Secure Prison Facility

Capricia

The HLH Soldier

The HLH soldier is a innovative new type of soldier, and a very pragmatic use of the HLH system, and it comes in two forms...


2) Doppleganger persona - This would be the persona of an actual real living person, perhaps a fallen soldier, who had been scanned prior to his death, and whose 'bio-chip' would be installed into the wristband of a fellow comrade, to aide as his comrade's 'partner'

...So that the average 'live' soldier can differentiate between a real soldier and a HLH at a glance, the HL persona is depicted with a bright blue shoulder pad on his uniform.



Benefits:


There are many benefits avaliable to a HLH / Bio-chip persona...


A holographic persona does not need food, water, or air, and cannot even be killed by energy or projectile weapons( though of course if they are in Atypical mode (HLH status) then they can be physcially affected by a bullets or shells, but not actually harmed in any way--eg: thrown back by a shell).


...


2) Atypical Mode - Hard Light Holographic Status - This means they can physcially interact with their enviroment, and of course other beings. Whilst in this mode , HLH's can physcially do everything a normal person can do, touch, move, push, pull, fire weapons, use controls, etc...

*

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

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

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

"If it's just sword fighting, the persona will hold it's own. But if we are talking Force Pushing or something, the jig is up." Mathias muttered to as the monitors showed the Sith being chased away from the main holding chamber. "The blue patch matches with Tyscio's Clan colors seemlessly."


"The way they slipped into the guard's area was unforgivable! They should have been rotated! We were waiting for them and they still managed to kill them!" a bitter reply came and the grizzled Mathias turned to a furious Leantre Vio.


"There is a pattern," the old fighter managed to say as another engaged in an attack with Leia. He did not need to comment on Leantre's analysis for it was true. Since the Sith assassin's capture, some time had passed. Word had to get back to the assassin's friends, those friends had to deliberate (and seemingly make plans of their owns) and they had to travel to Capricia...all of which, takes time. And after all that, even then, the Capricians were not really sure someone would come for the captured prisoner.

Even the most vigilant of soldiers let their guard down after a reasonable amount of time.


He glanced at how 'Leia' fared:

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

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

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

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

"Divide and conquer," Leantre commented. "Captain, activated the hardlight system and let's see if the persona's can chase these Sith into a box. They may get over themselves sooner or later and figure something out."


"Not hardly. They're Sith." Mathias grumbled. The old fighter had to admit, though, that the Sith were being effective. He even commented on it, "their plan seems successful but to what sort of grand finale?"


Walls began to vanish and reform well ahead of those being chased creating a maze that, hopefully, the Tyscio and Leia personas could drive these Sith fighters into.


It was a bold plan and the Capricians needed a bold plan for these Sith executed their purposes with entirely too much success.

Coruscant


"My Lord, there is talk..." voiced an slippery aide and Zell scowled.


"There is always talk," he snapped back as he went over the latest reports of both the alien seige as well as the Imperial push to open a lane for the inhabitants of the plant to evacuate. The next few reports would tell if the initiative was successful or not


"Disloyalty must be punished harshly!" the aide pushed and Zell's head rose from the reports, casting a glance at the Imperial Intelligence Agent.


"You know of any disloyal fuckers that should be shot?"


"Several of them," Ciscero replied. "But going after them is more trouble than it's worth."


"About what I thought.." Zell replied and went back to his reports.


"There is dissent among the officers.."


"Wait!" Now, the aide had Zell's full attention and the slippery man swallowed hard at the old man's stare.


"Now, you just found that you landed in a minefield so you better tread carefully. Implicating the military of treason can be tantamount to treason in itself."


"But they talk behind your back and undermine your rule!"


Zell looked at Ciscero again and the agent shrugged.


"Is he right?"


"There is always going to be those who put their two cents out there and talk nonsense. You know this, Zell. You've put out your own running commentary on INS a number of times. You know the nature of people."


The Regent turned to the aide, "So, who has been saying what?"


"Idle gossip, Zell," Ciscero chimed in but the old man waved him away.


"Well," the aide inched closer as if reveling in the fact that he was on intimate terms with the Regent of the Empire. "Kach Thorton has been making comments about your ineffective leadership.."


"Based the fuck on what?" Zell demanded despite himself.


"Probably because of the League of Nations, the Jutraalian Rebellion, the Reaver threat..the attacks on Yaga Minor and now Imperial Center."


"What has what to do with me?" Zell demanded. "I did not fucking create the fucking Reavers! I don't even know who the fuck these aliens are attacking us! Where the fuck was Kach Thorton during Fearson's Rebellion? Where the fuck was he when his fucking Borderland Protectorate went to hell in a handbasket?"


"He should be made an example of, Sire.." the aide furthered and Zell turned to the man.


"Kach may not even have said was is being attributed to him.." Ciscero cautioned much to the annoyance of the slippery aide.


Zell frowned for a few moments before starting to laugh. Surprised, the aide began to laugh with him even though he did not know what the laughter was about.


The old man patted the aide, "Here I am, the fucking Regent of the Empire, huddled around you like a fucking cadet with juicy gossip. Like I give a fuck what other's think of me!"


"But...but Sire! If military discipline breaks down.."


"Why? Because someone thinks I am an asshole? Hell, a ton of people think I am an asshole and if they don't like the way I run things, well fuck them!"


"But .. but Kach Thorton..."


"Is going to do what?!" Zell sneered back at the aide. "He's going to fucking follow orders is what he's going to do. You know why? Because this is NOT a fucking democracy and Thorton is not a fucking Coalition-lover! He can bitch all he wants like a little girl with a skinned knee but if he raises a hand against me, then I'll put him down like the rebellous dog he will have made himself out to be. Somehow, I do not believe Kach Thorton is rebel scum. A dog, yes! But, he's our dog and his betters unleash him against whoever the fuck they want!"


Zell made a move to kick the aide, causing the younger man to cry out in panic, "Now, get the fuck out of here!"


As the aide scrambled out of the room, he nearly ran into Moff Jaeder on his way to see the Regent.


"My Lord," the Moff began when Zell motioned him over. "What do you have for me, Jaeder?"


The Moff stood ramrod straight and saluted, "My Lord, we have secured the lane!"


The old man Zell stared at his Moff in almost apparent disbelief as a slow leering grin spread across his features.


"Now that's what I call damned fine work! Start the evacuation!"


The Moff turned to his own aide, waiting respectfully outside the room and gave him a nod. The aide took off to impliment the Regent's orders.


Moff Jaeder looked a little uncomfortable with the subject he brought up, "You realize, of course, Sire that..."

But Zell cut him off, "These alien bastards are shrewder than I gave them credit for."


Ciscero frowned, "Meaning?"


Moff Jaeder answered, "They are not closing the door on us. They are giving us an opportunity to retreat."


"And this..?" Ciscero still did not quite grasp it.


"Empties our corridors. Without bodies standing in their way, they can move throughout the city a hell of a lot easier. Make no mistake, this is going to be a bitch of a fight and I believe our evacuation window is limited so the hard decisions need to be made now. Jaeder, you know which ships have priority.

Activate all civil defense units and place them under military control. Activate the Citizen Youth and prepare them for city-fighting. They've been playing soldier this entire time, now it's time for them to play for real."


"And this does what for us?"


"Keeps necessary people on the ground that we need. To fill the need for bodies. You do not need a platoon of stormtroopers to hold a mid-level hall if you have fifteen Citizen Youths with blasters. You do not need skill for cramped corridor fighting. Just bodies and blasters!"


"The people will not love you for that.."


"I am not Regent because the people love me. I am Regent because the Emperor appointed me so. I do not need to waste time and resources sweet talking people about this and that! I act! I make the hard decisions because someone needs too. We don't sit around and vote like some fucking government of pussies! They may not like that their children and buying the time they need to fucking skip town but, dammit, there's nothing to be done about it.

