Bandomeer Navy



The ships floated against a black backdrop of space, silent beacons of life in an otherwise lifeless vacuum. At first thought, silence in space is not so surprising a thing but any form of life advanced enough to rocket their backsides from the gravity well of their world into the icy coldness of space would also be intelligent enough to overcome the limitations of the natural cosmos. No, upon reflection, the silence of the vessels could only constitute one of two things: Ill intent or desperate necessity.


In this case, it was the latter. Despite the vast array of communications devices purchased and installed upon the vessels, they were consciously deciding not to use them.


For species that depended on speech to convey understanding, it was something of an abnormal act.



And one unaccounted for, at least in the opinion of those in command of the silent starships, by the Reavers.


The silent starships of the Royal Bandomeerian Navy were one of the tools used by the people of Bandomeer to throw off their Imperial conquerors but a year and a half ago. Now, they were the ill-equipped but indispensable tools for Bandomeer's continued life.


The universe, it seemed, was not without a sense of morbid humor as the space of what was once the Borderland Protectorate of the Galactic Empire had transformed into a sector run amok with a horror and danger now given name: Reavers


The leftover and discarded remnants of the Dragon Imperium had lashed out at first in an unpredictable fashion as planets and vessels traveling throughout the area worked to secure their safety.


Unlike the empire's of flesh, these Reavers were not interested in securing space or even expanding some sort of organized government. In fact, it seemed that the Reavers were nothing more than various groups of ships cobbled together traveling randomly throughout a particular section of space always on the hunt, always hungering....like a pack of ravenous wolves trying to pick up the scent of prey.


After a year of bloody and sometimes tragic fighting, Bandomeer had changed their strategy by reclassifying the Reaver Threat to that of a natural disaster. While, obviously, not exactly correct, the reclassification did help the various leaders within the Bandomeerian hierarchy come to grips with a strategy that allowed their world to not only survive that brutal year but also gain some measure of prosperity.


Just like any natural disaster like a hurricane or earthquake, the Reavers would attack and devastate one world or starship while leaving another untouched. Weeks could go by without a Reaver sighting and then, all of a sudden, twenty, fifty...a hundred Reaver ships would strike. Or, at other times, a series of strikes made by a single Reaver ship would take place.


Rather than resources spent to 'combat' a hurricane or earthquake, the Bandomeerian government decided to simply accept the Reaver presence (for now) and focus on being able to predict their activities to keep as many of their citizens alive as possible.

Now, bunkering down, planned escape routes, emergency drills and prediction models were the orders of the hour for dealing with the growing threats of 'Reaver Storms'.


And it was these new efforts at trying to gather as much information as possible regarding Reaver contacts and a, more often than not, tragic trial-and-error series of contacts that allowed Bandomeerian scientists several breakthroughs.


Certain Reaver groups has swarm courses through the system. It seemed that holonet activity drew them like a light does insects. It also seemed that their sole goals in each of their attacks were the lifeforms. If they happened to capture a vessel for reuse, this seemed more incidental than purposeful which helped the Bandomeerians design strategies in avoiding conflicts or, with the Royal Bandomeerian Navy, enter those conflicts where their victory was all but assured.

Even then, such conflicts were to be avoided at all costs for the entire Bandomeerian strategy depended on the Reavers acting the way they were now. If they were to suddenly ascribe importance to seizing worlds, or coordinating the various growing groups of Reaver fleets towards a single, unified purpose, Bandomeer, like so many worlds who had already felt the Reaver touch, would be overwhelmed and scattered.


Even then, plans were being drafted for a full scale evacuation of the world. It was ironic that the Coalition act of evacuating Mon Calamari and several Eastern district worlds was the source of study by leaders of Bandomeer great or small. What worked, what did not work, yes the Coalition act of evacuation, as unpopular as it was with the Coalition political system was the lifeblood of Bandomeerian strategy.


And now, against the backdrop of space, Bandomeerian warships sat silently for so much as a whisper over holonet could, conceivably, draw the notice of any passing Reaver fleets. It was a source of much debate as to just how sensitive and how far the Reaver sensor nets could be cast as every effort to obtain hard data usually resulted in the loss of the exploratory ship and crew. It was easier, cheaper and safer to simply forgo the use of their holonet communications system to contact with the outside galaxy. Sure, pockets of ships could use line-of-sight laser communications when at rest but to maneuver using that system in combat was deemed impractical. What developed were individual captains, crews and warships that learned to fight in 'packs' without depending on communications. The result became the Silent Packs that roamed outside the Bandomeerian system to protect the vital lifeblood of traders and merchants that braved the risk of Reaver Space. It was high risk and it also was highly profitable for these 'cut-off' worlds, even those that suffered attacks by the Reavers, hungered for word and goods from outside their sector.


"Hyperspacial Terminus," a monotone voice droned and Captain Blood of the RBN Dauntless rubbed his eyes.


"Merchant?" he asked his Second in Command, a Kaminoan named Ranu Ru.


"Negative. It is a courier ship."


Even crazier than the merchants, traders or even criminal elements that traversed Reaver Space were the members of the BCF, Bandomeer Courier Force. At least the criminals, merchants and traders could leave Reaver Space. Not so with the BCF as they flew from planet to planet trading in information. While thought to be dangerous, it also did not seem to attract the Reavers as much as holonet transmission so, to move mail, get word and news out and to get news to Bandomeer, the leadership decided to take a lesson from ancient, pre-spaceflight history.


If you want to know something, go ask someone.


The BCF force was made up of hyperdrive capable, single pilot, fighters. Not fighters in the classic sense for their weaponry was removed in favor of boosting engine performance as well as shield power. A single fighter against the Reavers would be a waste of a fighter's weaponry compliment. Some carried weapons as the jocks of the BCF had the final word as to how their ships were arrayed. It was their lives after all.


However, out of all the numbers of BCF pilots that inadvertently ran into a Reaver Fleet, only one ever made it out to tell the tale. The Reaver ships has some strange kind of interdiction that prevented jumping to lightspeed unless the range was outrun.

But with only the data from one pilot, just what that range was remained unknown.


The BCF vessel, having slowed, began to send out it's microburst of signals that were automatically picked up by the RBN warship's computers. The data transfer between the warships and the courier took a few minutes, at which point, the courier signaled the transfer complete and immediately moved on, plotting a course to it's next destination (which was, of course, unknown to the RBN).


As the courier flashed out of sight, Prentiss turned his attention to the data appearing on Ranu Ru's screen as the computer sorted through the compressed bits of information.


"What do we have?"


"Silent Pack Nineteen has been destroyed." the Kaminoan replied without inflection.


"What happened?!" demanded Prentiss, as if his Second in Command was personally responsible.


"From the data, it seems someone accidentally activated a ship's onboard holonet terminal."


"Damn!" Prentiss hissed. Those terminals were not only off limits to everyone but the Captain but had guards posted at the station. With so much holonet data going around, before off-lining the Bandomeer Holonet System, computer caches were filled and simply turning a receiver on suddenly invoked a whole wealth of information at one's fingertips. Unfortunately, it was like turning the light on even brighter for any Reavers in the area.


For all Prentiss knew, there could be a thousand Reaver ships simply holding outside of sensor range, neither fleet knowing the other was there until a mistake was made.


Usually from their side but Prentiss had known a few Captains who had gotten lucky.


How long their luck would last was anyone's guess.

Yaga Minor


Varro Kai watched as the infidel's shipyards were torn and broken apart ending this world's military industrial value in one fell swoop. Half completed warships of various sizes as well as fighter craft were seized in the attack as the New order's soldiers tried to rally despite having their head cut off against the Cree Ar armada.


As the Empire's valiant but ultimately futile efforts forced them to give up space superiority, the former Task Master-turned-Judicator ordered the erection of the 'Living Shield'.


It was the standard procedure in this galaxy for any world the Cree Ar desired to remain at for any length of time; a sort of Judgement from Borleas of the vanquished. Reports on this galaxy showed that the inhabitants often wasted time, energy and precious space within their warships for such vehicles called 'escape pods' or other similar craft. It was as if the pak't'ah in this galaxy felt that those precious few extra minutes of life granted them by running away were worth the act of cowardice it took to actually flee from their enemy.


The Cree Ar shook his head in derision. For any species to actually build craft for the specific purpose of giving flight before an enemy was as alien a concept to him as that same species accidentally hanging themselves during acts of self gratification. Retreat was an acceptable tactic of an attacking or defending host but to simply dissolve the cohesion of your military command in an everyone-for-themselves bid to save their own skins in an escape pod was unheard of in Cree Ar society.


In any event, these 'pods' were put to good use by the Cree Ar as Arbiters manipulated their gravity fields and scattered the pods across every possible area of approach an enemy could make. It was called the Living Shield though the life of the shield usually depended on durability and creativity of the species who created these cowardly pods. But it worked. Or, rather, it worked as it was supposed too. Those in the escape pods would eventually die either from the eventual failure of the pod or by being destroyed by an incoming vessel charging to the rescue at light speed. Such contacts usually left the incoming vessel in serious damage but even if the ship was of such strength that it's deflector shields could withstand the force of such physics, it would, at the very least, render such damage to the deflectors at the expense of an infidel and his escape pod.


The Living Shield gave a limited amount of cover for a limited amount of time without cost but it was enough.


For this was a planet ripe with rewards. From the infidels own secret and formerly secure data banks mass amounts of information were bled. Details and capabilities of the various warships produced by this world's shipyards were there for the taking. Though, while interesting to those perverted Cree Ar interested in infidel customs, they were of little value to Varro Kai in this instance. His needs were far more specific and so while draining the fortress world dry of information, he sifted through the cud of data for those morsels of gold.

The projects that this leader-girl of the Empire sponsored were of such magnitude and ground-breaking lines of thought (at least for infidels) that the Cree Ar Judicator felt an almost distasteful yearning to meet her. He knew from experience that he had taken advantage of the Cree Ar ability to surprise their enemies with a massive and often overwhelming attack.

But it was an attack that was never meant to hold. The reinforcements allotted to him by the High Judicator spoke to that fact and while their numbers were large and overwhelming, they were not infinite.

Upon further reflection, he felt he did have the numbers to hold the world if he so choose but to do so was to sacrifice the rest of the Cree Ar strategy and would earn him a death sentence from Artanis himself.

The Citadel of this Bhindi Drayson, therefore, had been captured first and while there was still fighting going on throughout the planet, it was insignificant and could not dislodge the Cree Ar from their superior position.

