned out, they were right.


Change is coming.


But he did not need some melodramatic holonet transmission to educate him as to the fact. He had his own source for such information.


A source that told him Silk had licked his wounds (Homecoming) and returned to Xa Fel. It was just as well since the remnants of the Sith Order were nothing more than cowards. Why else would this Darth Skygge, instead of rebuilding whatever was damaged, take alcolytes and flee to yet another world (Sith Exodus)?


To do what?


Wait until Silk came after her so she could flee yet again?


The man snorted at the thought and a mumbled whisper was heard. The man ignored it for he was too amused with his own thoughts.


Darth Vicirus had been swept away in his own showing of power... Was he injured? (After The Dawn: Fates Guided), (After the Dawn: Council of Shadows) Was he dead?


Did he really care?


And now the Emperor Hyfe was missing, captured or dead and the man had to again ask himself, did he really care?


And, for the life of him, the answer he always came up with was: No.


As powerful as he was... a Grand Master no less, more powerful than Vicirus (or so he thought), more powerful than Silk or his pretender lacky who had an impressive sense of arrogance, more powerful than the Emperor of the New Order...


And yet, here he lay.


Or laid.


Or was laid.


The haze of sleep overcame him and a yawn broke through his thoughts.


No, Lupercus Darksword did not give a damn.


Let Silk play with his leavings on Xa Fel. The Cenobites still inhabited the lower levels and if Silk wanted to expend the effort and time in trying to weed them out, he was welcome too. The Cenobites would give as good as they got before they died or Silk would ignore them totally and the lower levels would remain the domain of his creations.


But whatever.


Lupercus cared not.


Another yawn broke his reverie and as he moved, the mumbled whisper called out from under the sheets.


Why was it when they awoke, they called out in panic before their brains figured out what they had done the night before?


"Darling?" the feminine voice called out as a hand pulled the sheet away revealing a young woman.


He watched her breasts rise and fall with each breath wondering why, after they woke, they resorted to terms of endearment? Especially after a night of explosive sex if the shattered pieces of furniture was any indication.


But that was as far as his wondering would take him and the experience of the night before fled from memory. It was done. He had had his fill and there was no reason to dwell on it anymore.


With a force push that was anything but gentle, he shoved her off the bed. She gave a startled 'yelp' before hitting the floor and he relished the sudden rush of emotional betrayal he suddenly felt from her.


"You do not treat me.." she began in indignation but was suddenly stopped when an invisible hand grasped her throat.


"You bore me," he said in a detached voice. If she had simply kept quiet and left him alone, he would not have been forced to silence her himself.


But women rarely understood such things.


And that was as much thought as he was willing to expend on her behalf.


Her naked body fell to the floor, her neck broken.


She was some Nightsister initiate but, really, he did not care. Life was not all 'sisterhood of the travelling thong' or 'ya-ya something or other'. It was an evil thing these Nightsisters were a part of and if they could not handle that, then they did not belong in the business.


And that was about as much thought as he would devote to them. They had allied with him and they would serve his cause.


It was a simple equation really. They would serve his cause or die. There was something about mutual benefits in there somewhere but, really, he couldn't give a damn.


If not them, others would serve his cause.


But what cause?


What cause could a person like he have? He, who cared of nothing at all except the short term gratification and when it was over, not even that?


He stared at the picture of his brother and felt the old anger stirring.


His brother was at the center of what little he did care about and not in a glorifying way. No, the Cenobites were mere prototypes of what he intended for his dear old brother and to aid him in this, he had the Nightsisters so he really did not need anyone from what remained of the Sith Order. Not that he really needed the Nightsisters but they did make the job easier. And he was all for that. But if they ever proved meddlesome, he still had his Apprentice, Ithron, and it was a thought that added a feeling of security. Not that one as powerful as he needed to think about security, but the thought was comforting all the same.


For Lupercus Darksword was nothing if not a lazy hedonist.


He swung his legs over and stepped down from the bed and walked over to the mirror examining his own nakedness. He was truly a marvel of creation and as he admired what he inspected, his eyes fell to a slight break of the skin.


A scratch!


That bitch!


His fury enflamed him and he grabbed a nearby candlestick and began striking the initiate's dead body with a vehemence unmatched.


When he was done, he wiped the bloody droplets from his face and licked his fingers.


"Weak," he muttered and stood, forgetting his rage and the corpse.


His communication's terminal chimed and with a wave of his hand, the receiving toggle snapped and Admiral Pitta's face appeared.


"My Lord," he started, unfazed by Lupercus' naked appearance. After all these years, the Admiral was used to such displays.


"What is it?" the Corellian Diktat asked absently.


"I wanted to inform you that Regent Zell has reassigned the fleet to Coruscant until the 5th and the 10th can..."


"No." was Lupercus' only word.


The Admiral paused for only a moment, which, for Lupercus, was still too long. But before the Sith Grand Master could come to his typical on-the-spot decision about it, the Admiral asked, "Where would you prefer we go?"


That, reflected Darksword, was a very good question.


The Admiral's earlier hesitation was forgotten as the Dark Lord contemplated the question.


He could simply tell his underling no and keep the fleet at Corellia but that would put the Admiral in a spot between the Regent and the Diktat and while that would not normally bother Lupercus, the Regent was just enough of a bastard to simply remove the head officers and stick new people in charge of the fleet and still take it.


It was his fleet that he was worried about.


He turned a gaze towards the picture of his brother and his eyes darkened in anger. The arrogance of marrying Hapes with this 'commonwealth' (Ascendancy)...of marrying royalty to commoners was unthinkable!


"Come here," he ordered.


Turning to the hologram of his Admiral. "Come to Relephon III."


"Very good, Sire." the Admiral acknowledged.


"If Zell has anything to say about that, and he will, simply refer him to me."


The Dark Lord paused, "And, Pitta, bring everything."


The comm signal died and Lupercus' finger traced the scratch and found that it was not a scratch but simply a strand of his short hair.


"Oops.." he murmured flicking the hair off his body, already having forgotten the corpse.

Jax stared at this hand as if he expected it to suddenly burst into flames.


"Stop staring at your hand, Jax." the Doctor administering the treatment ordered. "There is nothing wrong with it."


"I just.... I just expected to feel something," he waved his hand about in an encompassing gesture. "You know, like prickly needles or numbness or..."


The Doctor looked up from his work and frowned, "Why would you expect that?"


Jax sighed. "I don't know... I just thought I would."


"Well, that should do it for today. Tomorrow we will increase your dosage but let me know if you feel anything no matter how funny, embarrassing or ordinary it may seem."


Jax frowned, "Embarrassing? Why would I be embarrassed?"


The Doctor clipped his reports together after checking the medical droid's procedure, "Well, the last guy experienced an erection that lasted over four hours."


Jax's eyes widened. "Damn, Doc. I could have fun with that!"


The Doctor grinned, "Not when you see the needle we have to use to reduce the erection. Very painful and very embarrassing. Never seen a grown man cry that much.."


Jax suddenly turned white and coughed, "Well um... I'll be sure to let you know.."