So let them fucking hate me! I am sure if this was a Coalition world and Imperials were the invaders, Prime Minister Regrad would have some fucking speach about the necessity of their children needing to fight the big-bad ol Imperials."


Zell grinned, "I just don't have the fucking time."



*


And the zone defense of the planet altered exposing several previously Imperial sectors to enemy fire, space superiority and eventual occupation. The elements of the Imperial fleet that were guarding those sectors had been reassigned to the 'Corridor' attempting to keep the area of space between the planet's atmosphere and the edge of it's mass shadow free of enemies. Hundreds of thousands of ships of various sizes, makes and models lifted off, their evacuation paid for with the lives of those defending.



*


"How did the aide know what the fuck Kach Thorton was saying?" Zell said as dust fell from the ceiling of the room. The enemy orbital bombardment of the Imperial District was intensifying against the massive shield spread over it.


"Signals do get out, Zell." the agent answered, "We are not sure how much but some. The gravity effects of these wormholes keeps Coruscant buttoned up tight but signals will leak to the outer planets of the system and from there sent out. I understand some do not believe the League Representatives met their dire end at the hands of the attackers."


"Who gives a fuck," Zell snorted. "I am talking about the transferring of Imperial Center."


Ciscero's eyes rose. "I would imagine wherever you want to lead from.."


"I am not retreating in the face of these fuckers! But the Empire needs to run while I kick their asses."


"I see..." the agent commented, and he did.


"If Hyfe ever fucking returns, all bets are off. But for now, I need someone telling everyone what to do. What Moffs are in a position too..."


Ciscero frowned. "There is a rumor that Governor Kraken is alive."


"Then why did I fucking waste all that time with his fucking successor?! Fucking Kraken! Nobody fucking hides better than him. What is the state of his Protectorate?"


"It's pretty much intact and Vladet does command the respect of the Moff's. Hence, why some parties stabbed others in the back for the position," the agent replied thoughtfully.


"Hmmm.. Kraken may know what he's doing after all. I'll send K-384 granting him privilege as acting-Regent and to move Imperial Center to Vladet."

Drol Drav was plugging away at the numbers, trying to find some way to make empty storehouses last just a little longer. Grain Silo Epsilon-Beta 17: empty. Processing Plant Gamma-Sigma 3: non operative. Mass storage warehouse Alpha 37: uncatalogued organic matter. Drol mumbled to himself, moving the warehouse to an “investigate” list. Ordinarily, even considering this sort of action would have been preposterous . . . But these are not ordinary times. Technically, Drol shouldn't even be working on this. The Empire had been expelled from the League; he was under no obligation (and truly, had no authority) to alleviate the suffering of Imperial Center's starving populace.

But I am a public servant. I must not abandon my oath in the face of such staggering need. Coruscant needs me; I will answer. He looked up from his work, rubbing his eyes and glancing around the old League Rotunda. Drol's eyes widened in shock, and he fumbled with the datapad in front of him, finally managing to activate its recorder. Technically, unregistered recording devices were not allowed in official League meetings, but since this was no longer the League Rotunda, he felt the gray line ran in his favor.

That, and nothing good can come of Regent Zell visiting us in the middle of an alien siege.

“You are not welcome here!” One of the others who had noticed Zell's entry shouted, drawing more attention to the Imperial Regent and his escort of Stormtroopers.

“It's my fucking planet so you better shut the fuck up,” Zell responded, the malice in his voice overshadowing the League representative's outrage. In the moment of silence the Regent's outburst bought him, he walked onto the room's center platform, claiming the place of dominance. His action only drew out a flurry of questions, rants, and demands from the League representatives present.

Zell began shouting his own venomous replies, and Drol's heart raced ahead, perhaps trying to make up for the years of life it knew this encounter would deprive him of. Zell paused, putting a hand on his forehead: "You know, I have no idea why Simon Kaine wasted his time with you ungrateful fucks. You expel us from a club of nations that WE fucking sponsored and created. You move your fucking club meetings from the center of the galaxy and the Core, which is what this was really about in the beginning, to all the way the fuck out on Obroa-Skai..."

"..the rotunda there is enough.." Someone countered weakly. No, let it go. Let him get it out. Maybe we can still get away alive. Just let him rant.

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


"Shut up, Zell. We've got you by the balls and..." No, no, no! Not like this! Drol turned in his seat, noticed the positions the Stormtroopers had quietly taken throughout the room. It can't end like this.

Zell laughed in response. “You dumbasses just don't know when to shut the hell up do you?" One of the stormtroopers walked over and gave Zell a nod. Drol began fiddling with his datapad again, his fear and dread muddling his focus.

Zell started up again. "You dumbasses think you live in a world where you can do whatever the fuck you want... freedom, I believe you call it. Liberty is also another word used. It sounds good but you peckerheads think that just by using these words it makes you somehow unaccountable for your actions." Zell grinned; a kindless, cruel show of intent. "I am here to collect. Consider all humanitarian aid to you assholes ended!"

As the first volley of Stormtrooper fire burned its way into the nearest League members, Drol finally found the "contacts" icon through the pages of work that had been occupying his attention before. He pressed it, double-tapping the first name his fingers reached. As the red glow of Imperial blaster bolts filled his vision, Drol Drav realized what a terrible mistake he had made. I'm so sorry―



Rush Drav fired another trio of missiles, watching as two Rebel starships exploded in a fantastic display of pyrotechnics. But Rush had grown too focused on the pair of agile Rebel craft, had neglected the slower but more heavily armed transport they had been escorting. Just as he let out a cry of glee at his success, his screen washed with the red glow of Rebel blaster fire, and the words GAME OVER appeared in white.

He cursed, then covered his mouth, glancing behind himself to see―thankfully―that the cleaning droid was powered down, recharging; it had a nasty habit of tattling to Dad. His communicator chimed, his father's distinct signal, and Rush closed out the game and clicked to view the message. Video, Rush thought excitedly, his mind taking a moment to puzzle out what he was seeing. He squinted, tilted his head to the side a little: Is that a Stormtrooper boot?


Then Rush heard him. "Thus ends Kaine's fucking waste-of-time and fucking humanitarian experiment.” I know that voice: that's Regent Zell! All the warmth drained from the young man as the observed facts aligned themselves within his mind in much the way a machine might make an observation and calculate probable conclusions.

But a machine does not have a father. A machine does not know love. A machine has no true concept of death. A machine . . . a machine does not cry. Rush pushed through his grief, knew he couldn't put it aside but knew he couldn't give in, either. The Empire killed my father. The flashing light beside the video message told Rush that he could prove it, too.

From the slanted angle the video recorder now sat at―apparently having fallen to the floor―Rush watched Regent Zell walk toward the exit, making an effort to spit on those corpses he passed on the way.

Drol Drav had recorded his own death; the cached video attached to the live-action feed would show the event as it had played out. And Rush knew just what to do with it.

His pain as a guide, Rush Drav's fingers set about the work of showing his father's murderer to the galaxy. It took several minutes, as it always did, but finally Rush found the fleck of data he was looking for, the digital symbol that marked his presence.

Hello, Rush. The text on the young man's screen read.

“Hello, Mr. Universe,” He spoke to the computer.

How are you today?

“Azrael Zell murdered my father. I want to show you.” He hit the key combination that transmitted the bulk recording, and was surprised when there was no delay before Mr. Universe responded, as if he did not need to view the video in order to understand it.

I am sorry, Rush.

“I am angry. Do something.”

The Empire is attempting to evacuate Coruscant. You must leave now; the Empire may come for your father's family, they have done such before.

“What? How? Where do I go?” He asked, no longer able to hide the panic in his voice.

Hide. Wait for the evacuation. Contact me when you are safely . . . elsewhere.

Rush didn't understand, knew he didn't understand. What was clear was that Mr. Universe needed him to get away, needed him to carry his father's last act of service to the galaxy. "The galaxy must know. How will I find you, when the time comes?"

Look for me, and I will find you.

