The Recent Past

The planet was called Chandaar, and for about a day it was almost a Coalition planet. Now it was one of several worlds being targeted by Coalition Intelligence as possible sources of information on the origin of the Reavers and the fate of the Black Dragon Empire. Whatever had happened to the Dragons, their mass interdiction had vanished, and their worlds were once again exposed to the galaxy beyond.

The Coalition Stealth Intruder Specter had been moving in-system under momentum alone for days now. They would make a flyby of the planet's dayside, take long-range direct observations only, and then drift out of sensor range and make the jump to light speed. Under no circumstances were they to enter the planet's gravity well.

“I can say with absolute certainty that there is nothing like it in the ship's databanks,” The sensor chief declared, a two-dimensional image of an unknown starship hovering nearby.

“You're saying these aren't Dragons?” The captain asked.

“It appears structurally, stylistically, and compositionally unrelated to any previously encountered Black Dragon starships, sir. No Coalition starship has ever encountered a Black Dragon vessel of similar design and survived to report about it; that's all I can say for certain.”

“Very well, then. Nothing we can do about it here; we'll have to wait until High Command can cross-check it with the full database. Time until visual on the planet's surface?”

“Thirteen hours, sir.”

“Very good. Carry on.”





“I would ask only that you leave me with my dignity.”

The Core accent rang cold and lifeless through the still air of the small room, contrasting sharply and ironically with the machine's answer.

“The Core Group of the First Fleet will remain attached to Redemption, under your command. Captains Berar and Larson, along with their attack groups, will remain attached to you as well. You are and shall remain the most senior standard military official within the Cooperative Armed Forces. The title that I take from you is a burden you must be free of, if you are to do what you do best." The thing paused for a moment, and when it resumed its tone carried a gentle nature not at all expected from a B2 Battle Droid. "I do not ask that you be right, Admiral; only that you be relentless. I wish it could be some other way.”

This was no longer about national armies or personal honor; this was about politics. Blakeley hated Guardian; the Overseer was the source of its design. So it is to be the Overseer, savior of the Cooperative; against me, an up-tight, out-dated washout from the Core.

Worst of it all was: Smarts saw what the Cooperative was becoming because of him, and didn't know how to stop it.

In typical fashion, Blakeley simply answered: “Very well, Sir.” The former Supreme Commander of the Cooperative Armed Forces saluted, turned, and walked away, his commitment to duty far outweighing the cold knot forming in his stomach. Wherever this nation is going, I will be there, doing all that is permitted to ensure that it prospers. It was all a true military man could ask of himself: whatever is possible, bounded by orders.




For the Cooperative, the greatest obstacle to overcoming the Reavers had been finding a way to apply its partial knowledge of the Reavers' intentions in the most efficient way possible. A number of basic, guiding “laws” had been deduced from careful observation and even some clever testing on “wild” Reavers (laboratory tests on captured or dead Reavers invariably resulted in a loss of containment, and a forced purge of the vicinity to expunge the Reaver Virus before it could spread). But the Reavers had proven to be a highly adaptive foe, adjusting to strategies over time and deriving newer and more effective means of carrying out their basic drives (feed, convert, survive).

And so the grand question was: what is the limit of these laws? Or, put in other words: what would one have to do to the Reavers to make them change―fundamentally―what they are and how they behave? But of course there was a counterpoint, a question no one wanted to ask but everyone needed to face: what happens if all we succeed in doing is pissing them off?

But after all of the data analysis and computer modeling, eventually something has to be done. Action must be taken. The Cooperative had to act before all hope was lost.

Maridun was an exercise in action; its results were measurable and commendable. The Cooperative, and soon Regrad's Compact, now held a fortified world in the heart of Reaver Space. But for the Compact to succeed―for even the combined might of the galaxy's greatest nations to stand any hope of victory―it would need more behind enemy lines than one backwater world . . .


The present, Garos System, Reaver Space

The convoy jumped from hyperspace into the orbit of Regar I with half its ships spewing atmosphere and other vital essence. It immediately commenced with the first cardinal sin of travel through Reaver Space: the broadcasting of an open HoloNet signal. Such was the desperation of these people, their daring trek through Reaver Space meeting with disaster as experience disproved the widely accepted assumption that Reavers did not use (or perhaps even have) Interdictors.

A third of their number was already lost, consumed by the Reaver ambush set up along a supposedly safe tertiary hyperroute. Soon those Reavers would be reverting from hyperspace, pouncing on the crippled convoy and finishing them. Their only hope would seem to be found in the off chance that something big and friendly was somehow nearby; the more pressing reality was that the Reavers plying the space above Garos IV and Sundari were responding to the transmission with all haste.

Those ships still able made one final, desperate jump, abandoning their wounded compatriots to the fates. The Reavers drew nearer, and the foolish hyperwave message fell silent, far too late to undo the mistake of initial broadcast. As the distances closed and the sky turned dark with Reaver ships blotting out the distant sun, a few of the critically damaged vessels risked a hyperspace jump, promptly carving a trail of debris through local space as they succumbed to the relativistic forces of hyperspace acceleration. For those that remained, this much was clear: the end was at hand.

The truth, however, was something else entirely. The Redemption Fleet of the United Cooperative of Peoples reverted from hyperspace on a vector parallel to the crippled convoy's entry, placing the massive Bulwark Battlecruisers, Dominator Heavy Battle Cruisers, and Drackmarian Destroyers between the crippled convoy and the incoming Reaver swarm. Ionic energy poured from the newly arrived warships, their combined firepower dwarfing the Reaver swarm which only seconds ago had seemed overwhelming.

And while the Reavers hurled their destructive but relatively ineffective weapons at the Coalition behemoths, the Redemption Fleet continued with its effective but rather harmless assault, disabling Reaver vessels and even using tractor beams to prevent collisions wherever possible. And while the Coalition and the Reavers played at war, those few Praetorian Guardsmen who had controlled the largely automated fleet of freighters and cargo haulers quietly boarded their transports and shuttles, departed from their crippled Reaver-bait, and vanished into hyperspace on vectors that would take them far away from space zombies, galactic navies, and besieged worlds.



Elsewhere in the Garos System, hundreds of Cooperative vessels set up station in the now-empty space around its two inhabited worlds. Without the bother of Reaver assailants, the pair of Testudo Defense Grids were established quickly, and the Penance Fleet escorting the vast Army majority took up their defensive positions beneath the protective energy fields, standing as a potent deterrent to any Reaver intentions toward the worlds.

While Admrial Blakeley engaged the Reavers in the outer system, Gorn set about the true terror of the day: first contact with a former Imperial Borderland world. The Mon Calamari admiral clicked the small red button on his console, instantly transmitting his image across the surfaces of Garos IV and Sundari. “I am Vice Admiral Gorn of the Galactic Coalition, commander of the Cooperative Penance Fleet.” And this was the moment of truth, where the true depth of the Reaver threat was weighed. “I am here only in the name of life, for the purpose of its defense, with the tools to repel its greatest antagonist―this Reaver scourge. To the inhabitants of Garos IV and Sundari: beneath whatever banner you stand, be it Imperial, native, or some unknown sign; we are here, and shall not leave until the Reavers are no more. Will you stand with us?”

Gorn didn't know what to expect. In truth, none of the Cooperative planners for this little excursion knew what to expect. Borderland worlds had been hit hard during the initial Reaver advance, and even before then there was little contact between Cooperative and Borderland members.

The man that answered could not have surprised Gorn more.

With a burst of static that reluctantly resolved into an intelligible signal, audio only, an answer came: “Uhh, hi there. This is Myn Winger. I'm . . . well, I've got the microphone, so I guess that makes me something. Could you guys hurry up and get down here, please? We could really use some help.”

“Level seventeen, section four.”

A loud, angry denial was issued from the computer. “Access to level seventeen is restricted to authorized personnel only. Please identify yourself for voiceprint authorization and retinal scan.”

“Administrator Vejuun,” he said, and opened his eyes wide. The red beam from the security system in the door took the measure of the lines of his eyes, and, satisfied, was once again concealed behind the forcefield that protected its presence from the general public. The elevator began moving, heading to the lower levels of the spire.

The Astral Astoria had appeared in the Corporate Sector one day, a strange gift to the galaxy of unknown origin, populated by a staff and residency that enjoyed a variety of shops and services built into the upper levels. The lower levels were restricted, as the functional equipment down there was very sensitive, and not for general public access.

But many questions were still present.

What was it for?

Where did it come from?

Who built it?

And when?

Why had it appeared in the Corporate Sector? Who had sent it? And for what purpose?

Space stations don’t just happen. They are an incredible investment of resources, and to devote one purely to recreation would a task most governments could not afford. And yet, here one was. No one had probed the depth of what the station was capable of. Examined the functions of the systems in the lower levels. No one had access.

Almost no one.

“Administrator Vejuun,” the system announced as Vejuun left the elevator shaft. In contrast to much of the station’s dark walls and dimly lit halls, level seventeen was lit sharply, and painted in a sterile white. Vejuun allowed his ocular implants to adjust to the change in light and then began to walk across the smooth metal surface.

“Administrator Vejuun, you honor us with your presence,” a voice called out. The level was almost entirely empty here; there were no storefronts, stands, or general public here. Only an empty hallway leading to a makeshift office at the end of it. A single door existed on both sides of the hall, with one entrance leading to the elevator shaft that took the person inside back to the docking level.

The other door could not be opened. Not even by Vejuun.

“It has been many years, Administrator Yolaan,” Vejuun said. In truth, the two had not seen each other since they had left for the Coruscan galaxy. Vejuun with the Cree’Ar fleet, and Yolaan the helmsmen of the Astral Astoria. “I have come bearing news upon which to recalculate our adjustment matrices: Zeratul Daz’da’mar is dead.”

Yolaan nodded his approval. “His removal may influence things, yes. How was it that he came to his death? One of those force users he insisted on associating with?”

“Actually, he was shot,” Vejuun said. “A simple human officer.”

“A shame; I know that you had wished to kill him yourself some day,” Yolaan mused. “How goes the war?”

“The battle is joined; the Cree’Ar attacked Coruscant as you predicted. The removal of Kal Shora and replacement with Artanis accelerated their actions. The schedule you outlined may still be possible,” Vejuun said. “The second front that Artanis has insisted on may be enough to validate your calculations.”

“Excellent news,” Yolaan stated. “Have The Dominion discovered any evidence of our station within the core of their world?”

“Unlikely,” Vejuun said. “So far, they have focused on bombarding the surface and fighting the forces in orbit. It is unlikely that anything in the deep core has become known to them.”

