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Prologue

"Bhindi Drayson arrived back mad as hell," the holographic figure remarked in an amused voice. "I tell you, Kaine, I thought that embassy thing was a fucking bad idea but damn me if those Kashan fuckers didn't turn high-tale and run, fucking cowards! Divide and conquer! Fucking brilliant!"


"Now we need to turn our attention to the Onyxian Occupation Zone," stated the man seated before the hologram. "We already have a brilliant commander on the scene and his race to Onyx was nothing less than damn fine soldiering."


The holographic face scrunched up in near disdain, "You mean that poppycock, Desaria?"


"Say what you want about Desaria, his medals and his Imperial Guard but they get the job done."


"Yeah, that's what counts with you, isn't it.." grumbled the reply.


"It should matter to the Imperial High Command and to the Emperor as well," warned the seated man.


"Now don't go telling Daemon Hyfe what should and should not matter to him. Not now! He's too fucking happy as a whore on payday! Can you believe that Regrad actually knelt before him? Son of a whore, I never thought I'd see the day!"


"Regrad knows how to play the game and suck up to ego. He saved his Coalition as a result."


"Not bloody likely. He lost just about half his Coalition with our seizing of the Onyxian Commonwealth and with the Kashan's bloody treachery. What does he have left?"


The old man's holographic face took on a sly look, "You know, we should insist on another embassy! Perhaps on bloody Regrad's homeworld! Now that would be a nice boon to put on our map! They can't hide forever."


"You are all about kicking a baby when it's down, aren't you?" Kaine lightly chided.


Azrael Zell gave an incredulous look, "That's the best time to kick them!"


The Supreme Commander of the Imperial Armed Forces sighed. "Anything else, Zell?"


Sometimes showing such exasperation towards the old man would cause a feud drawing a hostility from the old man that made genocidal wars tame by comparison but at this moment, drunk on the ale of success, nothing short of an assassination attempt would pull him down from his giddy heights. Therefore, Kaine felt he could get away with it and, as it turned out, he was right.


"Just that Bhindi's madder than a hungry rancor right now. But we bloody can't put a Coalition embassy on a planet that is no longer in the Coalition now can we?" Zell's features suddenly darkened, "She should have just seized Metalorn. She probably could have gotten away with it too. What are the Kashan gonna do? We'd fucking steamroll them out of existence!"


"Without planning and logistics, we lose a hell of alot of soldiers, Zell. When you let your passions rule, mistakes happen."


"We won and you're bloody preaching to me?" Zell barked out a laugh. "Go get laid, Kaine. Looking at you, you'd think we were defeated!"


"Get out of here, Zell." Kaine murmured and the old man barked out a laugh again and the transmission was cut.


His room settled back into semi-darkness and the slow, rotating projection of the galaxy on the opposite wall sprang back into view. Kaine watched it spin quietly contemplating the various mistakes made in the past week. Well, one in particular.


The Emperor had changed the terms to Prime Minister Regrad and at the last minute. Rather than the Onyxian annexation to the Empire and the embassy to drive a wedge between the Confederation and Coalition, as Kaine originally planned, the Emperor put his own condition in the mix in allowing only two weeks for the evacuation of the Onyxian Commonwealth. It was Hyfe's own special brand of cruelty but one that served the Empire ill in Simon's estimation.


He knew the Coalition would be hard-pressed to meet that deadline and that there would be people and equipment left behind. Militants stuck within the borders of the Empire, second-rate citizens at best, separated from their friends, family and those who did make it out. Joren Logan was no friend of the Empire and his territories would reflect that attitude. The Emperor had just made Grand Admiral Desaria's job that much harder. The Occupation Zone would be a new battleground for a silent war that would have no clear end in sight. It was a powder keg that needed only a spark to ignite the region once again.


"Stupid," he muttered to himself. But the Emperor was the Emperor and he could do what he damn well pleased leaving the Supreme Commander to pick up the pieces.


His eyes gazed at the rotating galaxy and he knew there was yet more work to be done. It was easy to think that just because they called themselves the First Galactic Empire, they encompassed the whole of the galaxy. It was easy to think that the thousand star systems under their influence represented, even during Palpatine's reign, the entire galaxy but it was, of course, merely an illusion. The galaxy was, after all, a big place and as the Empire's holdings, either direct or indirect, were displayed on the rotating map, Kaine found it hard to lose sight of just how massive the galaxy really was.


There was a chime and Simon sat up. It was time.


"Bring him," the Supreme Commander called out as he stood up and in walked two Spartan soldiers dragging a rather beaten man in his sixties. The Spartans unceremoniously dropped their prisoner and were motioned to station themselves outside the room.


When they were gone, the prisoner held his head up and grinned through a cracked lip. "How did you find me?"


The Supreme Commander motioned to a nearby monitor and it sprang to life showing a moment in the old man's life. A moment in the recent past where he was sitting at some local eatery conversing with another man from the Citadel, a representative of the Empire's only official religious organization.


The old man was seen speaking, "When Simon Kaine goes to ground, you worry. You worry because then we will be called to account and we will reap the whirlwind!"


"A bit dramatic don't you think, Major?" Kaine asked quietly.


"But true, Supreme Commander." Even in his battered state, the old man reveled in the jibe. There was a malevolence in the old man's eyes that Simon knew well. But whatever evil resided in the man crashed against the cold, hard stare of the Supreme Commander.


