(This role-play takes place after Restoration: Dawn)







This is not looking very good Joren Logan thought, observing the bridge of his “new” ship, the Coalition Imperial II- Class Star Destroyer Sentinel

The ship was about twenty years old, and had been decommissioned by the New Republic just after it had served in the Battle of Dantooine. How the Coalition had gotten a hold of it, he did not know. But it had been presented to him a week ago, after he had returned to Onyx, from Mon Calamari.

The ship was showing its age. It was still being refitted, in the dry dock over Onyx, and had been undergoing said refit for about six months. It was scheduled to begin it’s first mission in three weeks.

Most of the weapons had not been remounted yet, having been stripped when the New Republic retired the vessel. And the sub light and hyper drive engines had just been installed three days before. Logan was still annoyed that he wouldn’t be able to test the engines for another week.

The outside of the ship was more or less in good order, with the exception of the weapons emplacements. The hull had been extensively repaired, where before it had shown pockmarks and breeches twenty years old. The largest of the repairs was to repair a gash in the starboard side of the hull, where an errant Tie Fighter had crashed itself when the Sentinel ’s shields had failed at Dantooine. Logan himself had been present at the battle, and he still remembered the entire thing. Many new Alliance soldiers and crewmen had died there.

The inside of the ship was a different story. Bulkheads had been torn apart all over the ship to expose the electrical wiring underneath, and the entire electrical systems were getting completely reworked. Most of the ship’s systems were still twenty years old, and most of it had been stripped away by the New Republic. The Coalition dry dock workers had been reinstalling and modernizing the ship for months.


“Captain.”, a voice spoke from behind him.


Logan turned around, looking over the middle-aged man who approached him. He was of about thirty years of age, tall and thin, wearing the crisp GC blue and gray uniform that was slightly smudged with grease. Logan assumed he had been working, helping to refit the ship.

“Yes?” Logan asked, handing a manifest report to the ensign whom he had been speaking to.

“I am Commander Foster, your first officer. I just got in today from Tynna.” The man said, offering his hand.

“Oh right.” Logan responded, shaking the officer’s hand, smiling, “I was hoping to catch you sometime today. How is everything?”

Foster sighed visibly, “To be frank, sir, the Sentinel is a piece of shit.”

Logan chuckled, “Please. Let’s talk in my office.” He said, leading the way across the creaking floor, avoiding the gaps in the surface where technicians were busily working. All in all, the bridge was in a state of controlled chaos, with people running every which way, welding that, programming this. Logan wanted to be in the confines of his office, which he had built especially to suit him. It had been completely built, and completed, offering him refuge from the construction. The room itself was sparse, with a desk and two chairs, his computer terminal on the desk remained dark, as the main computer had not been brought online. Installed three weeks before, the computer had yet to be tested. Those tests awaited the completion of the electrical systems, which were a day or so from being completed. The rest of the office was Spartan, with one painting of a landscape of Onyx, and a huge schematic of the Sentinel behind Logan’s desk. Besides that, a huge window dominated the room, showing the slowly rotating blue sphere that was Onyx below.



“Please sit.” He told Foster, taking a seat at his desk.

“Thank you Captain. It’s been a long time.” Foster said, sitting back in his chair and looking about the room.

Logan frowned, studying Foster’s face intently, trying to gauge if he had ever seen him before. Foster smiled slightly, “I served with you at Dantooine, and later, at the Battle of Onyx. I was onboard the Keerow, serving as a tractor beam technician. I met you once, after Dantooine. I doubt you remember.” He said.

Logan shook his head in amazement. It had been years since he had last encountered any one from his old New Alliance days. Most of the TNA soldiers had spread out across the galaxy, or had simply gone home. A majority of them, though, were clones, who were absorbed by the New Republic, into its military.

“How did you end up here?” Logan asked.

“After the Rogue Imperial wars, and the dissolution of the New Alliance, I joined the New Republic navy as an engineer, repairing the tractor beams, instead of operating them. Eventually I was promoted several times, before resigning and joining the Coalition. I requested this assignment when I heard you were back.” Foster replied.

Logan smiled, “I just intend to do my part. Retirement never interested me very much.” He said, “But how goes the refit? What do you think of things so far?”

Foster stood, walking over the schematic behind Logan’s desk, pointing to several areas, “The outer hull is just about done, which only minor things left to be done. The shield generator domes have been restored and repaired, and a new generator has been installed. But we can’t test it until the electrical can be completed. They say they will have it done tomorrow. The weapons, as you know, don’t arrive until Tuesday, but will be installed completely in about three weeks. Once they are done, it’s just minor refits and repairs and we are set to go.”

Logan nodded, “I just want my bridge done.” He said, sighing, “What about communications?”

“Installed completely, but we can’t-“

Logan interrupted him, “Can’t be tested until the electrical can be completed, yes I’m sure. Well that’s good. But I want tests on all these systems done as soon as electrical is completed. I want them done before tomorrow night and I expect a report by Tuesday of the successfulness of the tests.”

Foster nodded, standing up and walking towards the door, “Sir, I’m not the only former New Alliance officer here.”

Logan turned around, surprised, “You aren’t?”

“No sir. About a hundred or so are active in the Coalition. Most of them have requested to serve on the Sentinel when they heard about you.”

Logan smiled warmly, “That makes me feel a lot better about this whole thing.” He said.

Foster nodded to him, saluting, and “Thank you sir. I’ll have that report on your desk by Tuesday morning, zero eight hundred hours.”

Logan nodded, “That is all, Commander.”

Foster turned and walked out of the office. As he did so, a small shape detached itself from the shadows in the corner.

“I don’t like this ship very much.” Mahk mewed.

Logan chuckled to himself, “Neither do I. But I do enjoy challenges, and this ship is one.”

Mahk didn’t say anything, and Logan continued, “But I didn’t expect so many New Alliance people to be in the Coalition. That was a surprise… as is the fact that they requested to be here, with me…” He said softly.

Mahk stood straighter, “Loyalty was a defining characteristic of the New Alliance.”

Logan smiled down at Mahk, “As it is of the Noghri, I think.”

Mahk looked up at him, his eyes gleaming and Logan could have sworn that for a moment, he saw a small smile appear at the corner of the Noghri’s lips. Maybe he had been imagining it.