Early on, there was a worry regarding the planetary batteries that were held by the remaining elements of Drayson's personal guards but Varro Kai simply moved the wreckage of the battered Imperial Fleet closer to the planet so that these defenders had to choose between the massive hulks of a battle stations and battleships crashing down on the planet causing irreparable damage or firing on them to break the pieces apart. They chose to display the power still in their possession by breaking up the hulks. However, they also gave away the positions of the batteries that were under their control and so the Cree Ar and their Parrow Lin soldiers made sweeping advances rendering the planetary protection grid impotent to their onslaught. It was at that point that panic set in from the local inhabitants thus taxing the dwindling and disorganized resources even further.


All and all a very successful start of the campaign. The world was cut off from the galaxy and already reports of the Fall of Yaga Minor were circulating. It would spread fear to some and determination to others. Either one suited Judicator Kai for he would have need them in the next phase.


"Judicator, a word." an underling approached with all the appropriate gestures and felicitations of an inferior to a superior.


Varro Kai nodded and ordered the soldier to speak.


"Priest Lohr petitioned that I bring to your attention the existence of infidel fighter craft that may prove hard to track by our warships."


"I am aware of them. There are twenty and four in this system," the Judicator remarked.


"You know where they are?" the underling seemed surprised as if the Priest was so certain this was information the Judicator would not have that he had come to believe it as well. In fact, Varro Kai was sure that was the case.


"Not at this moment as I have other more pressing matters to attend," the Judicator answered though he did not have too.


Now, Varro Kai could see that the underling burned with embarrassment which would translate into resentment for the Religious Caste. It was a small thing but it was also something he could attend to now.


"Tend," the Judicator commanded and the underling followed him to a Nexal Hub.


"Set twenty time units back.." Varro Kai ordered the Nexus and the holographic display changed to that of the last Imperial attack from the outside.


"This was an infidel fleet that was probably enroute from a far location and was traveling at lightspeed during our attack. They probably did not have word of our conquest until our gravity conduits pulled from hyperspace."


He turned to the underling. "What do you see?"


The younger frowned at the display and asked for a repeat of the transit. The flash of premature terminus, the rather large scan marker showing the ship to be a powerful capital warship, even if low in supplies and off from a rather long trip.


The ensuing fight was short but it did cost the Cree Ar some lives as they did their duty to Borleas.


The tracking marker was like a torch in a dark room.


"And we can track the smaller craft in this way?" the underling asked. Such information was beyond his area of responsibility.


"Nexus, present time unit," the Judicator ordered and all of sudden the torches went out leaving only the flames of the righteous in the system.


"I cannot see them. We cannot see them. Then how did you know their number?" the underling asked in confusion.


"Look again," Varro Kai said patiently and as the underling compared both scenes from two different time units he shook his head in utter defeat.


"The hyperspacial terminus flashes," the Judicator revealed. "We knew the moment they entered the system and their relative pattern of travel should they jump or microjump throughout."


"But we do not know where they are currently," the underling asked as if looking for some sort of flaw.


The Judicator motioned the holographic projection off. "Soldier, no matter the strength or talent of the fly, it is still a fly."


The underling's eyes widened at the moral and saluted, "Entaro, Judicator Kai!"


The Judicator dismissed the underling and turned his attention back to the incomplete warships in their berths. The shipyards were crumbling and soon the destruction would reach the half-finished vessels.


Such tools that would never see the sight of battle, sense the glory of a crew and enjoy the triumph of purpose.


He turned away from the sight of the final disentigration of the yards, their materials and incomplete vessels and moved towards his Command Station.


The Swarm Commanders were waiting and the Judicator looked at each one asking if they were prepared for the next leg of their task.


As each Commander nodded, Varro Kai was updated as scores of the Jedi Corps members were captured and interred for conversion to The Unholy. It was their only chance at repentance and the Priest Lohr was determined to ensure the survival of the infidel's souls even through force if necessary. The Judicator did not really understand it but as long as the Religious Caste knew what they were about (and if they were not interfering with his command) he would allow them the freedom to spread the glory of Borleas as they knew how.


The last Swarm Commander reported ready and the Judicator glanced at each projection as if he were looking into the eyes of each of his leaders across the spacial distance.


A signal from the Nexus drew him from his reverie.



It seems the Nexus has sated it's appetite for now.



"Deploy the Swarms," he finally ordered.



It was time for their next task.



The enemy's wall had fallen.


The Cree Ar had taken the ramparts.


And now they looked across at a prostrate Sector.

Unity Point, Varn

That damned machine had set him to a task most undesirable. Kerrick Arkanus, however, had to admit it just might work. “You may leave.”

The pair of CDF security guards shared an uncomfortable glance, then one double-checked the prisoner's bindings and the two guards left the interrogation room.

Kerrick and the prisoner stared at one another for a long moment, neither moving, each wondering what the other was thinking. “Zothip, one-time captain of the Corellian Gunship Void Cutter and leader of the Cavrilhu Pirates.”

“Kerrick Arkanus, bastard and sellout,” The prisoner responded, a crooked smile twisting his features.

“The Cooperative penal system is a forgiving one, provided its subjects wish forgiveness. I've got a file on your misdeeds that barely fits on my datapad, Zothip.”

“Cry me a river,” He grumbled, kicking the chair away from the table and dropping into it, then throwing his feet up.

“I'm going to make you an offer you have no business getting, Zothip, and I'm only going to do it once.”

Zothip huffed, tugging at his bindings and squinting uncomfortably. “Yeah? And what is that?”

Kerrick slid a datapad across the table; Zothip ignored it. “A week ago, one of my best captains was ambushed and killed by an unknown number of outlaw starships. He was the first of several, and I am confident that more will follow. You are going to help me find out who these people are, and stop them.”

“And why the hell would I do that!”

Kerrick shrugged, tapping his thumb idly on the table. “Real food. A view of the stars. Escape from the prison-gang politics, the attempts on your life, the constant fear of never knowing who will betray you next. A chance to breathe recycled air again.” Kerrick smiled. “The closest thing to freedom you'll ever see.”

“You're going to take me out there?”

“You'll be my personal advisor, Zothip. You'll have two guards on your heels at all times, civilian level access to resources when not in my presence, and a room of your own.” Kerrick leaned forward, returning his attention fully to the ex-pirate. “Men like you don't rehabilitate, Zothip, and the Articles don't allow for execution. You can sit in a hole until you rot, or you can live out there, among the stars, serving the people who bested you.

“But understand this, Zothip: out there, if you pull any shit with me, I'll space you and write it off as resource conservation. Do we have a deal?”






Every planet is different. The smell of the air, the micro-gravitational offset from Standard, the light of the sun . . . the sounds of a new and alien “nature”.

Every world is quantifiably different. People, though: people, you just can't be sure of. So when Regent Miko Minn of Ord Cestus stepped off of his small diplomatic shuttle onto the grassy plains of Manda, he had a hard time wading through the new sensations and focusing on the lone human, an ancient-looking man who was busy chasing some sort of avian creature that didn't seem quite able to fly.

“Coo-coo!” The old man shouted, flapping his arms like wings and skipping forward, perhaps trying to drive the bird into the thick knee-high grasses nearby, where it might gent tangled in what appeared to be a deathtrap of interwoven blades of grass and thickets of razor-sharp briars.

“Might I suggest a blaster, stun setting, sir?”

The old man came to an immediate stop, as though he had forgotten why he was out here and had missed the shuttle's landing altogether, and only Miko's comment had drawn him out of whatever land of maddness his mind had fallen into.

“Ahh, forgive me, sir,” The old man said, pulling out a rag and wiping his hands clean. “It's called a chicken. I had a few million of them transplanted here after observing a custom on one of the worlds in the distant Oorobach Cluster. My skill in the craft of chicken-catching proved insufficient in my brief time there, but I am not a man so keen on giving up.”

The old man stopped a few paces away from Miko, breathing deeply, the recent exertion finally catching up with his aged and worn body. His hands went to his knees, the careful method with which he had cleaned his hands now gone to waste as the weight of his body imparted the stain from the rag to his pants leg. “I have yet to best these simple beats in a battle of wits. When I saw this wild one running about, I felt duty-bound to try, try, try again.” The old man chuckled, finally noticing the dirt and grime now on the knee of his pants. “Bested, by a feathered rodent! Perhaps I am getting old . . .

“Ahh, but where are my manners!” He shouted, bounding lightly forward and offering his hand. “Ebenn Q3 Baobab, Governor of Manda by the Will of the People, Chief Curator of the Baobab Archives by Rite of Knowledge, head of the Baobab Family by Trait of Seinority.” Miko shook the old man's hand, suppressing the desire to turn and leave this crazed old man where he stood. There was something about him . . . something the Regent knew he was missing. “What can I do for you, young sir?”

“I am Regent Miko Minn of Cestus . . . by the will of the people.”

“Ahh, delightful!” Baobab shouted, pulling his hands together in front of his chest, his eyes drifting over to the chicken nearby; that devilish, unbeatable, chicken. “Two planetary rulers, meeting in an open field. Equals . . .” He trailed off, his fixation on the small animal growing to consume his focus once more.

Miko clapped his hands together once, regaining Ebenn's attention, for now. “I am here on official business for the United Cooperative of Peoples.”

“Oooh, what a lofty name. I love it!”

The offworlder pressed on, ignoring the old man's outburst. “My time is short, and my duty urgent. I would like to open on the topic of the Baobab Merchant Fleet; as you know from our official request, we have interest in employing―”

“Impossible, impossible,” EQ3 muttered, shaking his head and turning away, though the chicken no longer seemed to be of interest to him. “You will have to speak to my nephew, Mungo, about that.”

“Are you not the . . . head of your family?” Miko asked, sensing what may prove to be a brief moment of lucidity from this old man.

“An honorific,” He said, dismissing it with the wave of a hand. “Sometimes I think even they believe me crazy,” And there was something in the old man's eyes, some faint glimmer in that instantaneous glance he cast at Miko, that told the Cooperative man all the stories about Ebenn Q3 Baobab were true. He had spent the sum of the Imperial Era playing the part of crazed madman.

I've got to admit: he does it well. It was just as the Overseer had said. He had to press the moment; many and varied were the tasks to be carried out here. “Governor, before I press the matter of the Trade Fleet, there is something more suited to your station that I would request.”






There is perhaps one place in the galaxy perfectly suited for Doctor Aaron Reinhardt's work. Perhaps only one place totally secure. He was surrounded by fifty thousand Coalition scientists, engineers, programmers, and mechanics. Now their numbers were supplemented by some twenty thousand Shard, most of which had been interfaced directly with the development network. Another ten thousand Drackmarians worked in a separate section of the vessel, its life support systems reconfigured to suit their unusual atmosphere.

Despite claims to the contrary and the disassembling of the custom-built research station, Project Guardian was very much alive. Inside the starship Smarts, where organics were no longer permitted entrance, a staggering eighty thousand of the Coalition's brightest minds worked in total seclusion from the outside galaxy. Here, inside the heart of the Project, at the source of all Guardian was meant to be.