"Any last words before you die?" the Supreme Commander asked.


The old man slowly and painfully picked himself up off the floor. Brushing off unseen dirt from his clothes, he remarked, "Just a question, Lord."


Kaine walked over to fix two drinks motioning for the old man to continue.


"There was a report a few years ago, just prior to the Utropollus Major situation, of the Galactus blowing up right after it's supposed refit launch. The Emperor was supposed to have been on that voyage as well but both of you came back. None the worse for wear. It was reported you were injured but the Emperor nor you made any mention of it publicly. In fact, it seemed that both of you avoided each other for a good long while. A few months later, a larger version of the Reign Class Star Destroyer appeared on the scene designated: Galactus."


Kaine walked back handing the old man a drink, which he took greedily.


"Was there a question in there?"


The prisoner continued as if not interrupted, "The Jedi Corps sent a few of their boys over but those assigned eventually met with accidents. Now, in this incident, it is the first time that the Emperor Hyfe placed himself under the power of someone else. In this case, you."


Kaine took a sip of his drink and sat down, gesturing to the prisoner to do the same. The old man found a chair and the Supreme Commander prodded, "So your question is..?"


"Why did you let the Emperor live?"


Kaine stared at his drink, "What makes you think.."


"Don't," the old man interrupted sharply, "Not to me. Not now."


He ticked off his fingers, "Accident aboard the ship. The ship blowing up. The Emperor honoring the maiden voyage with his presence? First time under your power.. Prime setup for an assassination. Dead Jedi Corps members to cover the fact."


He leaned forward, "Why isn't he dead?"


Kaine stared at his glass recalling the past and he answered slowly, "If you would have seen Hyfe's face. His eyes during our fight....It was the first time I saw fear in them. Real fear. Either at the thought that I was prepared to carry out his death or because of the fact that he allowed himself to delve too deep into his dark arts..that this ...spirit, for lack of a better term, of Palpatine had consumed him."


"Bah!" the old man grumbled disgustedly. "You were sentimental, you damned fool! Just shoot me now!"


Kaine just sat there quietly for a moment before taking another sip. "There was something else too. A.. person from the Black Dragon Empire ... a person from the future interrupted the attempt. It was their intervention that saved the Emperor's life."


The old man sat up, eyes widening. "How far into the future?"


Kaine sighed. "About 400 years. I did not know this at the time and it was not until this ..person's second trip through time that I received more pieces to the puzzle. Apparently, in his original time, I was successful in my attempt and became Emperor. In my lifetime as Emperor, I crushed our enemies underfoot through military strength until I was, myself, assassinated by Imperial Intelligence."


"So what was their problem 400 years later?" the prisoner asked, interested despite himself.


"My ascension to the throne hindered their great Purpose and a schism formed within their ranks that threatened their Imperium. I was what they call a "cusp point" and if they prevented me from becoming Emperor, perhaps they could achieve their grand Purpose (as they called it)."


"Obviously, it did not go too well if they visited you again," the prisoner commented.


"No," agreed Simon. "By altering the past they set into motion events along a different tangent with different outcomes. Because I was no longer Emperor, the Empire became focused on other things and I lost the Themien War. Or, rather, the Themien War spilled out into our galaxy and never ended. I became Emperor again eventually but by then it was too late. In time, the entire galaxy was lost and after 400 years, those remnants of the Dragon Imperium lived a nightmare existence."


"So they came back to correct that mistake and help you win the War," the old man concluded.


"That they did and I, in the process, got a little more of the story," Simon added. He leaned back and finished his glass.


"So, how do you wage war with a nation that exists 400 years into the future?" the prisoner asked. "That's bloody unfair! Here I have built up one of this generation's greatest conquerors and he has to deal with magic men from the damned future!" the Major was livid.


Kaine turned the empty glass in his hand and looked straight at the old man. "That nation exists now." he said quietly.


"Destroy them." the old man declared flatly. "Completely, utterly and with no compassion. The Dragons must be finished!"


Kaine stood up and took the finished drink from the old man and as he did, he uttered one word: "No."


"This is no time for your damned sentiments!" the old man started but Kaine held up a hand.


"Do not feign ignorance of the Themien War," Kaine shot back. "You know as well as I do, if the Blood had overrun this galaxy, everything would have been destroyed. After 400 years of living under the Blood, the Dragons still managed to survive and retain enough technology to send one of theirs back through time, so how complete of a destruction do you think I could perform? Do you think I can erradicate better than the Blood? Do I dare think that?"


The old man tossed back his drink and sighed. "Then it's all been for nothing. All this is for nothing and the rest of the galaxy will continue on in blissful, glorious ignorance unaware of the Dragon manipulations here and there from the future. We can only hope to get the best out of this life as we can."


"I would not have thought you a defeatist, Willam." Kaine said with a little contempt creeping into his voice.


"Pitting non-force users against a Sith, Dark Jedi or Jedi is one thing. Against people that whiz through time like it's nobody's business is another. For all we know, we might get a visit in the next minute and they lay waste to us with 400-year advanced technology!"


Simon Kaine chuckled at the thought. "Should we be so lucky. What I would not give to have a third visit and capture one of them and reverse engineer their technology. Just imagine what I could do with it?"