Without delay, Rush scooped up his computer, canceling programs and packing it away as he made his way for the door. He tapped the cleaning droid on the head as he left, muttering “Ranats in the storeroom.”

“Understood,” The droid responded. Every government official, every envoy of a nation, every public figure must live with certain threats, and must take steps to counter those threats should they become reality. If anyone came looking for Drol Drav's only son, they would find something very dangerous awaiting them instead.

Halfway out of the apartment and into the hallway, Rush stopped, glancing back into the room for a moment. He darted back inside, waiving the droid to follow. “Sweeper, dismantle that,” He ordered, pointing to his father's wall-mounted computer terminal. The droid complied, without hesitation, seeming to understand that “dismantle” meant “don't break anything important, but be quick about it.”

“Stop,” Rush ordered, retrieving several components from the workstation's exposed innards and pocketing them. “Back to work, Sweeper,” He ordered, then promptly left the room.

Down. I have to go down. If he got far enough down, all of the rules reversed; looking conspicuous would keep him from getting noticed. He knew he couldn't blend in in his current state, and on the common levels, blending in was the surest way to be noticed. I'll merge with the crowd, hold this bag tight, and cram into the first transport I find. I have to get out of here. I have to survive.

The signal has to survive.

From: Of Bugs and Ryn

Athan held up a datapad. “I have the authority of the people of Tirahnn, to speak on their behalf and stand as their voice. I am the League representative of Tirahnn.”

The room had been brought to a deathly silence. These men were the representatives for their peoples and worlds; the vast majority had spent their entire lives studying and living politics. These were not fools. They knew what the message just received from Coruscant meant . . .

Those League delegates trapped on Coruscant by the alien siege – those who had had no say in the decision made by their replacements on Obroa-Skai to expel the Empire from their ranks – had been murdered, either explicitly or implicitly, by their former allies.

Communication with Coruscant had been nonexistent since the siege began; that the Empire had gone to such great lengths to tell the galaxy of the League representatives' fates was message enough. In this desperate hour, the Empire had fallen back upon its most trusted tool: Fear. They hoped through fear alone to subdue the League of Nations.

I cannot compete with Azrael Zell. The silent admission only served to heighten Athan's terror. He was here to resolve the Colicoid issue, not stand against the Imperial Regent.

There was an explosion at the rotunda's center, light and sound but no heat . . . no shockwave. “YOU MUST ACT QUICKLY” The towering hologram demanded. “TIME IS OF THE ESSENCE.”

This time there was no outburst about breached protocols or unauthorized access. For fear works both ways: flee from the source of fear, to the source of fear's foe. To the leaders of the League of Nations, the towering hologram of the Cooperative Overseer was the diametric counter to the emblem of Imperial Rule. Athan breathed a sigh of relief. He saw more than a few others do the same throughout the room.

“I am not here to play at politics with you; to bicker, and argue, and coax the flames of dissent. I am here only to offer you a warning. The free nations of this galaxy have been permitted to exist for one simple reason: the Empire believed them at its mercy. You have claimed your independence, have declared a right to challenge Imperial Law; you have made an enemy of the most powerful military force in the galaxy. Do not take the events at Coruscant as a warning; men like Azrael Zell do not believe in warnings. Coruscant was the first strike, you all see that, we all know it to be true. You must choose: submit to the Empire, or resist. Those are your only options. Your only advantage is that the Empire believes them to be one and the same.

“Even now the Empire battles to preserve Coruscant; the loss of Dantooine, Yaga Minor, Csilla, the entire Borderland . . . these have not succeed in breaking the myth of Imperial invulnerability. They will fight you not because they believe it is right, but because they believe they cannot lose. They believe they need no friends." There was a long pause, a silence so total that the representatives found themselves holding their breaths so as not to intrude. "What do you need?”

The hologram vanished; Athan's commlink chimed in his ear. “Do as your heart leads you, but try to keep the facts in mind.” And then the Overseer was gone.

The whole of the League Assembly turned toward the lone Ryn, looking for answers from a man who had only questions. A crooked smile crossed his face, and he made a show of straightening a stack of reports in front of him. “Protocol demands we close the matter at hand before moving onward. I propose a vote, to continue this session until the conclusion of the Colicoid Question.”

The room was still stunned. What had just happened? Was that an offer of assistance? Did the Cooperative wish to join the League? Was the Overseer speaking for the whole of the Coalition? Would it really come to war?

Questions, questions everywhere. But they were being asked, countered, redoubled. Everywhere there was action, movement, purpose. The fear remained, but it no longer had the power to paralyze. Messages were passed covertly even as the matter of the Colicoids continued. Whispered conversations broke out here and there, and for the first time there was no effort to silence them, no effort to preserve the minutiae of protocol. Action had to be taken, conclusions had to be reached. The days of the lumbering, useless League Assembly were at an end. The veil of Imperial lordship had been pulled aside, and something new was growing under the unveiled light of freedom.

Dalos IV

The Confederation and the Coalition had had a somewhat tumultuous history. After resigning their membership Regrad had made it clear that there was no ill-will between the two organizations and that it was an amicable split.

In galactic affairs, however, nothing was ever quite that simple.

Many that didn't know the Azguardians expected a more violent or forceful reaction to maintain the status quo, but that was not the way of the Coalition. This didn't keep the rank and file of all races and branches of military service from grumbling about cowardice or irresponsible recklessness.

Regrad harboured no such resentment. Hard choices were made in the galaxy every day. That was why when the Coalition fleet was coming up on Dalos IV, Regrad felt about as relaxed as he could hope to be.

"Not exactly amongst allies," he explained to Yolem. "About as close as we can hope for in this galaxy."

"Do you trust them?" Yolem asked.

"Trust, I have learned, is a rare and valuable commodity." Yolem smiled in response.

"Comm signal coming in from the scout ships, sir," a bridge officer reported. "Patching him in."

The image on a side screen switched to static for a moment before normalizing into a starfighter pilot, grinning eagerly in his cockpit. "Boy howdy, if today isn't a day for bigwigs and fancy pants."

"A pleasure!" Regrad replied. "Thank you for undertaking so dangerous a task, brave scout flyer."

"Well thank you for the courtesy," the pilot replied. "Anyways, we've got arrival clearance from the Confeds, although they were mighty startled. Sounds like no one caught wind about our little galactic so-journ."

"Are there any military threats we should know about?" Yolem probed.

The pilot snorted and shook his head, scanning the horizon offscreen. "Nah, everything looks pretty shut down. They've got some hardware but it's busy patrolling and working around the planet, not combat formations. Should be clear and easy flying."

"We'll be there shortly," said Regrad. "Keep our hosts calm and update us if there are any changes."

"You betcha," replied the pilot. "Transmitting arrival coordinates now."

As soon as the scout pilot cut his transmission, a fleet-light flashed indicating another call from another vessel. "Sir, it's Panacka."

Regrad fidgeted in his seat a moment, betraying the slightest weariness. "Put the good commander through."

The image normalized once more, this time on the less-jovial face of the commander. "Prime Minister, I cannot guarantee the good conduct of my men in these circumstances. A lot of ill-feeling still exists between the Confederation and the Eastern Coalition after their departure. We could have really used their help in the later stages of the Black Dragon War."

Regrad sighed. "Commander, let's not re-tread old ground. The Confederation's formation barely predates the Dragon War - whose end date, by the way, historians will debate for years to come. This, right now, could be part of the Black Dragon War and as such I think it is high time we secure their assistance. Gods know if the stories of their troubles are half-true, they'll need our help as much as we need theirs."

It wasn't hard to tell this didn't ease the commander's doubts, so Regrad continued. "I will handle the negotiations. Nothing we dream of will happen if we can't work together against the Reavers, and we can't work together if we don't get past our mutual history. The Confederation is by far the most steadfast enemy of evil we will encounter on this trip, so there's no need to complicate what should be our easiest recruitment."