The blue-and-black hologram reconstituted itself as it had so many times before, pointing its indistinct finger at a wall-sized viewscreen on the other side of the expansive room. “I require speed and efficiency, Doctor. I do not have time to find your subordinates' mistakes.”

Aaron squinted at the screen, wading through the workstations and stray scientists, his eyes fixing on a calculation error that now flashed yellow, a sign that the Overseer had found the mistake himself. “We're running out of time, aren't we?”

“Time is an illusion. What we are running out of, is will.”

“We've been here a long time, Smarts―”

That name! Why must he always use that name!

“―there's only so much that their will can sustain them through.”

“We are almost finished,” The hologram continued. “We must finish.”

Aaron worked the controls on the holoprojector, causing the figure to vanish and a complex chart to materialize. He studied the readouts for a moment, biting his lip as his consternation grew apparent. “You solved the―”

“I have reallocated an additional twelve percent processing power to the Guardian Program,” The Overseer answered before Aaron could finish his question. “We must redouble our efforts.”

Doctor Reinhardt could tell Smarts considered the conversation at an end. Something had changed about him recently. Something that defied all that the scientist who had helped create him understood. Yet, here the doctor was, in charge of this project specifically because of his ability to impart humanity to machines. A humanity Smarts seems to have lost, or . . . given up.

Whatever was going on out there, it was becoming increasingly obvious that the Coalition needed Guardian now more than ever.

“Dobson, clear table 13 and run another simulation. We've got to solve the tier three logic paradox before we can worry about anything else. And somebody get me a cup of caf; it's gonna be a long day.”






Nitin Cass stood in an expansive oval room, carved of great stone slabs, one half of the structure crowded with the leaders of the Zabrak colonies, the other she held by herself. An outsider might see the distribution of persons within this structure as a terrible waste of space, but Nitin understood the symbolism it held, the ancient custom. She stood as Speaker before them all, and so―in this instant―her singular place of honor was equal to the sum of theirs.

“Esteemed elders, honored rulers,” She addressed them in the traditional manner, “I stand before you stripped of rank and stature, an outsider treading cautiously into a world beyond my right to see. I am here not as a daughter of Iridonia, not as an emissary of what remains of our proud home; but as an official of the United Cooperative of Peoples, empowered by the Overseer to stand in his stead.

“Here in this Place of Gathering, I come to bear warning and offer hope. New evils lurk in the darkness of the Rim, new shadows move within old, and the hope of peace is all but faded. Our ancestral home was taken from our grasp, first by the Empire, and now by some unseen threat. But all is not lost, and all need not be abandoned. If you would hear, then I would tell you of things to come, of the great strength that might be shared between us.”

They replied in unison, as was customary: “We will hear.”

“Then I will speak.”





The blue-white universe turned around the cockpit of the Kris fighter, bringing into view a towering mass of artifice. Jagged streaks across its hull attested to previous battles, and the haphazard firing of its many laser cannons told of a staggering lack of discipline among its crew.

The view from the tiny holorecorder flipped and twisted violently, the enemy warship appearing for the briefest of instances, here and there the vague smudging of other man-made shapes making themselves known throughout the blur of motion.

Streaks of pure white amidst the blue-tinted starscape shone briefly between the fighter and its prey, and then the Kris's single strafe was done, its unseen pilot throwing it into another string of gut-wrenching spins and dives to avoid whatever tools the enemy might have at its disposal.

The recorder panned slowly to starboard, showing a pair of like fighters holding formation only meters away. A few stray bursts of blaster fire streaked by, but the danger was done. The trio had run the gauntlet, and escaped unharmed.

The blue-white copy of a time and place now passed disappeared, and the viewing room's lights flared to life of their own accord. Most would watch this recording and see only the pointless risk of life, the meaningless expense of a few dozen Particle Projector rounds.

Jonathan Blakeley knew better.

General Sarris huffed quietly, mulling over what he had seen “Then it is confirmed? The Reavers suspect nothing?”

Blakeley nodded, still staring at the now-blank wall. “Han Solo once docked the Millenium Falcom on the side of an Imperial Star Destroyer; that story is now legend among smugglers and freedom fighters. A trained Imperial formation couldn't find a freighter docked in their midst; the Reavers won't find our little presents.”

“And the subspace bandwidths are secure?”

“Yes. Subspace transmissions suffer substantial latency; they're useless to whatever thing commands these Reavers. For our uses, however . . .”

The general nodded deeply, still unaccustomed to the human gesture. “We don't need to know where a particular ship is instantaneously; only where they have been.”

Blakeley sat up straight, turned to regard the Drackmarian. “Preliminary evidence is good. The Reavers appear to be territorial, each ship or group of ships patrolling a relatively small region of Reaver Space. Data's still coming in, and it will be a while before the largest Reaver groupings make a full circuit, but it looks like the Overseer was right. With these transmitters, we can track Reaver movement.”

“I have been warned of these Reavers' ability to adapt,” The general growled. “Why should this be any different?”

“When you walk a path you have walked a thousand times before and find a boulder blocking your way, you move it or you find a new path. When you walk that path and encounter only a flitnat that buzzes for a moment before flying off, you continue and think nothing of it.”

“And when a thousand flitnats buzz for a moment, you become very proficient at swatting them!” The general replied.

Blakeley nodded, sighing. “We expect losses to rise considerably as the Reavers become more adept at combating small fighter groups. But the perceived threat offered by our fighters will be negligible; an animal does not change its stalking grounds because a handful of insects have entered it.”

“And what if the Reavers find these transmitters?”

Blakeley chuckled. “You cast these Reavers in too familiar a light. They don't repair combat damage to their ships, perhaps can't. They don't raise shields unless confronting a considerable threat; we speculate they find shields to get in the way of getting to their prey. They run their reactors beyond containment limits to coax that last bit of speed from their drives, doubtlessly reducing their life expectancy by decades, even with Dragon biotechnology helping to protect them.

“It would take detailed scans or a full-scale EV inspection to find the transmitters, and even then these Reavers would probably just ignore them. They pose no threat. They don't interfere with HoloNet communications, they can't cause harm in their own right.” Blakeley chuckled. “They certainly can't be eaten.

“If anything, they'd be inclined to leave the things on. Transmitters can only do one thing: speak. Someone's got to be listening, and if they come looking for the source of what they're listening to . . . well then, the meat's coming to the Reavers; they don't even have to go looking for it. Of course perhaps that, too, is casting them in too familiar a light.”

Sarris grunted, everything about his body language conveying his dislike for the plan. Here was a warrior, a being who believed in open fields of battle, in combat face-to-face, in honor and glory. “I don't know about this, Admrial.”

“The White Knights, Praetorian Guard, and Vahaba Snub Fleet are already fully committed. The Confederation is onboard and will begin launching missions soon, if they haven't already. Stick to the plan, move with caution, bide our time. We'll find the Reaver weakness, and when we do, we'll turn it against them with the full force of our conviction. You'll have your field of battle, General, your day of glory. Right now, I need your help to set the board.”

Sarris grunted again, a sort of begrudging acceptance. “Very well. You have our full cooperation, Admiral. But I do not like sneaking.”

“The sooner we find them all, the sooner we know their course, the sooner we can confront them as warriors, defeat even this dishonorable foe with honor of our own.”

As the Cataclysm approaches


Kathol Sector, Gandle Ott

Jarvis wasn't sure what to think of Crev Bombaasa, but the man seemed serious about his expressed feelings towards the Empire, and that was good enough for the Ryn leader.

“So why did we meet on Gandle Ott?” Jarvis asked, eying the beetle-like man cautiously.

Bombaasa shrugged, tapping his fingers on the table. “I like this cantina. I'm not welcome on my own world any more, did you know that? The Empire took my Pembric II away from me! It was a stink hole―sure―but it was my stink hole!”

“You think maybe you could keep your voice down?” Jarvis prodded.

“Why? I own this bar.” He smiled. “It's the only place I have left that I'm safe in. Did you know that I helped that Barbossa fellow into power; that he'd do anything I asked of him? And that Ariel Trinity decided to meddle in my affairs . . . and Barbossa stabbed me in the back. I barely got off-world before they started raiding my holdings . . .” Bombaasa's eyes glazed over, and he whispered absently: “I had such plans. But that's gone now,” He returned his focus to Jarvis, grinning maliciously. “I've mended my ways. Seen the light. Come around. Reformed.”

“Want to add another cliche?” Jarvis remarked dryly.

“How about 'gotten too old for this'?” The crime lord countered. “At any rate; I'm not without my contacts, my friends . . . my muscle. The Empire will rue the day they forced me into retirement before my time. I was hoping for one last, good run with the Hutts; but that is not to be. If I'm going out, I might as well go out doing something good. This Alliance of yours better come through for me.”

Jarvis just smiled and nodded, standing to his feet. “Mr. Bombaasa, if half the things I've heard about you are true, you'll make one hell of a good guy for one solid day.”

“Let's not have it last any longer then that, shall we?”

The Empire should have finished their invasion of the Kathol Sector while they had the chance. Their puppet government in the form of the Kathol Republic could hardly lay claim to any world not occupied by Imperial Stormtroopers and forced into submission, and even upon those worlds Bhindi Drayson's wrecking ball in the form of Ariel Trinity's fleet had not been followed up with any more selective forms of coercion. All of the Kathol Sector was ready for revolt, and there were just enough loose ends left to make it happen.

The Empire everywhere was stretching thin. The Jutraalian Empire had declared its independence, something bad was happening at Yaga Minor, contacts in the Imperial Occupation Zone said something big was in the works, and there were stories filtering in that the Borderland had fallen under attack by forces originating from Black Dragon space. Soon something big would break, and the war machine that was Empire would grind to a halt.

Soon. Soon.




Elrood Sector, Elrood

“Boss, why are we meeting on Elrood?”

Allara smiled within her concealing environmental suit. “Haven't you heard? Lupercus Darksword has launched an invasion of the Hapes Cluster. Even if the Empire knew we were here, they'd stay away. The last thing the New Order wants to do right now is give the Commonwealth a reason to counter-attack and open up a whole new front.” She paused for a moment, then decided to continue. “And this is a shared system; we get to watch and learn what our Imperial neighbors do.”

“That sounds sneaky, boss . . . I like it.”

A third being slid into the dark booth, his body language and facial expressions suggesting he belonged there, that he was just sitting down to visit a couple of old friends. “The Mid Rim fleet was in disarray before the attack on Yaga Minor. Now it looks like one of Zell's crone's picked a name at random from a list of Mid Rim Protectorate officials and appointed him moff. Regardless, the Mid Rim fleet sent to Yaga Minor was a total loss.