Two days later– Onyx (Residence of Joren Logan)





The old New Alliance uniform was still crisp, and perfectly pressed, the same it had been the last time it had been worn, by the then-Regent Logan. The last time he had worn it was when he had walked in the garden on Corellia with Leia Solo, after the New Alliance-New Republic merger had been finalized. He still had a small holo of that day, one of him, sitting side by side with Solo, signing the accord that would bring the New Alliance – its soldiers, ships, naval officers, ambassadors, and worlds – into the New Republic. That was a difficult day, and he had not worn the uniform since. It still brought up bad memories for him.

Memories, of defeat and loss.

Logan folded the uniform and placed it inside the suitcase, which he then closed gently, fastening the straps and turning off the light in his bedroom as he headed to his office next. For the most part, all of his important records had been stored and transported to his office onboard the Sentinel .

He had been on Onyx for the past two days, gathering up his records in his home, where he had been living for the past ten years. Had had just about everything he needed, and was ready to start his new assignment with the Coalition.

The light on his computer terminal started to blink, indicating he had a holonet transmission incoming.

“Jan.” He said, as a familiar face appeared on the screen.

Jan Dondana smiled, “Joren. Good to see you again. Doing well?”

Logan nodded, “More or less. How are things?” He asked. Pleasantries were demanded when speaking to an Admiral. Dondana was Logan’s direct superior.

“Good, good. How is your new ship?” Dondana asked.

Logan frowned, “New?”

Dondana chuckled, “Yeah. Sorry about that. The Sentinel was wasting away in our dry dock at Tynna. Since the refit was incomplete, I figured you could help us out a little bit in getting the vessel in order. I always assumed you were the type of man who liked to know the inside and out of his ship.”

“I am. But there isn’t much of a ship, sir.” Logan replied, “It’s older than the Coalition.”

Dondana nodded grimly, not needing to be reminded of that, “I know. But trust me, it is a good ship. Survived more battles than I care to mention. It was at Dantooine you know.”

“Yes I do. Just looking at it reminds me of Dantooine.” Logan said.

“Anyway, we have an assignment for you.” Dondana began.

“Already? We are still three weeks from being able to put out.”

“I know. I regret you won’t have enough time but this can’t wait. We have been tracking a separatist group from the old Sovereignty. Apparently run by old Black Hand operatives. They are based out of Ilum, with a small group at Esfandia. They have been hitting our supply convoys to Nkllon. We have been losing valuable shipments of ore on its way to our shipyards. They just hit a small troop convoy on it’s way to Onyx a few hours ago… and many soldiers died. We need to put a stop to them, and now. Most of our ships, however, are on the borders, in a watchdog capacity. We can’t spare anything, except a small frigate. Other than that, you are the only ship in range. Take the Sentinel and destroy them, and establish listening posts on Ilum and Esfandia They lie near several space lanes and routes that we would like to monitor. A small garrison should suffice. So, it should be just a quick run-around the block for you. Two, maybe three days at most.”

Logan sighed, “My ship is not ready. I need more time.”

“You don’t have it, I’m afraid. I’m ordering a small refitted frigate, the Strider and several troop transports with enough force to take both worlds. Allot troops to both vessels. to Onyx to assist you. You have three days to get ready, and then you must move out. Good luck. Out.”

Logan sighed to himself again as the transmission was cut. Mahk spoke from the shadows.

“So it begins.”

Logan looked uncomfortably at his bodyguard, and then out into the Onyxian night.

“I was afraid of something like this.” Logan said, to no one in particular, “It just couldn’t be easy this time…”

“It’s never easy for us.” Was the reply.

“I need to talk to Foster.” Logan said, turning off the lamp in his officer and walking out of his home. There was a hover car waiting, along with a GC military escort, to take him to the landing pad. His shuttle awaited his arrival to take him to the Sentinel






Three days later – Deep Space [I]


“Buoy away!”


Logan watched out the aft view port as a small spherical sensor array was released from the rear hangar bay. This was the hundredth or so sensor buoy that had been released from the larger vessel. Logan had ordered the ship to blanket the entire area between Ilum and Esfandia with them, trying to track the old Sovereignty separatist ships. They were nothing more than pirates, minor irritations that could easily be destroyed.

But the trick was to locate them.

Logan had a feeling they knew that someone was hunting them. They had detected no sign of the mysterious group for the past three days. After he had received his orders, Logan had ordered the small Nebulon-B frigate [I] Strider to go out first, while the Sentinel was finishing it’s refit. Logan sighed again as he surveyed the outside of his ship from the bridge, the wide view ports of the ship showing its still-unfinished exterior. Most of the turbo lasers had not been mounted. The ship had the capability to carry sixty of them, but instead carried only twelve functioning guns. Logan was still annoyed about it all, but the crews had done an excellent job of getting the vessel ready to go. It was still a skeleton ship though, with only enough crew to make the ship function – barely. The rest of the crew was not set to arrive for another two weeks.

This left “Captain” Logan with just enough men to do the task. But the men he had were dockworkers, and early crew arrivals. Most of them had yet to be trained. Logan couldn’t help but feel he was walking into a deathtrap. So he had ordered Foster to give the men as much training as possible, to prepare them for the inevitable battle. Logan observed with pride as his first officer worked round the clock to do this. Such loyalty was hard to find.


The buoy fell into it’s assigned position, using it’s built in thrusters to stabilize itself as the Sentinel continued on it’s course, which took it a light-year outside of Ilum, their first stop.

“What was the last report from the Strider ?” Logan asked Foster, who was busily typing away at his command console near the center of the bridge.

“They have reached Esfandia. So far, they have come into contact with no one. Captain Braxton reports that it is a ghost planet.”

Logan frowned, “Esfandia has a population, and a small government. Have Braxton contact them and report when he does.”

Foster nodded, and began to relay the message, typing furiously at his console.

Logan turned back to the view port, watching the small sensor buoy fade in the distance.

“Set a course for Ilum. Enter hyperspace when the course is plotted.” Logan said, sitting heavily in his command chair, turning on his small com-link, “Colonel Greer. You may prepare your troops for a ground attack.”

“Yes sir,” Was the reply. Logan shut off his com-link and stepped out of the chair, heading for the turbo lift, Mahk in tow.





Army briefing room one



Colonel Sam Greer looked over the room as a few dozen men wearing perfectly pressed Coalition Army Uniforms filed in, taking their seats and looking up at him tentatively. . They were all officers, part of the Army’s 246th brigade, the assigned Army detachment to the Sentinel .