"Kaine, the Black Dragon Empire is in conflict with the Coalition. For how long is anyone's guess. Right now you have settled the Empire into a status quo. This machine of Empire will eat away at our enemies until there are none left. This has always been the plan. But you must assume that it was continued when you were Emperor the first time and yet the Black Dragon Empire continued to exist and perhaps thrive enough to develop this time travel technique and if the Empire could not utterly destroy the Dragons after 400 years, then perhaps it cannot be done!"


"And therein lies our problem," Kaine said. "That has been the plan but perhaps, just perhaps in the same way we use our enemies against themselves, perhaps our own plans are being used against us."


"What do you mean?"


"Well, think about it, Willam. The Dragons evolved from somewhere. Perhaps a marriage of biological with the technological but always towards some goal. This 'Purpose' of theirs. A Purpose they cannot reach as long as they are locked into conflict with ... temporal enemies."


"Temporal? Do you think that they see themselves as spiritual angels?"


"One sees himself as God almighty already. The rest must follow and perhaps their Purpose is nothing more than to seek some sort of Nirvana."


"And the Empire is strong enough to keep them from achieving it but not quite strong enough to defeat or destroy them? What if their idea of Nirvana is to wipe us all out?"


"Quite simply, they cannot. They attacked Mon Calamari enmasse and still could not dislodge the stubborn Coalition from the world. It took a massive superweapon with enough power to nearly kill the planet itself to even cause them to think about evacuation. They do not have the strength to wipe us all out and, honestly, I do not think they are interested in that. They have their own goal and for too long, we've been associating those goals as akin to our own. We project our own values onto them and perhaps that's been our mistake all along."


"So you want to disrupt the status quo?"


"Your statement to the Citadel man recorded was more prophetic than you think, Major Willam." Kaine said darkly. "My entire methodology for waging war has been adjusted to facilitate the disruption."


"Yes, yes.. your so-called Renaissance of War." Willam smirked. "So how will you do it? How will you disrupt the status-quo?"


"Quite simply, Major, I plan to retire."


"WHAT?!" the old man stood up. "And do what?"


"Prepare for the whirlwind, of course."


"Oh, of course." Willam purred. "And you think this great engine of conquest you've built up will simply..stop?"


"Willam, if you know anything, it's that people will still be people and factions will continue to be led by the nose by their ideologies."


Willam nodded at the thought. It was true, after all. "And what about Jenice?" he suddenly asked trying to attack Kaine's personal character.


"What about her?" Kaine's voice hardened. Major Willam had no place in his personal life.


Willam ignored the taunt, "Will you tell her? Do you love her?"


Simon Kaine narrowed his eyes at his old nemesis. "No, Major. I do not and I will not."


The old man nodded again satisfied with the Supreme Commander's answer.


"Palpatine always hooked people through their attachments..." the Major elaborated.


"Palpatine was a viscious old man who was brilliant at getting what he wanted but a fool with regards to keeping it."


"But, you love this Empire!" Willam pointed out. "You are attached to it! You have, subtly I grant you, disassociated the Empire from the Emperor and while all the soldiers of this grand government may pay lip to their service of the Emperor, it is not what they love. They do not say, "Emperor in Excelsis" or "Hail Emperor Hyfe" or some other derivative. They say "Gloria Imperium". The Empire! Greater than any single man can encompass but you do come close! You love it and it is going to be ripped apart! Ripped from you like everything else in your past with whom you've associated or identified with.

Face it, Supreme Commander. Everything you love has turned to dust!"


Kaine smiled grimly, "Well, Major, we have to be willing to sacrifice that which we love the most for the greater goal."


The Major's grin suddenly turned a bit more sincere and he sagged back down into his chair. "You are a cold, cold person, Kaine. And I see that my work is done."


"So, I have been your life's work? Even as I tried to destroy you?"


"Palpatine destroyed your family, Kaine. And while those of your family that supported the Republic were swept aside, even those that supported the Emperor were betrayed by his casual use. I was commissioned to stick with you and mold you into the person that would not only overcome what Palpatine threw at you but succeed where he failed. Growing up in the ashes of his defeat... A hard soldier in a hard galaxy. I represent your family war with Palpatine."


Simon narrowed his eyes. "Commissioned by whom?"


Major Willam felt his breath shorten as he bit down on a fake tooth and as he began to wheeze he gave a final grin, "Why your Uncle, Ardus Kaine, of course."


And with that, Major Willam died.


Simon Kaine sat in his chair for a long time contemplating the irony of his life. Struggling against impossible odds, living with unbearable loss and enduring unspeakable pain to finally achieve a position in his life that made him one of the most powerful people in the galaxy.

Truly a Triumph of Will.

And now, at the height of his power, he would do something Palpatine could never do. Relinquish that control to bring about a change that would, hopefully, ultimately culminate into something far grander than Palpatine ever dreamed.


But nobody ever said Simon Kaine was not a gambler.


He eventually stood up, walked over to a drawer and withdrew a sidearm. Moving over to the limp form of Major Willam, he pointed the blaster at the man's forehead and pulled the trigger.


The old man's body convulsed once and sagged.


"No more tricks, Major." he whispered.


Nobody ever said he was stupid either.













"...and so, young ones, if you put all the candy in this great big jar, and the jar is put up really, really high. So high that no amount of climbing will help you! Who can get the candy?" A string pulled the jar up high and wide eyes saw the edible goodness dart away from their covetous reach.