“But your best bit of news comes from the Jutraalian Empire: when Fearsons seized Sluis Van, he erected one giant anti-Imperial barricade on the Rimma Trade Route. If the New Order wants to bad enough, they can still get reinforcements here from the Core, but it'll take time to go around, and they're spread too thin to mix it up with Fearsons' fleet right now. You're alone out here, and nobody's watching because they've all got more important things occupying their attentions.

“I hope you've laid the groundwork well, because now is the time to act.”



The events of Cataclysm . . .


How the hell did they find us?

In much the same way we now speak to you.

Jarvis fell out of his chair, the dozen Sanhedrim ships that had just appeared around his theoretically hidden mobile base of operations no longer concerning him.

“What the hell?'

We know who you are, Jarvis Ragnar; we know what you have done.

Jarvis stood to his feet, making a show of dusting himself off and trying as hard as he could to ignore the glowing, supernatural figure that had just materialized in the midst of his command center. “Are you going to kill me, then?”

We know what you now strive to do.

“And?” Jarvis found himself slowly turning to look on the being of light, its glowing form seeming to pulse in sequence with the unspoken words that filled his mind.

We wish you to succeed. The Kathol Republic must be reborn.

“That's it? You just came all the way out here―ambushed me at my secret hideout―to tell me I should do what I'm already planning to?”

Kathol must be purged of the Empire. It is imperative. We will be watching; we will be waiting. When it begins, we will know. The translucent being shrunk into a sphere, collapsed into a pinpoint of light, and then faded into nothing.

“Boss, are you okay?” Jarvis turned to the concerned Squib, his mind still working to reconcile what he had experienced with the world around him. The Sanhedrim were gone, but when and to where he had no idea.

“Slippy, I―”

“They won't believe you,” Said the room's single guest. He flashed a crooked smile: “My men didn't when the Aing-Tii pulled that shit with me.”

“You knew?” Jarvis demanded, his hand reflexively settling on the blaster at his side.

“Of course; I made sure they'd be here.”

Jarvis looked around at the crew once more, all of their expressions suggesting one thing: they were wondering if the time had come to put Jarvis Ragnar in a padded cell.

“The Aing'Tii have called for support from outside forces once before, Mr. Ragnar; the effort failed miserably and led to the eventual arrival of the Galactic Empire in the Kathol Sector(Kathol Sector Wars). They won't make the same mistake again. So the question I ask you, Mr. Ragnar, is: Can you succeed where the Outer Rim Sovereignty failed?”

Jarvis shook his head, looking away from the visitor and out the viewport, into the now-empty starscape beyond. “No, but I don't need to. All I need to ensure is that the rightful heirs of the Kathol Republic do.”

Jorj Car'das nodded, stepping just beside Jarvis to stare into the Kathol Rift as well. “It's a wonderful place, Mr. Ragnar, filled with good people who just wanted to be left alone. When the time comes, call and we will answer.”




How could I have missed this?

The alien known to Allara only as “Coynite” had just hurled his counterpart through the wall, tearing the ceremonial blade from his grasp in one, fluid motion. He now stood over his disarmed foe, the blade pressed against the downed enemy's neck.

“The letter of the En'Tra'Sol demands that I end you, Ag'Tra Rol'Tru'Saat. But your death would not serve Coyn; your blood would not free our people.” The Coynite moved away, driving the blade into the dirt floor and allowing his defeated foe to stand. “And so I shall defy the letter of the En'Tra'Sol, that its spirit may be preserved.”

“You are af'harl!” The Coynite noble spat. “You are without honor. Without name. Without rank. Without right to speak to me.”

“And yet I defeat you, Ag'Tra. And yet I disarm you and hold your life in my hand.”

“And you should have taken it!” The warrior-noble shouted, lunging once more at his foe. But the nameless Coynite deflected his attacker's advance, once more throwing him to the ground.

“What I do is for the future of our people, Rol'Tru'Saat. The death of our greatest would have served only the cause of our enemy; your narrow mind has kept you from the truth. Embrace this new path, brother; stand with me in the name of all our people. Help me save our worlds.”

Allara saw the oppening, chose to intervene. She rushed forward, drawing the Coynite sword from the earth, taking it in both hands. “Ag'Tra Rol'Tru'Saat, you are defeated in single combat, the consequence of which is death. You are offered this one chance: pledge to your victor tracc'sorr, swear upon your honor a service without end, and help us save your people's destiny. You can die under the letter of the En'Tra'Sol, or you can live to see its intent preserved. Choose.”

Rol'Tru'Saat stepped before the nameless Coynite, dropped to one knee and bowed his head. “Tracc'sorr, brother, victor, master.”

The Coynite put his massive hand on the other's shoulder, shaking Rol'Tru'Saat firmly. “You owe me nothing, brother. We now walk according to a New Way, and so too shall we make war. Your fate is yours to do with as you wish.”

Rol'Tru'Saat stood, diverting his eyes from the man who had spared him from a life of servitude. “I was foolish to believe you weak. I shall follow you to whatever end.”

“To victory!” Allara shouted, thrusting the sword back into the earth, the fight now at an end.

“To a free Coyn!” The victorious Coynite roared. “Go now, brother, and make ready for war.”

Minutes later Allara and the Coynite were alone in the partly-destroyed hovel, each staring intently at the other. Finally she spoke, breaking the silence and revealing what she had only moments before realized: “You are General Jorl'Vir'Saat, defender of D'Skar and Ag'Tra of your people.”

“I was, once,” The Coynite conceded. “The Empire believes I was branded af'harl for my failure to defeat them.”

Allara nodded, her growing understanding of these people leading her to the only logical conclusion. “But that is not so; your own brother declared you such for your choice to conceal the greatest of your warriors instead of ordering them to die in combat.”

Jorl'Vir'Saat nodded, righting an overturned chair and taking a seat. “They remain loyal, even now, after all this time . . . after even my shame. They await only my return, only the call to make war once again. With my brother's support secured, he will ensure that the other Ag'Tra stand with us when the time comes. The Coynite people are ready to be rid of the Empire, and upon that day we will serve the Alliance with the same measure of devotion that it has served us.”

Allara nodded deeply to ensure the gesture translated through her environmental suit. “Ours will be a glorious union. To a free Coyn!” She shouted.

“To a Republic reborn!” He answered.





Airam Sector, deep space outpost

This was a serious breach of protocol, but the outcome of this meeting might determine the fate of the Alliance in an entire quadrant of the galaxy.

Jarvis Ragnar and Zozridor Slayke, two sector cell leaders for the Alliance to Restore the Republic, entered the same room for the first time since either had been given a position of such importance. They were alone, each of their command staffs secreted away into some dark corner of the galaxy, ensuring the survival of both the Kathol and Elrood rebellions should anything happen to these two men.

“Hello, old man.”

“Hello, young terrorist.”

The two grinned at one another from across the small table, taking seats in unison. “Park Kraken is alive, and has declared himself Governor of the Mid Rim Protectorate,” Zozridor stated flatly, but his eyes betrayed the intensity with which he studied Jarvis.

Jarvis sighed, trying desperately to remain calm. “I'm sure the Alliance has assets elsewhere in the Protectorate. Surely we can find some way to exploit this . . . seemingly unfavorable . . .

“GODS DAMNIT!” The Ryn shouted, slamming his fist on the table, hard, which he immediately regretted. “How? Why? What the hell, man? Kraken's alive!?”

Zozridor dropped the smile he had been holding throughout Jarvis' rant. “The Empire believed Kraken dead, as well. Druid Carson was officially appointed Moff of the Mid-Rim Protectorate by decree of the Regent himself. What we are looking at, Mr. Ragnar, is a traitor who has returned from vacation, expecting to find everything just as he had left it, eagerly awaiting his return. Do you understand?”

Park Kraken has made the Mid Rim Protectorate ripe for civil war, with or without a Rebel Alliance. “What do you know about this 'Carson' fellow?”

“He's an Imperial, through and through; he doesn't give up power once its been given to him. And he did not arrest the entirety of the Protectorate's Senate.”

Jarvis' eyes drew wide in shock. “No . . .”

Zozridor chuckled, nodding his balding head deeply. “Yes. The traitor, Park Kraken, has returned from dereliction of duty to silence the will of the people. If Zell gets off Coruscant alive, he'll have no choice but to execute the man.”

Jarvis was mulling it over in his mind, trying to break down what the old human had told him, trying to unravel this mystery. “And the Empire didn't believe Kraken was still alive? You're sure?”

“Zell didn't know, that much is clear, or he wouldn't have drummed up a new Moff. There seems to have been enough trouble between Kraken and Drayson to preclude her knowing before her death . . . if she died.” Slayke shrugged. “There's always the possibility of Simon Kaine, but even with the Empire in its current state, he hasn't resurfaced yet.”

Jarvis drummed his fingers on the table, still working out what it all meant. “So Park Kraken has ignored Imperial decree and dismantled the only democratic system present in the Protectorate. That's great for anarchists, but what does it do for us?”

Zozridor stood, sliding his chair in carefully. “The cracks are beginning to show, Jarvis. The Empire is splintering, the grand illusion is fading. Even if it survives this . . .” He waved his hand in a broad, circular motion, “alien threat; it won't survive itself much longer. Guns and bullets will be needed in excess; but we will need so much more." Zozridor paused for a moment, fixing Jarvis with a cold stare. "We are the Alliance to Restore the Republic, Jarvis. We must be worthy of that Republic's restoration, or we too will unravel at the seams.”

Revanche-class Star Defender Swiftsure, Transitory Mists

~Costigan

~Wilkar

"What the hell is he talking about?" Costigan frowned, “But we’re not in their field of fire. That lout, does he really expect us to charge headlong past them straight into the middle of an Imperial battle fleet led by a veteran Imperial? Don’t answer that; he might, if he’s been drinking again. We have assumed barrage positions, correct?”

“Suffrens have assumed their positions; all artillery cruisers have passive targetting data and are in position to fire, with the exception of the reserve lines.”

“What now?”

“We just sit and wait,” remarked Costigan, “I’m not a complete idiot when it comes to how many credits and lives I’d like to spend on the Confederation’s tab. Ideally, if we can do it with none, I’ll take that.”


Summit-class Battleship Fidelitas, Eastern Confederation Proper Borderspace

“Condor Drones have managed to attach their NT-24 Nano-Trackers to several suspected Reaver vessels,” reported Captain Abell, “I believe Jacqueline is already analyzing the data-”

The red-haired visage immediately flared to life alongside the muscular captain. She blew a holo-strand of hair out of her face and let a wry grin flit across her face. The AI mock cleared her throat.

“Don’t you hate it when hair gets into your eyes?” rhetorically stated Labrousse,”Anyways, the Reavers have no clear distinctive hyperluminal travel pattern, aside from a few waypoints which appear to be well-known navigational points in the Tion Sector before the Black Dragons, and several planets known to have been assaulted by Reavers. There is one space station as well, which seems to have been a trading station of some sort.”