"I... understand, Prime Minister," Panacka reluctantly conceded. "We will follow your lead."

"Revision in ten, sir," said one of the bridge officers.

Regrad nodded. "Good. Panacka, prepare to organize a non-aggressive approach vector for the fleet. Remember, we come in peace."

Cutting the transmission to the Eastern commander's command ship, Regrad prepared himself to meet with the Confederation as the blur of hyperspace reverted into the darkness of space - and the world of Dalos IV.

In transit to the Battle of Coruscant

Once again in his chambers, Kach sat at his desk looking at a holoprojector, digging through it’s archives. The right messages was there, still available for replay. Emotion rose up deep inside of Kach as he saw the record.

Kach’s eyes burned with a hatred for Zell. “That fucker…” he started. He was alone in the room. There was no one here to hear the fierce emotion in his voice.

Kach clicked a button and the form of Grand Admiral Azrael Zell appeared in front of him as it started to play.

“Moff Zell,” he heard himself say almost regally, “It’s an honor to hear from you.”

Zell got down straight to business. “You Fucker, I forbade you to reenter the protectorate under pain of death, is that clear? I’ve heard about your fleets little forays in and they need to stop right now. Is that mother frucking clear?” Zell’s voice was full of anger and rage. From what Kach wasn’t certain, but the recent Yaga Minor attacks may have been part of it.

Kach looked at Zell with a steely gaze that would fortunately not transmit over the holonet, but his voice made it clear what his feelings about the orders were. “Yes, sir, it is” he said, filled with rage. His head lowered in defeat.

“Don’t you get pissy with me Thorton. You know we need the fleets…”

Kach cut him off. “Did you just call me pissy, you son of a bitch?” Kach asked, no longer bothering to hide his own anger. “You’ve doomed millions of Imperial citizens with your decision already, and doubtlessly more. Our little forays served to break up major pickets of Reaver ships to prevent them from attacking with maximum effect against our worlds, damn it. You know damn well we can beat them in battle. We could retake the protectorate in a week. Instead they’re in our protectorate doing who knows what. Some sources say they are eating our goddamned citizens. What the fuck do you expect me to do?”

“You little son of a bitch” Zell said. “You know I could have you shot?”

Kach lowered his voice and calmed himself while Zell glared at him. The old Grand Admiral did not take kindly to people disrespecting him, though he honestly didn’t give a damn about their opinions on him. “Would Kaine have me shot, you fucker?” Kach said, purposely bringing up Zell’s old superior and protégé. “No, because he’d have known what I’m doing was right. I may be an insubordinate bastard, but I’m a damned good insubordinate bastard and I’m your insubordinate bastard.”

Zell’s voice lowered with Kach’s. You’re walking a fine line, Thorton. If your ships go back into that protectorate I will have you arrested and tried for treasonous conduct. Is that clear?


Thorton lowered his head in defeat. An act, but Zell couldn’t tell. “Yes. It is,” he said slowly.

“Good. Then get the fuck off of here. I don’t want to hear anything more about your fleet entering Reaver space without express orders. Is that clear?”

“Yes, it is.”

* * *

The Past

Kach opened his eyes to the sound of his datapad beeping. What the hell he thought. It’s 3 AM ship time. The Datapad should have delayed all dispatches to him until morning. Reluctantly he opened it. To find a priority message from the leader of COMPNOR, Tracta. He entered the password to reveal the highly encrypted message and it laid itself out before him:


Be Advised: Reports of Park Krakens death have been greatly exaggerated.


* * *

He can be used. Do you know how to control him.

* * *

Yes. There is one thing.

* * *

What is it?

* * *

His Family

* * *

Do you know where they are?

* * *

Yes

* * *

The Present

After viewing the message, the leadership cadre on the Stormhawl was silent for a moment as the implications of having found the message sunk in. Their families, like the families of the crews, had all been left behind during the forced evacuation of the protectorate. Until now, however, no one had had the proof necessary to show that Zell and not Thorton was at fault though his high ranking subordinates knew. But now all the crews of the Borderland protectorate would find out.

The broadcast is about to begin now, Kach said, looking at his wrist Chrono. And sure enough, the voice of Admiral Zell began echoing through the corridors of the ship.

“After he is finished, I will speak.”

* * *

“That conversation took place several days ago,” Kach said, standing on the Bridge’s primary holopad to address the crew. “As you can see, Grand Moff Azarell Zell has proven himself to be completely negligent of Imperial citizens, including your families now trapped in Reaver space. At any time we could have stopped the Reavers at the beginning, our battle records showed clearly that we were superior in battle. But instead he allowed them in and gave them the foothold they needed. And on top of that during the early days of the withdrawal he had his men arrest me at gun point and then his commanders withdrew my entire goddamned fleet from the Borderland because he was convinced I was slowing it down to stall for time, not even bothering to dispatch ships to cover the evacuations of our worlds, causing even more needless deaths that way.”

He carefully considered his next words. Though he knew that the crews were completely loyal to him and the Borderland fleet because they represented their lost homes, wealth and families and they now had proof that the man in charge of the Empire had caused all their loss unnecessarily and on top of that COMPNOR and it’s internal security division was on his side, what he was about to declare was treason even if it was a necessary treason and some objection might come up.

“As you know, we are about to undertake a mission of great importance above Coruscant, which is under siege by the same alien attackers that seized Yaga Minor and losing, thanks to his inept leadership. Inept leadership that has, since the disappearance of His Majesty Hyfe” – he purposely invoked Hyfe’s name here to associate this action with the old, legitimate regime – “has caused numerous rebellions, the expansion of a growing alien threat, the establishment of Reaverspace and,” he paused briefly for effect, “the abandonment of our homes and worlds and families.”

“I have discussed the situation with the senior fleet leadership of the Borderland Protectorate along with your captains and Senior Officers and the consensus is unanimous. We do not care who takes his place, but Azrael Zell must go and we will do our part to see it through and we ask the same of you. After the battle we will be entering orbit above Coruscant and taking appropriate action.

“The Empire expects every citizen to do his or her duty today. All the honor in the Empire for standing up to this treasonous Moff to reassert the New Order is your reward."

***

The Present

Kach looked down at the tactical display on his flagship’s bridge. Next to him half a dozen Rear Admirals plus the Captain – the standard senior officer cadre on a ship this size – looked at it as well at the anomaly taking place near Coruscant space. Over the past ten minutes the number of sensor-blocking anomalies in the channel had cleared until the tactical situation across the system was somewhat visible from that angle and messages could be freely transmitted from the Borderland fleet to the planet using scout ships as relays.

“So the messages were true,” Thorton remarked. “I didn’t think Zell would have the balls for something like this.”

The ship’s Captain shook her head disbelievingly. “There’s no way, Admiral Thorton. Evacuating Coruscant even partially is impossible. He wants to get essential units, war material and leaders, out while civil defense units die in the streets holding off this invasion and maintaining order. But if those units fall apart,” she hesitated and choked up “I don’t even want to think about what would happen.”

The thought of mass chaos on Imperial Center was a lot to take in. For 25,000 years the planet had been the center of the galaxy, of the Old Republic and then the Empire. If the civil defenses slipped and mass rioting happened – an unlikely but very real possibly - the likelihood of anything more than a small segment of the planet recovering was remotely slim and it was almost certain the capital would never recover.

“Don’t, then.” Kach said emotionlessly. “The biggest question here is is this: Is this a trap? Obviously these aliens, whoever they are, have allowed the Empire to open up the gaps in it’s defenses over Coruscant in order to open up the evacuation corridor and have even been generous enough to clear the corridor of Wormholes for them. Anyone who’s read Sun Tzu knows the best way to crush an enemy is to give him one channel of false hope so he doesn’t fight to the last, then mercilessly crush that channel when he tries to take advantage of it, and that’s what’s going on here. It has to be. They’ve shown no mercy in the past. Why would they show it here?”