He smiled and stood a bit more proudly as Captain Logan entered the room, standing in the back, out of sight. He had heard stories of Logan and his exploits when he was a teenager, and he felt pride at serving with him.


“Ilum is nothing but one big ball of ice.” He began, pointing to a holo of the world, which hovered a meter away from him, dominating the front of the room. He highlighted a small area, “We believe the enemy is in this sector, near some caves.

“Now remember, Ilum was once of great importance to the Jedi order. Apparently Ilum is one of the only places in the galaxy where you can find the crystals that power their lightsabers. During the Clone Wars, the Confederacy of Independent Systems found this out, and attacked the Jedi and a small Republic camp here. But they were defeated.

“The caves that the republic used as their camp are still intact though, as is some of their defenses. They left it here, why… we don’t know. Possibly to provide the Jedi with future protection perhaps. All we know is the enemy has taken residence in the caves. Geothermal scans indicate a large force in the caves.”

A hand went up; Greer identified the speaker as Isan Ramon, a lieutenant in the artillery.

“Yes?” Greer asked.

“Sir, who is the enemy, exactly?” Ramon asked.

Greer looked up to Logan, who nodded, “They are groups of Sovereignty survivors. Soldiers who did not join the Coalition at the conclusion of the war. We consider them to be separatists, and we think they are being led by former members of the Black Hand.”

Some muttering began between the officers. Greer didn’t blame them for their unease. The Black Hand was known for its fierce fighters and unrelenting ferocity in combat. They were a shadowy intelligence unit within the Sovereignty, but far less renown than Isard’s Imperial Intelligence.

“Anyway, we will first establish a base camp, which WILL be operational by 2300 hours tonight. Do I make myself clear?!”

“YES SIR.” The room shouted in unison.

“After base camp is set, we will attack the caves in waves. With the first infantry moving…”



***

Logan watched as Greer went into the specifics of the plan. He knew, as he listened, that it was sound. But he was worried about the enemy they were facing… he had known, and even trained some of the Black Hand agents himself. He knew one thing for sure.


It would not be easy. They knew how to fight.

They were trained in guerrilla warfare. This would not be a quick assault, it would be messy. However, he didn’t wish to get in Greer’s way. The Colonel could take care of things, Logan was certain of that.

Greer adjourned the briefing and walked through the milling soldiers towards Logan. He saluted promptly, which Logan returned.

“Captain Logan. It is an honor to meet you. Finally.”

Logan smiled, shaking the other’s hand, “Likewise. I am impressed, so far Colonel.”

“Thank you, sir. I would appreciate any suggestions you might have.” Greer replied.

Logan nodded, handing the army officer a datapad, “That is a list of my recommendations. I suggest you take it into account when formulating your battle plan.”

Greer took the data pad, nodding respectfully, “Thank you sir. I will.”

“Now,” Logan said, “ They will come out screaming, literally. They know they are outnumbered, so they will favor misdirection to gain a tactical advantage. They will make noise from the front, distracting your attention. So you focus your assault and artillery on that. Then they attack from the side, and from behind, where you least expect it.”

Greer nodded politely, an aide jotting this down nearby, “They are also likely to attack your artillery with a separate commando force to take some pressure off their forces in the caves. I suggest you sit some squads back there to defend them.”

“How many?” Greer asked.

“Six or seven at most.”

The colonel nodded, “Thank you sir. I have to see to the landing.”

‘May the force be with you.” Logan said.

“To you as well sir,” Greer said, departing.



May it be with all of us today. Logan thought grimly as the soldiers departed for their landers.








Esfandia – Present Time





Captain Braxton stared at the blue-green world of Esfandia, aggregately swatting at the air, wishing it was that god forsaken planet.

They had been sitting in this place for nineteen hours, sending transmission after transmission to the so-called “government” of Esfandia.

Nothing.

Not one response.

Their scans had come up inconclusive. There was indeed a city there, supposedly housing the small population of one hundred thousand, and a small provisional government, but they could not locate any lifeforms. It was almost as if the entire population had vanished without a trace.

Braxton was now leaning over the scanner’s operation console, as he had done for the thousandth time, “Anything, Mac?”

Landon MacPhearson shook his head, like he had done for the thousandth time, “Sir, if there was anything new to report, I already would have.”

Braxton scowled, then sighing as he realized he had done THAT for the thousandth time.

He paced the cramped bridge, occasionally glancing out the view port at the planet, glaring at it, hoping it would burst into a thousand pieces.



Where is a Death Star when you needed one…?



Suddenly, he had had it. Enough is enough.


“Ready the troops. Let’s go down there and see what’s going on. Colonel Ardus?”

The only man on the bridge not in a navy uniform turned around, where he was conversing with an aide, “Sir?”

“Go down there and install a base camp, then take the Monera City. Report to me when you’re in position. But be careful, do not take the city by force, no explosions, or bombardments. Just walk in peacefully, with your troops and take up positions around the city. I want to speak to the President when you find him.”

Ardus nodded, “As you wish sir. I will report when I have something.”

Braxton nodded, saluting, “May the Force be with you.”






***




Ilum (surface) – three hours later



“Sergeant! Cover that ridge and advance with your squad! We’ll meet up on the north side!”

Sergeant Hoffa wrapped his combat jacket around himself more tightly, to shield himself from the biting icy winds of Ilum. He looked through his goggles at the speaker, his commanding officer, signaling

His squad, along with eight other ones like it was approaching a small series of hills and ridges to the east of the cave entrance where the enemy was holed up. Their orders were to secure the area for the reserves to advance to flank the cave entrance. So far they had gone unopposed.

He approached the ridge carefully, silently signaling his squad, consisting of eight men to move with him. He kept his blaster rifle trained on the crest of the hill, watching for any sign of enemy presence.

They moved in unison, a well trained force. They were all veterans of previous battles, most had fought during the war with the Empire, Hoffa himself at Bespin with the Outer Rim Sovereignty.

They moved silently and carefully up the hill, almost reaching it’s crest…



***


“Target acquired.”

The sniper trained his long blaster on the soldier moving in the distance, following the target’s every move.

He was dressed in snow. Literally.


He wore a protective warming suit underneath his fatigues, which protected him from the mound of snow piled atop him. Noting but an inch of the long blaster was visible, with a small hole dug in the snow for the accompanying scope. He waited motionless, for the target to approach his range…


He was a Black Hand agent, having joined the Sovereignty when he was eighteen – the minimum age required. He had excelled at all his classes, graduating the Sovereignty’s Military Academy on Bakura with top honors.