The Doctor thought that unlikely and so made himself a mental note to increase the observational parameters of the scanners to report any oddities. Never trust a patient to do what they need to do.


Before he exited the room, Jax called out, "So Doc, how powerful am I going to be?"


The Doctor thought about the answer and in the end just shrugged, "From what little we know, the more you have, the more powerful you will be. But powerful is a subjective term. Will you be able to levitate a starship or leap tall buildings in a single bound, I do not know."


The patient frowned, "But if you give us all the same dosage and you don't know how much we have to begin with, how can you...?"


The Doctor smiled, "If you had them in abundance you would have higher than normal precognition, we believe. Since you do not, it is safe to assume you do not have the required level to even attract the interest of the Jedi."


Jax scratched himself, "Well, I wasn't stolen as a child.."


The Doctor nodded, "A salient point. A nurse will be by to unhook the restraints in a minute."


He heard the patient begin to whistle and wondered, for the hundredth time, why the Jedi felt it necessary to take members as children."


*


"The Jensaaria way of philosophy is the one that will help keep your thoughts on the straight and narrow.."


The instructor droned on as Jax turned to others of his cadre. Others who had undergone the same procedure in the Genetic Renovation Program. They were referred too as Gen-2 following in the footsteps of one Adrian Ravenna (Forging the Shards).


The man was already a legend in the field of 'Special Ops'. His abilities were already the stuff of legend in the CSIS and there were more than enough volunteers to join up for this new, yet secretive Academy.


Those that followed in Ravenna's footsteps were First Gens and their own growing abilities in the Force were the talk around the scientific community for they were, after all, the first stable subjects to come from such a procedure.


Artificial Force Inducement was the catch-phrase within the community and while there were those that abstained on moralistic grounds, the rest felt compelled to expand upon their successes. After all, the jury was still out as to First Gen's true limits and whenever that critical answer was found, they would have a base of measurement.


While their detection instrumentation and equipment was centuries behind the midichlorian scanner used by the old Jedi Order, their extraction and injection systems were just as good if not better. And as long as they measured the amount going in they would have a relative base if not exact.


The answer to a scientist's quest for perfection would either be an exponential amount of funding to research detection methods or simply expand the already successful treatment so that a greater set of analysis could yield a more exact baseline. The Jedi hoarded their technology with a passion and there were really not that many units still in operation or in existence since the Purge of General Order 66.


And so, Jax found himself a member of Genetic Renovation to expand the Confederation's Spec Ops. The military boys at Command were, of course, giddy with the prospect of having their own brand of force-users to counter Jedi or Sith interactions (which was intelli-speak for fights).


"To become a Jensaarai is not a decision to be made lightly. It will not be learning a set of skills or techniques. It is not a step to power or glory. It is a way of life. To become one of us, you must give up your personal desires, your passions, and your freedoms for the cause of the greater good of the galaxy. Our galaxy is continually in turmoil, the innocent and righteous are always under assault from the darkside, they always need protectors. We are those protectors. It is a life of service, not power. It is a life of sacrifice, not gain. It is a life of self-improvement in humility, not one of lording powers over others."


Jax was bored but, he reasoned, they all had to go through this if they wanted to make sure they did not fall to the evil and wrong teachings of the Sith and end up psychopaths.


Their pattern of training mimicked that of Adrian Ravenna and how a holocube trained him but for all the high sounding pious phrases used to indicate a "way of life", it seemed that they jumped into force-pushing, levitating and other force-using techniques rather quickly.


Perhaps a definition of what constitutes the 'greater good' comes later...



*


Dorumaa (Evanescent Respite)


Jax looked through his scope and knew that the right moment was coming. He went through the meditative steps to keep his heart rate down since even the slightest excitement might throw his aim off.




It happened almost unconsciously as his finger depressed and the round was ejected from the weapon. An energy weapon would have left a trail or a visible incoming vector which would have pointed back to him immediately. Rather than using the more accurate energy weapons thus forcing him to gather his equipment and move as fast and as quickly as he could, he opted to use the harder projectile weapon and have some leisure time to see the results of his firing.


After all, one can't observe the enemy if one is running away looking for a place to hide.


The person's head popped like an exploding melon and red splattered on nearby onlookers.


Oh yes, this would be a speech long remembered.


"You won't be stealing from your people anymore.." muttered Jax as he casually disassembled his weapon.

"The planetary defense fleets are on alert," came an aide as Zell grunted in response. The initial hubbub of Hyfe's disappearing had calmed down slightly and everything turned to duty.


From what little monitoring they could get before the entire Yaga Minor system went dark showed unfamiliar ships escorted by a small ship that was, by now, all too familiar. INS had been playing footage of the Emperor's Fleet disappearing in a wormhole created by such a ship and now, it seemed, the same alien ships were being deployed in the Yaga Minor attack and, obviously,...


"..the same fucking ship that transported his fucking godship Raktus to Vladet!" Zell growled to himself. "If these ships were from the Black Dragon Empire, they just pissed off the wrong fucking people!"


"It doesn't make any sense.." complained someone in the crowd of people milling about the Throne Room, an analyst probably.


"It makes perfect sense," the Regent bit back, "They kicked Regrad's ass and now they are riding high on victory. They think they can kick all of our asses!"


"But if you look at the structural architecture of a known Dragon ship and these..," another analyst paused trying to find the right term and coming up short, "..other ships, there are clear differences."


"What I see is whether or not this fucking pissant ship is really from the Dragon ship factories or not doesn't fucking matter." the analyst blinked at the plethora of negatives in that statement. "The fact that this same type of ship accompanied his fucking godship Heir-son-of-a-bitch-Raktus on the Vladet mission tells us that he at least fucking knows about these fuckers attacking us and who attacked our Emperor!

So he's left us out here with our dick in hand and thumbs up our ass. So fuck him!"


Those Admirals that were with him in the Palace stirred, "So we ..?"


"Mobilize the fleets. I want some ships to reinforce Yaga Minor.. hell, we need to know what the fuck is happening there and, since the Moff of the entire fucking protectorate is trapped there, the rest of the region's planetary Governors are keeping their ships on station, which I don't blame them for even if they are letting Yaga Minor die on a vine."


He slammed a hand down, "We need to know what the fuck is going on! But we also have to hit these fuckers where it hurts! A staging area! Something! Find it!"


Admiral Jaeder cleared his throat, "They caught us with our pants down. It will take time to mobilize for both orders. I would like permission to release the Glee Anselm Reclamation Fleet.. they might get there a bit faster and perhaps give us some idea of what is going---."


"Do it!" Regent Zell ordered.


Jaeder nodded, "The Anselmi or the League may.."


"Fuck them! Do it!" Zell restated. "The League has their own ships to police their own fucking shit. Fucking damned pet project of Simon fucking Kaine! This is his revenge for all those arguments he lost!"


As Zell started to walk away, the Admiral cleared his throat. The Regent turned, annoyed, "What else?"


"The Mid Rim Fleet is in disarray and nobody in the region is going to do anything without a Governor or Moff overseeing.."


"What the fuck is this?!" cried the old man.