“Good,” Yolaan said, pleased. “When you return to the Cree’Ar, have their cybernetic servants instructed to stay away from the deepest underlevels. Our technology must remain intact and unmolested. It cannot be allowed to be discovered; or worse yet, to be utilized.”

“I have written the subroutine myself,” Vejuun said. He turned to the display visage upon the wall depicting all the current systems under detailed observation by the posts that interfaced with the Astoria. “What of our other post, the station you deployed within the Transitory Mists?”

“It has received no indication of advanced technological activation,” Yolaan said. “If I did not know better, I would believe the Gree to be a myth.”

“But you do know better,” Vejuun stated. “What about further Draconian intervention?”

“There have been no new temporal disturbances since the one we last discussed,” Yolaan stated. “I do worry about the alliance between Taj Damuen and the Cree’Ar. If…”

“Your calculations show that the alliance produced no change in the timeline. It was nesscessary to give The Dominion the resources needed by which to achieve the aim of this war,” Vejuun said. “Without the resources provided by the Damuen worlds, the Cree’Ar would be unable to present a sufficient threat to encourage the Gree to break their isolation and annihilate them. And only once the war is over will the galaxy take the shape that we require it to take.”

Yolaan nodded. “Unification,” he said. “I still worry that not enough has been done to make that union of sufficient length. The tensions between the elements…”

“With knowledge of extra galactic war machines and the possibility of annihilation, they will put their differences aside.”

Yolaan nodded. “If not…” he began, then trailed off.

“If not,” Vejuun said, “then The Blood will conquer this galaxy. And everything we have attempted here will be for nothing.”

Yolaan’s mood lowered at the mention of The Blood. “How many times is this, Vejuun? How many galaxies? How many timelines?”

“This is our forty seventh mission,” Vejuun denoted.

“Forty seven? I thought it was forty nine,” Yolaan said, trying to stretch his brain to recall all of their previous missions.

“Incorporating the conflict in our prime galaxy in the original timeline and our original attempt at modifying it, that would make forty nine,” Vejuun offered as further clarity. “Though, on most days, I prefer not to think about The Blood destroying our homes.”

“We will succeed here, Vejuun,” Yolaan stated. “The Blood cannot be allowed to simply consume the universe. Their origin is here. We were right to come here! Now! We have everything in place to stop them. All we need to do is continue to be vigilant.”

“I am too old for pep talks,” Vejuun said. Yolaan smiled. The pair had long ago forgotten how old they were. Protected from the passage of normal space and time, it hardly mattered. “I will continue to do my part. You must continue to monitor the situation from here. Analyze all the data, and do not be afraid to make a mistake. In recalculation, we can fix things. But we cannot afford to continue to travel through time. We must stop them this time, and return. If not, we may not ever be able to go home again.”

“If we don’t stop The Blood,” Yolaan said, “then our temporal paralysis will be irrelevant; there will be no home, at no time, for us to go to.”

Vejuun nodded somberly. “Thus, we work,” he said, resting a hand on his friends shoulder. “This is one more thing I wanted to ask you. This timeline we have created… have you… seen Kaine yet?”

Yolaan shook his head. “The Imperial Coup removed his annotations from history. Wherever Kaine went, it does not seem he is coming back.”

Vejuun considered. “In all our other timelines, it was he who stood to the bitter end against The Blood. Without him…”

The rest of that sentence was left unstated as Vejuun turned and walked slowly, lost in contemplation, back to the elevator.

“What do you see?”

The voice was… familiar, but unfamiliar at the same time. It was an alien language he did not understand, but in the echo of the voice against the wall came the clarity of whispers… instant translation provided by the sounds of the others. Others who did not exist, but who all the same, could not be silenced.

Answering the question proved more difficult than understanding it. As he looked around, he realized that his entire perception of the world around him had been altered in the most fundamental way.

No longer did the walls have lines, corners, and edges. No longer did the walls consist of walls. They were instead a mixture of synthetic polymer compounds and metallic alloys bonded together into load bearing and space filling geometrical grids. The lines, angles, bends, total weight born upon, thickness of material, strength of the compound and the joint and the bracing at the bottom of the wall…

“It is all different,” he said, simply.

He noticed, that when he spoke, even his voice was different.

“Different how?”

The man considered.

“I see beyond the surface now,” he said. “The depth of the information is… overwhelming. I have lost the forest for the trees.”

“Such is life,” the voice responded. The answers, again, born from the whispers in the dark. “Clarity comes from experience; at a certain point your cognitive processes will filter out the information and define it more narrowly to that which you require for immediate processing. Until then, you may feel... somewhat confused. Tell me… are you tired? Would you like to rest?”

“I… do not require rest at the present time,” he offered back after a moment of consideration.


The other in the room nodded. His senses detected and translated the gesture. “Are you hungry?”

“Yes,” the man replied, perhaps too enthusiastically. “Yes. I do not remember when last I ate.”

“Several days,” the other person responded. “Your Azguardian physiology will eventually be suppressed entirely and your organs will be able to function without the need for chemical energy, but until that time, we will have to find you organic food. I will check the databases that we have to see if I can locate any suitable nutrition for you.”

“Before you go, I would like to ask you some questions,” the man said. “Am I a captive here?”

“No,” the other answered. “We have kept you in this room to prevent an exposure to overwhelming stimuli, but the door is not locked, and you may leave at any time. You are free to move about the compound, but regenerating your cybernetic systems will require an interface with Dominion technology; as such, it is not recommended that you leave this compound altogether. If you wish, though, you may, though you will certainly die after several days.”

“Than I am your prisoner,” he replied, shortly. “Limitations on my freedom. My entire life to spend within a day’s walk of your compound. That is not freedom; it is slavery.”

“Freedom is slavery,” the man answered back. “You give yourself too little credit. Your position here is temporary. We expect great things from you, Templator Issk. But you have much to learn. I will return with your food.”

“Before you leave,” Issk called out. “You know my name. That places us at a disadvantage.”

The other nodded. “I am Kal Shora.”

Then he stepped through the door, and Issk was alone again. He sunk deep into a prison of numbers, accepting that his life as an Azguard had come to an end.






“Organize into groups of five and begin to map the area. Take an inventory of all useable materials and input them into the Nexus.”

The others nodded their consent. The group of tek’a’tara began to fan out and search the surface of Coruscant as Issk had commanded.

He himself then walked to the edge of one of the cities tallest buildings, taking a survey of the chaos. Down below, the tek’a’tara already present were hastily destroying one of the walls of The Imperial Center For Historical Research And Artifact Archive. An otherwise unimportant building, there was one item of value inside that had been of great help to the Dominion, and one they needed to have brought out from its hiding place in the back of a dusty museum.

Issk turned back from the walkway and began to walk towards his desination.

You have doubts, the voice said, inside his head. You would question your loyalty. Be it to me, or to Kal Shora.

No, Issk answered back silently.

But you remember him. You remember when he taught you what you had become, the voice answered back. You do not think of me in the same way.

Because you are only a voice inside my head. I have no memory of you in a physical reality. Nor do I need it; you have asked my loyalty, and I have pledged it, Issk answered back with slight annoyance. You should not need to question that.

Perhaps. The voice left him alone for a few minutes as he walked silently. Why have you decided to accept my offer?

You offer me more than just being Artanis’ voice, Issk stated. You offer me the freedom to become something more substantial. I would be a fool to turn down such an opportunity.

You are a unique creation, Issk, the voice told him. When the time is right, you will be allowed to explore your full potential.

Issk nodded. What is it that you are sending me for?

A weapon, of sorts, the voice answered. It was left here by The Dominion following their attack. If you do not retrieve it and have it safeguarded for me, Artanis would have it destroyed. That cannot happen.

Very well, Issk said. He reached the building the voice had directed him to. He extended his hand and a pair of metal tubules extended from his wrist, pushing themselves into the metal panel used the access the door. Instead of swiping a key as most people did, the cybernetic systems that processed inside Issk’s skull cavity decoded the locking mechanism and disabled it. The door opened with a soft hiss. This… is your weapon?

As I said, it is a weapon, of sorts, the voice answered. Issk leaned down and turned the body over. Do you recognize him?

This is the Shadowcaste Warrior, Zeratul, Issk said. He has been dead for several hours.

Revive him, the voice said. You have a spare cognitive regenerator. Insert it at the base of his brainstem and activate it. The technology will do the rest.

But he will… Issk began.

But the voice cut him off. When his transmitters are constructed, disable them as I showed you how to disable yours. He must not be allowed to access the Nexus. At least, not yet. This is your mission now, Issk. You must safeguard this body until it is ready for transport. Do not let any others find it.

I understand, Issk said. He reached into the compartment on his leg in which he had stored the necessary component. He extended a pair of sharp blades through the ends of his fingers, used to open the tear in the skin through which he would insert the cognitive regenerator. When the hole was open, he pushed the device down until it pressed against the top of the skey’g’aar’s spinal column. Once it was in place, Issk used the current stream in his own body to charge the device. It opened, and then dug metal claws into the spine, attaching wires to nerve endings and the stems of the brain.

You have done well, Templator Issk, the voice said to him. Now, in the plaza. Witness my will be done.

Issk nodded softly. He stepped back out the building and watched now as the tek’a’tara finished their task. The wall, having been destroyed as Issk had walked, had ceded to them now what was in the hall; one of the Gree hypergates. Without a way of activating it, or interfacing with it, the Imperials had sent some of them for study and deconstruction, but this one… this one stood as a testament to their greatness. They had eclipsed the Gree; had taken the mantle as the most advanced people in the galaxy, and for all their supposed advancements, the Gree were now forgotten, without a basis in reality by which it could be equated a connection to their rumor and relics. This derelict, inoperative hypergate a perfect example of that.

Only it wasn’t inoperative. It just had to be activated.

Energy arched across the metal surface of the gate. An inbound wormhole had connected to it; one created from Imp'a'Bor'd'daak by Judicator Resfidal. The wormhole broke like water spilling from an overturned cup, energy and displaced air forming a cascading white wave that splashed harmlessly against the ground and dissipated into nothing. From the surface of the gate came the contents, sent from the world and Resfidal’s warship in the atmosphere, to land, here.

A torpedo.

It flew from the gate and banked sharply, instructed to fly to high within this world’s artificial atmosphere. The Imperial shield, still partially functional, was designed to protect against attacks from without, but this attack would come from within. When the torpedo reached a high altitude, it exploded, and particles of nanophage began to spread throughout the air. Soon, all life on the planet would be changed by the Phage; without submission to the Nexus, all organic life here would die.