One of the junior Admirals in the circle spoke up, a Rear-Admiral. “The losses they’ve sustained are too heavy to continue. Yes they’re taking the planet, but they’ve lost two tons of warship for every ton the Empire has lost. Those losses can’t be sustained against a planet with defenses like Imperial Center. They want the Empire to take this channel and leave so they can have their victory?”

That was Thorton’s first thought too, but he hadn’t bothered to bring it up. The estimates about the tonnage-lost ratios for both sides was true and the alien foes might simply be tiring of battle, but in his opinion it was too simple for such a complicated enemy.

“Well either way, we need to act,” he said. “If it’s an ambush and the enemy has more ships ready to attack the evacuating flotilla then we need to assist defending the evacuees. And if it’s not an ambush then we have a clear channel we can use to bring ships into battle. The evacuation channel lines up perfectly with the Fourth Reserve’s approach vector. We could slip the whole fleet in and win the battle if we wanted to, but for the second all I want is two battlegroups to jump in. The two battlegroups will redirect all outgoing traffic to the nearest planets that can take them in or to the Mid-Rim Protectorate, whichever is closer. More importantly they will look for anything suspicious. I don’t know exactly what to look for but they will know it when they see it. Anything Zell could use to get a message out. A diplomatic shuttle or something of that sort. Maybe a TIE Phantom. Once we’ve cleared the evacuation corridor we’ll bring in a bigger fleet but with the sky filled with shuttles and transports in that sector at the moment it’s not safe to bring in more than two battlegroups. Admiral Nepp,” – Admiral Nepp was the resident Executive Officer of the Fourth Reserve fleet stationed on the Stormhawk to relay messages to the Fourth Reserve’s Commander – “get this done now. We’ve got to move quick.”

“And somebody send a message to Zell telling him we’re here. He can’t see us with all those wormholes even though we can see him, so it would be polite of us to let him know.”

***

Minutes Earlier

Kach keyed his datapad, slowly entering the message that would be sent out to Trachta, the head of COMPNOR, who was presumably still on Coruscant.

You have big friends in the sky. Get ready to move.

***

And so he did.

***

Upon arrival into the system the two battlegroups had spread out among the Imperial squadrons who were working hard to maintain order above the planet. They were barely as numerous as the force arriving to assist them, a sad testament to the strength of Coruscant’s remaining defenses because to muster these forces Coruscant Command had been forced to leave multiple sectors above the planet completely undefended. The ships, especially the dozen large Star Destroyers, were readily welcomed by Coruscant command, who had despaired of ever receiving assistance.

Though more vulnerable from their scattered positions it also gave the flotilla a broader view of the escaping vessels, allowing not one ship to escape without being scanned.

Despite all the fleets had been through in the past months moral was still high and the crews were committed to doing their duty to the Empire, especially now. “Do you reckon, Admiral, that we’re out here on a wild Vornskyr chase?” cooly asked one of the ship’s bridge crew, a weapons system technician. At the moment his skills weren’t in demand, with no enemies in sight or overzealous vessels attempting to blast their way through the corridor. The Admiral, Admiral Paisly of the always charmed by the former country-boy’s informal ways, even when speaking to a superior, smiled, chuckled and spoke softly back to him.

“I don’t think so, Vernon. You’re just not privy to the big picture. Follow me.” He turned toward the Sensor Officer on deck and walked over to the central Sensor Analysis pit, where a tactical situation display board showed all of the surrounding space. “Do you see that red area?”

“Yeah sir, I do,” Vernon said in his country boy accent.

“That’s an anomaly picked up by our Strategic Sensor Suite. We’re not sure exactly what’s there, though we’ve made a few guesses. It’s chugging along just outside the invasion corridor and it’s cloaked, so it’s almost certainly one of ours. And from the size it looks like a Shroud. The anomaly in question is 300m in diameter, which at this range gives an approximate ship size of only 125 to 150 meters.”

“And you want us to intercept that thing?” the subordinate asked, unsure about what action the Admiral was taking.

“Not quite,” Paisly replied. “The Administrator, and ISD III from the other battlegroup, is en route now to intercept them along with the Interdictor Constrainer. Each ship is escorted by six TIE Phantom IIs to provide support. We’ll spring our trap and find out exactly what they’re carrying – and exactly what it is – in a few minutes.

“And,” he added, his voice going steely, “what exactly it is Zell doesn’t want us to see.”

***

Not long after the above event on Coruscant…

The first reaction of the guard compliment in front of the Imperial Palace at the sight of the approaching troops was to raise weapons for an ID check. Yes they were heavily outnumbered – each entrance had only a platoon stationed at it, and there was at least a brigades worth of black-armored troops appearing outside – but with the commotion of the evacuation the appearance of extra Imperial infantry elements at the palace to assist was not an unsurprising – or unwelcome – sight. Leading the column was an obvious superior who was identical to the others save for blue armor rather than black.

“COMPNOR Internal Security Agent” he said in a forceful tone to the guards, holding up a badge for the guards to inspect. The squad at the door held their weapons at the ready in an ineffective gesture of standard protocol as two others inspected the credentials. Even if they wanted to deny access to the battalion of infantry they never would be able to. They looked very serious and ready for business.

“Your credentials pass, Major,” said the Guard Post Commander, a Lieutenant. “Is there anything we can do to help you?”

“Yes,” said the COMPNOR Major. “You can direct us to the throne room of Grand Admiral Zell. We’re a suicide security detail sent here to guard him by the director of COMPNOR himself.”

The guard looked at the Major in a strange fashion, a mix between confusion and fear. He knew exactly how powerful and influential the bureau was. COMPNOR was in charge of internal security for the Empire, and was suggested by some to be more influential in some cases within the Empire than the Emperor himself. Anyone COMPNOR didn’t like had a habit of disappearing. “There’s been no requests for additional guards” the Lieutenant remarked, a foolish choice.

In the skys above dozens of COMPNOR shuttles settled down on the palace’s roofs as other battalions and brigades entered through surface entrances. Though the Imperial Palace did have a heavy troop presence it was nothing like this. In addition, these were COMPNORs new elite anti-terrorist units, who had spent months drilling in Imperial Palace, allegedly for the possible eventuality of a commando raid in the palace. Now they would put their extensive training to good use in securing the palace.

No one would be getting in our out.

***

The crew of Shroud K-384 probably didn’t suspect someone was on to them when the gravity well appeared outside, but without a doubt when they felt the tractor beam latch onto their location and begin pulling them into the cavernous hangar bay of the Administrator they knew they had been caught by someone because they dropped their cloak and gunned their engines in a brief attempt to escape from their unknown pursuer before identifying it as an Imperial-III Star Destroyer from the Borderland Protectorate. The Star Destroyer’s directional jamming unit, used to prevent targeted craft from sending distress transmission, lit up the Shroud and cut off it’s transmission capabilities. Someone sent the Shroud a communiqué on a frequency that was temporarily unjammed for the sake of the message. At the first sign of a transmission to someone other than the Star Destroyer it would be filled once again with static and white noise: “This is a customs inspection. Heave to and prepare to be boarded.”

The Shroud was silent for a minute as it was drawn into the Star Destroyer’s docking bay. Finally the voice of a grizzle veteran spoke. “This is Captain Ahab of the K-384, let me speak to your Captain.” Without a moment’s wait the Captain of the Administrator, who had been standing by ready for this, was on the comm. “Captain Piet here. Go ahead.”

“Captain, this is Captain Ahab of Shroud K-384 on a maximum clearance courier mission for His Regency Zell Himself. What is the meaning of this and how did you get our location?”


Captain Piet didn’t bother to mention the Star Destroyer’s Strategic Sensor Suite. With the outbreak of hostilities there hadn’t been time to outfit any ships outside the Borderland protectorate with the greatly augmented sensor package, and even those ships just barely. “We have reason to suspect men wanted by the Empire for high treason are on board and were provided your location and vectors by Coruscant High Command for inspection. It is of the highest priority these dissidents be captured. The Regent himself ordered it. After a brief inspection and the arrest of any offending crew you will be free to continue on your way unmolested, Captain.”