Various hands of reptilian nature rose but those of a less equitable nature simply blurted out their answers, "Those who can fly! Those who can...can.." the hissing and raspy noises of forked tongues lapsed into uncertain confusion and tiny minds tried to solve the question of the candy.

"Can any of you fly?" the Elder Azguard asked, pointing a claw around the room as if looking for a child to sprout leathery wings and fly and, this time, the voices were certain.

"NOOOOOOOOOO!" they trailed, screamed, yelled and laughed as children were wont to do.

"But, if you take this big jar..." the Elder Azguard picked up a walking stick, "and SMASHED IT OPEN!"

With a big 'Thwack!' the stick rapped against the jar causing the clay to part scattering candy all over the room to the children's general delight and they all scrambled to grab as much as they could.

When they had settled down and were happily muching on their treat, the Elder continued, "So with the Jedi. If all the Jedi had stayed on Naboo, only those who could fly to Naboo could benefit from them!"

"Now, that they have smashed open their doors, just like the good candy that is scattered all over my classroom, so too the Jedi have been scattered all over the galaxy and now everyone can benefit from them! And a visit from a Jedi is a treat!"

Whether any of that sank into the children's minds or not at the moment was not important. What was important was knowing that the lesson was being put into one of their two brains in some form or manner and could be recalled at the appropriate time.





"Hakka," intruded a voice into the classroom empty of Azguard younglings and the Elder stood, cursing his creaking bones, with discarded candy wrappers in his claw.

"You can train a child to look at the good in situations, like the Jedi Order Temple being abandoned but can you teach them to throw their trash away? No..." the Elder grumbled at the intruder and Regrad, Prime Minister of the Galactic Coalition flushed a color of amusement at the older Azguard.

"Prime Minister," the Elder bowed embarrassing Regrad further, "What an unexpected honor."

"Rise, old friend. No need for prostrations."

The Elder Azguard opened his mouth wide enough for his pointed teeth to show. "I bowed, Regrad. I did not prostrate myself before you." he chided, putting humor into his hisses.

"Why would you not prostrate yourself before your Prime Minister?" Regrad, in a sudden display of uncharacteristic conceit hoping to twit the Elder. In youngling terms, it was called "yanking the tail".

"Because you are not Emperor Hyfe," Hakka growled back and Regrad's color flushed even deeper suitably chagrined. Never yank an old Azguard's tale unless you were prepared for the consquences.

The Elder's comments though were too close to the truth in Regrad's mind for the humor to last and his mind turned bitter, "You speak true as always, Elder. I am not only a fool but a failure of a fool!"

The Elder turned a predatorial gaze to the Prime Minister, "You bowed before tyrants, Prime Minister. You did not lay prostrate before them."

Regrad waved a claw away, "What difference does it make? The Empire certainly felt I was prostrate."

"Since when do we care what the kriffin Empire thinks? Half of them lie to the other half every day. The reason you were not prostrate was because you walked away with a Galactic Coalition in the end."

"Not all of it," Regrad muttered darkly.

"It was their job to seize as much as they could. It was your job to agree to terms early so they would not, later, make those same terms more harsh where you come away with nothing!"

"But the Confederation! The Colonies!"

"How is that your fault? Because they felt the Coalition was not the utopia they were hoping for, you feel personally responsible?"

The Prime Minister nodded his head to indicate that the Hakka's words struck home. As he mulled over what was said, he finally let out a long hiss, his bitterness deflating.

"Let's just say," he started, "that a Prime Minister would like to end his term of office with something to show for it than memorials to soldiers who died carrying out your orders."

"Plus, you'd like to end your term with more territory in the GC than when you first took office, not less, eh?" Hakka pointed out and Regrad flushed again but nodded.

"Leaving the Coalition smaller in size than when I started was not the legacy I was hoping for," the Prime Minister remarked dryly.

"Your term is not over yet," the Elder stated and it was Regrad's turn to show his sharp teeth in amusement.

"It feels like I have been Prime Minister forever."

"That's just because it hasn't been easy, Youngling," the Elder Hakka answered the unspoken question.

"I started with such righteous fire in my gut…" Regrad sighed.

"And a microphone in front of you," the Elder pointed out as he looked about to make sure no younglings were hiding about (you could never tell with Azguard younglings). When he was satisfied he opened his desk and took out two glasses and poured a thick mixture into each. Handing a glass to a grateful Regrad, the Elder intoned, "To the glory of the Gods, the Coalition and the Light. To enough credits, a silent wife, obedient younglings and a nice, hot rock to warm your backside on."

Regrad laughed and raised his glass, "To mud in your eye too." and they both drank. The thick liquid was like honey and warmed the throat in its slow slide down.

"You know what Temple was like during the Four Corners Alliance. A sip of Naka Juice and a conversation with the Gods."

"With Naka Juice, either you are talking to the Gods or to those addled parts of your brains." the Elder remarked.

Regrad smiled a sad smile and finally voiced his real concern, "They don't seem to speak to me anymore. I feel that perhaps they have rejected me."


"Why?" the wrinkled Elder asked quietly.

"Because!" Regrad blurted out, angry at having the truth pulled out despite himself, "I FAILED! In every task the Gods charged me with, failed and failed miserably!"