The Admiral shrugged, "With Yaga Minor being pounded on the holonet as we speak, they are afraid."


"Mid Rim has no fucking Moff?"


Jaeder shook his head. "The Emperor never got back to us regarding a confirmation or even a preference for the list we presented to him.."


"When did you present it?"


"A week ago."


"Dammit, Hyfe! Alright, alright, I'll take care of it! Anything else?"


Admiral Jaeder shook his head, "Not just this moment."


"Fantastic." Azrael Zell responded sarcastically. "I need to take a piss.."


"Sir!" a staffer from the Imperial High Command came in, "Admiral Pitta from the Corellian Diktat has left with his fleet too--"


"Excellent!" Zell's face lit up and he turned to his old friend, "Jaeder, we should have things up to strength in.."


"Relephon!" the staffer completed his interrupted statement.


"What??!" The Regent could not quite believe his ears, "I gave that man explicit orders too.."


"I was informed that Lupercus Darksword gave him superseding orders to proceed to Relephon." the man finished, hoping the old man Zell would not shoot the messenger.


Regent Zell, for his part, simply stared at the staffer, his eyes growing dark. It was surreal and the entire Throne Room quieted down wondering if the old man would simply lose himself into a rant and simply execute everyone out of hand. They watched with mounting tension as he turned and marched up the steps to the throne. He sat down and turned to the military people in the room, "I want you to issue General Order 102."


There was some confusion and someone stammered, "Umm, Sir. You want us to shoot Simon Kaine?"


The Regent raised his eyebrows and shook his head, "I mean General Order 103."


"You want us to shoot Bhindi Drayson?"


Zell glowered, "General Order 104?"


The crowd was definitely nervous, "umm... You sir?"


Fucking Hyfe!


Inexplicably, the old man broke out into a chuckle and everyone's shoulders seemed to sag as they exhaled, "Not today, but dammit don't I feel like it!"


He drummed his fingers on the arm of the throne, "Which General Order is the one where we shoot all Sith fuckers on sight?"


Confusion was evident on everyone's faces and Zell turned to a Stormtrooper, "Is there such a General Order?"


The trooper shook his head, "No, sir!"


"Of course not," Zell remarked dryly.


He turned to the staffer, "What ships did Pitta leave?"


"Just a spattering of defending units. Not much.."


Zell nodded, "Revoke Lupercus Darksword's current authority over the Corellian Diktat pending the outcome of whatever the fuck he has in mind. If he's a success, then we'll have a chat. If he's a failure, he better not return. Jaeder? I want you to put one of ours in Command over there and bring the Byss Fleet in as reinforcements."


"Byss is our Core reserve," warned the Admiral.


"Well, until we get all this other shit figured out, it'll do."


"Very good, Sir." and the Admiral left.


"Now, get me those fuckers in the Mid Rim," he ordered a staffer and the man backed out of the Throne Room and broke out into a run when he hit the Great Hall.


When everyone but Stormtroopers and the Guardsmen had gone, Zell sat back on the throne in thought. After a while, he noticed an Inquisitor walk by in the Hall outside and when he turned and focused around the room he noticed Aeacus looking a tad nervous.


After an uneasy moment, the Regent said in a quiet voice, "I would like to think that there is more variety to force-users than simply Jedi or Sith. Therefore, when I order the death of Sith, I do not mean those force-users who are loyal servants of the Empire. I mean those self-serving fuckers who think of themselves, like that rancor-bastard Raktus, as fucking Gods of the Galaxy."


He leaned forward, "That being said, I am unsure as to what Hyfe meant when he said Xa Fel had fallen. Does he mean pirates have taken the planet over? Does he mean the Coalition or the Jedi? Fallen to whom? Aliens?"


Guardsman Aeacus shifted slightly, "I would think that he would mean by another force user but I do not think he means Jedi. If it were Jedi, I would think he would have complained more publicly about it."


Zell grinned and sat back chuckling, "I believe you are right. Therefore, if this person or persons are Sith, then it just means Xa Fel has not fallen necessarily but is under new management. Still Sith, though.

Now, I have no problem steamrolling the shit out them if they tempt me but I would rather have these fuckers working with us than against us. Do you think this Sith will deal?"


The Guardsman shrugged, "I hear a great many things about Sith that it is hard for someone to believe it all yet what should one believe?"


"Besides the fact that they are fucking bastards that steal your fleets?"


"Besides that, yes. I would say that dealing with a Sith on Xa Fel, if it is a Sith, is not out of the realm of possibility but is it probable? I don't know. I would probably send an Inquisitor to deal with them since they are trained to try to find out how loyal or sincere someone can be."


Zell snapped his fingers, "That's not a half bad idea. They should be able to tell better than the Corps at any rate. The Viscount has done some good work for us in weeding out the disloyal. We'll send him to Xa Fel and see what we see.."

"It was announced that the Emperor approved the appointment of Admiral Carson as acting Governor of the Mid Rim Protectorate before his disappearance.." The commentator was reading the message given by the Regent's representative to Vladet earlier that morning in a recap of news when Azrael Zell sniffed as if he smelled something funny.

He was enroute to his personal shuttle to meet with the current Fleet Commanders and was being followed by a representative aide from Vladet


"Who the hell is Carson? Didn't he fucking die in a limo explosion or something?" (Revenge and Retaliation)


"Relative, Sir. Apparently the Carson family is large and a well-known staple in the Mid Rim Territories."


"As long as he fucking tows the 'Party Line', I couldn't give a shit."


"Well," the aide continued, "he is tapping Imperial Intelligence for any information regarding the assassination of Governor Park Kraken."


"Assassination? I thought the damned spark-plug backfired or some tragic shit like that?" Zell sounded anything but regretful.


"Given the unrest since Governor Kraken's death, there are indicators that perhaps the killings could have been politically motivated?"


"Internal?" The old man asked pointedly casting a glance at two Guardsmen following. Perhaps Hyfe knew what he was doing when he hired these guys.


"How should I know?" the aide responded without thinking.


"Well what did they fucking find from Park's body?" Zell growled.


"The damage to the bodies was too extensive for such a work up. The bomb nearly vaporized everything."


"Fucking convenient," Zell muttered.


"Actually, it wasn't. The Grand Isle has a main controlling power distribution hub that was thrown into a frenzy causing half the capital city to go without power for..."


"I meant for the assassins, dumbass." growled Zell. "So, we happy with this Carson fellow?"


"Well, he is tied to a famous military family..."


"So?" Zell snapped. "I could be Simon Kaine's Great Uncle but that don't mean I can lead worth a shit."


The aide looked like he stepped on bantha shit and Zell turned to him, pointing a finger. "I hate you Mid Rim flunkies who live the fucking good life while real soldiers do all the work."


The aide had no idea what good life the former Retired Grand Moff was talking about or what soldiers he was referring too but he did know it was best not to interrupt the old man when he got going.


"You tell this Carson that he better carry a stick and a damned big one! We don't need shit from the Occupation Zone spilling into the Territories. If anyone gives him shit, he better be willing to piss on them and make sure they drown in the experience!"