Issk stood, somewhat indifferently. He had long ago stopped feeling remorse for the lifeforms here. He had a higher calling now. Besides, better Coruscant than on Azguard.

It is glorious, isn’t it? the voice asked.

Issk nodded. The first step is taken here. I am honored to be a part of it, and honored by the trust you place in me.

Hallowed are the Children of the Taj, the voice answered back.

Issk stared up at the spreading cloud of death. Hallowed the word of the Taj.

Taken from The Helix Wars: Beachhead.

...an eruption of light, Dace squeezed his eyes shut. He slowly cracked them back open, blocking out the harshness of the light with his hands in front of his face. He was illuminated, as if a spotlight from directly above had been placed upon him. Pitch darkness surrounded him.

”There is nothing you can do for them now,” a voice called from the black.

“I…I have to try!” Dace yelled back, “I can’t just let them die! Please, help us! You helped us destroy the Vong warship, help us defend ourselves!”

“We destroyed the ship assailing you because it fired upon us and for no other reason,” the voice answered, “Even that, we regret. It is not our place to interfere.”

“Then why are you here?” Dace asked, “What are you going to do, just sit back and watch thousands of people die?!”

“We came here only to discover the cause of the Atal’ai’s lockdown,” the voice responded, “Something was inputted into the structure’s database. Are you aware of what?”

“Then you built the Helix?” Dace asked.

“Are you aware of what was inputted?”

“Answer me and I’ll answer you!” Dace yelled.

A pause.

“Yes, we built the structure you know as Helix.”

“Listen to me,” Dace pleaded desperately, “If you don’t do something the Vong will destroy the Helix!”

“We have scanned their weaponry,” the voice said, “They are incapable of destroying the Atal'ai. What was inputted into the database?”

“A word,” Dace answered.

“What word?” the voice asked.

“Help us and I’ll tell you!”

“It is not our place to help you,” the voice replied, “Tell us the word and I will let you return to your ship.”

“Cree’Ar!” Dace gasped into the void, “The word was Cree’Ar, now let me go!”

There was silence...


...it had been long since the lockdown, but still he could not help but think of the implications. News of Dominion presence within the galaxy had been alarming, and the notion that such extragalactic activity had occurred without the safety measures in place notifying them was even more so.

In the months that had followed, there had been much deliberation amongst the masters, and some of the more radical had even hinted at the possibility of prematurely ending the quarantine.

The conservative majority scoffed at the idea and summarily rejected it, and he was inclined to agree, but as time went on more and more began to express this radical new desire until even he toyed with the thought.

Radical? Yes. Foolish? Maybe. But it would sate their curiosity, a quality that dominated the personality of nearly every master. And after all, hadn't they all once been radicals? Wasn't that the reason they were still flourishing while...

He shook his head. It was best not to think about it, but sometimes he couldn't help himself. He knew the others felt the same, even if none of them ever dared speak of it openly.

The truth of it was, even beyond the millenia of work breaking quarantine would undo, the real reason the conservatives were so adamantly opposed to the idea was out of fear. Fear of what they would find.

Every one of the masters knew why the quarantine measures were in place, and to an extent they knew what that entailed, but to see the full scope of it, to actually witness the process...it was a truly horrifying thought.

All save Ausel'k, who remained ever-zealous in his cause. He hated to bear ill thoughts toward such a close friend and esteemed colleague, but sometimes he could not help but believe that all emotion had been expelled from his friend's mind and that only the numbers mattered to him anymore.

Perhaps he was better off. Better to lose oneself in their work than to sit and wait. More and more were becoming mentally agitated as the years dragged on, and to develop the eccentric attitude Ausel'k had was preferable to the increasing trend in manic depression.

Maybe that's all it was. Maybe they had all become so desperate to escape their self-made prison that any excuse would suffice. Maybe it was more than mere curiosity but quiet desperation as well. Maybe he was being caught up in the hysteria.

And then there was the specimen.

Ausel'k had given him hell when he had taken the human aboard, and his colleague had used the most guttural language when they had taken the specimen from the Yuuzhan Vong wreckage.

But how could he have possibly done otherwise? The opportunity, from a scientific standpoint alone[i], to study a living Cree'Ar! He was amazed the masters hadn't eaten each other alive in the mad dash to be first in line to poke and prod it.

But when the physiological and psychological testing had been completed, it was what the specimen had to [i]say that had surprised them the most. Almost everyone among them had read the Apocrypha, but no one for a moment had taken the ideas presented remotely seriously.

After all, over thousands and thousands of years, history gets muddled...unreliable. Disagreements between cultures mutate into something else, and both the victors and the survivors document things from their point of view. Many scholars had speculated that the Cree'Ar had their own version of the Apocrypha. Everyone had thought the writings to be blown massively out of proportion.

Nobody could have suspected that they had been restrained compared to the truth.

The specimen had been completely unstable, vicious and raving and filled with disgust for them. His dialect was at first completely unknown, but striking similarities to their tongue had made quick work of the translation process. As soon as dialogue had begun, the Cree'Ar had wasted no time in threatening to bring the entire might of the Dominion down upon them.

While the threats had been empty, the innate personality that had levied them was troubling to say the least. Was the specimen an aberration? A fundamentally delusional being, outcast by a much more amiable people? Or was this really what the Cree'Ar were like?

More unanswered questions only breaking quarantine could bring closure to. The only thing they could do was recondition the poor being's mind and, with great trepidation, release him back into the galaxy. Ausel'k had been quite adamant about that over the protest of many masters. He believed that the damage the Cree'Ar could do with his knowledge of their existence was insignificant compared to the damage he would inflict upon them with his outside influence.

He assuaged further doubts by reminding the masters it would be impossible for him or anyone else to find them again, a fact none could dispute. So the specimen was released, but the question had been raised and now gnawed at all of their minds. What type of galaxy were they sending him back into?

His mind grew more and more restless as he mulled the subject over until at last he could stand it no longer. He would discuss it with Ausel'k the next time they met.


"Again you bother me with this nonsense, Cyur Ator!" the other rumbled with an expression of extreme distaste, "How many times has this been discussed in the Council alone? Do we really need to legitimize these absurdities by bothering to discuss them on our own time? Time that could be much more efficiently spent continuing our work!"

"With respect, Ausel'k, does not the sheer number of times the subject has been brought up in Council not legitimize it already?" he countered, holding his ground, "Surely a mere absurdity would not be troubling the minds of so many masters."

Half the battle with his colleague was opening his mind to alternate methods of thinking before the true dialogue could even begin. Ausel'k was a brilliant mathematician, but the very same passion he showed brilliance for limited him in so many other ways. In mathematics, there were no other points of view, only correct and incorrect. If it were not for this fatal flaw in the way Ausel'k's mind functioned, Cyur Ator doubted that he would be needed at all for their work.

"Do not be so certain of the Council's common sense," the mathematician muttered, this time not turning from the figures that stood before him, "Yet I can tell by your tone you would prove to be unrelenting should I attempt to verbally bludgeon that sense into you. Very well, I shall humor you. Why would I risk sacrificing the life's work of countless generations of our forefathers just to take a look outside?"

"The Dominion," Cyur Ator stated simply.

"The Dominion is a myth!" Ausel'k nearly bellowed before regaining a measure of composure, "You trouble me, Cyur Ator. I would have expected this from the others, but from you...you would have me ruin everything for the sake of a fairytale?"

“My friend, how long have we known each other?” Cyur Ator asked, unfazed in the least by the other’s outburst.

“You know well how long!” Ausel’k rumbled once more and then, letting out the equivalent of a sigh, nodded his head ever so slightly, “Since our birthing, Cyur Ator. Our tubes were right next to each other.”

“And in all of that time, how many instances have there been when my judgment has been clouded?” Cyur Ator pressed, eyeing the other intently.

“…only once,” Ausel’k replied, meeting his gaze just as intensely.

“That remains to be seen, I suppose,” Cyur Ator mused, knowing full well that his contemporary meant making contact with the outside and the retrieval of the Specimen, “Now, I ask you this off of any record, and I beg you, be honest with me. Knowing what I did then, and only then, can you honestly say that, were you in my position, would you have acted any differently?”

“Would I have acted differently?!” Ausel’k roared before pausing and letting off another sigh, “I…suppose…I might have not…”

“The bane of our species, my friend,” Cyur Ator nodded, “The same vice that almost led to our utter obliteration. We are very…curious.”

“A flaw we no doubt share with those…lesser creatures you are so fond of!” the mathematician grumbled.

“Flaw? My dear Ausel’k, I have never once considered curiosity to be a flaw, and I hope you don’t feel that way!” Cyur Ator shook his head, once again eyeing his companion severely, “That same curiosity saved us, my friend. That same curiosity, mixed with a little ingenuity, is the reason we thrived for so many millennia. It is the reason…the reason we saw It coming quickly enough to enact the quarantine.”

“Yes, yes! Save the inspirational speeches for the Council!” the mathematician broke the gaze first, waving the other away, “I know you too well to not see where this is going! You are asking me to destroy all of this work, all of this preparation, for the sake of our curiosity?”

“No!” it was Cyur Ator’s turn to yell, drawing a startled expression from Ausel’k, “I am merely asking you to utilize your curiosity, the way our ancestors did, in order to see lines of thought that might not have even occurred to you, as I have so often in the past!”

“Ah, another one of your…thought experiments!” Ausel’k nodded, a look of almost eagerness in his eyes, “Very well, Cyur Ator. I see you feel strongly enough about this to not let it go, and you have sufficiently piqued my interest. Let us see if I cannot follow where your mind has wandered! But this will change nothing, I assure you. It might work in mathematical calculations, but when it comes to the survival of our species…”

“Humor me, my friend,” Cyur Ator pleaded, and the mathematician nodded slowly, “Let as assume, for a moment, that the Apocrypha was accurate-”

“Preposterous!”

“Open your mind, my friend!” Cyur Ator begged, and Ausel’k begrudgingly nodded, “Let us assume, against all reasonability, that it is. Let us assume that their crusade does exist, and let us assume, if you can imagine it, that it has finally brought them here, to this galaxy!”

“Ahh, but I have you there!” Ausel’k nodded vigorously, “Why would they assault our galaxy? If we are, suspending completely our disbelief, to accept the scriptures as fact. They left us unmolested at Ador. And when we sought out other galaxies, they let us go!”

“But where are we now, my friend?” Cyur Ator asked, sighing, “As much as it hurts us every time we think of it, we are a shadow of our former selves. Hiding out in the backwaters of our former Empire, invisible to all others. All they might see are those…lesser species that you mentioned before. And you know what they think of lesser species.”