The Elder leaned forward to better look at the Prime Minister with his 'good eye' (as he called it) and, after a moment, a hiss escaped his scaled lips. It repeated and continued to repeat until both clawed hands were clutching his rather portly body.

Despite his incredible respect for his aged friend, the Elder Hakka, a claw on Regrad's right hand twitched involuntarily at the mocking sound. But he stoically endured the Elder's laughter until it eventually subsided.

"If you'll excuse me," the Prime Minister began when the Elder finally spoke, having found air to carry his voice.

"What a relief! You have no idea how uncertain I was as to whether you had fallen out of disfavor with the Gods or not." The Elder placed a claw on Regrad's shoulder and said with sincerity, "What you heard was laughter of relief, so worried I was. You are true to the Cause. The Gods have not abandoned you!"

"You say that with such assurance but unless a God walked in and told you so without my knowledge, I see no justification for your statement of opinion." the Prime Minister stated flatly.

"The success or failure of your actions and those of the Coalition are not the result of the Gods' disfavor. And failure is not proof that they do not exist as some addled minds have been claiming lately."

Regrad slapped his glass down expecting another refill, a good sign to the Elder that even if he disagreed with the Elder's opinion he was willing to listen.

When they both obtained refills, Regrad took the offensive, "How do you justify your stance?"

The Elder took a drink and sighed a content sigh. "Your own faith, of course." he merely replied.

"I am beginning to question the Gods," growled the Prime Minister but the Elder waved that away.

"Tut, tut. Perhaps I should have, more correctly, said: Why your guilt, of course!"

Before the Prime Minister could become really annoyed, the Elder asked a question, "Regrad, do you believe in the Seven Truths?"

"Of course," the Prime Minister frowned. The older Azguard might as well asked if water was wet.

"Do you believe in the Twenty-Nine Virtues?" the Elder further asked.

"Elder..." Regrad started in an exasperated voice.

The Elder spread his hands out as if the Prime Minister was a whining youngling. "Then how can you question the Gods?!" he cried, as if incredulous.

"Because every time I follow the Tenets.." the Prime Minister began but then stopped.

The Elder was shaking his head as if knowing was Regrad was going to say. "Failure to enforce these beliefs on others is not a failure of the belief."

"No," Regrad nodded. "But it is a failure of the believer."

The Elder leaned forward and asked intently, "A failure to do what, Prime Minister?"

"A failure to defeat evil! A failure to obtain the Gods' backing and support! A failure to..to..." Regrad looked about for something else to sum up the total of how much of a failure he felt himself to be but ended up deciding what he said was enough.

The Elder leaned back and raised a claw, "Prime Minister, the Gods themselves failed to defeat evil. How presumptuous to expect the Prime Minister of the Galactic Coalition and his armies to succeed where Gods have failed."

"It's not-," Regrad started but then looked up, "What do you mean they did not defeat evil?"

The Elder's eyes widened, "Well, we still have evil here in the galaxy don't we? The Holy Writings describe the Gods' war with the Dark Ones on our world since the Battle of Jarl’s Rock and yes, they did defeat the Dark Ones of our world eventually..but where in our Holy Writings does it say they went on to defeat the Dark Ones on every other world in the galaxy?"

"Well, see here.." Regrad tried to start but Hakka interrupted, "And tell me, Regrad. We still have those in our own Azguardian society who are criminals. Those who perform evil deeds. So was evil really defeated here?"

"I...," the Prime Minister was at a loss, trying to bring up any applicable knowledge or excerpts from the Holy Writings to salvage his position but was unable too.

"You have the Great Azguard who were immensly powerful and you have the Lesser Azguard," he pointed to himself with his claw, "who were immensly impressionable. You had those Great Azguards that nurtured those impressionable ones towards the Seven Truths and the Twenty-Nine Virtues and you had those Great Azguards who took advantage of those impressionable ones and led them astray with evil deeds and desires. It was the Gods who saw it as their duty to defeat the followers of Graksnik but it did not happen overnight nor did it happen in one battle. There were those battles that were won and those that were lost. Prin's Lamentation was about one such defeat."

The Elder poured yet a third time. "And, after the Dark Ones were defeated, the Gods continued to teach us the Tenets but they did not force us to religiously follow them. That was the decision of our society in seeing the wisdom in the words and making them our own. Some choose not to follow the Truths and Virtues and so do succumb to evil's temptations. Even with Azguard.”

As Regrad contemplated the Elder’s words, the older Azguard pointed to the Prime Minister. “No, Youngling, the loss you are feeling is not a loss of faith or a loss of the Gods’ approval. The fact that you are guilt-ridden over that proves your personal faith is operating and intact. No, son, the loss you feel is the loss of innocence.”

The Elder smiled warmly, “You are young..”

“I am two hundred and four,” Regrad shot back but then became slightly sheepish.

“You’ve been living among humans too long, Youngling. Measuring your years like they do theirs.” The Elder gently chided. He finished his third glass and patted his stomach with much contentment. “You were such a fire brand when you took office. Righteous, full of zeal for the Cause and firm grasp on the rules. Black was black and white was white. Good was good and evil was evil.”

“No, son. That loss you feel is the loss of that naïve certainty. The galaxy if full of gray. If an evil person does a good deed, does that make him good? If a good person does an evil deed, does that ultimately make him or her evil? Or is the sum of our actions tallied up at the end? Or perhaps is it our intent despite our actions that reveal us to be on the right path or not?”