"Yes...yessir!" the aide snapped and saluted. He wondered briefly just how he would word that diplomatically to the new Moff.


"AND TELL THAT ASSHOLE TO GET SOME SHIPS TO YAGA MINOR!" He shouted after the retreating aide.


"Fucking worthless piece of..." the old man mumbled walking towards his shuttle, guarded by his own trusted soldiers. It seemed like all anyone had to do in the Mid Rim was blow up aircars or shuttles to get what they wanted and he'd be damned if he let some hick from the Mid Rim take him out. No, not that for ol' Zell.

Fuck that shit!

Confederation

"Jax, what the hell were you thinking?!" shouted the General. "Your OP was not an approved operation from CSIS! You'd better have a damned good explanation or we might just put you up against a wall and shoot you ourselves!"

The Jensaarai stood there calm as a light breeze on a sunny day.

The General suddenly stopped his bluster and squinted at the Spec Ops member as if suddenly figuring out something, "Someone else gave the order! Something hush-hush-like, yes?"

When Jax just stood there the General continued. "Yes...yes, that must be it."

He chuckled lightly, "Damn, you had me going boy. Next time let an old man in on the secret so he doesn't have a heart attack!"

Jax nodded at the General and said frankly, "Of course, sir. My apologies."

His fears laid to rest, the General could afford to be magnanimous and patted the Jensaarai on the shoulder, "Think nothing of it, my boy. Truth be told, I am glad you put a bullet through the brains of that thief! He was pilfering funds away from Spec Ops as well as the Navy... who knows how many died because of that bastard!"

As he began to usher Jax out the door probably to hand another chewing out to someone else, the General asked, "Do you want me to put another team together for you? I know your buddies got butchered several months ago and you've been doing a bang-up job with your assignments but we don't want you burning out.."

Jax smiled, "Actually, General, I prefer to work alone. We are trained early on to let go of our own personal attachments and desires to be able to serve the greater good."

The General stopped as the door slid open to his office, "Everyone else is on a team, including Adrian. Are you saying that the Spec Ops teams are a bad idea? Is it your recommendation that we disband the teams?"

Jax thought a moment until shaking his head, "It would simply create more disorganization within the Unit, Sir. Besides, if it is working for them, why fix what isn't broken? Everyone has their strengths.."

"Too true, my boy, too true. Well, you better be off..." the General patted his back as the Jensaarai walked into the hall and the door to the office slid shut separating the men.

"..and everyone has their weakness."



**


"The General is off his rocker, Jax," a fellow Jensaarai commented while finishing his meal. "The Jensaarai may do special jobs for the CSIS but we do not answer to them. In fact, we only answer to Ravenna.."

"Who works for the CSIS.." mumbled Jax as he put down a datapad, frowning.

"Not full time," the other started to bring up when Jax tapped on the book page he was reading..

"I don't see what puts us on the moral high ground over the Jedi..."

"What? Do you not remember what the Saarai-kaar..."

"Grand Master.." Jax interrupted.

"..said? We are what the Jedi should have been!"

Jax felt annoyed, "Says who? Some hologram? All we do is learn the same force-moves as Jedi do. They have lightsabers and we have sabers, or foils or whatever. Some wear armour but that is more Jensaarai tradition since the Confederation and Adrian have seen to change the Jensaarai cause into something different.."

"What do you mean?"

"They were the custodians and protectors of Susevfi. Then they began to peddle their wares to Teras Kasi.. I mean, the Teras Kasi! Self-appointed galactic police? And a weak galactic police at that! Anyway, back to the Sarrai-Kaar... She is the reason for the Observer Order for without the force cloak technique, could there ever be such an Order?" (Searching out Allies)

"So you've got something against the Observer Order?"

"No. But that's just it! If the Jensaarai were what the Jedi were supposed to be, why did they not spread their philosophy to this Order? Did she think that simply teaching a force cloak would somehow compel this Order's adherent's to change to the Jensaarai way of thinking?"

Jax's eating companion began to munch on his dessert but took the time to point his fork at his friend, "This Vonta Horn did not ask for wisdom, though. Master Ravenna did."

"Yes, yes," Jax pretended to wave off the distinction when, in reality, he realized his friend had hit upon a very fundamental fact, "..you split a baby in half and the woman who screams the loudest is the mother."

His friend, a Jensaarai named Portland, grinned, "I thought it was threatened to split a baby in half.."

Jax grinned back, "Either way, the woman who screams the loudest is still the mother."

Portland took another bite of his dessert, "Anyway, you said the Jensaarai cause has been changed from protection of Susevfi too..? Protection of the Confederation?"

"Well, the General and Ms. Thorne would like to think that but no, we really are not the protectors of the Confederation. Not if we fully embrace what we've been taught."

Portland frowned, "How do you figure?"

"We've become the Teras Kasi in deed if not name! We strive to work for the greater good of the galaxy.. not the Confederation."

Portland's frown deepened, "What's the difference?"

Jax nearly kicked him under the table, "The Jedi were the champions of peace and justice throughout the Old Republic. That Republic eventually betrayed them and if they had not been blinded by being beholden to this political entity, they might have taken action sooner to protect that peace and justice! We think there is no separation between the interests of the Confederation and the interests of the galaxy now, but things change."

Portland smirked, "I am willing to wait the 20,000 years for that change to take place.."

"You are not hearing me, Port." Jax was getting frustrated all over again, "I am talking philosophically.... No! Wait. Let me ask you something and let you mull over this..."


"Ok," agreed Portland amicably.


"Was the Confederation's decision to pull out of the Galactic Coalition serving the greater good of the galaxy or the greater good of itself?"


A look of discomfort crossed Portland's face. "Look, Jax. If you've got a bone to pick with our elected officials.."


"Port, I am sure our elected officials are good people. I am sure they love their children the same as our wonderful Confederation citizens or their Coalition or New Republic counterparts love theirs. But our officials being good or not IS NOT THE ISSUE. It is not our charter!

We have to give up our personal desires, our freedoms....our passions to make the cold, hard decisions that will bring the greatest benefit to the galaxy.

It is not our officials. It is their policies that I scrutinize. I love my leaders, Port. But we cannot allow that love to blind us to what is best for the galaxy."


Portland felt a pain in his stomach, "But who determines what is best for the galaxy?"


Jax sat back and relaxed as his friend had come to the very point that had annoyed him for so long. "I have searched long and hard, my friend, for that answer.

Evidently, as Jensaarai, we do."


Portland suddenly felt like throwing up.

"These portals are... convenient," Zeratul commented and Artanis nodded acknowledgment of the unspoken praise.


"The Dragon machines are indeed clever.." the High Elder said which drew a sharp glance from the Skey'g'aar.


"Tell me that Dragon machines are not constructing these portals for us?" A dread fell over the Shadowcaste warrior. For them to blindly trust the Dragons in what amounted to a linchpin in their operations was... foolhardy.


"Of course not, Zeratul," Artanis replied. "I am not a fool."


The Skey'g'aar relaxed slightly and the High Elder continued, "I asked for the... instructions to build one ourselves. If machines can do it then for a certainty Cree'Ar can as well. The designs are along a different principle but not impossible. Our initial test was our ability to ensure resupply to the infidel Fearsons and his Empire."