Lucerne drilled his holo-graphic eyes into that of the machine, “Have you received any information from Coalition forces yet?”

“No,” answered Abell, “but they have been relying on courier ships as of late to convey information, instead of the mobile subspace transceivers that we’ve been using from the Trevilles. I expect we will hear from a GC vessel in a week.”

Lucerne growled, “Very well, I trust that you have sent a courier vessel with our information so far?”

The dark-skinned man slightly leaned back, “I sent a Deathsaber with what information we had yesterday.”

The Admiral arched an eye-brow. “And?”

“And nothing sir,” mumbled Abell, “We’ve heard nothing of it, nor nothing from it. We have no idea how that ship is, or of its cargo.”

“That is to be expected with the comm. blackout,” sighed Lucerne, “nevertheless, I can understand your concern for the safety of the pilot and of the mission. I assure you that I will let you know first thing when I hear of it. Perhaps we should discuss something a little more…grand in scale…the Resurgence Fleet?”

Labrousse offered a slight grin, “My husband has been very busy with them. He has even arranged to oversee part of their war material build-up operations.”

Lucerne offered a forced smile, “I have little concern about war material at the moment; mostly because of the technical excellence which your husband and Confederation personnel tend to exhibit. I rather speak of the internal machinations of the exile governments and the military force they are forming.”

Abell bothered himself to sit down at the terminal, “If you want me to go into deep detail, I won’t be able to do so. The internal politics within the group are constantly changing, at least in terms of power and influence of individual politicians and planets. New deals are constantly being struck and broken between them. Thus far, the Commodore has managed to focus them inward with a what they call a Quorom; so things have not gotten entirely out of hand. The soldiers and troops themselves are becoming fairly good. Not yet as good as our Confederate regulars, but assuredly better than our militia.”

“I am aware that Commodore von Masmont has essentially left all of his task force officer responsibilities and powers over to you, Captain, and I approve of it given the delicate nature of forming an aligned military to beat back this Reaver threat,” stated the younger Lucerne, “nonetheless, I am somewhat concerned as to the military officer who will be leading the Resurgent Forces. I doubt that they will allow von Masmount the honor of doing so, and even then, he could not legally lead them being a commissioned Confederate officer.”

“The Commodore is training the cadre of officers that will lead the Resurgent Fleet,” informed Abell, “as part of his political activities with the refugees. Thus far, there is a general agreement among their officers themselves and by the Commodore that Colonel Terence Everard of Invil will be their SCO.”

“If there is no political meddling?”

Abell nodded, “If there is no political meddling.”

“I may have to persuade the Council to send a higher diplomat than an aide if this internal conflict continues Captain, and certainly if becomes any worse. If anything of importance transpires with this-”

“I’ll let you know immediately, sir.”

“Very good,” said Lucerne, glancing down at his chrono, “I have to leave to attend a Council meeting. Goodbye Captain.”

“Have a good meeting sir.”

“Thank you.”

The holograph of the Confederation’s SCO faded into nothinginess.

“Well, that was a pleasant chat,” quipped Labrousse.

Sinsang withdraws from League and Galaxy

Coruscant System


"Sir, a message from Moff Thorton. He wishes to speak with you at once."

Colonel-General Vos was already seething; his inability to enter Coruscant had riled him. Dealing with a smuggler-turned-officer-turned politician was the last thing he wanted to do. Still, Thorton was a superior officer, technically, and he couldn't refuse. Besides, he still had a few minutes before they would finish collecting their recon fighters; he might as well speak to the man.

Making his way to the comm center of the Tyrant, Vos stopped briefly to glance at the technical displays. Not only was the system shut off to approach, but whatever the invading force was doing was interfering with long-range sensor scans. He was getting a few spotty images, but nothing definite. Cursing, he continued to the comm and keyed it.

"General Vos," Moff Thorton said as soon as the image appeared. "I don't appreciate being kept waiting."

"Your pardon, Moff," Vos replied. "There were pressing matters to attend. We were conducting exercises in preperation for an upcoming operation, exercises of a delicate nature."

Thorton nodded in understanding. "I know, General. Your...exercises...are what I wanted to talk to you about. In fact, if you are willing to wait a few minutes longer, I can give you some company."

Vos raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

Thorton nodded. "I happen to be your neighbor at the moment. And I have some interesting information on the new arrivals in the neighborhood."

Information... Vos nodded. "Of course, Moff. The new residents are becoming bothersome. Any advice you have would be appreciated. I await your arrival."

Not that I have to like it much...


Imperial SS Headquarters
Thoraza


Colonel Selere smiled. "The ruse seems to be working quite well, Commander Nyang. The Coalition's denial of involvement only makes them appear more guilty. Good work."

Nyang smiled. "Thank you, Colonel. I did as you said, and I've been monitoring comm transmissions. We've picked up a sharp increase in several sectors of the city; I have security teams moving in on them now. We should have actual terrorists in our custody within the next hour. Should we begin interrogations, or would you prefer to handle that yourself?"

Selere's smile morphed into a sickly grin, the glint in his eyes showing exactly how much he would enjoy such an interrogation. "I believe I'll handle it myself, Commander. But go ahead and begin softing them up. Teeth out first, of course; it wouldn't do to have them crushing death-pills in their mouths. Then leave them in their cells for a while; I'll be there in a few days to begin in earnest."

Nyang blinked once, then saluted. "Yes, Sir. We'll be expecting you. Nyang out."

Selere sat back as the image of Red Squadron's commander disappeared. Finally, they had a breakthrough on the terrorist threat. When he returned from Coruscant, General Vos would be pleased. Very pleased indeed.

“Leaving!? What do you mean, 'leaving'?” Here Athan was, knee deep in Colicoids, some sort of wind storm threatening to blow him away, with a commmlink pressed halfway into his ear trying to make out the garbled nonsense spewing out of the mouth of an Ithorian thirty thousand light years away.

“It's just as I've said, sir. The Anx reclamation fleet is leaving Glee Anselm. Apparently Sinsang has pulled out of the League and retreated to their local space. We're pretty alone here, sir. When can we expect you back?”

Athan pulled the commlink away, screamed into the wind and shook his head for effect. “It's messy, Merchantate. No promises. You'll just have to make do with what you have for the time being.”

“We're out of manpower, Ambassador. The Anselmi are expecting results―results you promised them! Results I promised them . . .”

Athan nodded, shouting once more to be heard over the growing maelstrom: “And they'll get them. But they've got to understand we couldn't have predicted this. We're spread thin everywhere; everyone is. And if I try to leave now . . ." Athan let the idea go, glancing at the nearest Colicoid out of the corner of his eye. If I try to leave now, these bugs just might eat me. "Keep up the good work, Merchantate.”

“I shall do my best, Ambassador.”

First the Empire had abandoned Glee Anselm . . . Now the Sinsangese. Even some League worlds were reducing or removing their support. The galaxy was growing darker, and compassion was among the first virtues to go as men and women everywhere started looking for some way to survive. But the Ryn had made a promise, and Athan would find a way to keep it. Whatever it took.

Surrounded by these carnivores, busying himself with the will of the Overseer, he was suddenly overcome by a feeling of total failure. The Ryn fleet at Glee Anselm was his responsibility, even all these thousands of light years away. It was his charge, his duty. Their failure was his responsibility, and he had made himself totally unable to ensure their success.

He just hoped this venture to Colla IV would be worth the risk, because the people of Glee Anselm were having to pay the price.

Meanwhile...


Lupercus Darksword stepped foot onto the hanger of the flagship of the Commonwealth Fleet and the signal went out to Dakkon Darksword of his brother's imminent arrival on Hapes to deliver the final reunification of the Hapes Consortium.

No other single event since Relephon declared the creation of the Hapan Regency has captured the interest of the entire sector.

Dakkon Darksword, in addition to being Hapes Crown Prince, was a member of the Executive Council as would be his chosen heir until the democratic customs took solid root within Hapan society a few generations from the present time. In a bold move, the architects of the Commonwealth had drafted a clause giving the Darksword family a say in Hapan politics until the end of their line.

As a result, the Ta Chume dealt with these internal Hapan problems from the Cluster's homeworld while Dakkon handled most of the Commonwealth issues offworld.

Opponents of the crown were stirred out of the shadows but they were too few and too weak to create any real threat to the Darksword family claim to the Hapan throne and their royal prominence.

Even so, the Crown Prince decided to make haste and return to Hapes as quickly as possible to be on hand to handle his brother.



Unfortunately...





Hapes


The words of the Crown Prince had been playng over and over as if to remind everyone who held the power behind the Ta Chume and her policies regarding the Executive Council and the Commonwealth. The Darkswords were also competing with Vinda Corporation in the form of the Olanji/Charubah Spaceworks, which was owned by the Darksword Family and produced all of Hapes' military requirements.


Lupercus had kept his own council and remained in his quarters the entire trip to Hapes. He could feel the discipline of the soldiers surrounding him and throughout their fleet as well as their fear.


He was not just a Darksword but the Darksword.


And he felt their preparations as weapons were trained on him during his descent and as he walked down the old promenade that stirred memories nearly ancient in his mind.


How little things had changed since his days as a boy growing up in the backstabbing court.


"Did you have anything to do with this!" came the sharp voice interrupting his reverie and his eyes narrowed at the Ta Chume, Dakkon's wife, who stood before him with soldiers arrayed on all sides.


He raised an eyebrow, "Of course. I am here to present to the Consortium and you the Hapan Regency worlds."


"I MEAN DAKKON!" his wife screamed at him.


"What has happened?" he asked, his voice darkening. His gaze turned to the leader of the guards and the man shifted.


"We lost the signal to his private transport. It appears his ship was attacked by some sort of pirates and the Battledragon on the scene reports debris. We have not confirmed it is his private vessel but it does look likely."


"Did you do it?"


"My lady," Lupercus bowed slightly, "I have done a great many things but I assure you that I did not kill my own brother. I came to you without my fleet and on your own flagship and if you will check, my fleet is still within the Hapan Regency."


"My lady, there was no outgoing transmissions unauthorized by Admiral Wilkar by this man during his trip here. In fact, I believe the Admiral remarked that Lord Darksword made no transmission at all," the Head Guardsman stated. Hapan Royal Guards were nothing if not efficient and quick.


"I say this now, I will personally hunt down those who intercepted and destroyed my brother's ship and their ends will not be pleasant!" Lupercus stated darkly, his mounting rage barely contained.


"No Lupercus," the Ta Chume ordered imperiously causing the Dark Lord to bristle slightly at the tone.


"You came here for a purpose and we shall see it done. Our own people can look into my husband's ...disappearance."