They had come in the middle of the night. Snatching him up as soon as he had lain in bed, exhausted from a long night of partying, a pastime he had pursued every night for years. The shadowy figures had shoved him into the back of a truck, driving for what seemed like years.

They identified themselves as members of the Black Hand, the Sovereignty’s top intelligence service. They did not offer for him to join, there was no room for discussion. They had selected him for sniper training. End of story.

He had gone without question, passing all of his classes in the art of sniping, getting promoted to Captain, and placed in a Black Hand sniper unit. That unit was one of the first to be called upon during the War with the Empire. He had served at Bespin, killing a great many enemy soldiers. It was there he had been given the codename “Ghost”.

After the war, with the Sovereignty splintered, his Black Hand masters had reassigned him to a small snowy base near the outer rim.

One he now found himself defending.

His voice was barely audible, just above a whisper, “Taking the shot.”



***


Hoffa crouched as he reached the crest of the hill, checking for visible signs of enemy presence. There were none, but that was to be expected, visibility was poor considering the conditions. Hoffa could barely see three meters in front of him.

He signaled for the squad to move out, heading north to meet up with reinforcements. So far, the place was a ghost planet. One would think that the enemy was nothing more than a myth…

He sighed; feeling a wave of annoyance hit him. He was very sorry that there was no outright combat. No waves of enemy soldiers, rushing blindly at him, as he carefully killed them one by one. Like at Bespin. No, they were out there, they just liked to hide more.

Cowards.


He growled, annoyance clouding his face.

Then he died.


He did not even se the shot, did not feel pain. The blaster bolt pierced his forehead perfectly between the eyes. He did not feel fear… he did not feel much of anything. He was annoyed one instant standing among the winds and mountains of snow on the planet Ilum… and then he saw nothing but darkness the next.


Nothing but darkness.




***



The Ghost did not waste time dwelling on his first kill of the day, the Coalition soldier hit the ground before he realized he was dead. Instead, he targeted another one of the enemy soldiers, one of the dead man’s squad mates.

As he pulled the trigger, targeting yet another enemy soldier, he began to whisper, “All alone… solitary… feeling nothing,” He squeezed the trigger, “But the pain…and… “

Squeeze.

“The fear…”

Squeeze.

“Nothing but fury…angry at being…”

Squeeze.

“all alone… feeling no sorrow…”

Squeeze.

“for the dead… all alone… feeling nothing but…”

Squeeze.

“…joy.”


And within twenty seconds time, eight Coalition soldiers were dead.




The battle had begun.

Esfandia - Surface





A ghost town...




The macro binoculars revealed nothing. Monera City was dark, and silent. There were no signs of it being occupied by the people who had settled on the world, or of it being occupied by the enemy. There were no obvious defense installations, no trenches, no perimeter.


Colonel Ardus felt like he was walking into a trap. And he hated it. He hated not knowing where his enemy was. He had been trained by the best on Mon Calamari, trained in all forms of warfare. But he could direct his men best when he had an obvious enemy, or when he had numbers, hell a general area where the enemy might be!


They had nothing to go on. All they knew was there was reported to be a small enemy outpost on Esfandia. Other than that, they had nothing. Not even a general location on Esfandia.


Nothing.


It was unnerving.



Now that Ardus thought about it, he didn't even know very much about who he was supposed to be fighting. All he had been told was that a small group of former Sovereignty soldiers, led by hardcore members of the now-defunct Black Hand, had somehow obtained warships and had been destroying Coalition vessels, trying to disrupt supply lines.


His orders had said enemy troop strength was estimated to be at one thousand to fifteen hundred soldiers on Esfandia. Small, compared to the four thousand suspected to be at the enemy's main base on Ilum.



But where the hell were they?



His assault tank led the column of nine similar ones moving toward the only city on Esfandia - Monera City. His orders and historical records had stated that a few hundred disgruntled Imperial civilians had left the Empire after Alderaan's destruction by the Death Star, and the Battle of Yavin. They had colonized Esfandia and set up a small city there, named after the vessel that brought them to the planet, the Monera.


The vessel was at the center of the city, where it had originally landed. It was now a monument, apparently.


It was dusk now, and the Esfandian sun was about to slip beneath the horizon. Darkness now permeated the city. It was very quiet...


Perhaps too quiet.


The tanks had reached the city, and were now moving through the main street, which led to the city's center, which was their destination.


Soldiers began to fan out, knocking on doors, and trying to get into individual houses and buildings. There were no responses, no sign of life.



Nothing.



Ardus sighed, leaning back in his chair.



Then all hell broke loose.


***



Captain Fresi put the macro binoculars down, replacing them with night vision goggles from his position on the top of the old transport Monera. He could see that the enemy – Coalition troops sent to destroy them – had already advanced to within range of the Black Hand’s heavy weapons. They were just driving down the street, like it was a sunny day on the weekend.

Fools , He thought. They were obviously unused to the rigors of confined combat. He remembered his first experience with it, on Bespin. He shuddered at the memory, at the same time lifting his comlink to his mouth.

"Sir, they enemy tank column is almost in range. Our snipers and mortars are in position. I am awaiting your orders to begin the attack.”


There was a silence.


“Director Kovel?” He asked, checking to see if his comlink was on.

“Good.” Came the quiet voice. Fresi almost had to bring the thing to his ears so he could hear better, “They may fire when ready. Destroy the tanks first with mortar and rocket fire. Then have the snipers and shock troops finish them off.”

“Understood, sir.” Fresi replied, turning to his aide, “Begin the assault.”



***



A small team of mortar-equipped soldiers moved silently on the rooftops, parallel to the main street below. They could hear the rumbling of the loud Coalition tanks in the distance.

One of them, the commander of the squad held up his hand, halting the ten soldiers, “Here. Set up, prepare to fire on my command.” He said, studying his data pad intently, trying to figure out distances and locations for the mortars to fire.

Most of these soldiers were graduates from the military academy on Bakura, all at the top of their class. They had been “compelled” by top Sovereignty brass to accept positions within the Black Hand.



There they had all learned that the Black Hand was not just an intelligence unit.


It was forming its own private army.


Its job was to protect the Sovereignty at all costs, and with that mission came lots and lots of backup and contingency plans. The private army was one of them. They were the best trained and most experienced soldiers in all of the Sovereignty.