Regrad nodded, “If the Emperor and his cohorts are evil, does that make every citizen of the Empire evil?”

“A good question don’t you think, Prime Minister? If the Coalition has a stupid military commander, does that make the Coalition citizens stupid by default? If a Coalition loses a military battle, does that cast doubt on the rightness of our ideological cause?” The Elder smiled, “The Empire would have you think so.”

The fire in Regrad’s eyes lit up. “So you think it just may be possible to wipe away the evil of this Empire?’

The Elder paused, as if uncertain how to proceed. “Prime Minister, I think the Empire has blinded you or done everything in their power to ensure that you blind yourself.”

“TO WHAT?” the Prime Minister suddenly shouted, “That they are the masters of the galaxy? Listen to their propaganda and you’ll hear it! That they cannot be defeated! I do not .. I WILL NOT believe that!”

“Then we are already dead.” The Elder stated flatly.

Prime Minister Regrad threw him a disgusted look, “You would have me bury my head in the sand!”

“NO!” shouted the Elder. “I would have you open your eyes! You’ve been manipulated from the start!”

“I’ve heard it all before,” growled Regrad showing his pointed teeth in anger. “If I had not launched the attack on Corellia, we would have the power to do what we want with regards to the Empire! I hear it from my political enemies enough.” He began to stand, “I do not need to hear it from you too, Elder.”

“Happy are those conscious of their freedom.” The Elder replied softly.

Regrad halted his retreat from the room upon hearing the First Virtue. His shoulders sagged.

“You believe punishing the Empire by attacking Corellia was wrong?” the Prime Minister finally asked, his back to the Elder.

The older Azguard sighed as well. “Before you leave, Prime Minister, let me ask you a question that may put the situation in perspective: A bully seizes your toy and takes it home. You find him the next day and fight him for doing so. Whether you win or lose the fight, who keeps the toy?”

Regrad stood their in silence, his figure dwarfing the tiny desks of the younglings. His head turned back towards Hakka, “The Empire would have given nothing up if we had won at Corellia?”

“I am asking, Lord Minister, why did we go to war in the first place? Or, rather, in whose behalf did we go to war? And if we had won at Corellia, would they have been any better off?”

A burst of sudden understanding struck the Coalition Leader. “I’ve been on my soapbox all this time blasting the evils of the Empire intent on sending our forces out to ‘punish them’, I forgot...”

The Elder nodded as the Prime Minister turned completely around and walked back, “The Empire is like the Jackaboo weasle who defecates on your lawn. You punish it but it never learns. And for all your wasted time and efforts in punishing…”

“You have a lawn full of Jackaboo poo.” Regrad finished.

“You were righteous, full of zealotry and your enemies purposefully urinated in your drinking pond stirring you into a frenzy. They strutted so much in front of you that you became intent on punishing, on wiping the insolent grins from their faces than in protecting your Cause. You were so blinded by the Cause that you ignored it in favor of retribution.”

“I was young.” Regrad finally stated.

“You are still young. A little more wisened and seasoned but experience does that to one. You may win or lose future endeavors but, hopefully, you keep close to your heart what is truly important.”

“I’ve treated you unfairly, Elder,” Regrad hissed out in regret, placing a claw on the older one’s shoulder.

“Forgotten. I am pleased to have helped the Prime Minister in any insignificant way I can.” The Elder replied.

“You mean give the Prime Minister a swift kick in the taleside?” Regrad growled, though in humor.

The Elder smiled enigmatically, “Let the reader use discernment.”





Panacka had not slept since the Exodus. At least, he had not slept well. Abandoning the East did not rest well with everyone, especially after the devastating loss of the Onyxian Commonwealth and those territories that had pulled completely out of the Coalition.

Not that Panacka blamed them. Everything was a mess and while the enemy seemed intent on using threatening gestures from their more advanced technology, there were times when he simply wanted to take the Dragon’s technology and shove it up a Daemun’s ass.

Ruuvan, his resident White Knight, came into Panacka's office and unceremoniously dumped himself onto the couch in Panacka’s office exhausted.

Finding a place for all the Mon Calamari was a daunting task and one Ruuvan took very seriously. He had stopped talking to Panacka after the last ships left Mon Calamari behind but it was something the Eastern Commander understood.

He had been hoping to be spared the Exodus decision by the politicians thinking that if the Council voted to hold Mon Calamari, the Coalition Military would have no choice but to follow suit. Unfortunately, he forgot that the Prime Minister was Commander in Chief and he would have, if the Council had voted to not leave Mon Calamari, pulled the fleet out. It seemed a cold and brutal thing to do but the loss of the Eastern Fleet would have been the beginning of the end for everything.

Still, there came a time in one’s life when you tired of simply trying to plug holes in the bucket knowing more were coming.

“Like trying to grab water with your hand,” he murmured.

Even with Captain Vespian and the battleship Iron Mantis fully stocked, crewed and ready for his orders, the numbers of what he had at his disposal simply did not add up to what he needed.

No. That was not quite true. He had enough for what he needed. To monitor and protect the refugees to a certain extent.

He simply did not have enough to do that and return to Mon Calamari and push the Dragons back. The odd thing was that they actually had the hulls. Just not enough trained people to crew them after everything was said, done and sorted.

