Alone he stood, staring into the depths of the stars, wathcing the twinkle and fade from a trillions kilometers away. It was said, so went the Myths of Science, that when one looked into the heavens one was watching history unfold, as that which we saw was taking place thousands of centuries before. IF it was true, he thought, then he was watching the paradox of Time, for Coruscant was the paragon of modernity: the newest transports traveled her space lanes, her populace donned the latest fashions, and her civilian HoloNet broadcast the newest shows.


And in her approach vector comes the newest member of the Twelve.


Baron Telan Desaria thought to himself with a great deal of pride that which awaited him. He had lost the arrogance with which he had joined the service over twenty-five years before and in its place ran a firm confidence in his abilities and if nothing else, a fanatical belief in the righteousness of Empire, in its sole aim of returning order to chaos. Despite the aging and maturing that had come with victory and defeat alike, he still had the narcissim that ran in the blood of all aristocrats.


He moved from the viewport into the heart of his quarters and heard a quiet warble from Exo, his personal attache-droid. For an hour without pause, the little machine had watched the officer polish his jackboots to a shine no robot or droid could ever match, for his patience and dedicated was fueled not by programming but by honour and pride. He stood there and looked out over the uniform lain out on his bed. With practised care, he reached down and pulled his tunic over his chest. The black cuff title of the Imperial Guard, the writing in a silver Gothic font, shone prominently on his sleeve. He fasted the double-breasted jacket and adjusted his rank plaque - -still the six red over six blue of a Fleet Admiral.


The tunic fasted, Desaria flipped the action-2 collar up and removed a jeweled cross from its black case, clasping its ribbon behind his neck. The collar was turned down so that only the Imperial Cross could be seen, the Pforr Leaves, Sabres, and Rubies which provided subsequent grades of the Empire's most prestigious decoration at its top. The Baron looked at the award with great pride - few men could boast of having earned it, and fewer still could claim to have been awarded all but one of its addendums - - the Grand Cross of the Imperial Cross eluded all but three men.


Continuing down, the Admiral placed upon his breast the Clasp of Raenora, the Imperial Meritorious Service Cross and the Shield of Teth. He turned to face the mirror. He cut the figure of an officer very well, so he tought to himself. He removed the peacked white visor-cap from its stand and bade his droid farewell.


The Suvarov grew smaller and smaller as the Admiral's shuttle entered the atmosphere of the capital-world, bumping and juking as gravity was harnessed. He knew he had left his flagship for the last time as a Fleet Admiral.


When he returned, he would be a Grand Admiral.

Imperial Center - Imperial High Command



"Telan Desaria is an aristocrat. Bestowing him the honor of the rank is the least we can do..."

Grand Moff Zell smirked. "Don't talk about his blood to the public. There are too many who aren't and it would cause dissention."

Simon Kaine looked up. "Why Zell, I didn't know you cared what the 'people' thought?"

Zell mouthed an obscenity before replying, "I don't care about what they think inasmuch as I care about the image the Imperial High Command portrays. We aren't the half assed organization of the Iron fucking Fist Fleet. Our military stands for power. Stands for order and stands for 'get-the-hell-outta-my-face-or-I'll-glass-your-damned-planet'! You don't portray that by talking about Desaria's blood.

All high born bloody means is that Telan's a damned pain in the ass in social circles. But it's his accomplishments that we focus on. It is his accomplishments that transcend any facts about his birth. Take the Corellian Blockade for instance.

The man held the blockade for a year and even began to campaign on the Outer Rim against the New Republic. He starved them out and Wrath finished the job! The rebellion on Jutraal. It was Desaria's men who quelled that! Who held the Braxant Sector Defense Fleet all those years we were out making names for ourselves? Telan Desaria!

THAT's what we need to be highlighting."


Kaine looked up as Zell was winding down, "Been practicing that speech?" and the silver haired man smiled.

"It's not often one finds themselves with an active microphone and a listening public. I'm due for a good long speech."


"Grand Admiral." whistled Kaine. "It's about time, Desaria."

"When is he due in port?"

Kaine glanced at a nearby chrono, "His ship should just be arriving. A shuttle is enroute to transport him to the Imperial Palace. The Ceremony is to be held on the Palatial Grounds."


"Palatial Grounds.." murmured Zell, "Rich women like being seduced on those Grounds."


"Well, try to pin the damn medal on Desaria before you begin rutting in the bushes.."

Zell glanced sharply back at Kaine, "I liked you better when you could only have opinions when I told you too.."


Simon chuckled. "When was..?" and a signal beeped indicating that Telan Desaria's flagship had been detected on approach. "Come Zell, we need to see if your ceremonial uniform still fits."