The commander suddenly clutched his headset communicator more closely to his head, as if listening to orders. After a moment, he lifted his head up, in the direction of the Coalition tanks, noisily but fast approaching their position, uttering one word.


“Fire.”




***



“It has been done, Director.”


Kovel watched as dozens of mortar positions, hidden throughout the city, launched their deadly payload right into the midst of the Coalition armor. The Director of the Black Hand then smiled, “Good. They will wish they had never come here.”


His aide, one of the millions of clones the Sovereignty had produced at the cloning centers on CN-1653, smiled back.

The aide, officially designated SC-33121 was of a rare breed of clones. The cloning centers on CN-1653 were designed to mass produce millions of soldiers for the Sovereignty Army – which they did, but there were other cloning centers, albeit smaller ones, throughout the Sovereignty. One, on Bakura, was built for “classified projects”, serving the Black Hand. The Black Hand had orchestrated the cloning of hundreds of the top soldiers, strategists, agents and leaders of the Sovereignty.


SC-33121 was the clone of Kovel himself.


And it was not the only one. Kovel believed that six clones of him existed, but there were also clones of other top Black Hand leaders. But SC-33121 had stood out as one of the best, one of the more motivated and ambitious of the six.

His five counterparts had been killed during the war, leaving “Kovel-2” (as he had been nicknamed) the sole heir to the Black Hand.

After the Sovereignty fell at the end of the war, and President Griff disappearing, Kovel had taken his private army to the outer rim, establishing two bases on Ilum and Esfandia, and remaining quiet – until recently when Kovel had discovered a space lane that the Coalition had used to ferry supplies and troops to its outer-rim bases. Believing Onyx and Valacar a direct threat to his bases, Kovel had tried to disrupt the space lane and the Coalition’s use of it.

He had apparently succeeded, until something unexpected happened. Something that Kovel did not predict.

The Coalition recruited Joren Logan.

Logan was one of the few non-Black Hand people to have ever seen Kovel. And Logan was also the only other person besides Griff himself who had even spoken and worked with Kovel. Logan was the one person who really knew how the Black Hand worked, and what its capabilities were. He was the one person who might be able to predict Kovel’s moves.


“It is no matter.” He said aloud, “We will crush him.”



***



“Bring us around!”

“Retreat!”

“No! Push on!”

“Return fire!”


War is hell.

Ardus now truly understood that now. Everything around him was nothing but chaos. Explosions sounding ever second, bright lights, deafening sound, laser beams flashing every way…

The Coalition comm. Channels were jammed with so many voices giving orders. At the first sign of attack, their entire calm, cool demeanor vanished, replaced with panic.


We have to get ourselves under control ], Ardus thought, reaching for his comlink as his tank was buffeted by explosions and blaster fire.

“All of you shut the hell up!” He all but screamed into the commlink.

The panic-stricken commanders went silent all at once at the sound of his angry voice, “Remain calm. Identify a target, and destroy it, one by one. We will continue to the city’s center. Infantry, get on the rooftops and eliminate the mortar and rocket squads, then continue to the center. Fan out along your predefined routes and engage the enemy. But remain CALM! Do not panic!”

Suddenly, like a tidal wave, the channels were alive with cool heads giving orders. The tank column continued where it had stopped when it had been attacked. The individual infantry soldiers climbed the buildings, or went inside and used the stairs, or turbolifts.

As they reached the rooftops and began to engage the enemy, the mortars were becoming more and more silent.

"General Greer reports. His forces have engaged the enemy." Foster said, looking up from a scrolling readout on his console. Logan continued to pace the bridge, occasionally looking down at the white ball that was Ilum.

They had been up her for six hours, and it was fast starting to become nightfall on the world below. He wished he could send reinforcements, to assist in the conflict below, but they had exhausted their troop compliment. Right now, about five hundred Coalition soldiers were fighting an enemy of about two hundred. So far, their casualties had been light, with no word on those of the enemy. So far… they had been lucky.

“Continue geothermal scans of the planet, and assist in relaying information on enemy troop movements.” Logan replied, “And contact Captain Braxton. I want an update on his situation at Esfandia.”

Foster, busy at his station, merely nodded.

Logan turned to his left and walked down the steps that led into the starboard crew pit, coming up behind a young ensign behind the sensor console, “Are you new to the fleet, ensign?” He asked.

“Yes sir. This is my first assignment.”

“What is your name?” Logan asked.

“Porter. Tom Porter, sir.”


“Well, Tom Porter. What is the status of the buoys we dropped a while back?”

“Silent as the grave, sir. Just normal space lane traffic for that region of space.” Porter replied.

“Any unusual readings?” Logan asked.

“Well actually yes… a few minutes ago I picked up some strange graviton emissions. Buoy three-eight picked it up, sir.”

Logan stiffened, “Graviton?”

“Yes.”

“That is unusual for this region of space. There are no celestial bodies nearby…” Logan said, trailing off.

“Well, that is actually incorrect sir. Buoy three-eight is in the vicinity of a passing comet. The comet is a rogue, and hasn’t been documented. Three eight took it down, and gave it a number. But that doesn’t explain the graviton emissions…” Porter replied.

“The comet doesn’t.” Logan said, suddenly coming to a chilling realization. “But the Bird of Prey hiding in the tail will. How far is the comet from the Sentinel?

“Thirty thousand kilometers off the port bow.” Porter replied, his hands flying furiously over his board.

Someone else he had once known had designed that comet trick. He was sure of it.

“Shields up!” Logan shouted, “Charge weapons systems!”

A blast suddenly rocked the Coalition vessel, knocking everyone off their feet. Fortunately, the shields had been raised in time, catching the turbolaser blast. Logan looked up from his chair, as an old Ghost-class Bird of Prey, bearing the Outer-Rim Sovereignty scorpion symbol flew past the bridge view ports.

“Return fire!” Foster shouted.

“No. Belay that!” Logan bellowed, standing to his feet, “We will have no more bloodshed today. Hail them.”

“They are responding.”

“Put it on.” Logan said as a life-size hologram appeared from the bridge holoprojector.

The man in the hologram smiled at him.

“Joren! So wonderful to see you again.”

Logan sat back in his chair, his face neutral, “Griff.”

Xander Griff, clad in a Black Hand black and red uniform smiled broadly, spreading his hands, “I can honestly say I did not expect you to be on the bridge of that ship.”

“To tell you the truth, neither did I.”

“You were always a soldier first. You know that.”

“But what about you? Still fighting the good fight?”