“Very well,” Ausel’k grumbled, “Continue, but be quick! My patience is quickly running thin.”

“Understood, my friend. There is much work to be done. Just allow me a few moments more,” at Ausel’k’s nod, Cyur Ator went on, “Furthermore, they might not even recognize us as once their own. You have seen the cave scratching on the recordings of our old museums. We are a far cry from what we once resembled. I am sure that they are as well! So let us assume they are here. And let us assume that they are either unaware of our presence, do not know us for who we are, or simply don’t care.”

“Don’t care?” Ausel’k questioned.

“It has been a long…long time my friend,” Cyur Ator shook his head sadly, “And if we are, as we said, to believe the Apocrypha as fact, such burning rage can do strange things to a culture. You remember records of the Kwa?”

“All too well,” Ausel’k nodded, “Continue.”

“So, assuming all of this, as we are,” Cyur Ator paused for a moment, and then, “Let us posit as to what they would do.”

“They would fight,” Ausel’k said, simply.

“Oh, were it only that simple, my friend,” Cyur Ator shook his head, “They would fight, they would dominate, they would enslave, and they would destroy. They would change the very face of this galaxy.”

“And?” the mathematician asked, shaking his head at his friend’s wide eyes, “My friend, I apologize. Do not mistake me for being so uncaring. It would be a travesty, I am sure. So many lives…but what are we to do? If we break the quarantine now, we would seal our race’s fate. Could we help the lesser ones? Perhaps. Perhaps not. But it would destroy us. And our calculations show that the chance of survival for these species decrease exponentially every ten thousand years. They will destroy themselves eventually.”

“Perhaps,” Cyur Ator nodded, sadly, “But do not forget, my friend. Our calculations showed the same thing since they were invented. And the Commonwealth-”

“Bah!” Ausel’k shook his head, “They are a shadow of what the Commonwealth once was, and you know this.”

“Still, they have showed the remarkable capability to defy all odds and expectations, and that is undeniable,” Cyur Ator reminded him, before shaking his head, “But this is not the point!”

“It is not?” Ausel’k’s eyes widened, “And here I thought you were making a case for them based on your conscience! Very well, what is the point, Cyur Ator?”

“Our calculations, you fool!” Cyur Ator nearly roared, drawing a shocked expression from the mathematician, “Forgive me, it is just…can you not see it? Think clearly! All of our calculations, all of our research, all of the variables! As I said, they would change the very face of this galaxy! They would change all of the variables!”

Ausel’k stared at him in stunned silence for a very long time. Cyur Ator was content to let it linger uncomfortably. He knew that the mathematician was just realizing now all at once what had been troubling Cyur Ator’s mind since the Specimen had first opened its mouth. It was a…shocking revelation, to say the least.

“You realize this will put us off schedule,” Ausel’k said at last, “All of these calculations…”

“If I am wrong, I will do everything I can to help you catch up,” Cyur Ator assured him, “We’ll have time, won’t we? But if I am right…”

“Let us hope you are not.”

“The results are…admittedly bleak,” Ausel’k sighed.

“Bleak?” Cyur Ator’s eyes widened, “That is all you have to say? That the results are bleak?”

“What else would you have me say?” the mathematician glared.

“Cataclysmic!” Cyur Ator growled, “The results are…unspeakably cataclysmic.”

“…yes,” Ausel’k assented, “The outcome would be less than desirable.”

“Less than-even after what we have just scientifically proven?!” Cyur Ator stammered, “How can you be so…so…calm?!”

“This proves nothing, Cyur Ator,” Ausel’k said, shaking his head, “We have no reason to believe that such a force-”

“And what of the Specimen?” Cyur Ator interrupted.

“…we have very little reason to believe that such a force-”

“Pa’ela fe’esk’a!” Cyur Ator shook his head in disgust.

“One psychologically aberrant contaminant is not enough to justify the total destruction of millennia of preparation!” Ausel’k replied vehemently, “We have no reason to believe a word that your Specimen spoke!”

“And the cognitive scans?” Cyur Ator shot back, “Would you have me believe that he somehow faked his own brain patterns?”

“You know as well as I do that he was a sensitive!” Ausel’k said, shaking his head vehemently, “Cyur Ator, listen to me. You are so eager to believe in the degradation of variables out there that you are willing to ignore the variables here! There is no conclusive proof! And I will not sanction this…this…ludicrousy based on mere inferences!”

“You want proof?” Cyur Ator’s eyes shone, boring into his contemporary, “Conclusive proof? Then let us acquire some. Send out a probe.”

“Send out a…will you listen to yourself?” Ausel’k said, meeting the other’s gaze, “We have no reason to believe the probes out there have malfunctioned!”

“Probability,” Cyur Ator reminded him, “You know the likelihood of sustained function over this period of time is at an almost negligible percentage. And those probes were designated to monitor all inbound and outbound extragalactic travel. The presence of an extragalactic being in this galaxy is proof enough that at the very least many of the probes are no longer operating at full capacity!”

“And what if they are not?” Ausel’k shot back, boiling, “What if you are right, Cyur Ator? What if all of these baseless conjectures, all of this haphazard research, what if it is all true?”

“I…what do you mean?” Cyur Ator asked, confused.

“Aha! So eager to point out others lack of foresight, and yet just as stubborn yourself,” Ausel’k said mockingly, “Let us pose, as you so love, another thought experiment. The Apocrypha was true, and the Dominion is here, in force. Let us even assume there has been a first strike! What would you have us do?”

“I…break containment temporarily, convince them to leave,” Cyur Ator replied, stumblingly.

“Ah! Appeal to their better nature,” Ausel’k shook his head bitterly, “And if…no, when they refuse. And assuming they don’t vaporize our envoys and hunt for us as well?”

“We…we force them to leave,” Cyur Ator said, resolve hardening.

“And now it is my turn to laugh at your ignorance,” Ausel’k sneered, “You are talking about all out war with a militaristic empire spanning galaxies. What will we shoot at them? Positive thinking?”

“We will mobilize the Baran at our disposal,” Cyur Ator countered, eliciting the equivalent of a guffaw from the mathematician, “And construct more! We have the resources!”

“But not the numbers,” Ausel’k reminded him, “And the losses…you would destroy us all in a crusade destined to fail?”

“We could recalibrate the VI, manufacture synthetics-”

“Not enough and you know it,” Ausel’k said.

“We could elicit aid!” Cyur Ator replied desperately.

“Aid? Aid? From whom?” Ausel’k asked, and then his eyes went truly wide, “Now I know you have gone mad. You would like us to ask…them for help?”

“And why not? It is their galaxy too, if not more than ours at this juncture,” Cyur Ator reasoned, “Assuming there has been a first strike, there is no reason to believe that they would not be more than willing to-”

“To what? To put aside their differences?” Ausel’k scoffed, his face contorting in disgust, “To all of the sudden unite under one banner? That is what it would take. Their complete, unwavering support. They are too simple minded to, even for a moment, consider the possibility!”

“Always the cynic,” Cyur Ator sighed, shaking his head sadly, “And so quick to forget old allies.”

“They are nothing like what they once were!” Ausel’k roared, “We came to their aid every time they requested it! We let them stand upon our shoulders, advanced them light years beyond their capability! And what did we receive in return? When our civilization crumbled they…they…let us die!”

“And what could they have done?” Cyur Ator replied, not matching the other’s tone. He sat, pensive, “What could Man do that Gree could not?”

He arose, stretching his tentacles. They had been hard at work for hours, recalculating variables. It felt good to stand again at last. He paused at the other’s replicator and made himself a drink before moving to Ausel’k’s window. The silence between the two endured as Cyur Ator adjusted the wall’s photoreceptors, flooding bright light into what had once been a dimly lit room. He winced at the sudden barrage to his senses, his eyes blinking several times before they adjusted.

“You and I,” Cyur Ator said at last, breaking the silence, “We stand at the top floor of the R’lyeh Burak, a monument to all that our species has achieved. It dwarfs every other structure on this planet. The view is beautiful, is it not?”

“It is,” Ausel’k replied as he joined his friend and contemporary at the transparent wall.

The two looked out together at the city of R’lyeh. Massive skyscrapers stretched in every direction as far as the eye could see. The world had not always been an ecumenopolis, but over the millennia they had had little choice but to build over every last inch of the planet. The quarantine saw to that. All of it had been anticipated, calculated, foreseen. The mystical quality of a mathematics so advanced it would make the brightest minds of the Coruscan galaxy feel like little schoolboys again.

“R’lyeh Burak, as awe inspiring as it may be,” Cyur Ator continued at length, “It is nothing compared to what Gree Burak had been. Maybe that is okay.”

“What do you mean?” Ausel’k’s eyes narrowed as he shifted to regard Cyur Ator.

“I mean…” the gree sighed, “I mean that maybe our destiny does not lay millennia ahead of us, but here and now. Please, let me speak. We avoided utter catastrophe so long ago when the rest of the empire fell into oblivion. We escaped what should have been our fate as well. And now we bide our time, waiting for these civilizations of humanity and others to do the same so that we might rise again, so that we might swoop in like scavengers and rebuild upon their ruins in some crude caricature of what we remember of the empire we once had.

We could do that. We could wait and wait for generations just to reclaim our glory over the stars, but what do the stars care? They do not mind who rules over them, the ideologies and species change, but the stars fade just the same no matter who claims them as their own. The truth of it is none of us do. The stars rule over us, but we are all too prideful to notice. We could do that.

Or we could live instead of wait. How many wars do you think we have missed in the tens of the thousands of years we have been absent? How many massacres? And now, they are here. The Cree’Ar. Our…brothers. And if the Apocrypha is to be believed, masters of that craft. Slaughter to them is as fine a science as mathematics is to you. And I know it is foolish, and I know it is counterintuitive, but I cannot help but feel…responsible for that.”

“Cyur Ator, do not be ridiculous-”

“No!” he yelled, turning away from the other, “Do not try to defend it! Do not try to rationalize it! For our sake, do not break it down into equations! When our species was young we faced obliteration at the hands of the...Yuuzhan Vong. They made their choice, they sold their souls for vengeance, and we watched. And when we could not watch any longer we abandoned them. We came here. And for eons we have been repenting for that. And if not that then something else even more terrible, so terrible that we could not bear to write it down and the Apocrypha is only a metaphor to conceal our true shame!”

“My friend…” Ausel’k managed, unable to find words.

“If they are here, then it is war, Ausel’k,” Cyur Ator whispered bitingly, “I do not believe it is a war that this galaxy can win. Not without us. All of those lives…you are the last among the Council to remain so stubborn, though I know you are too busy with the equations to realize it. The rest feel as I do. The Specimen brought back a civilization’s length of shame to us, and if they are here…none of us will be able to ignore that. We will break quarantine. Possibly forever.”