“Captain, I emphasize the priority of this mission and respectfully request we be allowed to continue. Need I remind you of the rigorous moral qualifications necessary for Shroud crews? Our message is time essential. We cannot be delayed.”

“Your objections are noted, Captain. Prepare to be boarded. If you attempt to interfere with your inspection and arrests understand you will be arrested too. Is that clear?”

There was silence on the other end of the line. Captain Ahab and the other crew of the shroud were in no position to object to any requests the Captain of the larger ship made.”

“Rodger, Administrator, we are shutting down are engines, shields and weapons and preparing to be boarded.”

The Administrator’s crew, in a true show of loyalty to their cause, immediately rounded up the Shroud’s crew and sent them to the Brig and sent the lone diplomatic message holocube on board to the Administrator's captain.


***

Kach, when he saw the message, couldn't believe his eyes. It was exactly what he needed. Taking a brief break from his flagship's bridge, he entered his quarters and walked briskly to his comlink, entering a long-ago memorized code. After two rings someone picked up. "Do you need to buy some fusion beads?" A rough voice asked.

"I'd love to buy some fusion beads, and some Brokkoli too," he answered, giving the appropriate password that would have his contact bending over backwards to help him. "This is a friend of Jesh Tolli's. I need you to connect me to his slicer department immediately."

Summit-class Battleship Fidelitas

"The sensor web is reporting a very large mass moving through hyperspace towards Dalos IV. It looks like its probably accompanied by other capital ships."

Von Masmont stared over the dozens of other crewmembers to glance at that man's terminal. He silently tapped a few buttons onto his console to bring up an exact copy of the Confederation Defence Web's hyperspatial tracking systems. Several large blips did appear to be headed towards the planet. Dalos IV, always completely unimportant except for its location. First the trade route, now the escape route. Could be Reavers following the refugee convoys, except that angle towards the planet is a bit odd. But not impossible.

"Wow. That looks like a great video game. It's about as old as you are, right?" said Labrousse, coalescing behind the Jabiimite's back.

The Commodore didn't even bother to reply to the ship's querky AI. Instead, the paunchy man glanced over to Captain Abell, who was already striding over to his console. The dreadlocked man simply shrugged at the Task Force commander, as if to empathesize with the man.

"Cap-tain..wi...wi-ll you innnfor...mm Da-los IV..." stuttered von Masmont.

"Certainly sir," cut in Abell, "I'll tell them that an unidentified force is on their way. Get the defences raised up and prepped for a possible assault by an enemy."

The red-headed hlo-graph shook her head, "It could be anyone, and headed anywhere near Dalos IV. Or perhaps cutting close by to go somewhere else."

"It's better to be safe than sorry," rebutted the captain, "particularly with all of those Reavers running around nearby, and the hordes of refugees trickling into Dalos IV. Sir, may I recommend that we turn the task force around to intercept the unknown formation?"

Von Masmont nodded vigorously.

"Helm and communications," shouted the dark-skinned man, "prepare to drop us out of hyperspace and set us on an intercept course with the unknown formation."

Task Force Fidelitas jerked into realspace, with the dozens of Unity program vessels following in the massive Fidelitas' wake. Firing its port thrusters, the battleship began to turn to alter its course; the other ships followed suit in a chaotic hurry. Fidelitas jumped into hyperspace yet again with a flash of light; pursued by a disheveled group of Confederate warships. Ten minutes passed before the Fidelitas lurched into realspace yet again.

Chaos errupted across the bridge as action stations were called. The sensor crews reported a ship larger than the Fidelitas headed vaguely towards Dalos IV with other military ships. While those ships possessed Coalition transponders, von Masmont didn't rule out that they could be foes. Reavers could have taken those craft, or the Imps could have some covert fleet to start conflict between our two nations. Next to him, Labrousse frowned as she hunched over some invisible console.

"Those ships haven't adopted a typical attack formation. Or anything like what we've seen the Reavers do."

"Weapons are primed," reported a Mon Calamari female.

Let's not incinerate them yet. Hm...the planetary shields are not up...they should be...unless they know something different than we do. The Commodore quickly tapped a few keys on his console. Traffic control has flagged them as GC ships, and customs has confirmed this...

"Weapons stand down, action stations stand down," ordered Abell, gazing at his own console, "those are Coalition ships. Sir, may I open up communications with the Coalition warships?"

Von Masmont tapped a few buttons on his console, bringing up the intraship communication's network. He rapidly typed into the text box.

Commodore Von Masmont: You will open up communications with the Coalition vessel, and serve as a representative of the Confederation and as my personal deputy. But be sure to ask me via chat to approve any action on our part.
Captain Geoffrey Abell: Understood. Should I take it in the diplomatic comms room, sir?
Commodore Von Masmont: Put it on the bridge holo-projector. The entire crew should be here to hear what the Coalition says. I value my crew's opinion, Captain.
Captain Geoffrey Abell: Understood. I will have Labrousse open a communication's channel with them.
Jacqueline Labrousse: Done.

The bridge's central holo-projector hummed as it powered up to reveal a certain Azgard well-known within the galaxy. Abell briefly hesitated as he realized who it was. Geoffrey offered a formal bow to the alien.

"Greetings Prime Minister, may I humbly ask for an explanation as to the presence of your ships in a Confederate system?"

"Reversion countdown, reversion in one minute...," ticked off the navigator as he studied his instruments.

Admiral Brand sat in the command chair aboard the Dominion, the latest Executor type super star destroyer to roll off of the assembly lines. The vessel had been appointed it's construction by the MRP senate as a flag and state vessel of power, and had originally been slated to spend most of her life in orbit above Vladet, acting as flagship for the home defense fleet.

That had all changed however when Park Kraken had returned from the dead and re-instated himself governer of the Mid-Rim Protectorate.

'Governer no more. Grand Moff Kraken, by his own appointment,' thought Brand as he snorted to clear his nostrils. Damn ship was too new and too cold by his tastes, he could still smell the fresh paint. At least the crew was a well seasoned one, transferred to this ship from an older Venerator that had been mothballed in the Borderland protectorate.

'Mothballed, and probably in Reaver service even as we speak.'

Brand shook his head to clear it of all the stray thoughts. They were about to come out of hyperspace, and he needed not to be distracted by all that had going on in the galaxy apart from his current mission.

To that end, he recalled the briefing he had recieved from Grand Moff Kraken concerning his mission to Coruscant....

Flashback, 18 hours ago

* * *

"Commodore Brand, nice to see you alive and still doing well," commented Park as he greeted his old friend. Brand had just arrived with a detachment of Regent-class destroyers from the Unknown Regions, where he had been assigned to guard the ever growing Expansion protectorate.

"Governer, my suprise to find you alive and doing well is indeed a shock, and a very good one. I cannot begin to impress upon you how much we have missed your leadership and cunning," replied Brand with almost wide eyes.

Park replied by spreading his hands wide in a gesture of welcoming.

"Well, I am back now, to assume my rightful place as head of the MRP. It was my folly I guess to appoint someone, anyone else to the position. Did you ever hear of what happened to Vaseli?" asked Park with pity in his eyes.

"No, and I suspect we will continue to hear nothing, unless a full interrogation is done on the senate leaders. Even then, we may only be able to confirm his current status, if even that," commented Brand darkly.

"Hmph, a shame. But, to the buisness at hand. I have an important mission, one I feel could only be handled by your capable hands," continued Park.

"Whatever it is, I will accept it for the glory of the Empire," replied Brand, already swearning absolute allegiance his old friend once again.

"We have begun to recieve refugee ships from Coruscant. Apparently Regent Zell has begun evacuating the planet. From what I can discern from the first batch of survivors to arrive, there is chaos in the system. I will be sending a flotilla built around the Dominion along with a full analysis and communications staff to help coordinate and oversee the flow of refugee ships from Coruscant to Vladet. I want to put you in charge of that taskforce. You are to engage enemy ships only if they attack you or the refugee ships," ordered Kraken.