The Dark Lord's resentment turned to begrudging admiration for the woman his brother had married after that fool of a girl he had been banished for.


"Of course, my lady," Lupercus bowed again. "I shall prepare for the ceremony."


With that the Dark Lord left.


"My lady, is that wise?" the Head Guardsman asked.


"The sooner we complete this, the sooner we are rid of him," the Ta Chume retorted.

Coruscant



"My Lord?" came the timid voice from the masses of people standing outside the General Operations Center serving as Regent Zell's command center for the latest debacle to strike an already crippled defense of the Galactic Empire's capital.

Since the Regent was pummeled with other similar questions imparting no information whatsoever yet asking everything, namely Zell's precious time, he gave the timid voice the same answer he gave everyone else: "Not now!"

The Regent could have sworn his hair had gone from gray to white in the manner of days since this alien siege of his world had began. Turning to those more important of people, the military officers before him, his wrinkled brow sternly warned them of even thinking of wasting his time.

"What have we got?" he growled out to those imparted with the task of ground defense.

"The alien numbers are more than what would account for our sensor readings of their shuttles and dropships."

"You saying our scans are lying to us?" Zell demanded.

"Or they have another means of conveying soldiers onto our world. Perhaps even through shielded areas."

"Now THAT is a truly fucking wonderful thought!" Zell sarcastically bit back. He turned to the aerospace defenders and gestured for them to speak up.

"The shift in strategy has given us a reprieve from..." an Admiral started but the Regent finished for him.

"...from having our asses kicked all over our own fucking system?"

The Admiral nodded, "Yessir. We have been able to follow Captain Gutt's strategy of giving up several sectors only to return with surprise on our side messing with their formations. It is playing hell with our numbers but it is turning out to be effective."


"How are their ships against ours close up?" the Regent asked. He had been given several other reports on the enemy warships but he always asked just in case the enemy threw something new in the mix.


"As before. They are relatively weak in shield areas but given the versatility of their gravity manipulations, they do not need a strong set of shields. However, if we do surprise them we can and do cut them to ribbons. However, we do not surprise them much."

"How much?" Zell demanded.

"Not much," another Admiral confirmed.

"Fuck!"

"And there is another issue..." a Rear Admiral brought up.

"Of course there fucking is!" Zell snapped. "Well?"

"We are running out of ships. We've launched even the incomplete capitals from our shipyards but logistics is playing hell with us. Everything that could be of support in and around Coruscant has pretty much been blown to hell and gone.

Ships have to jump away from Coruscant to other system bases for refuel or repair and then jump back."


"And?"


"And it is dangerous for damaged ships to jump away alone or at all. They can be picked off by alien patrols that have the system bottled up."


"About that," Zell commented, "It seems a window of opportunity has opened as a result of our last action. If more warships can be brought in..."

The Admirals and collected higher-ups of the Imperial High Command each nodded already mentally wondering where to deploy the needed reinforcements when that timid voice was back and this time more insistent: "My Lord!"


"Oh, what the fuck is it!" shouted Zell.


"Coruscant is lost," retorted the voice.


"Shoot that man!" Zell barked out but the voice persisted, "My Lord, I come with the compliments of Theren Gevel!"


"Belay that last order," growled Zell. He turned to the small man wearing the garb of civil service and scowled, "So, now Theren wants to take over?"


"My Lord, Mr. Gevel is not on Imperial Center anymore."


Zell stopped to think about the implications for a second before shaking his head, "Give your figures to the Admiralty!"


Turning to another, "Jaeder, get ready to open up a corridor and a heavily fucking defended one!"


"You need to listen to the civil servant, Zell." came a voice from behind Moff Jaeder and Zell slammed a fist down.


"Who the fuck said that?!" he growled out. "If you have the fucking balls to say it then you've got the fucking balls too....YOU?!"

Coruscant


"This had better be fucking good!" threatened the Regent as the room was cleared.


The civil servant, Ciscero, Moff Jaeder and Zell were alone and the Imperial Intelligence agent gestured for the civil servant to continue.


"My Lord, Coruscant is not designed to withstand a prolonged siege."


Zell grunted, "Once this corridor is up and running, we should have it over and done with in a week.."


"It will be too late. In a week, if you do not act now, you will see half the population of Imperial Center dead."


"What the fuck? What are you talking about?!"


"My Lord, Coruscant, by design, can only withstand a siege for about one week. We have the resources and stores for one trillion people to continue using a military rationing system for one week. After that, resources are used up."

"We've been under siege.." Zell started.

"Yessir. We are well into our second week."

"So your numbers are fucking wrong!" concluded Zell.

"My Lord, we have already lost fifty thousand to starvation. Mid-last week Muunillist stopped trading and all banking centers shut down. People are not getting paid and the capital treasury reserve is being depleted at a frightening pace. Prices for food, for what utilities are still in operation and other services are rising exponentially. The alien attack has cut us off and that means no trading, no transports...no civilian traffic...no word...no nothing with the rest of the Empire which means no relief."


Zell's eyes narrowed, "What are you saying?"


Ciscero cleared his throat, "The extent of your power currently is Coruscant. I am sure taxes are being collected, still be routed through Muunillist and other planets with government agents/recipients taking them in but there is no one directing them."

"So local fuckers are raiding the government treasury on their worlds?" the Regent concluded.

"It's possible. The point is, the money is not coming here and inflation is rising. Without supplies, raw materials and other commodities, the civil authority is breaking down. The aliens on the ground and the attacks from above have effectively hampered repair crews so water, sewage, and power stations remain broken or down and whole sectors are going without. The people flee that sector and overburden the next and it begins the cascade."


"So where are we at? Tell me where to send the Military Engineers?"


The civil servant cleared his throat, "Um.. Sir, we are past that. People were under a more strict rationing system which is why the infrastructure has lasted as long as it has. But you have one day to act and then you will see a real panic. And when that happens, you may defend Coruscant but in that week, you will have a dead capital even if you do win."


"The reinforcement fleets coming through the corridor!" Zell suddenly snapped his fingers. "They can bring supplies..."


"Not for a trillion people, my Lord," Ciscero interrupted. "Zell, the military will only have control of these resources for one more day. Then the populace will take matters into their own hands.."


"We'll shoot the fuckers that don't stay in line.."


"Sir, they are starving and frightened and the military hasn't been doing a bang up job so far."


"Fuck you, you fucking turd!!" Zell shouted.


"Execute me if you want, Lord, but the only commodity Coruscant exports is administration! Well, we also export waste. Administration and shit! That is what Coruscant exports. Everything is brought in to feed and sustain a trillion or more people...one trillion are only those that the Census Bureau could count! What about those below that aren't counted?! We are not a planet high in resources. We are one big, mechanized city and we cannot withstand a siege this long."


"He's right," Moff Jaeder sighed.


"Not you too, Jaeder?" Zell cried.


"Azrael, that's why we had three fleets here. The three that the Emperor took with him. That's why we kept a large fleet presence on Corelia. The fleet that Lupercus took with him! Everything is designed to ensure that, should Coruscant be attacked, the defenses here and nearby would be enough to answer any threat."


"So we stick a gun in the civilian's hands, a fucking spine in their back and a boot to their backside!" Zell snapped out.


"These people are not soldiers. They are our fabricators, our manufacturers, our administrators.... skills that our soldiers do not have. We will win the battle but lose the war and have to abandon Coruscant if these people die!"


"Son of a bitch!" shouted Zell.


"We will not have control for much longer."


Zell frowned lost in thought. Perhaps lost in memories as the weight of a trillion people fell onto his shoulders.


"The military will continue to fight. But I want Coruscant evacuated. Give the order, full evacuation of this world..."


"Sir.."


"I know we won't have enough ships for everyone and I know some will stay no matter what, fucking looters. But if they are going to get out they better do it now. Besides, with them gone, they won't be getting into the fucking way of us blowing these alien assholes back to hell!"


The Regent only wished he felt as confident as he sounded.


Evacuate Imperial Center.... Fuck me!

Abregado-rae



The Cree Ar had entered the system smashing the defenders as effectively as they had done with those at Yaga Minor.

There was only a token force remaining at what was once Bhindi Drayson's bastion of power as Judicator Varro Kai's force arrived on the outskirts of what the infidels called the Core.

Artanis was showing the latest results of the human change in tactics of relinquishing a defended locale only to return after the Cree Ar had taken it.

"Do not underestimate these infidel's capacity for butchery or treachery. They may have no honor but some do relish the fight and would sooner harm themselves as well as harm us if it gives them victory."

"Craven," Varro Kai commented in distaste.

"It is contradictory," Artanis replied.

"We are not closing the trap?" Varro asked seeing a gap in the Cree Ar attack.

"No. The lessons of your recent attack on the infidel world of Yaga Minor were instructive. To close off all options and shut off every avenue of retreat and they only fight all the harder. While it does bring greater glory to fight a worthy enemy, the numbers we lose are unacceptable. The Dominion cannot be without it's Arbiters for much longer so we must use the initiative while we have it."


"Truth," Varro Kai nodded.


"Prepare the Sword of Borleas," Artanis ordered. "It must be ready to strike at a moment's notice."

Coruscant – Beginning of the Battle of Coruscant

Thoughts flashed through his mind.

Of old glory lost, of his brutal slaughter through the Onyx sector, and of the dishonourable acts that laid him low. He had killed the Moff, he had Desaria in his claws, and just when he was about to destroy him his guards came upon his backside with those shocksticks.

Desaria didn’t even grant him the respect of an honourable death.

They let him live. They boxed him up, and shipped him off. For a short moment, they displayed him like some trophy before sending him somewhere to be lost like a bad memory.

Sha’tek was strapped down, in a dark, dank section of some prison forgotten by the rest of the galaxy. They feared him even being able to move. They left him strapped down, awaiting to see how long it took him to fade away.

Members of the Imperial Inquisition came by daily, and prodded and probed and studied. They asked questions, they tortured, but Sha’tek was made of sterner stuff then they gave him credit for. They assumed he was some raw, blunt savage they could easily do what they will with. They didn’t realize the cold cruelness of the depths that had forged the likes of him.

Today, however, they didn’t come. Instead of the casual steps of Imperial boots, he heard in the distance the sounds of explosions. The lights dimmed slightly, and sirens filled the air. A wide, dark grin came to Sha’tek’s face. Sha’tek pressed against his restraints, the mechanical devices struggling to find power that was soon no longer to be found. With a triumphant roar, the restraints gave way.

Sha’tek stretched, freed of his bed; he set himself to work on freeing himself from his cell. His strength had been drained, but his determination had been steeled. He threw himself upon that door, over and over again. The forcefield that once existed was gone, and without it all that was between him was old steel. The door creaking, designed for use with humans in mind, it was unable to hold itself against him long.