Zeratul's eyes glowed, "What if our initial tests had failed?"


The look Artanis gave him was one he'd seen on Kal Shora many times, "Then the infidels would have had to tighten their belts. I care not the disposition of heretics, especially Ta's's'ador! (traitors!)"


Zeratul looked amused, "Fearsons is not Ta's's'ador to the Empire. The Empire crushed his kingdom and failed to put him to death.."


Artanis grunted, "The inhabitants of this galaxy are fools."


"So Kal Shora has said time and again--" Zeratul started when a fresh scream of an infidel sounded out again.


"Annoying.." muttered the Skey'g'aar. The least they could do is die well!


"I am deaf to the cries of the inferior," Artanis stated the traditional Cree'Ar remark of the conqueror to the conquered.


A crevice opened allowing Vejuun to leave the room of the hysterically screaming infidel with an aura of pleasure.


He bowed to Artanis, "High Elder."


"Was the test successful?"


The scientist could not keep the pleasure from his voice, "My research of the Cor'ai'var has increased ten-fold!"


"These pak't'ah were not brought to you for your amusement, scientist!" Artanis snapped. "Can we put them to the purpose?"


"Oh yes! To far greater efficiency than I originally thought, High Elder."


Zeratul's question hinted suspicion, "these users of the Cor'ai'var are weak."


"Quite. I had thought our purpose could not be carried out unless we found someone of what the infidels call knight caste or master caste and so, quite expected this.. stop-gap of Jedi Corps-caste to be even more inferior thus creating a substandard Tek’a’tara." (The Project)


Artanis said nothing to the presumed failure the scientist expected of his designs and moved forward, "So you use four of these Corps caste where you would use one of the other knight or master caste?"


"No, quite the opposite!" The scientist was very excited, "I had thought of such an equation prepared to concede to the inefficiency when I decided to simply put the Test of Strength to them."


"The Cor'ai'var can be cultivated. That is why those who use the Cor'ai'var start off at a lower caste and rise in rank through discipline and training. But..."


The crevice opened again as if a maw were widening allowing another aide to the scientist to enter the room of the prisoner who was continually being tortured.


Vejuun's eyes lit up in pleasure, "I find there is a quicker way. By inducing the pain centers of these pak't'ah, it triggers their primal aggressiveness and their minds.." he pointed to Zeratul and went off on a tangent, "I told you, Zeratul, your mind is what makes the difference!"


Artanis tapped a foot impatiently.


"...their minds tap into unconscious recesses of anger and pain and it seems to augment their abilities. Of course, this Corps-caste is weaker than the knight or master caste but that just means a longer pain-inducing treatment to produce the required amount of neuralelectric energy."


Artanis was pleased, "That is excellent work, Vejuun. Judicator Shran Badaar's assault on the world the infidels call Yaga Minor is being carried out right now. The portals are being created and the Parrow Lin are ready. But this campaign is for nothing if we cannot follow through with the new Tek’a’tara."


Vejuun bowed again. "Then, High Elder, please rest assured that the glorious campaign will go forth! On my life!"


The Cree'Ar and Skey'g'aar both looked at each other in surprise. Usually scientists waffled and wavered regarding the results of their research and were unwilling to stake their reputations and skills, let alone their life on a particular (desired) outcome.


"This will be a campaign like no other.." the scientist continued. "The new Tek’a’tara, with this augmented Cor'ai'var pulled from the tortured bodies of these infidels, are a sight to behold."


Vejuun gestured to the other two. "Come, see.." he invited.


And when Artanis and Zeratul entered the room through the widened crevice, they moved past the various instruments of inducement and their subjects to a large pit where the Tek’a’tara had been created from inert material.


There were three for testing purposes in the reinforced pits but they looked different from typical tek’a’tara soldiers. They had a more malevolent aura about them and as the Nexus entered a new set of commands at Vejuun's order, when the restraints were released the cybernetic creatures threw themselves at each other with a viciousness unmatched.


Zeratul looked perturbed by the sight but Artanis nodded in satisfaction.


"Borleas will sweep the galaxy clean with these!"

"Raktus in excelsis"


The chant was intoxicating.

The chant was nonstop.

The chant was inevitable.


The great overmind of the Daemun Imperium was closing off options as time passed ever progressively onward to the conclusion of Purpose.


The Taj was all.


The Taj was ready to take the Imperium into it's next state.



But not every aspect...



Focus pulled away from those who were merged with strands of BioLogic and the Phage. Those who considered themselves the next step in the evolution of the Imperium and were convinced they would soon receive the Taj's blessing.

And perhaps, in another reality, they might have. Perhaps, in another reality they did. A reality where the political machinations and game of thrones so prevalent in galactic society actually delayed the Grand Purpose by several decades...even perhaps centuries or millenia. The Dracconis, while not the pure Daemum, would find their God favoring their existence and use them to his glory and as he saw fit. They would come to be protectors of their god's domain from all would-be enemies no matter where... no matter when.. (Of Endings: Vol 1, Vol 2.)

Perhaps it was due to their aggressive protection that the current political landscape had now changed and it would be the greatest irony that the Taj Daemun would use them to be the architects of their own destruction.

He had allowed their mutations and perversions with the marrying of their biological and technological aspects to continue and eventually their crossing of boundaries affected even the ideological and this, Heir Raktus could not...would not allow. And so, by allowing their plan in tampering with the timeline, even as such allowances increased the Dracconis irreverence towards their God, the Dragon God ensured the continuation of Purpose.

And that was the difference between Heir Raktus and the Dracconis.


The Taj did not plan.

Plans failed.

No.

The Taj Daemun Purposed so that the outcome that was arrived at was that of his will despite any and all changes in details. Plans changed. But Purpose, Purpose remained.

And, with the new changes in the galactic political landscape, Purpose had gained ground and the Imperium, once again, began it's march along a path that, now, no longer included those who played their own version of god with their bodies.


Bodies that would ultimately reject the immortality from their god.


But such was the way with biologics.


They tried to do whatever they wanted assuming their god would forgive them. For why would god deny them something they wanted if he loved them?

But that thinking only served the selfish for that justification never took into account the real meat of the issue:

...what their God wanted.


It was time to cut loose the excesses of options no longer needed.


It was time to focus on perfection.


And so, the time of the Dracconis was no longer.

It was history in the making...


The fleet...well, those that could be spared, had dressed up for the showing of the Grand Admiral and while, perhaps, the population was less enthusiastic in sharing the pride of the Imperials, they had showed up and were keeping up appearances by waving streamers and banners.


For no one enjoyed the pomp greater than Grand Admiral-Baron Telan Desaria...


And this was history in the making...


The first Moff appointment granted during a time of war...


Interlopers from only Sith-spawn knew where had entered the 'Zone' and had attacked several worlds (Threshold; Blitz; Bloodbath). The Grand Admiral had been working to trap the fleet knowing that he had infrastructure on his side. Without a close source of resupply, the attacking fleet could be.. (and would be) whittled down ship by ship, man by man, if necessary until they were totally destroyed.