"I accept, governer," replied Brand with a smart salute.

"It's Grand Moff now, Brand. Circumstances has forced me to take a higher rank. Speaking of which, I am promoting you as well for this mission. Admiral Brand, do you have any other comments?" asked Kraken.

"No sir, other than thank you, and good luck," said Brand, offering up another salute.

This one was returned from Kraken.

"Good luck to you as well Admiral, and Gloria Imperium. Kraken out," said Park as he returned the salute and cut the transmission.

* * *

End Flashback

* * *

Brand grimaced. Honestly, he should have his head examined for eargly accepting such an assignment, but oh well.

'Here goes nothing'

"Reversion in five...four...three...," the navigator began ticking away.

Brand knocked the last thoughts out of his head and locked his gaze straight ahead.

"One...reverting...," spoke the navigator as he pulled a level and flipped a few switches.

The starlines faded away into their normal pinpricks of light, and before them was Coruscant.

The fleet went into immediate action, launching starfighter screens and forming into a line abreast formation, the six Regent class destroyers and thirty or so frigates, corvettes, gunships, and tenders in turn forming up around the destroyers.

The first sensor scans swept the system. Brand turned to the sensor screen and stared speechlessley at it.

"What in blazes?" he asked of no one in particular...





Park stared out the window of the Military Command Space Station, in orbit above Vladet. Defense control for the local sector of space was operated from within these durasteel and titanium confined corridors and rooms. It was here that Park had talked to Brand before he had headed out to Coruscant, and it was from here that he was overseeing the dispatching of another fleet from MRP space, but this one with a much different mission.

"Admiral Carson, you have your orders then. You and your men have been briefed," stated Kraken, waiting to see if the man would object or inform him otherwise. However, the other man did indeed understand his orders, as he nodded curtly.

"Good. I wish I could go with you, but the state of affairs in the Empire makes it clear that I am most needed here. I'll expect that you take good care of my flagship in my absence of serving aboard her?" asked Kraken with a twinkle in his eyes.

"Yes Grand Moff. She will be returned with nothing more on her hull then paint marks from additional kills," joked Carson in response.

"Good. I wish you and your command luck Admiral, you'll probably need it for the tedious and challenging assignment ahead. Gloria Imperium," bid Kraken farewell. He waited for and return the salute that Carson offered in response, before the transmission was cut.

Turning back to the window, he watched as over two hundred ion trail glows receded away from the planet. The largest of these, the ones belonging to the command ship Superior, his former flag, was at the center of the formation. Once dispensing justice against the Outer-Rim Soveriegnty and the Galactic Coalition, the Grand Fleet of the Mid-Rim had been dissolved when the galaxy had settled into a more peaceful cycle, but now it was back, and was Park's first answer against the threat posed by the Reavers.

Light danced and roiled as the ships one by one entering hyperspace, until there was nothing left but empty space.

Park stood and exited the viewing and private communications room to head through the corridors. He arrived at one of the briefing rooms and entered inside to find an Imperial Army General waiting inside for him.

"General Askins, I haven't seen you for quite awhile. I'm assuming that they put you in charge of overseeing the evacuation of Coruscant from this end?" inquired Kraken.

"Yes, which is why I've come to talk to you. Although most of the evacuated citizens will probably settle on Vladet, we will not be able to house and feed everyone here, particulary with...," ranted the general before Kraken stopped him with a raised hand.

"Don't worry general, I've already given this matter a great deal of thought. Yes, some, even perhaps half of the citizens will be permitted to stay here on Vladet, but we musn't crowd this planet too much, and make it a tempting target for our enemies, particulary the Reavers. I have assigned planetery defense warships to be prepared to escort refugee convoys, marshaling from the outer reaches of this system, to other well fortified planetery systems, such as Rachuk, Coyn, Isht, and Diamal," explained Park.

The general nodded in understanding, and then got down to the more earnest and micro-managing detailed planning.



Half an hour later

Park settled wearily into a chair in his private mansion, back in Grand Isle, on the surface of Vladet. He had just arrived in his personal shuttle after finishing up planning with the army general over the evacuation efforts and Coruscanti relocation priorities.

Using one hand to massage the oncoming migraine he felt, Park used the other hand to activate the holoprojector in one corner of the room, bringing up a galaxy display. Manipulating the controls, he altered the display, showing just the Mid-Rim Protectorate. Several new blinking lights indicated new planets added to the protectorate, former planets of the Yaga Minor and Empire Proper protectorates. With their respective capitals either under siege or already fallen, Park had decided to add them to his own guidance. With the influx of new planets, he felt a self-promotion to Grand Moff was needed in order to provide sufficent rank to justify his actions.

Other dots on the map were blinking in either red or yellow. Red indicated planets known to have been under Reaver assault and with contact having been lost since then. Other planets, blinking yellow, were in or near Reaver space with unknown status. One of those planets, Druckenwell, was the first destination of the Grand Fleet.

As he felt the migraine getting worse, he shut down the holoprojector, then summoned a buttress with some headache medicine and a glass of water. He glanced longingly at a bottle of Brandy sitting on the corner of his desk, a 'thank you' gift from one of the refugee ships, but no, it would not do to be consuming alcohol at a time like this, not with so much still left to do....

Corise Lucerne

"Greetings Prime Minister, may I humbly ask for an explanation as to the presence of your ships in a Confederate system?"

“A fair question,” said Regrad, looking into the main viewscreen. “Yes, very fair captain. I’m afraid I’ve grown somewhat impatient with the Reaver problem over the last few weeks and thought it might be worth our time to find out just who else is interested in working together to solve this crisis - and because it is such a very pressing crisis, I thought it was only reasonable that I bring with me the better part of the Coalition navy, if only to impress the seriousness of the issue on our friends and neighbours.”

A bemusing smile lingered on the Prime Minister’s face. He very rarely got to indulge in humour, and likely wouldn’t have many more opportunities in the near future.

Before the captain could reply, the Prime Minister continued. “My war fleet and I are taking a long patrol around the borders of ‘Reaver’ space to recruit allies for a compact against the Reavers. With our pooled resources and knowledge we should be able to defeat these monsters once and for all. As such, please inform your superiors as soon as possible that I would like to discuss our long-overdue cooperation, and that all of our means are available to assist with any refugees, evacuations, or military obstacles you are presently facing.”

At this, Yolem, Regrad’s right-hand Azguardian, stepped forwards. “The Confederation’s fleet strength appears to us more than sufficient to protect against Reaver incursions, so we don’t want to leave any detachments behind unless you really need them. We also have stops planned at Imperial worlds coming up, so you can imagine we’ll need to conserve our strength.

“In the interest of improved military coordination, however, we do have a team of advisors and diplomats ready to deploy in order to keep your commanders in contact with ourselves. That way we can share information and update one another about the Reaver situation. When the compact is assembled, we will be able to organize musters and rally points for combined-arms operations.” Yolem took a firm step back.

The Coalition war fleet settled in a holding pattern a polite distance away from the forces around Dalos IV. From the massive bridge of The Coalition, Regrad could see the planet and its defenders and wondered just what trials awaited them all in their battle to reclaim their sector from the latest threat. He could only hope they’d be able to work together.

“Reliant is dead in the water!” Came the report from the tactical station.

The first officer stood to his feet, the chaos of the moment and adrenaline in his body numbing the gaping wound in his leg. His eyes fell on his captain . . . his dead captain, sweeping up to the viewport where he saw the crippled husk of the task force's command ship, the Dreadnaught Reliant. “Run, RUN!” Was the acting captain's first command. “Turn us about and run!”