Griff shrugged, “I am simply doing what I was meant to do. But what about you?”

“I have a new life now, Xander. Retirement never seemed to want me.”

“Unlike your new friends.”

Logan nodded, “Stand down, Xander.”

“You are in no condition to give me orders. Your ship looks more like it belongs in a heap site.”

“And yours in a museum.” Logan retorted, “We have other vessels in the area. Stand down and prepare to be boarded.”

“If you refer to your little frigate at Esfandia, it is already under attack. And your forces on the planet are being systematically destroyed. And Ilum… well Ilum will wage it’s own war on you soon enough. The weather at night can be quite brutal.” Griff replied, standing his ground.

Logan’s thoughts suddenly went to the Strider at Esfandia, and the soldiers fighting to take it on the ground. What if Griff was telling the truth?

But what if he was lying?

Griff always wanted people to think he had more cards than he actually did. It was one of his strong points. It was what made his enemies overestimate him. But Logan knew better.

But Logan still needed to know what was going on at Esfandia. Braxton had sent them no word, and for all Logan knew, Braxton could be dead, along with the ground force. How to find out?

Why not have Griff tell him? He suddenly had an idea.

“The frigate is fine. We spoke with the captain a few moments ago. Your friend, Jorai Kovel has been captured,” Logan lied, “And interrogated. How do you think we expected your little comet trick?”

For a brief instant, a look of concern passed over Griff’s face, before he looked hard at Logan. That told Logan everything he needed to know. For one, it confirmed to Logan that the old Black Hand Director, Jorai Kovel, was involved in Griff’s little private army. Kovel might even be Griff’s front man. Secondly, it told Logan that Braxton, and the force there, was still alive. If they weren’t, Griff would have not had to worry about Kovel being captured.

Griff smiled after a moment, “Nice try.”

The holo disappeared, and the Bird of Prey surged forward, it’s turbolaser banks glowing, preparing to fire.

“Hard to port, target his engines!” Logan suddenly shouted.

The Bird fired its weapons, and flew over the starboard side of the ship. But the Sentinel now changed directions, bringing it’s own turbolasers to bear on the rear of the passing ship. All twelve guns fired pinpoint, low powered shots, striking Griff’s vessel repeatedly, blowing it’s engines.

Foster frowned, “That was easy.”

“That Bird of Prey is a prototype. It was among the first ever made. And it was never outfitted with shields.” Logan said, smiling, “Prepare to board his ship.”

Ilum





"We have to take out that sniper!" Greer shouted over the din of blaster fire, as he and his aide crouched in the shallow trench that had been made by the Coalition laser cutters an hour ago.

They had advanced to the mouth of the caves, with the rebel ex-Sovereignty soldiers slowly being pushed back. Out of Greer's five hundred men, he had lost only sixteen. The enemy, however, had taken some grievous losses. Over a hundred soldiers, out of about three hundred, had been killed or injured on the Sovereignty's side.

The battle was going well, except for one, small almost trivial problem. There was a highly accurate sniper covering the eastern flank of the caves. Greer had lost eight men to the sniper, and now watched as a ninth victim was claimed a few meters away. Greer knew, as the sniper did, that he couldn't send any troops to that flank, or risk more serious losses. Greer had precise instructions from High Command to complete his objective with minimal losses.


Air support was out of the question. Ilum was constantly buffeted by strong blizzards, which rendered any light air vehicles inoperable without serious modifications. The Rebel Alliance on Hoth had experienced the same problems.

Another option was artillery, but Greer had received word that their artillery pieces had broken down due to the weather. The only other option was to send in his own sniper.

He turned to his aide, "Get me Argent!"


***


Another down. Kris Argent thought, smiling as he checked his power pack on his long blaster.

He pointed the long barrel to the mouth of the cave, where yet another white-clad helmeted soldier crouched, watching the battle. The soldier occasionally lifted his head up, to fire off a rogue shot. But it was apparent he was a guard, to make sure no Coalition troops got in, or perhaps to prevent cowards from running for the safety of the caves. Argent had heard the Sovereignty soldiers had fought to the last man, and they had fought brutally. He was beginning to see it firsthand.

He took careful aim at the crouching soldier, taking a minute to bow his head slightly and ask silent forgiveness for the life he was about to take.

He had grown up on Deyr, a planet on the outer rim, a planet full of pacifists. His father had represented the planet in the Old Republic Senate, and his mother was an ambassador to the neighboring planet Teya. Both of his parents, along with the whole planet, had staunchly opposed the rise of the Empire, and Emperor Palpatine. They had, however, escaped the wrath of the Emperor. In the Senate, his father had witnessed firsthand the tragedies brought onto billions by the Empire, and urged his son to take a stand against the Empire.

He joined the New Republic, after the New Alliance merged, and was trained as a sniper. Now, he had just joined the Coalition, in his very first battle with them. He was a soldier, but in his heart, he detested war.

He pulled the trigger, not looking as the man fell.

His comlink crackled, “Argent!”

He answered in a whisper, “Here. What are my orders, Col. Greer?”

“Get to the eastern flank. There is a sniper there we need taken out before we can proceed. If we take that flank, we win the battle out here and we can keep them in that cave indefinitely.” Greer replied.

“Understood. Proceeding.”

Still crouching, he moved to his right, staying low to the ground. He was positioned near the mouth of the cave, about forty meters from the east flank, which was to the right of his position.

Blaster fire filled the air, mingling with the swirling snow. But the fire was sporadic, coming up in short bursts. The battle had died down into more of a trench war, with each side taking potshots at the other. The rebel enemy held the mouth, as well as the areas east of it. Coalition troops had already secured the west, but were waiting until the east was taken before moving.

The sniper was hidden perfectly. As Argent got into position, he could see nothing but white.

He reached around him, gathering up snow, piling it in front of him, making a small mound. Using the muzzle of his blaster, he poked a big enough whole to fit the scope and barrel of his weapon.

Then he scanned the area east of the mouth of the caves… watching and waiting for the other man, who was indeed out there, to make the first move.



***


“Ahh…” The Ghost breathed, his muzzle scanning the ridge directly in front of him, “The game’s afoot…”

He knew there was someone else out there. For the last hour no Coalition soldier had approached his position. The Ghost’s earlier victims had proven enough of a warning apparently. But being in so many battles over the years, so much training, the Black Hand sniper had acquired a sense about battle. He could tell when another sniper was nearby.