Some traps worked better than others and while some traps worked...


...others did not and Desaria could not help but feel the sting of those plans that went awry. But one could never plan for the unforeseen and he took solace in the fact that the enemy operating within the 'Zone' had fewer ships now than when they first started.


But even that solace paled in comparison to the state of the Empire. There had been no word from Yaga Minor and the Imperial Reclamation Fleet stationed on Glee Anselm was supposed to have arrived but, so far, there was no word on public or private channels about their status or the status of the alien attack on that world.


The disappearance of Emperor Hyfe was demoralizing but the loss of his three fleets was just simply devastating. The reserves from Byss were serving as the Home Guard and he had expected a recall but Regent Zell had other things in mind.


The rest of the Imperial Guard was being assigned to the Occupation Zone and he would be given the entire Seventh Fleet and the authority to pacify and hold the sector.


It was a shame the Regent could not attend to the ceremony himself but he was busy coordinating a fleet to respond too and reclaim, if necessary, Yaga Minor as well as an attack against the Dragon Imperium for their seeming support of these alien attacks.


Troiken was to be the jump point as it was designed to be in one of those "what if" senarios that was no longer hypothetical.


Wes Vos was chewing at the bit to enter Yaga Minor with the Reclamation Fleet but they had been on a mission against these new attackers who had been dubbed "Mandos" due to the nature of their field army that attacked Generis. Even now, the Colonel-General shifted uncomfortably during the ceremony as if he wanted to be anywhere but there and the Grand Admiral sympathized. But such ceremonies were inspirational.


They inspired confidence.

They inspired awe.

They inspired fear.


And as the shuttle carrying the Regent's representative descended, Telan Desaria and Wes Vos watched from a small distance away standing on a platform surrounded by their soldiers, guards all with polished armor and starched uniforms.


The representative would descend the landing platform and walk between shouting throngs separated by Stormtroopers and ascend the steps to Desaria's platform to recite the lines that would publicly confirm his appointment.


Wes Vos, of course, grumbled under his breath as if arguing with himself that the mysterious aliens attacking could have been defeated if he had only been at Yaga Minor. The Grand Admiral silently shook his head realizing that sometimes conflicts took on a life of their own and there was not always an easy answer of victory or defeat. (Cold Blooded)


Thus the need for inspirational pageantry and ceremonies.


And, a few minutes later, they both saw what else these ceremonies could inspire..


Hate.


For a spectator had charged through the Stormtrooper line and ran up the steps to the shuttle. He would not have made it as the troopers were already turning to target him but the spectator did not have too. He shouted, "For Onyx!" and in a brilliant flash, the spectator along with half the landing platform vanished in a fireball explosion that sent a wave of heat felt by the Grand Admiral and Colonel-General.


People were panicked and running and if that would have been the end of it, Desaria would probably have been glad. But the spectator was not the only one as both men witnessed from their vantage point flashes erupting at several locations sending out signals of smoke against the horizon.


The SS leader's communications signal chirped and as he took the call, Desaria sighed to himself. This was not what he hand in mind at all.


"Moff," Wes Vos correctly addressed and the former Grand Admiral felt a certain affection for the man's acumen in matters of protocol, "We are getting reports that there have been several such suicide explosions across the Occupation Zone. This was planned.."


"General," Desaria replied, "I am sorry but it seems your trip to Yaga Minor is going to be delayed."


If the SS man was disappointed he did not show it. Perhaps he saw that his task here became that much more dangerous and difficult for how do you occupy a place where the people will blow themselves and you up?


Another aide ran up to the two as they watched emergency and investigative units take charge of the scene.


"Grand...err.. Moff Desaria! Ord Mantell has fallen to the enemy!"


Calmly, Moff Desaria turned to the aide showing his distaste at the lack of detail, "Which enemy, Mister!"


"Errr.. Sorry, Sir! Mandos, Sir!"


"Mein Gott!!" whispered Moff Desaria fiercely.

"Sir, incoming transmission from.... from.. Coruscant."


Admiral Wilkar frowned but nodded to the Ensign to put the transmission through. A holographic representation of Regent Zell appeared and while the Admiral was surprised, he was also annoyed since the Empire, or any other faction for that matter, did not have the hardlight technology he had gotten used too. Instead of talking with an almost exact likeness of the Regent to his face, he had to face a smaller, more transparent and fuzzy standard hologram.


Funky technology's made me soft!


"Regent!" he got out in spite of his surprise but before he could congratulate the old man on his promotion Zell snapped, "Shut your hole, Wilkar. If I wanted to hear something intelligent from you, I'd whisper what to say in your ear!"


Wilkar flushed red, "As if I could distinguish your drunken mumbling for something intelligent!"


"Clean your ears out, boy, and you just might! Or don't they teach you hygiene in that fucking Commonwealth of yours?" the Imperial leader spit out.


"What do you want?" the Commonwealth Admiral growled.


Regent Zell, pleased with himself for having won (in his estimation) the round, sat back and brought his fingertips together.


"Admiral, if a Commonwealth fleet attacked an Imperial world and failed...What would your government do?"


Admiral Wilkar suddenly sobered up and quickly ran through his memory of the fleet disposition and whether or not there was any such operation executed much less planned?


He came up with zero but, then again, he was pretty drunk the night before so who knows what he authorized so he simply said, "They would disavow any knowledge and condemn the rogue soldiers..."


Zell suddenly smiled a feral smile, "And if they succeeded?"


Wilkar did not miss a beat, "I would accept the accolades due to me for planning such an successful operation to liberate a world from your tyrannical hands and our government would promote everyone involved!"


The Imperial probed even deeper, "You would keep the world?"


"Hell, yes! You know how hard it is to get a world from your greedy clutches? Damned if I am going to simply give it back! We might as well make the most of it!"


Zell chuckled to himself and Wilkar suddenly wondered if anyone in the Executive Council had initiated such a mission and, if so, why the hell had they not informed him?


The Regent suddenly turned serious.


"Then listen carefully, boy! Last week, his fucking Lord Darksword left for Relephon with his entire fleet!"


Admiral Wilkar went pale, misunderstanding the Regent. "Regent, I am sure that Lord Darksword does not mean to take the Hapan Fleet into Imperial Territory..." his mind racing with the possibilities of the Empire destroying a member of the Executive Council.


Zell laughed out loud at that, "Not Dakkon Darksword you dimwitted dolt! I am talking about Lupercus Darksword, his motherfucking brother! The entire Corellian Fleet was at Relephon last week.."


"Last fucking week!?" shouted Wilkar. "Why the fuck am I hearing about it now?"


"Because your spies are worthless Sith-spit, that's why! And I am not your fucking news service!"


"Why tell me now?" Wilkar threw out there.


"Because, boy, I want you to know that if you happen to fucking kill Lupercus, you will not get any repercussions from me."


"You mean INS will not lie out of their asses and blast the Commonwealth for murdering poor Lupercus Darksword?" Wilkar mumbled and Zell barked out a laugh.