“All of my equations…” Ausel’k whispered to himself, “My life’s work…that of my ancestors’…”

“I am sorry, my friend,” Cyur Ator said, turning back to the mathematician and placing a tentacle on the other’s shoulder.

For a long time, they stood there, staring out at the city, tears dripping slowly from their eyes.

“Send out the probes,” Ausel’k managed at last.

“I sent them out just before I came here,” Cyur Ator said.

“I know.”

The Grand Council had been summoned for an emergency convocation. The Council chambers lay deep within the bowels of R’lyeh Burak, a massive room reminiscent of the Senate building on Coruscant in days of old. The entirety of the Grand Council filled only a miniscule portion of the truly magnificent seating arrangement. Yet with their poise and elegance the Gree present seemed to truly occupy the entirety of the chamber. For there were Gree here that had not been seen in millennia past.

The Grand Council was filled not only with the top Gree Administrators and Operators, but with Researchers and Crafters as well.

Two sects of the ancient Gree Empire that had been marginalized as their species’ dominion over the Coruscan galaxy had nearly become absolute. It had slowly led to their civilizations downfall, at first too slightly to be of any notice, and then all of the sudden far too quickly for anything to be done until it was too late.

R’lyeh had once been the most advanced scientific outpost within all of the Gree Empire, stationed deep within the bowels of the artificially created Transitory Mists so as to give the Researchers and Crafters much needed privacy away from the Empire at large in order to carry out their more sensitive experiments. As the Empire slowly slid towards inevitable downfall, the scientists stationed at R’lyeh had been among the only to both notice quickly enough and to be in a position to do something about it.

When it had become apparent that the Grand Council on Gree would forever turn a deaf ear to their pleas for reform, those in charge of the R’lyeh outpost had quietly gathered those intellectuals amongst the Operator and Administrator castes who were willing to listen and, once their numbers had been sufficient, quarantined the entire planet from the rest of the galaxy. In the utter confusion and chaos that followed shortly after, R’lyeh had not been missed.

Ausel’k’s ancestors had been amongst those charged with finding a solution before all had become too late. Cyur Ator’s ancestors had been amongst the most prominent Administrators who had heeded R’lyeh’s call. Every gree in the room could trace their lineage directly back to the most brilliant minds of the latter Gree Empire.

Of course, it made genealogy a great deal simpler when, one hundred thousand years after the initial quarantine, the clone protocols had been put into place. They all knew their ancestors well because, in a very real sense, they were their ancestors. The wonders that the most brilliant minds in all the galaxy were capable of.

“I am sure you are all wondering why it is that you have been called here today,” Cyur Ator’s voice, artificially enhanced by the technology within his terminal, boomed out across the chamber, echoing faintly off the far walls, “This I will answer. We are here to discuss this world’s future.”

Murmurs burst forth from nearly every councilmember present. After Cyur Ator had managed to quiet them once more, he continued.

“Most of you are aware that several cycles ago I made an executive decision to do something unprecedented in our history,” the Administrator continued, his eyes sweeping the floor to meet the expressions of the others, “I broke quarantine, made brief contact with outsiders, and retrieved a Specimen from the outlying solar system.”

More murmurs, this time more sporadic. Many of them were aware of this. The resulting study of the Specimen and its results had burned like wildfire through the scientific community in the past few cycles since.

“After extensive study of that Specimen and drastic neural modifications, it was released back into the galaxy at the request of certain parties,” Cyur Ator said, once again drawing their complete attention. Ausel’k shifted uncomfortable in his seat, but there was no hint of ire in his friend’s voice, “The data accumulated during that time, however, was…unnerving.

The Specimen claimed to be a member of a race that I am sure many of you have heard of but, until that time, none of us have taken seriously in an empirical sense. The Specimen claimed to be Cree’Ar.”

Startled expressions surfaced in the face of those few who were not already privy to that information.

“More than that, his descriptions of his species and…” Cyur Ator paused for a moment, before continuing, “Sociopathic tendencies within his psyche seemed to coincide almost precisely with the account of that species found within our race’s ancient Apocrypha. More unnerving, the Specimen claimed that he was a member of an advance party for this…Cree’Ar Dominion’s impending whole scale assault upon the Coruscan galaxy.”

Many more expressions within the Council became startled at this revelation. That aspect of the data gathered had been redacted from most files on the subject, classified to prevent a widespread panic amongst the population of R’lyeh. It had sickened Cyur Ator to give that order, and he would have felt a sense of calm at finally revealing the information if it were not for…

“For the past few cycles,” his voice amplified itself slightly, once more quieting the hushed conversations amongst his peers, “We have been…debating what should be done. The arrival of a seemingly extra-galactic Specimen raised serious concerns, specifically because our long range sensor beacons apparently did not detect it. It seems as though we are no longer capable of relying on them for accurate intelligence.”

Meaning that they were blind. It was a startling notion, to say the least. And Cyur Ator could see that realization in the eyes of almost every councilmember present. He sighed softly to himself before continuing on.

“Without accurate intelligence concerning inbound and outbound extra-galactic travel,” he stated, “we found ourselves faced with a very real problem. Taking into account the Specimen’s…abnormal brain activity, we could not rely on it for an accurate account, even with our best scientists working on extracting reliable information. The Specimen might have truly believed something that was not true. It could have been merely an anomaly.

Recently, as a thought experiment, myself and our Researcher Ausel’k recalculated the variables within the Restoration Program to account for the possibility of a full scale extra-galactic assault perpetrated by a race matching the description of the Apocryphal Cree’Ar. The results…were catastrophic. Complete failure of Restoration within the next century.”

The murmurs became startled shouts, and as Cyur Ator glanced down at his terminal, he noted that the brainwaves of the room had spiked with panic. Shaking his head, he knew that it would get worse before it got better.

“M’ael ak’tor!” Cyur Ator cried out, and after several minutes a sense of control had been reestablished, “I hope you can understand, fellow members of the Council, why such new and startling information provoked me to make another executive decision. Several hours ago I gave the order to break quarantine once more and launch probes out into the galaxy, searching for any presence of Cree’Ar activity.

Our findings were…worse than could have ever been expected.”

Cyur Ator rapidly typed several keys on his terminal, and in the center of the room appeared a three dimensional rendering of a world in flames. Confusion spread throughout the council.

“These scans were acquired near the galactic core one hour ago,” Cyur Ator explained, “The planet you are looking at is the world of Coruscant, capital world of what seems to be the dominant human civilization within the galaxy. And this…” he swiveled the rendering away from the world and expanded it to encompass the space around the planet.

“This…is the latter stages of a full scale Cree’Ar Dominion assault upon the human military.”

There were no murmurs, no cries of startle or outrage. Silent, wide eyes of horror looked on at the carnage that unfolded in perfect scaled rendering at the center of the Grand Council chambers. Plasma weaponry burning through durasteel hulls, the wreckage of massive star destroyers as they listed aimlessly through space, laser blasts having too little success penetrating the shields of the rampaging Dominion war fleet.

“And this…” Cyur Ator said after what seemed like eons, “this is a communications signal intercepted and just translated from the galactic Basic.”

“To all vessels of Imperial and civilian identification, hear my words. I am Lord Artanis Daz'Da'Mar, leader of The Dominion. Our God And Glorious Benefactor, Borleas Quayver, has designated the world you know as Coruscant to belong to The Dominion Under His Red Sun. Your resistance, while a valiant effort, only prolongs the suffering that must be born on your people. We have no wish to harm you; we merely want what is rightfully ours.

We respect your will to fight however the time to fight has ended. This world will be ours and how many will be lost before we take control is up to you. I offer you a direct choice now; we will cease firing on your vessels as you will on ours, and you may have two days to evacuate all personnel from the surface and orbit that you wish.

However, if you do not accept this proposal, than you will be forced to deal with the consequences. Even with your recent reinforcements, you are still at a technological and numerical disadvantage, as well as an inferior tactical position. You will lose the fight in orbit; even more of your vessels will hang, listless and exposed to space, crews dying. Not to mention the surface of the planet.

If you not cease firing on our vessels than Borleas Quayver has authorized that we do what we must to force you to accept your honorable defeat. If you are still firing offensive weapons on our vessels in one standard hour, than I will launch torpedoes that will distribute The Phage nanovirus into the atmosphere of Coruscant, killing the entire remaining military and civilian population and rendering it uninhabitable to organic life for the next one hundred years.

I wait your decision. Ra’esh’ra a’le’esh’a . Artanis out.”

His head bowed low, Cyur Ator made no attempt to calm the startled mass within the chambers of the Grand Council. There was nothing that he could say. Their greatest fears concerning their ancient heritage had been nothing compared to the needless carnage that Cyur Ator had witnessed over the past hours spent pouring over the gathered data.

As minutes gave way to minutes, the sheer panic that echoed off the chamber walls ever so slowly died down until once again the chamber lay silent, all eyes directed at Cyur Ator. They sought guidance. Did he have that to give? He must.

“It is with…great sorrow that I must ask a question none of our ancestors ever expected to be asked for millennia to come,” Cyur Ator said slowly, measurably, as if desperate for them to take his words in every ounce of seriousness that he meant them, “I must ask you, my friends, to vote. I invoke the right of High Praefect, and as first act in that station I would break quarantine fully and do everything in my power to put a stop to the Dominion, by any means necessary.”

Shock filled the room.

“If we do nothing, the Restoration Program will inevitably fail,” Cyur Ator resumed, his eyes slowly meeting those of every gree in the chamber, “The variables are undeniable. There is no scenario in which this is not the case. Breaking quarantine might spell ultimate doom for our species, but maintaining quarantine will see to that no matter what we do. Even if it did not, I would ask this of you nonetheless. The Cree’Ar Dominion exists because of the sins of our ancestors, and though I am not them, I cannot help but feel responsible for the ghosts of their pasts. I know many of you must feel the same.

I am asking you, Grand Council of R’lyeh. Grand Council of the Gree. Not as your Primary Administrator, but as a citizen of a race on the brink of annihilation. I am asking you to vote.”


The vote was unanimous.

Cyur Ator had been elected High Praefect of the Gree.

“Congratulations, High Praefect.”

Cyur Ator turned to regard the source of the voice, a great sorrow in his eyes. The expression softened somewhat when he realized it had been Ausel’k who had spoken those words, but the Researcher caught the meaning behind the gree’s eyes nonetheless.

“I am sorry,” Ausel’k said, now at Cyur Ator’s side, “It was in bad taste.”