He smiled, almost in a trance. The snow ahead of him was perfect, with no flaws.

Whomever this Coalition soldier was, he was no fool.

“Tickle us do we not laugh?!” He yelled into the blizzard. His voice echoed along the deep canyons nearby, hiding his position.

Nothing.

He continued to scan the scene.


“Prick us do we not bleed!?”


Still nothing. He couldn’t see where it was. He could feel the other man’s presence…but something was different…so wrong…





Then everything went dark.




***




Argent almost missed him.

The enemy sniper was definitely not a novice, but Argent was more experienced, and had a better eye.


There was a saying he had been told in training, something that had been drilled into him.


“If a soldier loses his eyes, he loses his soul.”

There was a point in battle, as a sniper, that you “lose your eyes”. If you keep looking through the scope for hours on end, with no rest, you will start to see things that aren’t there. Battle stress was tenfold for a sniper, who had the distinction of looking into the eyes of their enemy as they killed them. All of this combined, exhaustion sets in.

That is what this sniper was feeling, Argent knew. It only took a few moments to find him.

For one thing, the Black Hand sniper had perfect cover. The snow was obviously piled up on his entire body, and the untrained eye would simply mistake it for a mound of snow. But Argent was trained to see what others did not.



“Tickle us do we not laugh?!”

Argent felt a pang of sadness. This sniper was good at his job, and was obviously fearless.


“Prick us do we not bleed!?”

Argent stared, suddenly feeling unsure about killing this man. He was young, and very talented. It would be a shame to end his life. But this man had to be taken out, the battle, and the lives of hundreds of soldiers depended on it.

On a whim, he removed the powerpack, taking a different one from his belt, placing it in the gun and loading. He took aim, himself whispering, finishing the sentence for the Ghost.

“Wrong us do we not have vengeance?” He said, his voice above a whisper.



“Taking the shot.” He said into his comlink.

Esfandia




"The city is quiet..." Ardus breathed into the chilly night air.

And indeed it was. After the rooftops had been secured, Ardus ordered his troops to secure the city with only nonlethal means. There had been enough killing for one night., he decided.

Most of the city was under their control; all that was left was the center of the city, where the Monera stood tall. The last of the enemy forces, about a hundred soldiers in all, were making their last stand.

The Coalition troops had the center of the city surrounded, and had established an airtight perimeter. Thankfully, the Coalition casualties had been very light, even though they had been ambushed in the beginning. The enemy forces had also taken little casualties. Instead, when faced with fierce resistance from the Coalition troops, the ex-Sovereignty soldiers had fallen back, to their center positions.

Now there was a standoff.

Ardus was reluctant to order an attack. The Black Hand rebels had all the preferred attack corridors covered. While the Coalition troops could attack and defeat the Black Hand rebels, they would pay dearly for it, with many lives lost. Ardus had no wish to send any of his men to their deaths.

His aide rushed up to Ardus, as he scanned the enemy positions with his macro binoculars for the millionth time, “Sir! We have contact with the enemy commander. He demands you speak to him immediately.”

Ardus switched his commlink on and turned it to the appropriate channel, “This is Colonel Ardus, of the Coalition Tenth Assault Regiment. To whom am I speaking?” He said.

Silence.

“To whom am I speaking?” He repeated.

“This is Jorai Kovel.”



***


Kovel could just imagine the look on Ardus’s face. Kovel had been a feared person throughout the Sovereignty and Coalition. The Black Hand was a legendary and feared force on all Sovereignty worlds.

“Kovel?” Was the reply.

“Yes. I am the Director of the Black Hand.” He said into his comlink.

“You mean former director?”

Kovel’s eyes narrowed slightly. His aide, also his clone, didn’t seem to be fazed, “Call me whatever you wish.”

“Well, Kovel. I assume you wanted to discuss terms of your surrender?” Ardus asked, in a slightly mocking tone.

“Actually I wanted to discuss the terms of yours. Cease fire on all Black Hand forces, lay your weapons down and withdraw from Monera City. You have one hour to comply.” Kovel said venomously.

Ardus seemed unfazed, “And if I don’t?”

“We will fight to the last man. We will make you pay dearly for every inch of ground you claim.” Kovel said, cutting the link. He turned to his aide, sighing a little to himself.

“Order everyone to stand there ground. They are to hold their positions…”


“…until the end.”

***


Ardus replaced his comlink back on his belt, next to his macro binoculars.

His aide stood nearby. Ardus turned, “Contact Braxton.”



***


“Who? Kovel?”

“Yes. Do you know the name?”

Braxton frowned for a moment, before looking up at the small hologram of Colonel Ardus, “Something to do with the Sovereignty?”

“He was the Director of the Black Hand. A direct subordinate to Griff himself.” Ardus replied.

Braxton contemplated the tiny glowing holo for a moment, “And he really intends to fulfill this promise? They will really die?”

Now it was Ardus’ turn to frown, “Do you know anything of the Black Hand? It was their duty to die defending the Sovereignty.”

“This isn’t the Sovereignty!” Braxton almost exploded, “This is Esfandia. A little, boring, out of the way world, that has no value whatsoever. This place is nothing but a useless speck in the galaxy. Why would they die for it?”

Ardus didn’t budge, “Because they believe in their cause. If I were in their place, I could not say I wouldn’t do the same.”

“Well! that’s fine and dandy, but we need that city, and we need that group destroyed or captured. Either way, you must accomplish your mission. We are running out of time.”

“And I am telling you, sir, that there is no way we can destroy or capture them without taking massive losses. We need another alternative.” Ardus replied.

“There isn’t one, damnit. Do whatever you have to do! We must finish what we started!” Braxton bellowed.

Ardus didn’t say anything for a long time.

Finally he broke the silence, “I will not march my men to their doom. We need another way out of this.”

“Colonel Ardus. Are you refusing to follow orders?” Braxton asked coldly.

“I am refusing a direct order, from my superior, to send my soldiers to their doom for no significant gain.” Ardus replied.

“Colonel…” Braxton started to say. He intended to remove Ardus from command.

His aide rushed up to him, “Captain Logan on the comm. for you sir!”

“Yes, Captain?” Braxton asked.

“The Black Hand forces have been ordered to stand down. Esfandia is yours.” Came Logan’s reply.

Bird of Prey Avatar of Tomed (in orbit of Ilum)


Xander Griff pounded on the helm console in front of him, almost shattering it. The young man who originally manned the helm lay dead a few feet away, where he had fallen when the power conduit near his station exploded.