"It means if Lupercus fails, we will disavow his actions, which are, honestly, his own. I don't understand his fucking obsession with Hapes but whatever. He will be considered rogue and cut off."


The Commonwealth Admiral's eyes narrowed, "But if he succeeds?"


Zell leaned forward, "Then, my boy, I will have no choice but to pronounce Lupercus a Hero of the Empire and we will keep what he takes!"


Wilkar was about to burst with rage complaining about the unfairness of the situation when he suddenly realized his own answers to the questions Zell raised in the beginning.


That slick, old bastard!


The Imperial saw that and pointed a finger, "That's right, asshole! I will keep it just like you would and you will have to simply take it in the ass!"


The old man's voice darkened, "And if you don't, I have no trouble ordering the Empire to steamroll the Commonwealth out of business for good! Don't think I won't!"


"You can't take us!" Wilkar snapped back and Zell grinned in appreciation.


"Whether I can take you or not is immaterial. I can smash you up good so that you don't resemble the Commonwealth when I get done with you!"


Wilkar's mouth closed at that. Maybe the Empire could take them but maybe not. In either case, they would be pretty smashed up.


"Son of a bitch.." the Commonwealth man muttered.


"Don't take your inability to stop Lupercus out on me!" Zell growled.


"If you had a better hold on your people..!" Wilkar snapped back.


"You hold a Sith Master half as well as we have! Then you can raise your head and bring your fucking indignation up to me! Otherwise shut the fuck up and start calling your Commanders!"


The Regent of the Empire blinked out and the Admiral sat there for a full minute wondering just what the hell he was going to say.


Excuse me Ms. Councilwoman, but Hapes is about to be invaded by the galaxy's worst homicidal maniac. Oh, and his fleet not only smashed half of the total Coalition's Gross National Output but is big enough to swallow us too!


"Get me the Executive Council and Command!" he barked out sending aides every which way.


"Sir?" intruded a female voice and Wilkar turned to her.


"What is it!?" he asked harshly.


"Reboam has gone silent."


Wilkar fumed.


Son of a bitch! The fucker waited a week to tell me! A fucking week!

Diosynes saw the clouds darken and he stood up raising his arms to the heavens. A biologic would probably see the darkening as a foreboding sign but the Dracconis knew better.


They were assemblers that carried out the will of the Taj for Heir Raktus had ordered an Exodus of his own. With the armies of the Coalition fleeing from their own territories thus widening the distance between either faction, the Dragons were able to carry out their Purpose at their own determined pace.


It was truly a glorious time to be alive!


The indigenous population who lived under the protective wings of the Taj, while they truly could not appreciate the totality their god was in their present form, were going to receive the Rites before proceeding through the mysteri to become true Daemun.


Most were docile enough though there were others who were problematic as flesh can be. The rebellion on Chandaar that was incited by the Coalition (The Teth Spearhead) had been brutally put down (Ambassadors of Truth) as only an artificial intelligence could conceive but that did not mean the flesh had learned their lesson. Insurrection, like a software virus, spreads quickly leaving a wake of destruction that only a total cleansing scour of your system could get rid of.


But how many planets could one scour?


As many as necessary came the logical and emotionless answer.


The future Dracconis were gathered awaiting their turn when the assemblers, after processing the last of the flesh, suddenly broke apart and began to rise.


Diosynes watched perplexed but not feeling particularly anxious for everything happens at it's appointed time.


The assemblers disappeared...


Afternoon turned to Dusk...

Expectation turned to Curiosity...


Diosynes could feel a stirring of confusion but not from the group he was a part of. No, it was a weakened strand of a link he possessed with others of his kind spread throughout the Imperium.


Evidently the Taj intended to treat with them as a group as he had with the flesh. Still, the choosing of the flesh over Dracconis did begin to fill his mind with anger but that anger had it's root in jealousy.

But the Taj always had a reason for doing things as he did.

But was it a good reason?

Diosynes shook his head for to question the Taj was to question reality.

The reality according to the Taj!

But wasn't reality non-subjective?

Only to those with the power to enforce reality!

The Dracconis shook his head again, wondering why these questioning thoughts suddenly came up unbidden.


That faint curiosity he had felt from others scattered about the Realm was growing even fainter and Diosynes suddenly realized....


The presense of Raktus was leaving!

Leaving? his mind suddenly thought in panic.


Curiosity turned to Anxiety as those of his group began to lose control..


Without the shadow of the Taj, what would happen?



Dusk turned to Night..

Anxiety turned to Terror.


For they could perceive the Taj no more.


Why?! screamed the receding part of his rational mind.


The last thing Diosynes perceived was the biting coldness of the realization that the Dracconis had been abandoned by their god.


Denied entry into Purpose...


into...Paradise..


Damned...



We are the reapers of what we have sown...

We are the reapers of what we have sown...

We are the reapers of what we have sown...

We are the reapers...

We are the reapers...

We are the reapers...

We, reavers..

We, reavers..

reavers..

reavers..

reavers..



Night turned to Darkness...

Terror turned to Madness...



Thus were born the Reavers...

"TYSCIO! I HATE YO...AAAGGGHHHH!!!"


"Push!"


"Babe.. Ahh.. Babe, that hurts.... Babe, you're hurting my hand... Babe, you're a Jedi Master with Jedi reflexes... Babe...THAT really hurts.."


The sweat drenched woman on the bed turned a wild glance at the Caprician and said through clenched teeth, "You should try child birth!"


Tyscio grinned and turned his hand into the figure of a gun and 'shot' it, "Couldn't you just 'force-shoot' the baby out?"


Leia nearly choked on a cough, "Force-shoot the baby out?"


"Badda-bam, thank you ma'am.."


"Do you even listen to yourself sometimes?"


"Passion... heh. Excitement...heh... A Jedi craves not these .."


"Master Yoda never gave birth!" snapped Leia as she let out another yell.


"I can see the head!" exclaimed a nurse as the birthing droid simply said, "ooba oobaa boo.."


Why do these droids voice baby-speak?


It may be a soothing tone but it's really creepy!


At that moment, a sound of a baby crying cut through his thoughts.


"oooba ooobaa boo," the droid said, it's salad-spoon cupped hands handling the baby as if they were formed specifically for his son..


Son?


"It's a boy!" Leia exclaimed laying back clearly exhausted. Tyscio rushed to get her water giving an annoyed glance around the room.


Evidently, in the twenty thousand years the Old Republic had been a going concern, the only advancement to mothers giving birth was creating a droid that said, "ooba ooba boo" or some derivative thereof.


Tyscio Korban was not sure what he would feel at this moment but, quite honestly, he really could not help grinning like a fool.


Turning to his wife, he put a hand on her forehead. "Babe, I am sorry but you had a little Trandoshan.."


A grin tugged at the Jedi Master's lips, "So you're saying he's got your nose?"


The Caprician shrugged, "I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but babe, we made one butt-ugly baby.."


Leia burst out laughing at the unexpected comment only to grimmace in pain.


That pain intensified and she starting howling all over again.


"There's another one!" some medic exclaimed.


The birthing droid was back, "oooba oobaa boo.."