“Think nothing of it,” the High Praefect waved at the other with a tentacle, “Your sense of humor is not only highly uncharacteristic for a mathematician, but incorruptible and…appreciated. Especially during such times.”

“Such times indeed,” Ausel’k echoed, turning to gaze out at the city from their purview, once again in the uppermost reaches of R’lyeh Burak, “Ask me a cycle ago if I thought this…any of this…I would have laughed in your face.”

“Thousands upon thousands of years of arduous waiting and now things are happening all too quickly for my tastes,” Cyur Ator assented, sighing, “It had to be done, you know.”

“Who are you trying to convince?” Ausel’k asked, the question both humorous and serious, “I am with you, my friend. To whatever bitter end may lie in wait for us.”

“I know that,” Cyur Ator replied. The city had become a hive of activity in the hours following his election, “I reviewed your application for transfer. Why?”

“Why not?” Ausel’k asked, laughing bitterly, “My work as director of the Restoration Program is now, for a time at least, obsolete. I must find some way to occupy my days. I am not relying on our relationship for consideration, if that is what you are thinking. You can see that my psychological scores speak for themselves. I am more than qualified for the position.”

“Of that, I have no question,” Cyur Ator said, nodding his head slightly, “I already approved it. You will be given commission of the newest Baran. Ausel’k Baran. Congratulations, Commander.”

“Just like that, I suppose?” Ausel’k mused, shaking his head.

“Just like that,” Cyur Ator nodded, “It is not something I will ever become used to.”

“Absolute power…” Ausel’k muttered to himself.

“Is an absolute corruptor, I know,” the High Praefect turned to meet the newly appointed commander’s eyes, “I will not forget it.”

“I know you will not,” Ausel’k said, his demeanor reassuring, “When does it drop?”

“The cloak? Within the hour,” Cyur Ator turned back to look out at the R’lyeh night sky. Within the hour, he would see the stars with his own eyes for the first time in his life.

“So fast, things move,” the commander sighed, “What of the outsiders?”

“I have been meaning to discuss that with you,” Cyur Ator said, not moving his eyes from the skyline, “I know your position no longer dictates, but I was hoping you could oversee the relocation calculations. They are being moved.”

“I see. For the best, I suppose,” Ausel’k nodded, “Has a candidate world been selected?”

“Dreena,” the High Praefect replied, “Within the Cluster. It is an ocean world, nearly uninhabited. A slight change of scenery, but I am told their population is small enough, and the weather is an improvement.”

“Good,” the commander nodded, “They deserve as much, if your report is any indication.”

“I was under the impression that you had not read it,” Cyur Ator said, his eyes widening slightly.

“An hour ago,” Ausel’k replied, laughing softly.

“That sounds correct,” Cyur Ator said, laughing as well, “But yes, they seem…like good humans.”

The conversation died with that. For a while, they stood in silence, staring out at the planetary skyline.

“And the synthetics?” Ausel’k asked at last.

“I suppose that depends on what state they are in,” Cyur Ator replied, regretting the decision to cease monitoring the Solaris Project, “I will not reprogram them, if that is what you mean. Now more than ever I will not.”

“Because of the Cree’Ar?” Ausel’k asked.

“Because of the Cree’Ar,” Cyur Ator answered, nodding, “the Empire forbade research into artificial automata for millennia because of the Apocrypha. Our ancestors thought that foolish, but now that we know…I will not bind them to our will. Their decisions will remain their own.”

“Understood,” the commander said, “And if they look upon us as gods?”

“Gods?” Cyur Ator shook his head, “I would think that they are more likely to resent us for abandoning them. Either way, their decisions are their own. We will do our best to acquiesce.”

“I will go see to the calculations,” Ausel’k said at length, preparing to take his leave, “I do not want to miss the show.”

“I am sure it will be beautiful,” Cyur Ator agreed, referring to the stars, “Thank you, Ausel’k.”

“For supporting you, I presume,” Ausel’k said, shaking his head, “You were right, my friend. It had to be done. I see that now. I am sorry I did not for so long.”

“Do not be,” the High Praefect said, and the other gree took his leave.


Commonwealth Embassy, New Andoz

It was a backwater assignment, Ambassador Marcus Arellies knew. After the initial contact with the visitors from another galaxy, the Consortium had been abuzz with curiosity concerning their new neighbors. At the time, Arellies had thought of the position as a chance at greatness. The head of the first embassy constructed on the Andozian world!

As the months had passed and the Hapans had begun to realize that the Andozians were no different from themselves and a great deal more boring, interest had quickly waned. They were just refugees, remnants of a civilization by far technologically inferior, except for a few sparks of imagination that had not yet occurred to the galaxy at large. No doubt the galaxy seemed a new and wondrous place to the Andozians, but to the Hapans they were boring.

Nice folk, but boring nonetheless. And they were so concerned with rebuilding some semblance of a society that there was not much for an ambassador from another world to do. So he sat in his office, watching holovids and watching the chronometer in aching anticipation for the close of the day, as he had done for the past few months.

A backwater assignment, nothing more.

That was when the young man from the embassy’s sensor station slammed into his door at a dead sprint, shaking the foundations around it and sending the young man flying backwards onto his ass. Not showing even the slightest sign of embarrassment, he jumped to his feet and keyed the console this time, causing the door to slide open.

Ambassador Arellies, flabbergasted by the display, keyed off the holovid he had been watching and gawked at the young man.

“What the fuck is going on here?” Marcus nearly roared.

“Sir!” the young man saluted, and then paused, not quite knowing why he had done so, “Sorry sir! Terribly sorry! It’s just…I…sir, you need to come with me.”

“Calm down son and tell me, what the hell is happening?” Marcus asked, his eyes gone wide as he regarded the young sensor officer’s panicked expression. Had the Commonwealth been attacked?

“I…please, sir! You need to come with me!” the man stammered, not knowing what to say, “I…frak sir, I’ve never seen anything like it!”

“Like what?!” the ambassador demanded.

“I….I don’t know.”

Sighing, the ambassador rose to his feet, and was led at a pace uncomfortably close to a dead sprint for his tastes down the hall and to the turbolift. A short ride later and they were on the floor of the sensor station. As soon as the doors opened, the young man burst through the doors and the ambassador trotted behind him, struggling to keep up. He could hear a tremendous commotion around the corner.

As the two men nearly burst into the sensor room, five other men were screaming at each other and at other people through comm. Devices, pouring over data and shaking their heads before rushing to other stations and repeating.

“What the fuck is going on in here?!” Marcus roared, and the room fell deathly silent.

“Ambassador,” an older man motioned him over, seemingly the officer in charge of the station, “In the past few minutes we have detected…unusual activity within the solar system.”

“What kind of ‘unusual activity’ warrants this…this…fiasco?!” the ambassador growled, staring the man down. The other did not flinch, which unnerved Arellies. When he had to be, he was an intimidating man.

“The kind, sir, that we’ve never seen before in all our years of service to the Consortium,” the officer replied, his voice calm and grating, “The kind, sir, that overloaded two sensor stations in the past minute. The kind, sir, that puts the energy spike of a supernova to shame. That kind of unusual activity, sir.”

“What the fuck are you talking about, son?” Marcus asked, fear creeping up upon his features. Did this have something to do with the attacks they had heard about against the Empire?

“To be honest, I don’t know,” the officer replied, satisfied that he had gotten the ambassador’s attention, “Like I said, we haven’t seen anything like it before. We’ve spent the past few minutes trying to figure it out, but…we’ve got two sensor stations down, and we don’t even know why, but whatever they tried to read out there completely fucked them. Nothing I have ever heard of is capable of that.”

“Is it an attack?” Marcus asked, bewildered. Who would launch an attack in this system?

“I don’t have any information for you, sir,” the officer repeated, “We’re all in the dark here. I just assumed you would like to be here while we try to find out.”

“You assumed correctly, son,” the ambassador nodded, “Now, can someone-”

“Incoming transmission, sir!” another man shouted, staring down at one the stations that had not been fried, “From…this can’t be right.”

“What?” both the officer and the ambassador asked at the same time, before the officer continued, “What can’t be right?”

“It’s coming from a…planet, sir,” the officer replied, his eyes widening, “In this system…it’s not on any of the charts…it doesn’t exist!”

“Speak Basic, damnit!” the ambassador roared.

“We’re being sent a transmission, sir,” the young man tried to explain, “from a planet that materialized out of thin air.”

“Impossible,” the officer said, “Play it.”

“Decoding…playing it now, sir.”

There was static, and then a voice, distinctly alien, but speaking in Basic.

“Do not be alarmed. We mean you no harm. We are doing this for your own safety. Please, do not be alarmed. All will become clear in time. This will feel…odd.”

“What the fuck is he talking about?” the ambassador asked, and then his entire world went white.

The experience was unlike anything he had ever felt before in his life. It lasted for what seemed like an eternity, but when they checked the chronometers afterward it had been instantaneous. There was an extremely unsettling sensation, and then the white faded, and he was standing once more in the sensor station. From the expression on the other men’s faces, he could tell they had experienced the same thing.

“What just happened?” a young man asked.

The head officer checked the sensors, and his brow furrowed.

“The transmission is gone…the planet is gone,” he announced, before checking further readouts, “So is…the star? Wait, no. There it is. How did it…what the…”

Another man burst into the room, his eyes wide.

“Ambassador!” he cried, hysterical, “You need to come outside! Now!”

“I’m a little busy-”

“Now, sir!” the man grabbed Marcus’s arm and hauled him out of the station, down a flight of steps, and out the front door.

“What is going on?! Why did I…” his voice trailed off, and the ambassador looked around in awe, “What…”

The embassy building was the same. The street was the same. For all intents and purposes, nothing around them had changed. But the scenery in the distance was unlike anything he had seen before. It was not day, but night. Ambassador Marcus Arellies had no idea what to make of anything that had just happened in the past ten minutes, but one thing was certain, no matter how much it did not make sense.

They were no longer on New Andoz.


R’lyeh Burak

“The relocation was a success, High Praefect,” Ausel’k said as he approached the other gree, who by all appearances had not moved from his spot, “Perfect success, in fact. No anomalies detect…oh my…”

The commander had looked out the transparent wall for the first time, and for the first time in his life, the gree saw the stars.

“We…decloaked…” he managed at last, “I had seen pictures, of course, but…they’re…they’re beautiful.”

“Yes,” Cyur Ator agreed, “Yes they are.”