“Hold,” A new voice sounded, one filled with the commanding calm of those who had many times before seen and survived such terrors. “We've got to hold here; rotate on the main axis to bring fresh armor to bear. From this position―”

“That's enough from you, pirate!” The captain shouted, flecks of spittle flying from his mouth. Terror had gripped him, and he had made the worst of all possible mistakes: he had allowed his perception to narrow.

“We're dead anyway, kid! Hold here and we'll be dead in ten minutes instead of five. Hold here, and maybe a couple of our boys can make it out.”

“Guards, get him out of my sight.” But there were no guards. When the primary inertial dampeners had failed and the entire bridge crew had been hurled into the ceiling, the guards' post at the bridge's access hatch (where the ceiling was lower) meant they didn't have time to react; both had serious head wounds and were almost certainly dead.

The unwanted man approached the captain's chair, his slight limp evidence that he had not evaded injury, his rage insufficient to conceal a grimace of pain. He paid no attention to the bodies along the way, the fragments of shattered bridge equipment or dislodged clutter. Grabbing the would-be captain by the throat, Zothip―former commander of the Cavrilhu Pirates―hurled the young officer out of the captain's chair, a scream of agony filling the bridge as the man's shattered leg impacted the floor.

Zothip stood in front of the chair, facing the cracked viewscreen. “The Reliant is dead,” He pointed at the vessel on the viewscreen, plumes of atmosphere and the occasional flash of fire shown clearly around it. “There is nothing we can do for her crew, and we will follow soon enough. Somebody laid a damn fine trap for us, and if we don't cover the retreat, everyone else may follow.”

Zothip paused, swallowing pride and tasting bile: “Arkanus has to know. He's got to know what these bastards did to us, or we'll never be avenged. SO HOLD POSITION, ROTATE THE SHIP, AND BE THE FRACKING ROADBLOCK THIS SITUATION DEMANDS!” The new navigator glanced from Zothip to the captain's chair, back to Zothip. “I'm not your captain, pipsqueak. Now do your job.”

The ship began listing slowly, metal groaning all around them. “Sorry, Sir; she's lost a lot of maneuverablity.”

Zothip nodded grimly. “Just give me what she's got left in her. Guns, sound off.”

The tactical officer had fortunately survived with only minor injuries, and didn't seem to mind the unorthodox change of command. “The port's gone silent. Fore cannons are almost out, too. All we've really got is the aft-starboard quadrant.” He paused, struggling to emulate the calm that seemed to come so naturally to Zothip. “All main cannons are offline.”

“Give me tactical display on the main viewscreen,” Zothip pressed on, ignoring the officer's last comment. The view of space was replaced by the symbols of friendly and enemy craft of varying sizes and functions, vital data displayed in a shorthand of distinct icons and simple shapes. “How are our friends?”

“They're taking a pounding. Enemy fighters have cleared the field of friendlies and are taking the bigger ships apart piecemeal.”

The pirate stumbled as the ship shuddered from a hit against her now-unshielded hull, took a few steps forward to brace himself against the railing. “Nothing we can do about the fighters; just delay the big ones as best we can.” Zothip was vaguely aware that the Reliant had been split in two, guns now totally silent, even her viewports gone black. How long will we last? He asked himself the question as he braced against another impact. The enemy had some pretty big guns.

“Starboard armor breached in section C, deck three,” Tactical reported, still managing to maintain composure.

Zothip inhaled deeply, finding an odd sense of serenity in this moment. “You're about to die like some of history's best; standing proud on the bridge of your doomed home, fighting for a dream that is beyond your sight, but now within grasp of those you save. Congratulations, you will be the heroes in death that you sought to become in life.”

The first officer dragged himself onto his one good leg, trying to stand in the moment before his death. Trying to face his fate with some measure of dignity “And what are you, Zothip?”

“Me? I'm just reaping what I've sown, and fool enough to sow a little more before these bastards take me . . . HELM!” He shouted, watching the enemy icon break away from its formation and make a move for the friendly ships beyond.

“I see them, Sir; not much I can do about it.”

“We have serious structural damage,” Tactical filled in.

“I don't give a damn if we're in one piece when we get to those bastards, just GET US TO THEM!”

“Aye, Sir.” The ship shuddered violently, a host of silenced alarms sounding as they reported new system failures. The tactical display grew grainy, unfocused, the computer trying to process data from damaged sensors.

The distance closed, the angle was good; but the enemy ship was fast, agile. And Zothip's ship was tearing apart under the strain of main engine burn. “They're going to get through,” Tactical reported.

“Yeah, but we can stall them a little.”

“Not enough.”

“Maybe enough for a few of our guys.”

Zothip flipped over the railing, his deathgrip breaking against the tremendous forces exerted upon it. Slamming into the bottom of the viewscreen, he heard the cracking of glass, had some basic idea of how much energy was required to break a viewscreen, realized that the world had gone black but he was still conscious. “Status!” He shouted, all composure lost.

The answer was delayed, dim, but it was there: “Catastrophic damage to main engines; enemy fire penetrated our aft armor. Internal sensors aren't registering behind D section.”

So this is how it ends. The ship shuddered once, twice: Gravity's still up, inertial dampeners are still intact. We'll last a few more seconds, but we're nothing more than target practice now. Not enough time . . . not enough help

“Sir. Sir?” It was the tactical officer: Marks, Zothip now remembered.

“I'm here, Marks.”

“I'm not sure, Sir―sensors are all but gone―but it looks like . . . reversions, sir.”

Zothip let out a long sigh. He could feel himself slipping; no sense in wondering who it might be.





Marshal Kerrick Arkanus of the Rimward Defense Initiative surveyed the grim scene with the sort of detachment permitted by a ship's viewscreen. He was just beginning to grasp the full scale of the conflict he had begun: These are no pirates. Nodding curtly to force himself out of the silent reflection, he spoke to the ship's captain without looking at him. “Captain Abil, how bad is it?”

“We've lost approximately sixty percent of the men, sir. Another twenty to twenty-five have suffered serious injury. We might be able to salvage ten percent of the hardware for immediate use. Task Force Reliant is dead, Marshal.”

Yes, and the Rimward Defense Initiative has lost another of its finest. Kerrick pulled himself away from the horrific view, studying the captain for a moment. “What do we know?”

The captain suppressed a shudder, the full weight of Kerrick's cold stare even getting to him. “Nothing. Someone's feeding these . . .” He trailed off, the facts of the moments seeming to confirm what Kerrick had been saying privately for some time now, “. . . warmongers strategic data on the RDI. We have no idea who. All we can do is mine the sensor data and hope some of the enemy ships come up in a search of recent activity.”

Monstrous waste of time. “Very well, captain. We will assemble what pieces of this puzzle we have, and hope someone will fill in the gaps before it is too late.”

“Aye, sir.”

Kerrick's gaze drifted back to the battlefield he had been all but too late in arriving at. He glanced at the staggeringly few areas that housed the remains of enemy starships, nothing distinguishable at this distance. How can we hope to fight such reckless evil?

Warning alarms flashed into being, the sensor officer giving the event a cause: “Reversions; looks pretty big.”

Before Kerrick could ask for clarification, an MC 80A Star Cruiser appeared out of the forward viewport, trailed loosely by a small collection of various starships. As Kerrick took in the obvious and extensive combat damage that covered every one of the ships, his mind screamed out in terror, drawing the only conclusion that the situation seemed to allow. But Reavers shouldn't be out this far! He forced himself to inhale, looking to his communications officer to order a full retreat.

But the comm officer had other plans: “Sir, incoming transmission.”

The statement all but stopped Kerrick's pounding heart. Reavers do not talk to their prey. “Open a channel.”

The blue-white likeness of a Mon Calamari male appeared before Kerrick, wearing a New Republic captain's uniform and rank cylinders. Kerrick had gained some understanding of Mon Calamari features in the months since the Cooperative had taken up responsibility for the species, and the seriousness of this unknown captain transmitted even through the vague haze of holographics. “Beware, Marshal Kerrick Arkanus: the prey you stalk is a hunter in her own right.”