Instead of guards, he found only a dark and empty corridor. Whatever was going on, the guards were occupied with other things.

Now, his goals were simple. Find what’s his, and leave this world, butchering anything that got in his way. With the sounds of war outside, he knew there would be little to stop him.

It was time for Imperial Center to learn the wrath of a Shusugaunti scorned….

Coruscant


Zell was drinking himself into a stupor. The order would be going out soon and the masses would be fleeing the Imperial Center.

With the capital cut off from the rest of the Empire, though, he wondered if another world was substituting for 'Imperial Center' and, if so, who's balls would he have to cut off.

If he was still alive to cut them off when this was all over.

He had taken this time to look at all the small unimportant shit that he just plain ignored during the early stages of the siege. It seemed that everyone was just too damned busy and as Zell glanced around the nearly empty palace he wondered where the Royal Guards were.


Probably tasked doing other things since the Regent started sleeping in the Ops Center in the Imperial High Command.


He started with the reports already so old that they were now moot. He smirked at the thought of government red tape taking care of itself if you just ignored it and let time pass.


Then he came to a report and as he read, he felt the heat coming back into his features. After a moment, he stormed out of the office shouting to several stormtroopers to follow him.


It was not far and as the shuttle stopped at the Imperium Galactica Rotunda he entered chambers to a group of shouting idiots.


"You are not welcome here!" came a shout when Zell's presence was finally discovered.


"It's my fucking planet so you better shut the fuck up," Zell barked back.


He marched out into the center position and as he did so multiple representatives began to hurl questions at him..

"Where the hell is the Reclamation Fleet?"

"An entire shipyard was blown to bits because an Imperial Engineering team walked out of their contract!"

"League worlds are starving since you shut the door to several spacelanes.."


"STOP YOUR FUCKING BITCHING AND MOANING!" Zell shouted. "I have this fucking complaint from Glee Anselm about us leaving them and how we did so without them fucking predicting this..."


"YOU ARE THE DIMWITTED ASSHOLES THAT VOTED FOR US TO LEAVE!"


The Regent stopped and put a hand on his forehead. "You know, I have no idea why Simon Kaine wasted his time with you ungrateful fucks. You expel us from a club of nations that WE fucking sponsored and created. You move your fucking club meetings from the center of the galaxy and the Core, which is what this was really about in the beginning, to all the way the fuck out on Obroa-Skai..."


"..the rotunda there is enough.."


"Shut the fuck up. Obroa-Skai does not have a rotunda. You fucking meet in a scratch ball stadium. But that is alright. You can meet in a fucking whore-house for all I care."


"Shut up, Zell. We've got you by the balls and..."


The Regent began to laugh. "You dumbasses just don't know when to shut the hell up do you?"


A stormtrooper came into view and nodded informing the Regent that the rotunda was secure.


"You dumbasses think you live in a world where you can do whatever the fuck you want... freedom, I believe you call it. Liberty is also another word used. It sounds good but you peckerheads think that just by using these words it makes you somehow unaccountable for your actions."


Zell let out a feral grin. "I am here to collect. Consider all humanitarian aid to you assholes ended!"


The ensuing stormtrooper blasters shots erradicated every last representative of the League of Nations remaining on Coruscant.


"Thus ends Kaine's fucking waste-of-time and fucking humanitarian experiment."


He spit at the bodies before leaving. There was, of course, a war on.

Hapes



"...and so, as Lord of Relephon and all of the Hapan Regency's assets, I formally dissolve this organization and, by popular demand, return them into the care of the Ta Chume, the Royal Family and Hapes Consortium."


The applause was thunderous as Lupercus Darksword relinquished his formal claim to Lucian D'alaetos' ill-fated empire.


A move so unconventional, so unexpected of someone of Lupercus Darksword's reputation that people were not sure what to believe.


"So, Lord Darksword, what does the Empire think of your little escapade within the Consortium?"


"I had to resign my Governorship to be a leader of poor Lucian's Regency so we shall see what they say when I return."


"Who's running things in your place while you are here?"


"Why my good Admiral Pitta, of course."


"Lupercus, I did not expect you ...you..."


The Dark Lord smiled at his sister-in-law's attempt and nodded, "I understand. Has there been any word on my brother?"


The Ta Chume seemed to sink at the thought of her husband and Lupercus reached out to steady her but she merely replied, "No. But we've not given up."


"If you need any help..." Lupercus began but his sister-in-law waved the thought away.


"I appreciate the gesture, Lupercus, but we are fine. I ... I must say that you do not seem like the man Dakkon describes."


"My dear brother did not lie, my Lady. I am a monster. However, I am only a monster to those I consider my enemies. You and Hapes are not my enemies."


He bowed again, "Now, if you will excuse me, I must see to Admiral Wilkar to make arrangements for my return to Admiral Pitta.."


"My Lord! My Lady!" came a shout that caused Lupercus and the Ta Chume to turn.


The family's Minister of State came up. "I am glad I caught you, Lord. It appears we may have need of your services.."


"What?!" the Ta Chume stated and Lupercus' eyes registered surprise.


"In what way?" they both asked.


"With Dakkon missing, Lupercus is the eldest family heir. The lot of the familial responsibilities by tradition fall to him."


His sister-in-law was about to speak when Lupercus smiled, "I am sorry, Minister, but my status is not formal. I am still estranged and exiled from Hapes.."


"No longer, Lord. The Queen Mother's acceptance of your claim as Lord of the Regency to accept the worlds you were offering her made your status formal again. You are now a fully recognized member of the Darksword family in good standing. We could not accept planets from criminals after all."


"But could not the Ta Chume fill in..." Lupercus began to point out when the Minister shook his head.


"We are not talking about the rule of Hapes. That traditionally falls to the Queen Mother but she remains on Hapes and within the Consortium. The holdings of the family and other family ranks and privileges however must fall to a blood member of the Darksword family. The Queen Mother is only of the Darksword family by marriage. That either leaves her children heirs or you, my Lord."


"Then, if I refuse?"


"Then a vacuum is left for another family to step up to take the responsibilities..."


The Minister did not need to continue that sentence to let the Queen Mother and Lupercus realize the shift might not only dislodge the Darkswords for good but reshape the nature of the Hapan political direction for the next few generations.


"It appears I have no choice," Lupercus stated in slight surprise. "What would my duties include?'


The Minister ushered Lupercus away from the Queen Mother to discuss the issues confronting the family and he realized that he would be taking his brother's place in a number of areas.


One such area was initiation as a full member of the Executive Council of the Commonwealth.

"Dead?"

"All of them. By alien attack, or so they say."

Regrad paused in the donning of his battle gear long enough to ponder this turn of events. "Only a fool would believe that while Zell is regent. He was always a little too old-fashioned to fit into Simon's empire."

Yolem remained impassive as he relayed the news. "You think anyone else will see through it?"

"Had it been Simon? I would have said no. He was much too subtle. An alien massacre with the scantest of evidence besides a handful of blurry distant shots of a ruined rotunda... had it been the actual alien threat they would have flooded the news networks with images of Imperial bravery. Had it been Simon's scheme it would have been a carefully crafted facade." He pulled a gauntlet into place and secured its latch. "This is just sloppy by comparison."

His armour secure, Regrad set off for the bridge of the Coalition. "No, the international reaction will be feigned shock at the alien attack followed by private shock at Imperial brutality. It looks like it's time to get serious about the League, sounds like a job for the House - in fact it's the perfect busy work for the ministers. They like to keep busy by appointing ambassadors." Regrad sighed, distracted by thoughts of his fallen nemesis. "They're fraying at the seams. I only regret we're so preoccupied with the Reavers that we don't have more time to exploit them ourselves."

A thought occured as they walked. "What news have we of these 'aliens' anyways?"

"Ferguson says he has top men on it." Yolem passed Regrad his helmet. "For the moment we only know they're incredibly bloodthirsty and hostile, and they're causing the Empire an unusual amount of grief."

The two Azguardians strode through the corridors of the ship, passing servicemen and women of many different races. A common observer would note that every one of them was much older than the common soldier, some clearly into middle age or older. A more learned observer would also note that of the species represented many were not Coalition members, or were even long-time foes.

"The only thing that matters on this ship is conviction," Regrad stated proudly as he stopped to look upon the ship's general operations. "Here we are, crewed with the finest soldiers and shipmates from across the galaxy, and every one of us experienced and committed. A true Coalition."

If Yolem thought about this at all he didn't share it. "Did you hear the Empire is blaming us for the disturbances in the Occupation Zone?"

Regrad waved this away. "The Empire blames us for rain and lost buttons. It is the faint white noise of propaganda and means nothing. If anything it's a comfort to know they still target us for their slander, I was sure by now some new up-and-comer would have their attention."

"Are we to blame for the disturbances in the Occupation Zone?"

"Which disturbances are these?"

Yolem pulled a datapad from his belt and glanced at its contents. "A terrorist network responsible for raids on shipping and outlying worlds."

Regrad smiled. "No, those aren't our disturbances. A good guess on their parts, however."

As they passed through the busied halls Regrad's helm-comm began to buzz. "I hope you're almost in position, Prime Minister," said the voice of Panacka. "The fleet's in position and all the comm channels are set up. People are getting impatient."

"And I take it you're one of those people, commander?"

"Just waiting on your order, sir. Panacka out." The crackle of the comm cutting out was loud enough to cause Regrad to wince.

Yolem caught up from his respectful distance, which had been just far back enough that he could still overhear the conversation. "He sounded anxious, sir."

"I would be too, in his position," admitted Regrad. "The East is his home and he has sat powerless to help it for much too long. Now at last we go on the offensive... he has a right to be concerned."

At long last the pair reached the bridge, whereupon every bridge officer leapt to their feet and shot off a quick salute. Regrad returned it and gestured for his crewmates to sit back down. "No need for formality from this point on, we won't have time for it. What's our status?"

"Sir!" A grizzled Azguardian lieutenant turned away from his command console. "All systems are green, all crew stations reporting, the Coalition is prepared to leave orbit."

"Exemplary work," said Regrad, as he settled into his chair. "In that case, link us into the main channel, it's time for the address."

As the comms turned over, Regrad looked out the front viewport and on to the vast Coalition fleet before him. Many members had left the Coalition, this was true, but the remaining members were all true believers. They had not just warships in their ranks, but science vessels, supply ships, diplomatic shuttles, and huge haulers meant for moving masses of goods - or perhaps people.

"We're picking up every comm signal in the fleet as well as the router on Space Station BIM-1," the lieutenant reported. "Everyone's listening, sir."

With a hint of a smile, Regrad removed his helmet and picked up the ship's comm-unit. "All ships, this is Prime Minister Regrad.

"As you already know, our diplomatic outreaches to other powers neighbouring Reaver space went unanswered. Even in the face of this galaxy-wide crisis, there are some too arrogant, haughty, or proud to answer the call to unity.