The Very Recent Past

Imperial Task Force GF-11 exited hyperspace well within the set coordinates of their expected rendezvous with the Grand Fleet. Composed of just over one hundred ships, GF-11 was about half of the size of the entire Grand Fleet, but only about 40% of GF-11 was composed of combat vessels. The other half were all auxiliaries or freighters ferrying supplies first to the Imperial fleet, then secondary to the worlds the fleet had already visited, either relief supplies, or foritifcations to guard those worlds against additional Reaver attacks.

"Sir, contacts on the sensors, to our left, right, and straight ahead. Estimated count varies at around two hundred vessels, size estimation from corvette sized to command vessels," reported the sensors officer aboard the Pulverizer, the Reign Mark II class destroyer assigned as flagship to GF-11.

Rear Admiral Mark Dubrusco turned from his captain to glance first at the sensor stations, then at the viewport.

"The fleet is early indeed if they are here instead of us," remarked the admiral.

"Transponder Identifications?" asked Captain Demarko, standing next to the admiral.

"Coming through now...We have Grand Fleet identification codes for most of the vessels....," trailed off the sensors officer.

"You see? Nothing to worry about. Inform the freighter crews they may begin heading to...," trailed off the admiral as he was interrupted.

"Sir, all of the transponders are older codes, from the reserve fleet vessels. I'm also now reading transponder codes from a number of Confederation, Commonwealth, and....Dragon Imperium codes. Sir, these ships are adrift, but sensors shows some kinds of activity...," trailed off the sensors officer.

Both Dubrusco and Demarko turned pale when they realized the full implications of what the sensors officer had revealed.

"Shields up! Weapons, power online, target acquisitions the nearest vessels!" yelled the captain to his crewmen.

"Communications, recall those freighters! Order the escorts to the front, and have all vessels launch their starfighter screens!" yelled the admiral also, whirling back to the viewport.

As the coded signals sliced through space between the ships, the Reavers onboard the derelict vessels picked them up. Almost all at once, the fleet scattered around the front half of GF-11 began coming alive and moving torwards the now fleeing freighters that had moments before been about to dock with said vessels.

The viewport flashed green as an excited shout came from guns.

"Turbolaser fire! Those Reavers in front are firing their turbolasers! They seem to be aiming for the freighter's engines!" yelled guns.

"All warships, open fire dammit! Concentrate your firepower upon the largest of the Reaver vessels. Have the fleet's starfighters engage the smaller Reaver vessels," ordered Dubrusco. Space nearby lit up with the destroyers and escorts opening fire on the Reaver ships, the ion glows of hundreds of Imperial starfighters receding into the distance.

"Admiral, incoming starfighter squadrons from the Reaver vessels!" yelled the sensors officer.

"What? Since when do Reavers operate starfighters? Magnify on the viewscreen!" ordered Dubrusco. As he, the captain, and a few horrified crewmen watched, sure enough incoming Reaver starfighters, some already damaged to a previous degree, in the form of older TIE Interceptors and TIE Bombers, headed in their direction, in formations decent enough to impress novice pilots. As they continued watching, a single TIE bomber broke from one of the group, and suicided into a freighter's shields. Although the shields held, the bomber's payload of pre-armed Magnetic Pulse Torpedoes detonated upon contact, sheathing the freighter in a mass of purple lightning. Disabled, the freighter was rapidly left behind by it's consorts to the mercy of the Reaver armada.

"Launch all of our additional starfighter squadrons, have them screen our warships and freighters," said Dubrusco in a very suddenly calm voice, the shock of what he was seeing calming his very angry demeanor when engaging in battle.

"Incoming suicide fighters!" yelled guns, as the quad laser cannons onboard the Pulverizer opened up on a dozen approaching specks. Detonations occured as the cannons scored hits, but flying through the hail of laser fire, two TIE Interceptors, one out of control, the other not even hit, crashed into the shields, causing minimal shield loss. But shielded by their sacrafice, a single TIE Bomber, flying right behind them, crashed into the shields next, it's payload of Mags disabling a large section of the forward right quadrant, silencing twenty turbolasers and ten heavy laser cannons for the duration of the engagement.

"Withdraw...," muttered the captain.

"What?" asked Dubrusco, whirling back around to face Demarko, his voice once again rising.

"We need to withdraw. We don't know where the Grand Fleet is, and I doubt we'll be able to survive for long with this size of a Reaver fleet and the new tactics they are employing," explained Demarko.

"Surely you must be jesting, these are Reaver vessels captain!" yelled the admiral.

"Take another look at the sensors, admiral," pointed the captain.

Turning back away from Demarko, Dubrusco immediatly saw what he meant. Already a quarter of their freighters lay disabled and are being swarmed by Reaver shuttles docking with the vessels. Ten of their escort warships, including the Ferro class medium cruiser Brentaal were also disabled, and their own TIE Defender and Fighter squadrons were suffering heavy losses from Reaver starfighters blowing themselves up with Magnetic and Ion Bomb suicides and the Ion cannon fire from the enemy capital ships.

"Very well then," consented the admiral after a long drawn out sigh of frustration.

"All vessels, this is captain Demarko speaking. Effect an immediate withdraw, Code Yellow Zero Five Niner. Disable transponders and all equipment that broadcasts a message through space of some kind, sensors even. Rendezvous point will be Rachuk, System Sector Seven. Good luck," ordered the captain.

Picking up on their transmission, several of the larger Reaver vessels zeroed in on the Pulverizer.

"Guns, let's buy them the time needed to escape," ordered Demarko.

"Yes sir," replied the older man with a grin on his face.



Admiral Dubrusco muttered something under his breath as the ship's naval complement tried to stem the flow of Reaver soldiers into his ship, but it was a losing proposition as over a dozen barges were docked in various places along the disabled Pulverizer's length. They have made a sizeable dent in the Reaver fleet, destroying over half of their numbers, although the largest ship, the MACC Nemesis, had escaped into hyperspace in pursuit of the freighters and the escorts that withdrew along with them.

"Sir, Confederation and Coalition warships, off our port bows," commented captain Demarko, nodding in the direction of the viewport.

Dubrusco turned about and hope briefly lite up in his eyes, but faded as those warships turned about and entered hyperspace almost as soon as they appeared....



The Grand Fleet exited hyperspace well within the coordinates provided by High Command for their assigned rendezvous with the supply fleet.

Admiral Carson leaned forward when no vessels registered on the sensors display after a sweep of the system.

"Where is GF-11 at? They should have arrived and set up station well over forty eight hours ago," commented the admiral to no one in particular.

"Sir, sensors reports possible contacts, one hundred eleven kilometers ahead of us, multipule contacts, cold and adrift. Estimated sizes ranges from two thousand meters to two meters," reported the sensors officer.

"Hangar, I want TIE Scouts dispatched to that location. No more than a dozen. Report on what they see, have them withdraw if any of the vessels power up," ordered Carson.

"Reaver vessels, you suspect?" asked the captain standing next to him.

"Possibly. But if that was the case, they should have started powering up and coming at us the moment we started interchanging in fleet communications upon exiting hyperspace," replied Carson.

A few minutes later, they had their answers.

"Sir, TIE Scouts report derelicts as belonging to a wide variety of sources. Some vessels are from Imperial Reserve fleet eleven, others are from Confederation, Coalition, and Commonwealth sources. All have signs of Reaver infection, and are gutted by turbolaser and torpedo fire," reported the communications officer.

"It seems a battle was fought here," commented the captain.

"Yes, it appears GF-11 ran into something most foul. We can't continue without reprovisions. Have the fleet set course for Rachuk, we'll have to cut our campaign short, temporarily," ordered Admiral Carson.

"Yes sir," replied the captain.

Within an hour of them arriving within the system, the Grand Fleet had left again, leaving behind the skeletons of the fight to save GF-11.

Delaborde-class Star Destroyer Themis, five parsecs from Budpock

Commodore Valeska intently stared at the sensor board, along with the rest of the task force’s command staff. Small dots of green quickly jumped from planet to planet. But they were compared to the orange clouds that seemed to flow in between the planets, never seeming to touch the orbs, but ever threatening their presence. Valeska stared several with blinking dots, indicating that one of Stellar Enterprises RS-24s had attached a tracking beacon to it which reinforced the Confederation’s Defense Web hyperspatial tracking system in the Meridian Sector. She sighed, and pointed at one of the blinking dots in particular.

“Identify track A4,” ordered the woman.

“Umm…it was the Adrienna, one of the CMF’s Juaire corvettes, last known to be carrying a shipment of wine from Ampliquen to a Commonwealth trading post on Meridian…last reports from the ship was that it was being tractored in by an infected Imperial star destroyer.”

Commodore Valeska snorted. She had seen it before. The Adrienna’s story was typical of how most Confederation starships had fell into Reaver hands. While the bulk of the Confederation Defence Fleet had been stationed in geosynchrous orbit around their planets, and capable of being protected both by planetary shielding and anti-orbital batteries, the CMF had been less lucky, its ships in deep space, without support of any sort, and vastly outgunned and outnumbered by Reaver forces. In the first few days of the invasion alone, over a dozen CMF vessels had fallen to the Reavers. More had fallen since then till the CMF had suspended operations in the Meridian Sector, except under heavy escort from the entire Task Force Justitia. That had proven to be the safest movement, combined with avoiding the Reavers outright through the various tracking systems, but it was remarkably inefficient from a logistical standpoint. Essential goods could be moved, but not anything else. The sector’s economy was growing stagnant, and planets more self-sufficient as they became more isolated. Valeska snorted. It’s almost not worth being part of the Confederation, except that the forces and technology preventing the Reavers from invading are federal.

“We’re at a draw, and we’re going to lose at this rate,” muttered Valeska.

The command staff all knew as much. The Reavers were incapable of making much use of the Meridian Sector and its resources, but virtually the entire sector was under siege. It was a lose-lose situation. The main question was who would succumb first, and Valeska was betting on the Confederation, eventually. An officer snorted.

“You cannot be thinking of a Fleistra-type operation again, are you?”

The Fleistra. She cringed. That ship had been one of the Confederation’s Tréville-class Cruisers that had used its communications array to lure Reaver elements into traps at the start of the conflict. It had worked the first few times, but the Reavers got smart, actually taking the Fleistra before the Confederation had been able to rescue it. The Fleistra had sparked the end of those missions and the start of disengagement by both sides.

“No,” said Valeska, “I think we both know that certain tactics and methods only work for so long before change must come. In the past, we’ve let them come to us, either with Fleistra-style attacks, or letting them engage planetary defences. Planetary defences have worked, but we can’t exactly make the Reavers come to us with them. I think our only option is to come to them.”

“In what way? Attacking one of their planets?”