You said it! Tyscio thought.


Twins?

...it will rise again. No matter how many times it sets, the sun will rise, and we can choose to greet it or we can hide away in the darkness and wait for it to go away.

“For too long now have we retreated into ourselves - and I most of all have failed you in this regard. We can’t run from who we are, regardless of prophecy or politics or fear or death. No matter the cost to ourselves, or even the cost to our people, we can no more give up the fight for justice and freedom than we can regain what we’ve lost already. We are committed, heart, body, and soul, to the liberation of this galaxy from the forces of evil, no matter what form they take and what mask they wear.

“So the time has come for the Azguardians to wake from our lethargy and rediscover ourselves and the galaxy. I will go forwards and meet the people, and see to it that the people meet each other once more, so that we can all go forward together with both eyes open. We can’t afford to lie to ourselves or to our brothers and sisters - we need to be honest and true, even in the bad times. Especially in the bad times, and these are the worst we’ve seen.

“We will return to the galaxy, we will find our friends and allies and remind them of our alliances. We will put the fear of our wrath in the heart of villains and Imperialists, we will make war against evil and shield the righteous. We will rebuild our grand society, restore our prosperity, and bring hope to our disillusioned.

“Here, in this sacred place, amidst the bones of our blood brothers and sisters I swear this oath to you - that I will not fail you again. By every ounce of strength in my body, by every drop of sweat on my brow, I will labour to bring us together again and give us back our dreams. Will you fight with me once more?”




The fleet was mobilizing to answer the threat of the aliens attacking Yaga Minor, the onset of suicide bombings within the Imperial Occupation Zone and the threat of the Black Dragon Empire...

Never, in recent years, had so much men and materials been moved across the galactic board with the singular thought of destruction in mind.

And it was through this cosmic sea that they traveled...




*



Fregrad, once a Captain in the Mon Calamari Republic Navy (Looking to the Stars), collapsed against the wall of his cell knowing that his time was up.

Each year, when he thought the Empire could sink no further into depravity they went and proved him wrong. From Theren Gevel to Bhindi Drayson, the machinations of ill intent were dreamt, manufactured and shipped out year after year with no end in sight. An Imperial little shop of horrors that operated every day, at every hour.

He had fought in as limited an action as he could within the confines of New Reef Town, finally finding a way into the facilities only to find himself captured and incarcerated.

The problem was that activity had, over the years, died down as the powers that be within the Imperial hierarchy duplicated and moved the cloning processes, spreading them across several worlds.

The cost of shipping materials too and from their world was just too much for too little return. Secrecy was no longer a requirement and with no patents and processes sacred to the Imperial High Command, what little advantage the tiny world once had was diminished, crushed and used up..


And still the iron jackboot of the New Order pressed against their necks.


In the beginning, he had been so fired up with righteous anger and he had found many sympathizers in the ranks but as the months and years passed, that fire began to flicker and fade..


Too many captured...


Too many executed...


Too few returns and to what end?


Liberation?


He had felt his heart fired up and his actions justified when the rumor the attack against Corellia had found it's way to his ears. However, soon after that same heart was beaten to a pulp when they finally learned of the outcome of not only that conflict but of the war.


So many dead...


And for what?


Were they even a cause anymore?

Were they even an inspiration against tyranny?

Were they even a memory to anyone anymore?


And now?


Now he was to be executed. The last...



*

Even with an alien fleet overhead, apparently pummeling the defending ships and winning, the bureaucracy of the New Order moved ever forward.


Executions would be carried out in an efficient manner and on time!


The military platform was not pretty but it was functional. His cell being under water would have played havoc with anyone who would have tried to rescue him ...were there anyone else alive to even remember to rescue him ... anyone alive who could still even gave a damn to rescue him.


He walked up the rusty steps and onto the landing platform only to be escorted to an edge. Evidently, his executioners wanted his dead body to fall into the ocean rather than mess with clean-up and disposal.


Fish food rather than incinerator meat.


It was lazy but it also made sense.


The salt water stung his eyes as they tried to adjust to the rather atypically bright day. He was so used to the overcast, stormy view that for a moment, the bright and sunny scene reminded him of Mon Calamari.


Then he turned to the five trooper firing squad opposite him and the memory of happier times faded.


The officer was a bored glutton and the squad was composed of clone rejects who took pride in their lack of quality or ability. Took pride in their lack of ambition and so the other clones who had remained wisened up and stayed clear of them.


Fregrad did not blame them for the Execution Squad was quite mad.


He just wished he could have promised those he talked too a way to obtain the 'good life' that he described as having once lived. The 'free life'. The 'happy life'.


A life where anything was possible and dreams could come true.


Not the duracrete and steel dreams of Imperial domination. Of continuous soldiering year after year until death or obsolescence claimed them.


He sighed as the officer called out for the Squad to get into a straight line. Not that they bothered...


The execution was, after all, just a random clearing of space in the prison cells even as a battle raged overhead.


There were rumors of an alien attack on Yaga Minor but details were very sketchy.


Fregrad closed his eyes and waited patiently.


So this is how it ends..


"Ready!"


I'm sorry...


"AIM!"


I wish....


And the former Captain cringed for the expected shots to strike his body.


When they did not come, one of his eyes opened and he saw the officer and the squad staring up at the shadow of the largest, strangest looking ship they had ever seen.


Fregrad wondered how much the Imperials made these alien attackers pay to break their lines when another ship appeared..


Then another...


And another...


Apparently, not much.


Scores of fighters were suddenly visible coming up from behind Fregrad and the squad and officer suddenly threw down their weapons and ran for the steps and general safety of the prison.


Fregrad stood there numb.


Another alien fleet...


One with enough firepower to knock the Empire off this place...


What was that strange human phrase? Out of the frying pan and into the fire?


He suddenly found that his legs could no longer lift him and he fell to the platform content to simply wait for the new occupation forces to issue their new demands.


An unfamiliar ship broke off from the larger mother-craft and lowered itself onto the landing platform of the prison.


Fregrad stared with tired eyes content to enjoy the sea breeze for as long as possible.


The landing ramp lowered allowing the occupants to depart and as they walked towards Fregrad, he saw that the more prominent one was robed.


He moved up to Fregrad and knelt before the tired soldier-turned-freedom-fighter and whispered something the others could not hear.


Fregrad was too speechless to say anything, his tired mind overwhelmed by the despair of moments before.


Instead, he simply started to cry, his body shaking almost violently while being held by the robed figure.


"I'm sorry..." Regrad whispered, gently holding the prisoner but the former Captain did not hear him.


In fact, when the Prime Minister of the Galactic Coalition looked into the former prisoner's face, Fregrad, trying unsuccessfully to hold back his tears, simply said through parched lips...


"You came! You came back!"


The Azguard leader felt as if a terrible weight had been lifted as the former prisoner shouted, "You came back!"

Another figure stepped forward, a Major Lama We, and removed his helmet taking in the salty air as if it was a sweet smelling flower whose scent had nearly been forgotten.


"Home," he whispered to himself.


Kamino, after all these years, had been liberated and there would be joy in New Reef Town once again.