That started another round of cursing from the aging Moff.

The Past



If Imperial Centre is the heart of the New Order's government, then Yaga Minor isthe heart of its military. Even the capital paled in comparison to the presence the Imperial Fleet keeps in orbit: dozens of warships, tens of thousands of starfighters. And more every day being completed by the orbiting shipyards and planet-based construction facilities.


No expense is spared in making the planet a fortress: shield generators dot the landscape, turbolaser emplacements jut from forests, mountains, even floating platforms that keep her oceans clear of enemies.


The heart of the Empire's military dominance in the galaxy. The heart of the largest Protectorate in the Empire.


This is the capital of the Ubiqtorate.


This is the seat of Moff Bhindi Drayson's power.


The woman that weilds more power in the galaxy today than did Grand Moff Tarkin in the so-called "Golden Age" of the New Order.


Bhindi Drayson. Her name struck fear into the hearts of those she governed. And those who had the audacity to oppose her. With her Black Fleet the woman Moff had brought more worlds to the Empire's banner than any single person before her.


Inside of the Empire and outside, she was a force to be reckoned with.


Moff Bhindi Drayson. She was already one of the most powerful people in the Empire. And she was soon to become even more powerful.


Word had floated down from Imperial High Command - the office of the Regent himself - that Bhindi Drayson was to be the next Grand Moff. The first since Zell.


Despite all the bias that remained in the IHC towards aliens and woman, Bhindi Drayson was to rise to one of the most powerful positions in the Empire.


Bhindi Drayson's rise to power was marked by the fall of Kulthis, the rebel world that had so foolishly turned against the Empire. Kulthis was now a dead planet, destroyed by the unforgiving orders of Bhindi Drayson.


Orbital Command was abuzz: Bhindi Drayson's promotion, too, was to be marked with something unseen in the Empire since the days of Palpatine.


"You are clear for arrival." Were the only words needed.


Within a minute, the formerly empty space above the capital (a rare event) was replaced by the massive shape of something that few of the Empire's soldiers, never mind her citizens, had seen.


Some would describe her as "death incarnate".


Whatever the news reporters chose to call her, what she was was immediatly evident.


With precision born only of the Imperial Fleet, the Executor slipped into orbit.


Yaga Minor was blessed with a perfectly clear day, and from their homes on the surface the people could see the arrowhead shape of the Super Star Destroyer cast in shadow on the ground.


From orbit, the view was spectacular. The massive shape of the Executor III filled space, stretching nearly thirteen kilometres. About her flew entire wings of TIE Interceptors in parade formation.


Planet side, even as the shadow of the great ship touched the stadium, the announcement of Bhindi Drayson's rise to the rank was given. Her promotion was met with applause so thunderous the platform party had to activate the noise cancelling ear pieces with which they had been equipped.


And then Grand Moff Bhindi Drayson addressed the galaxy.

Few men had ever lived to see the attainment of their life's ambitions. To be among those proud few that had, Baron-Telan Desaria counted himself ludicriously lucky. Unlike many other officers who had purchased or courted their way into the highest echelon of command, he had earned the position into which he was now being installed. In an hour, his name would be alongside Thrawn's in the annalls of history.


A sharp hiss came from the bow of the Lambda-class Shuttle, cut off but the roar of cheering crowds as the craft's mouth yawed wider. The Baron placed his white visor-cap on his head and marched down the ramp. Sun as bright as he had ever seen bathed his pristine uniform in a pale glow, light sparkling off the jeweled inlets of his Crest, the rank plaque he produly bore, and the Imperial Cross at his neck.


A squad of Imperial Guardsmen flanked Desaria, five on either side. They were immensely proud that the Commander of the Guard was himself receiving the highest rank attainable to a naval officer. They took an equal measure of pride in the black stripe on his trousers and the black cuff-band on either sleeve signifying his allegiance to the elite of the Imperial Armed Services.


It had to be nearly a half-kilometer from the cleared landing area to the raised podium where several members of the High Command had gathered for the ceremony. Red banners flew in the breeze, the black Imperial Crest at their center moving above as if to assert its dominance upon all who might gaze.


Looking left and looking right, the Admiral could see hovercraft platforms of all kinds, news media representatives of worlds from Kothlis to Commenor ot the Corporate Sector Authority. He relished the attention for he was, like all nobles, a narcissit to the the core. Unlike many, however, he had earned that which was being heaped upon him now - no amount of credits had been transferred for the honour soon to grace him.


Desaria left the guard to form an wall before the podium ahead of a phalanx of Stormtroopers and strode up next to the Supreme Commander, Grand Marshal Simon Kaine. Years of precision manifested themselves as he snapped the best salute of his career.