Valeska shook her head, and pointed at the map, “Most of the Reavers in the Sector are not permanently staying here, many of them are heading to Garos IV, where the Cooperative has apparently engaged their forces. If we strike them here, where they haven’t been fighting in weeks, they aren’t likely to see it coming. We can take them by surprise and help the Cooperative in the process. We simply wipe out one of the clusters of ships that are mindlessly drifting in space to split their attention. I’d like to retake the Adrienna, if nothing else to see how they interact with our technology…”

“It’s in a fairly small cluster of Reaver ships,” noted Lieutenant Grassley, “I think we could maybe even do it with no losses if we grab more intelligence, send in a few more drones and stealth recon flights to look it over…”

“How long?”

“A week.”

“We have four hours.”

The tactician blinked, “But that’s as long as it takes for us to get there if we made the jump almost immediately-”

“Exactly,” agreed Valeska, “at the rate the Reavers are moving around, we don’t know how long they’re going to remain there to use that intelligence. The last real-time data we have on the Adrienna is two days old. That’s going to have to be good enough…Commander, get the ships ready to make the jump to the Adrienna’s position. Everyone else, this is my plan…”



Four hours later…

“Reverting…now.”

The Themis lurched into realspace at the tip of the Confederate fleet. Valeska frantically searched the stars for the Juaire Corvette. Oh frak. It’s not here. But two dozen other Reaver ships were, most of them so heavily damaged that Valeska wondered how anyone, even the infected, found them spaceworthy. Maybe the vessels so badly damaged that they’re useless even to the Reavers. The Reaver ships began to scatter before the superior Confederate numbers. One of them jumped into hyperspace and safety from its extermination.

“Constellation’s gravity wells are now online…no-one’s leaving yet.”

“That sure helps, because seven of them didn’t jump out of the way the second they saw us,” commented Lieutenant Grassley.

“You don’t have to fight to survive,” muttered Valeska, “the new target of our snatch-and-grab operation will be that bulk freighter. That has to be the least dangerous ship here, I hope. All other Reaver ships are approved for destruction.”

The massive autocannons of the Themis almost instantly demolished the largest Reaver ship present, an already hole-riddled Corellian Corvette. The plasma lance weapons of the other star destroyers present quickly burnt up the motley assortment of shuttles and light freighters which completed the Reaver armada. The bulk freighter alone struggled in the grips of the Themis’ tractor beam projectors. A CEC Bulk Action VI…I didn’t know people still used those…so bulky and unarmed…

“Incoming missiles,” shouted an officer.

Valeska glanced up to see a half dozen flashes of light sparkle across the hull as the transport was sucked in towards the command ship. Of course. The Reavers modified it, or the people they took it from did. She silently cursed herself for not remembering how often cargo ships were tricked out in these areas of the rim. Blue pulses of light smashed into the freighter as the ion cannons of the Themis quickly disabled the ship’s electronic means of resistance.

“Status,” demanded Valeska.

“The ship’s standard components are disabled. They don’t have engines any more.”

“We have a secure tractor beam with seven of our tractor beams…”

“Can we drag into hyperspace with us?” asked Valeska.

“Yeah, but I’d like to have an eighth on her too…”

“Nevermind that,” said Valeska, “let’s jump out of here before we have to deal with any more Reavers. I’d rather not face a zombie Imperial task force if we don’t have to.”


Six minutes after they had jumped in, Task Force Justitia jumped out; dragging along would normally be a worthless prize for all of the forces present. Valeska turned around to a Mon Calamari in a white lab coat.

“Has the Scout Lab figured something out already?” questioned the Commodore.

“Hm? Oh no, not for sure. But I would theorize that we stumbled upon a cache of parts ships.”

“Explain yourself.”

“From the data I saw gathered here, most of those ships didn’t have half of the normal systems functioning.”

Valeska raised an eyebrow, “That’s not exactly shocking given their state.”

“No, it’s not…but some of the ships did not even have engines. How does a ship get out here without engines unless it’s towed? And if it doesn’t have engines, of what use is it to the Reavers? They probably have to make some makeshift repairs on their other ships, given their poor state too…”

Valeska nodded, “If what you are saying is true, that means we have the chance to disrupt their logistics. But as interesting as that is, you know what I need more of. Who exactly are these things.”

The scientist hesitated, “From what little we know, I am not sure if the boarding operation is going to work. Knockout gas and battle droids may work for most of our operations, but I am not sure if they will work with this one. They seem to have some electronic component in them as well which makes them tick…I think they may be able to resist the nerve gas.”

“That’s why we’re not docking with the ship,” agreed Valeska, “which is standard practice for the Navy. The Paladins will be launched out of the main hangar bay to decompress the entire ship, then they will search it, and if that goes all right, then you will search it, in vacuum suits, also by leaving the hangar bay.”

The alien hesitated, “But that leaves us vulnerable if we have to leave suddenly.”

“Then let us hope, that we do not have to leave suddenly.”

Memorial Naval Station, Thomork

“And so as you can see, the S16, while clearly not the pinnacle of Confederation engineering, is clearly capable of matching the starfighters of the major galactic powers…”

Captain Hendrix leaned back, half paying attention to lecturer’s motions at the wireframe model of the Confederate starfighter. It’s just so big…It may have the thrust of a Tie fighter and the weapons of the last X-wing model built, but, by the maker, it’s the size of a shuttle…it’s over three times longer than my old Tie Fighter, never mind the mass. Sure, a lot of it is armor, but hell, you need it if you’re flying that big of a target. How do they expect me to transition to this? The man glanced to the side of him. Next to him was a former cruise line shuttle pilot who had just entered military training. Ok, so maybe this isn’t too much of a transition for him, same size, basic aerodynamic shape…On the other side of him was Lieutenant Rask of the Hast Planetary Defence Force. He had flown X-wings off of the MC-80 Blue Moon before the Confederation had replaced the cruiser with one of the Unity star destroyers. Now they were replacing his X-wing. He knew Rask didn’t relish the change from his cherished craft, yet the Prowler seemed fairly similar to an X-wing to the Prowler. In contrast, the world was going upside for Hendrix. He had discovered in the simulations that landing a Prowler on a platform was a hell of a lot easier than parking his Tie Fighter on the racks of an Imperator Star Destroyer. But the Confederate bureaucrats had now replaced Thomork’s Imperators with more Unity Project ships. None of them were compatible with Tie Fighters, and fewer pilots wanted to fly the antiquadated flyers aside from a few old Imperial defectors but himself. But flying this thing is a royal pain…I’ve got eight times the inertia to deal with now…I’m too old to change this much…maybe I should retire… Rask nudged his shoulder, motioning at the instructor standing next to a new aide.

“Again, would Captain Hendrix please stand up.”

The man sheepishly stood up. “Right here sir.”

“Good…now would Lieutenant Tysk, Flight Officers…”

The list of names went on. Hendrix looked at the dozens of other people standing up. There were some odd similiarities. Hendrix recognized that most of the names were from Thomork’s forces, but there nearly half of them from random worlds he’d barely heard of. Nor were all of the pilots from Thomork called. The most notable Thomork pilot present, Wing Commander Ellington, sat in his seat, expecting to be called. But by the time the instructor finished calling off the names, he hadn’t been called.

“All right, good. I’m sorry that you all will be leaving my class,” said the instructor, “let it be known that it is has been a pleasure working with you all, even if it has been only for a few weeks. I hope to fly with you all again one day, and hopefully not in a battle. Ensign Bertsen over here will lead you to your new unit. Goodbye.”

Hendrix shook Rask’s hand and muttered a goodbye before joining the line following Ensign Bertsen down the station’s corridor. What the hell is this all about? He stopped. Back when Thomork was ruled by the Emperor (and the Emperor’s clone) he would have thought that they were all being lead away for questioning, perhaps never to be heard from again. But the Confederation seemed different than that, there was no secret police that he knew of, and he doubted that they were any. He half mumbled to himself.

“What’s this all about…”

“Captain Hendrix?”

“Yes?”

“Commander Banks’ complements,” said the ensign, handing him a datapad.

He glanced at his datapad.

Dear Sir,

It is my greatest pleasure to reappoint you as leader of the 35th Tie Fighter Squadron. As of now, your commission is being transferred to the federal fleet from the Thomork Defence Forces, as is the rest of your squadron. The 35th is becoming a federalized unit as per an agreement between the nation of Thomork and the Contegorian Council because of its unique set of skills…



Imperator Mk II-class Star Destroyer Thunderflare, deep space

“You cannot expect me to move so suddenly,” said Banks, “a quarter of this ship’s crew is green; they’ve never been on a star destroyer before, and their Academy training hasn’t taught them to deal with Imperial equipment before. Say nothing of the carriers. No-one is ready for them. Too fresh, even if I was lucky to have someone who worked on the original versions.”

“I am going to guess that the ground pounders are the only ones ready,” stated Lucerne bluntly.

Banks paused. “That is true. But they still don’t have all of their equipment.”

“The heavy armor, you mean,” stated the Admiral, “It is coming, of course, the transport of Jabiim’s AT-ATs has been somewhat hampered by the…recent infection. I doubt, however, that there will be much of a need for AT-ATs at this point in the game. But you have assurances that they will have them.”

“And stormtrooper armor replacement parts? I am not sure if all of the comlinks are working and what not. This stuff is old.”

Lucerne grinned, “As old as the men who uses them.”

“That’s not funny. Their experience and familiarity will be great, their physical condition though, well…that’s debatable. I bet most of them will be great.”

“You should be happy that I managed to get you experienced Tie Fighter pilots and nearly every Missile Boat pilot in the Confederation,” said Lucerne, “I think I managed to recruit all of the Missile Boat pilots still in Confederate service for your project.”

“That’s not saying much,” retorted Banks, “given that any Missile Boat pilot would probably take a Missile Boat over the junk you give them these days to fly.”

Lucerne raised an eyebrow, “The Prowler is not that bad of a fighter…”

Banks waved a hand, “It’s not a Missile Boat, except in size.”

“Be happy that your Ties are being modernized.”

The Commander shook his head, “You should be. It’ll actually convince them that they’re dealing with modern Imperials, instead the ones that kicked the bucket some ten years ago.”

“When will the space elements of Task Force Mirage be operational, equipment wise?”

“Two weeks says your father,” said Banks, “it’s the soonest the new Tie Fighters will be here. I suspect some kinks will need to be worked out with the pocket carriers as well. Don’t get me wrong, I supervised their construction, but there always minor things that will be missed or done incorrectly given the speed of their construction.”

“Automated workers do not usually make mistakes,” said Lucerne, leaning back.

“No, but human overseers do...”