"It would be arrogance on our part, though, to put down this lack of common cause solely to the pride of our neighbours. There are many who are simply too desperate, too overwhelmed, or too isolated to hear our calls or have time for the niceties of diplomacy.

"The most disquieting reason of all for this silence, however, could be that the Coalition is no longer believed to be a player of significance in the affairs of the galaxy. It could be that none believe we have it in us any more to be of use, that our strength and conviction are disregarded. To this I say no more! We shall prove both our daring and our commitment to peace and prosperity for the people of this sector and for the people of the galaxy!"

Regrad paused here, leaning back in his chair. The critical moment approached.

"That is why I have gathered the pride of our strength here today. The scattered and haphazard half-measures attempted against the Reaver threat are insufficient. It shall be we, the Coalition, that coordinates the defeat of this dread scourge. We shall stand with those who found themselves alone against the Reavers and we shall align with those who try to protect their homes. To those who try to shut their doors to the problems of their neighbours, we shall be the voice that cries no! That calls all to arms against this common threat, regardless of political alliegance.

"They doubt our strength? Our commitment? Ride with me now, and we shall visit every inhabited world that borders Reaver space - Coalition or Imperial, Confederation or independant. We will offer our aide to those who are pressed and call those of means to join us in our mission. The battle against the Reavers will take far more than force of arms to win, as we must fight with wisdom to spare the lives of the countless innocents trapped within the blighted 'Reaver Space'. Wisdom does not flourish alone, and so we shall achieve a grand compact against the Reavers.

"With our pooled knowledge and skills, the Reavers shall have no chance, and we will reclaim lost homes and lost lives. Ride with me!"

Regrad had given many speeches, but for once he knew the joy of immediate action, and reaching out a mailed fist he slammed the command to enter hyperspace. "Our scout vessels will be arriving thirty minutes before us in the first of the outlying systems. Our long patrol begins now."

“You know what we’ll be facing, don’t you, Master?”

The voice came from behind her, interrupting her meditations. Skygge turned, dousing the anger that threatened to overtake her. This was the closest she had been to falling completely to the Dark Side in a long time, probably since her trip to Korriban and Ithron’s betrayal. She could not allow herself to fall. That sort of a fall would mean she would end up in the same place as all the Sith before her; she would become the same monstrosity that was Lupercus – a villain who cared nothing for life or the galaxy, only his own personal pleasure. She would strike him down one day, if someone else didn’t beat her to it. Rumor had it that the Commonwealth fleets were attempting that very thing even now, somewhere in Hapan space. She hoped they succeeded. It would save her the trouble.

Ithron was a different story. No report had surfaced about him in some time. The last she heard he was attempting to motivate the Inquisition into action against the unknown attackers, but her connections within Imperial City had nothing more to give her. She had spent quite a few credits – stolen credits, but where they came from didn’t matter much to her – to those contacts during the time she was training with Descartes, and they had no information for her.

She shook her head and concentrated on the matter at hand. Skygge faced her apprentice. Elana was a good warrior, an excellent assassin, and she would make a truly great Sith. Her Force powers continued to grow; in fact Skygge wasn’t sure her skill in the Force was not above that of every other apprentice. Her skills with a saber were still lacking, though, and it held her back. Of course, it took a great deal of skill to learn the Ataru style of combat. Her companion, Telarni, had things a bit easier, simply building on the Shii-Cho foundation in which he had first trained. The second apprentice, though, had forsaken his Force training for his swordsmanship. The reason Skygge had brought them on this trip was so that they could learn from each other.

“Yes, Elana. I know what we’ll be facing. Nubett failed at whatever he was doing; my guess is that he was trying to prove himself either by killing Leia or Tyscio or, worse, their newborns. Either way, we’ll be facing at least one – probably two – Jedi Masters along with about half of Capricia’s security force. And no, I haven’t come up with a workable plan yet. Nubett really screwed things up for us this time. If I was confident that he wouldn’t give away any important information under interrogation, I’d let the Capricians handle it, but if he’s as insane as I think he is, I can’t be sure he won’t.”

Her face fell. “Master, I have an idea.”


Capricia


The ship, slowed by its repulsors, settled lightly onto the landing pad, giving its passengers barely a bump for them to recognize that the ship was down. Caprician security swarmed the small shuttle. They had been warned to watch for anything unusual or any unusual passengers; this shuttle was their first victim of the day, so they were still highly alert.

The passengers, a young man and woman, slowly strode down the docking ramp, smiles on their faces. “Tarv and Lori Vela,” they said when questioned. “Just returned from our honeymoon on Vortex. Went to see the Cathedral there. It was beautiful!” Tarv leaned over to give Lori a long, sensual kiss that made most of the men on the detail a bit uncomfortable.

One of them, composing himself, said, “Shuttle is yours?”

Tarv, looking annoyed, glanced up. “Yeah, she’s mine. Bought her on Valinor on our way back. She’s not much to look at, but she got us here. And my wife likes her.”

Before Tarv had a chance to start kissing Lori again, the officer interrupted. “Anything on-board you need to declare? Any other passengers?”

Tarv shook his head. “Do you think we’d carry any passengers with us? Those bulkheads aren’t soundproof, you know!”

The officer closed his eyes and shook his head, trying to get the mental image out of his mind. “Alright then. Lieutenant,” he motioned to another officer standing by, “search the ship. We’ll let these lovebirds go.”




The dark figure slipped through the engine compartment, slowly opening the maintenance hatch on the top of the shuttle. Cloaking herself in the Force, now invisible to both the senses and the eye, she spared a quick glance at the holocam. Reaching out her hand, she gestured towards it, causing it to show nothing but static, then ran along the top of the shuttle. Reaching the nose, she launched herself into the air, over the heads of the oblivious guards, and slipped through the closing blast doors just behind the Velas.




Inside a hotel room rented by Tarv, the three individuals gathered to make plans. ‘Tarv’ hacked into the Caprician computer network and quickly downloaded all information on the prison systems, including the list of prisoners. It took a short time to crack the security, but soon the three Sith had access to the location of the wayward apprentice and the security system of the building.

“This isn’t going to be easy,” Skygge said. “But I think Elana’s plan will still work. Telarni, you understand what you need to do?”

The Sith Apprentice nodded. “Of course, Master. Let’s do this.”




The guards at the prison were not asleep, but neither were they fully awake. Four days, they had been pulling full-alert rotations, ever since that new prisoner came. There had been some attempts at interrogation, but even the Jedi who was with them couldn’t pull anything out of the mad prisoner’s mind. It was so twisted, and missing so many gaps, that nothing could be done with him.

But they were not asleep much longer. Tyscio Korban had just stepped out, saying he was getting some caf for them. He was not gone five minutes when a distinctive snap-hiss sounded. The guards scrambled for their weapons, turning to face a dark-cloaked individual wielding a distinctive red-bladed energy sword. Their eyes widened, but even as they raised their blasters to fire, the saber-wielding warrior was among them, slicing weapons, hands, arms, and heads. In seconds, it was over.

The figure looked directly at the holocam and blinked once. It was a tall male human, wisps of blonde hair showing under his hood, dark eyes seeming to glare at the recorder. Then he turned on his heel and walked towards the prison doors.

Tyscio took that moment to step back inside. His lightsaber was already extended in his hand. He saw the Sith, and for a moment, just a moment, the two locked eyes. Then the Sith charged.

Blade caught blade, the discharge of energy sending the distinctive sounds of lightsaber combat echoing through the halls. Ducking under Tyscio’s swipe, the Sith rolled and came to his feet, facing the Jedi. He spun his weapon once, then launched into a flurry of blows that drove even the strong Jedi back. For a moment – just a moment – Tyscio doubted his ability to win the fight. Then, extending a hand, the Jedi hit the Sith with a Force blast that sent him flying back down the hallway.

The Sith rose to his feet as Tyscio stalked down the hall after him, but instead of staying to fight, the Sith turned and started to run. Tyscio followed.




As soon as they were clear, another figure entered the room, this one also cloaked in black. This figure was smaller than the first, perhaps a female. It quickly sliced into the security system and shut down the security holocams, then opened the main prison doors. She also downloaded the access code for the Sith prisoner’s cell block.

She turned to enter the prison only to discover that she was not alone. Another Jedi stood there, this one clearly a Master. Her brown hair framed a face that held eyes as cold as ice. Instantly, the Sith knew this was Leia Organa Solo Korban, and it knew that this woman’s children had been endangered by the Sith that was incarcerated below. Reaching further through the Force, the Sith realized that Leia thought it was responsible.
Slowly, Elana lowered her hood and removed her cloak. A blood-red saber leapt to life in her hand. “Leia Korban. I’ve wanted to meet you for a long time. My Master has told me much about you.”

Leia’s eyebrows lowered in puzzlement momentarily. “Your Master?”

Elana smirked. “You’ll be meeting her soon enough, I think. Shall we get on with this?”

Elana attacked, her saber sweeping up unexpectedly towards Leia’s midsection. The Jedi parried the blow, twisting her own saber in an attempt to remove Elana’s hands at the wrists. But the Sith dodged, backflipping over the computer console, putting it between herself and Leia. She smiled again. “Come now, Korban, you disappoint me. I expected much better tricks from you. Perhaps my master’s opinion of you was undeserved?”

Leia followed the Sith over the console, striking as she landed. Several blows were traded, simply exercises for each to get the feel of the other. Then Leia struck unexpectedly, catching her opponent off balance and out of position. With no time to bring her saber up to deflect, Elana raised her arm as if to ward off the blow. Leia put all her might into the strike…
Only to see it stop a centimeter away from Elana’s hand. Blue light pulsed between the hand and the blade, but only for a moment. Regaining her balance, Elana spun and brought her saber around in a backhand blow, which Leia caught on her own blade. Eyes wide with shock, she backed up a step and narrowed her eyes. That blow should have taken off the Sith’s hand, if not her head! How…?

Elana snickered. “The Force has many uses, Korban. In the hands of a craftsman, it is a tool, and a valuable one at that, that can be formed in many ways.”

The Sith attacked again, a quick flurry of blows that put Leia on the defensive. They circled once, then Leia attempted another crippling strike, this one at Elana’s legs. Elana leapt backwards, flipping over the blade, then landed and rolled, continuing her momentum down a second hallway, different from the one Tyscio and Telarni had entered. She too ran, with an angry mother close on her heels.




That left the guardroom wide open and undefended. A third dark-cloaked figure hurried in, keeping to the walls. Gathering the Force around her, her presence in the Force already hidden, she became invisible to the eye. She slipped quickly into the prison block, headed for the Sith prisoner’s cell. Feeling the urgency from Telarni, she knew she had to hurry.