And to put untrained people onto ready-made starships would hurt them more than the enemy, he knew.

“Stretched thin…” Panacka muttered. Fear had kept them on the run. Fear of the coming storm.

“Sir?” came a Comm Interruption.

“Yes?” was Panacka’s weary reply.

“The Prime Minister is on Channel 3.”

“Patch him through,” ordered the Commander and Prime Minister Regrad’s visage appeared before the Easter Coalition Commander. Ruuvan sat up in silence, the Comm signal having driven the sleep from him.

“Prime Minister,” Panacka greeted but Regrad interrupted any further phrases of flowery greeting Panacka might have felt compelled to use with a question.

“Can you send me the recent stats for the Eastern Fleet?”

“Ummm.. yessir,” the Commander answered in confusion. “Is there an OP planned?”

“Yes, Commander. There is. It is time we put an end to those threatening us.”

Panacka threw a confused look at Ruuvan and the Mon Calamari merely shrugged. The Prime Minister was not on his list of favorite Coalition politicians right now.

“How?” Panacka asked bluntly. He had read the reports he was already sending to Regrad. There were no more reinforcements to call upon for the East. Whatever OP the Prime Minister planned would have to be small.

“By doing what I should have done a long time ago..” Regrad said darkly.

Ruuvan had stood up and walked over to the transmission, curiosity bubbling in his eyes. If Regrad noticed him, he gave no comment about it.

But he did tell them his plan. It was not small.

It was nowhere near the definition of the word.

It was uncharacteristic. Bold, and perhaps even brilliant.

If it worked and that was catch.

Given the Coalition's luck of late, could such an operation work?

Yet as unexpected as such a plan was, Panacka had to be the bearer of bad news. “Sir, we have only a finite set of personnel to assign to this plan and if they are lost, we are lost..”

The Prime Minister only smiled. “I understand Commander. That is why I am coming to you with friends.”

“Sir?” Panacka asked in confusion.

Regrad simply smiled and signed off.

“Panacka!” Ruuvan nearly shouted and as Panacka followed his gaze out a nearby viewport, he noticed massive Azguardian Battleships exiting hyperspace.

“The Az HomeGuard,” Ruuvan muttered in awe. “They never leave their space!”

He looked over at Panacka and grinned savagely, “I think Regrad just won my vote!"

"You can't vote if you're dead," Panacka responded.

"Regrad can't run if he's dead, so I guess we're even!" Ruuvan shot back not to be outdone.






The creature moved with a fluidity that impressed the observer despite himself. Such attributes normally tended to come from warriors honed by years of experience, training and a greater-than-typical knowledge of their surroundings. Here, the creature displayed an acceptional knowledge of it's environment as it deftly moved in, out and inbetween spaces carrying out tasks of varying degrees of importance.


Not importance to the observer but he really would not have expected to share the same priorities as the creature.


The observer had traveled thoughout this galaxy in secret for many years watching, testing, searching for that spark that would somehow, some way change the fate of what was coming. That spark of redemption.


The creatures were carrion. Fodder unfit for consideration of any kind. And the more the observer saw, the more he came to feel that perhaps the contempt felt by his betters was justified.


The great legends spoken of by these creatures were fading out of the light leaving the inferior to hold on to what was won, fight over what was lost and rediscover that which was forgotten.


It was strange how hard and how much these legends fought to obtain what they had or to climb that mountain of triumph or, even in failure, reaching that cusp of recognition. And yet, after either achieving power, fame, fortune or distinction, they invariably chose to walk away from it.


It was contemptible to the point of admiration.


That these people could grasp so much and then discard it like refuse while those of the observer's kind tip-toed around the minefield of existence these legends had errected and now abandoned was nothing short of admirable. It was what made them worthy.


But for every one of worth there were millions of fodder.


Fodder that would be trampled underfoot by the rage of his people. And such a rage was coming. A rage that had destroyed many a galactic civilization and had subjected his people to a lifetime of servitude.


But was that not life? Was that not the way of things?


The thought was both faith affirming as it was depressing. For those that claimed him inferior, those that were his betters, they sometimes seemed no more greater than the prey they hunted and it was a tragic notion that created implications the observer did well not to contemplate.


He came to this place sometimes to simply view the creature at work, casting his gaze about at the variety of complexities, colors and combinations found in something as innocuous as fabric. How material derived from plants, hair from domesticated beasts or simple synthesis could be displayed in such forms for simple aesthetic purposes was alien to him. He could understand the fabric's use for purposes of organization ranging from caste to rank identification to finally the practical. But for simply show?


Such inane activities might drive the observer's mind mad if not for the creature. For even such seemingly inane functions garnered quite a bit of labor.


And that was something he did understand.


Even in the looming shadow of the hammerfall that would descend upon this galaxy, no matter how worthy the predator or the prey, the one thing he shared in common with the creature was the way they went about their work.


The creature seemed to know where everything was, everything in its proper place and the sheer volume of satisfied patrons was a testament to their success. It was an attention to detail that he could appreciate even if towards vastly different goals.


Perhaps that was why he let the creature live and carry on oblivious to the fact that he held the power of life or death in his claw.


He did not come here as often as he would have liked. But for those rare occasions he had a need to escape and ponder the course he was being directed towards by his betters, coming here proved a most satisfying experience.