There were less than a hundred crewmen on board, nothing more than a skeleton crew at that. It took a minimum of sixty men to run a Bird of Prey. But the Avatar was different. It was one of the three original prototype vessels built, years before. It had never been outfitted with shields that the later models did. Its weapons systems were severely out of date. The vessel was no match for a Star Destroyer, even an incomplete one such as the Sentinel . All it took was a well aimed turbo laser blast to take out the Avatar ’s engines.

Griff glared down at the unresponsive console, where it showed the sub light engines, along with thrusters and the hyper drive, were dead. The ship was now listing, slowly slipping into Ilum’s gravity well. In a few days, the ship would begin it’s fiery plummet to the surface of the frozen world, where Black Hand soldiers were now being defeated.

The comm. system was down at well, eliminating ship-to-ship communication. The crew of the Avatar was now down to using small, handheld communicators.

Griff’s suddenly began beeping, and he switched it on.

“Admiral Griff. Coalition forces have boarded the ship on level five!” Came an excited voice.

He had not lost yet.

“Fight them. Send everyone we have to level five and drive them out into space!” Griff growled.

“Yes sir…”

He looked around the bridge. Debris cluttered the entire space. Only three officers stood at their assigned posts, working furiously to try and salvage the situation. But they did not look like they were despairing. They had not yet given up.


Neither would he.



***



The blue stun bolt slammed into the crouching Black Hand soldier as the Coalition forces made their way through the corridors of level five on the Avatar. They had been ordered to use non lethal means on subduing the crew, who were obviously only interested only in killing them.

Red-white blaster bolts erupted from the end of the corridor, which led to the turbo lift. Yes, the Black Hand crew was not returning the non lethal favor. They intended to kill.

The Coalition squad, made up primarily of the Sentinel ’s private ship security forces, were no stranger to in-ship combat. They practiced it relentlessly in training.

The reached the turbo lift. A young man dressed in a captain’s uniform entered the lift first, holstering his pistol.

It was the last thing he would ever do.

He didn’t even expect the blast, really. He fully expected the lift to be empty.

He was wrong.

He fell backwards, a blaster wound in his chest; he hit the ground with a sickening thud, where he did not move.

It happened so fast.

An equally young man stepped from the turbo lift, dressed in a black and red uniform, aiming at the next Coalition soldier, preparing to do the exact same thing.

Something whizzed through the air just as he began to squeeze the trigger. The Black Hand agent looked up, confused at what it was. He barely had time to see the flying dagger plunge through his throat, killing him instantly.

The last thing he saw was the gleaming needle teeth of a small, muscular Noghri.



***


“Sir.. they have broken through! We cannot hold them…too many… damnit….!...agh!”

Griff looked at his comlink, thinking it may have malfunctioned, when he heard the turbolift doors open behind him.

The three officers, and Griff, looked up.

“Hello Xander.”

The three officers all drew their blasters. Two were hit by stun bolts, and the third was sent flying through the air, where he crashed into a console, knocking him out cold.

Griff sighed, “Did you really have to do that, Mahk?”

“Yes.” Came the hissing reply.

Joren Logan smiled a little as he regarded his bodyguard, “I am sorry. He can get a little carried away. I am sure the man will be fine.”

Griff remained motionless in his chair at the helm, “So glad you care so much.” He said sarcastically

Logan walked toward him, Mahk standing nearby, “How long are you going to keep this up?” The older man asked.

“I believe in something, Joren. And I will fight to the end.” Griff replied coolly.

“And what is it that you believe in?” Logan asked.

“The Sovereignty.”

“There is no Sovereignty. When will you accept this? When will you stop allowing your ego to destroy entire lives? Consume entire worlds?” Logan asked, staring right at Griff.

Griff stood, moving toward Logan, but stopping short. Mahk was suddenly three meters closer, but Griff hadn’t seen the Noghri move. He knew Mahk could kill him in half a second, but that didn’t matter. Griff had no intentions of violence, “My ego may be the only thing I have left, Logan.” He stated.

“Well. What a tragedy.”

Griff snorted derisively, “What would you have me do? Bow to your precious Coalition? Right before you haul me off to your dungeons?”

Logan laughed, “Don’t be so dramatic. We only want you to stop what you are doing. The Coalition suffered a lot because of you. You should be helping them, not attacking their defenseless cargo ships.”

“Logan… they are supplying their hidden bases in the Onyx system. Something is not right there. We received intelligence from our spies that the Coalition was building bases three light years from Onyx, on several different worlds. We knew that they were supplying them with materiel and soldiers, along with engineers and skilled workers. We cannot allow their militaristic expansion there! They will incite the wrath of the Empire.” Griff replied, spreading his hands.

“There are no bases, Xander. I am in charge of Onyx, and soon, they will appoint me to govern the surrounding areas. I would be aware of such bases.” Logan said.

“Well then, if you are so sure there is nothing there, then what will you do? Confine me to your brig? Throw me in lockup?”

“No. I will do no such thing. Order your men to stand down on Esfandia and Ilum, and order them to transfer control of your installations there to the Coalition forces. Once that is done, you can round them all up…”

“…and then you can go.”

Griff stared, “Just like that?”

“We will provide you with enough provisions to last you long enough to reach the nearest friendly system. You can take the Avatar, and your men, and you can go.” Logan said, folding his arms.

“I have your word?”

Logan smiled.


***


Three days later - Onyx


“I still do not think you should have let them go.”

“Sorry Jan, but it was the only way they would surrender. Besides, that Bird of Prey is so heavily damaged they will not be a threat. Griff gave me his word he would cease attacks on our vessels.” Logan said, leaning back in his chair.

The small hologram of Jan Dondana didn’t look satisfied, “I hope so. We will provide escorts for all incoming traffic for at least another two weeks. I hope you are right about this, Captain.”

Logan nodded, “Do not worry. Anyway, we have established small listening posts on Ilum and Esfandia. Also, another piece of good news: The civilians on Esfandia were relocated to internment camps about sixty kilometers south of Monera City. They are unharmed. I guess Griff couldn’t find it within him to kill them. They have been returned safely to their homes. The governor of Esfandia was so grateful he has formally applied Esfandia for membership within the Coalition.”

Jan grinned, “Perfect. Good job, Joren.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“You’ll be hearing from me. Very soon…” Jan replied, even as his hologram disappeared.


I hope not too soon, Logan thought