"You look dull!" the chide was near and shocked the observer out of his reverie. He nearly extended his bone-claw to strike at the sudden intrusion when he immediately realized it was the creature who was talking. Not to him, of course, but to a rather dull looking piece of fabric.


The observer had to admit that the creature was right. When compared to all the other colors and pieces in her inventory, it was rather inferior.


Just like you.. his mind immediately thought.


Did he feel regret?


No. He was resigned to what was coming.


The only thing that mattered was how worthy the creature of prey would be regarded by he and his kind. For she (and this place) was of considerable worth to him personally but to the greater design? No, the High Elder would consider her fodder as well.


Useless work denoted a useless person.


"Is everyone treating you like the black nerf of the family?" the sing-song voice asked to the piece of dull fabric. The blond woman then picked up the piece and waved a portable lighter under the fabric suddenly causing it to burst into flames.


The observer's face felt like stone.


The creature did understand how the inferior should be treated then. But what he did not understand was why this creature would do such a thing. He had seen her bring into her place a small creature of another species that had broken it's arm. She helped bind and care for the wretched thing before the local health officials arrived and it was then that he understood the underlining mettle of this person's frame to be weak.


Just like this entire galaxy of fodder. Not like those 'legends' whose reputations will follow


But her putting the fabric to flame startled him. Perhaps his judgment was in haste?


Did she come to understand the harsh realities of life?


Was she finally beginning to perceive the fate that would fall upon all of her kind?


"There you go.." she purred as if the fabric in flames was some cuddly, cute animal pet.


And then the flame seemed to subside revealing a metallic, gold colored piece in place of the dull fabric of before.


The observer's thoughts abruptly stopped.


The woman began to fold the shimmering fabric and put it in a place of prominence inside the store.


After a while, a slow smile spread across the observer's face as the woman went about her business.


So this is where their legends come from!


These creatures look ordinary. Like fodder. But put them to flame and some will emerge as legends. Emerge with worth.


Suddenly, the coming hammerfall was something to be looked forward too.


The lesson learned, "Eptar'a'kar'a," his voice whispered as he disappeared, his presence only a haze of swirling mists.


"What was that?" came the voice of Damalis Skywalker as she rounded the Winter Fabric Section finding nothing.


And with an audible "Hmmph" she turned back to her work.


The place was SkyGold Boutique.[/FONT]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


For that to happen the curtains had to come down.


It was time to give his Final Bow.

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

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


The thought was maddening.


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

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

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

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

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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


Such was life.


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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

Why do I need to be Patriarch?"


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


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



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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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



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



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


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


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


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


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


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


I had the body burned."



He remembered his feeling clearly when he spoke to Zeratul:

Kal Shora said nothing. He stood, silently, and the two looked down at the corpse as Kal Shora lowered

taloned fingers to its face, drawing closed its eyes.

“I want this body burned.”

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


Artanis shook his head to indicate his continued confusion.


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


"Empty?" Kal Shora frowned.


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


"We will need Jedi," Kal Shora warned.


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


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


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


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


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





Kal Shora had laughed.




Ba'Z'D'aam, indeed.

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


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


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


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


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


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

Tear Ekan - Circa 274 ABY

JUTRAALIAN INDEPENDENCE!

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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


Then, why did the Jutraalian Rebellion work?


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


And so it worked.


Only, having worked, could their independence be sustained?


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


It was this desperation and race against time that the Cree'Ar used to their advantage when they opened a wormhole on Jutraal and negotiated the sale and delivery of necessary supplies and resources. Their ability to monitor the situation, knowing all the while where Chaddwick Fearsons had been languishing and knowing the exact moment of his return was due to the efforts of one Zeratul Dazdamar (More">http://therebelfaction.com/forums/showthread.php?t=1891">More than slightly tempted ).


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


It was a price Chaddwick Fearsons could live with.


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


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


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


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


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

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

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


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


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


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


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


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


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

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

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


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


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


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


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


But perhaps things were not that simple.


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


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

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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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

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


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


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


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


"Lupercus is not on Corellia.."


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


"Imperial Center is yours, Zell."

Cree'Ar

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

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


Now was the time of decision.


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


By the Grace of Borleas!


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


The short acceleration and final jump to lightspeeds and beyond.


Wait for it...

Wait for it..


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


NOW!


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


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







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


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


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


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


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


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


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


Fucking Kraken coming back to fucking haunt me!


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


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


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


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


Zell began to think about the implications.

"Fuck me," he whispered.

Change is coming.


The man smirked at the thought of the old terrorist Brutus Nogoth's claim after his attacks on various planets (Press">http://therebelfaction.com/forums/showthread.php?t=2859">Press Release).


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


Change is coming.


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


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


To do what?


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


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


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


Did he really care?


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


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


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


And yet, here he lay.


Or laid.


Or was laid.


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


No, Lupercus Darksword did not give a damn.


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


But whatever.


Lupercus cared not.


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


But women rarely understood such things.


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


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


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


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


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


If not them, others would serve his cause.


But what cause?


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


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


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


For Lupercus Darksword was nothing if not a lazy hedonist.


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


A scratch!


That bitch!


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


"No." was Lupercus' only word.


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


That, reflected Darksword, was a very good question.


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


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


It was his fleet that he was worried about.


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


"Come here," he ordered.


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


"Very good, Sire." the Admiral acknowledged.


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


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


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


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