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Posted On:
Feb 15 2004 4:25am
A small red light - set behind a front-overhang so that only Ming could see it - blinked on for three seconds, and then went dull. With a casual sweep of his hand, Ming activated a mini-holoprojector that displayed Darksword’s plans on his desk in the illusion of a flimsiplast document folder. Ming flicked the folder open.
After skipping the first few paragraphs of introduction and skim reading the following three pages Ming looked up. “Yes, it would seem so, Governor,” he said, glancing down at the holographic pages for a second. “I think it would be best,” Ming continued, “if we each retired to read over the plans, and make any changes that we deem necessary. We can reconvene in,” Ming checked his chrono, “two hours, standard, to formulate a revised plan of attack?”
Darksword smiled, although Ming wasn’t sure why. “Of course, General.” He gave a slight nod of his head, and Ming returned the gesture. The holographic sith winked out of existence.
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Posted On:
Aug 14 2004 4:48am
<b>Two months later, on the field of victory.
Nubia..</b>
Scene: A Nubian airstrip, just outside a major (yet on a galactic scale unimportant) city. <i>The battle for Nubian space took just under seven hours, with most of this time devoted to cleaning up several pockets of resistance which had holed up on the Nubian moon. The battle for Nubian land and sea lasted for five and a half days before Nubia surrendered. Imperial casualties were minimal.</i> The Nubian leader Nub’Julay is inbound to the airstrip to discuss treaty terms with Governor Darksword and General Ming, who represent Regent Hyfe of the Galactic Empire.
Ming was...disturbed, to say the least.
Sunlight shone in from behind a light cloud cover, dusting the hard airstrip with shadow every now and then. A wide plain stretched out all around them, to the East falling into sand dunes and eventually sea several kilometres away, to the West continuing on for a short distance before being interrupted by the city and then re-emerging to march on and turn slowly into lush yellow grasslands, coming to a halt at the feet of a mountain range.
“Look at him. You’d think he was a Prince among infidels, the stuck-up bastard.” Major Paullman, standing at parade rest to Ming’s right, said.
Ming merely nodded in agreement, keeping his eyes on the Governor, Darksword, his form framed by the mountain peaks and lit by the uncompromising sun, as he berated one of his own commanders for some insignificant slip. The Governor stood forty metres away across the dark grey asphalt of the airstrip, but Ming had no doubts that his Sith powers would allow him to sense to nature of Paullman’s comment.
He also had no doubts that Darksword would not act on that comment, given the circumstances. Several heavy armoured troop carriers stood nearby on the airstrip, flanking a substantial bunker that currently housed a full Infantry Company, belonging to Ming’s 31st Arkanine Battalion. Several other such bunkers lay about the massive airstrip, as well as numerous ground support units and, sitting primly on its landing struts half a kilometre away, a light cruiser analogue with enough firepower to easily overcome the city by which it rested.
Darksword’s presence on the strip was substantially understated by several ranking officers of the Corellian Diktat and a handful of Sith Disciples, accompanied by a mere pair of light shuttles. Ming doubted that the Governor would make any moves to attack Paullman, even though his nature stated that he would.
Ming was still disturbed, though. By a number of things.
“So what do you think of all this, then?” Paullman asked, nonchalantly abandoning his formal parade rest-pose and turning away from the scene to survey the troops spread out along the airstrip. A cold breeze blowing in from the sea ruffled his hair as he removed his green officer’s cap.
“What, the battle? Or the Governor?” Ming asked, choosing his words carefully and not taking his eyes off Darksword. He found it slightly sickening how the Governor’s staff and Disciples stood by and watched as Darksword lay into the man, the former standing to stiff attention while the latter looked on with what could only be called avid disinterest (a contradiction of terms trying to convey a feeling of eager anticipation held back by a need to look ‘cool’).
“Well, no, the battle isn’t important right now.” Paullman said, turning back to stand next to Ming. “We’ll figure all that out later when we’re back on Coruscant, or something.”
“Carida,” Ming said.
“What?” Paullman seemed startled.
“I’m going to return to Carida in time for the start of the next semester,” Ming said simply. “And you’re going to take the troops back to Arkanisis.”
Paullman stiffened, but only slightly.
“Nice of you to let me know, sir.”
Ming turned his head to look at the Major, then scoffed at the serious expression on his face. “Come on,” he said, in turn abandoning his own formal pose and relaxing his posture to try and convey a sense of friendship. “You can’t seriously have thought that we’d have both gone back to Coruscant after this? There’s too much to be done.”
“What about Nubia, though?” Paullman relaxed a little, but still seemed concerned.
“What? Oh, it’s Darksword’s now,” Ming said, throwing a dismissive gesture the Governor’s way. The Governor’s unfortunate scapegoat was now lying on the ground, trying to stifle a scream. Ming stopped for a second, feeling nauseated by the scene but knowing that there was nothing he could do about it, and turned back to Paullman.
“I don’t have the time I used to...to devote to initiating a planet into the Empire, those type of things. And besides, it’s not my job.”
“It never was,” Paullman murmured. He stood in silence for a minute, looking out over the plain towards the sea. Just out of reach. “What’s really troubling you, then?”
“Nothing. Nothing we can talk of here, anyway,” Ming said. <i>Nothing we can even think of here, either,</i> he added, to himself.
Paullman seemed to understand. Nothing that was safe to discus with a potential mind-reader present.
The sun went behind a cloud, and from the direction of the city a speeder began to approach the airstrip.
“So I suppose this is just about wrapped up, then,” Paullman said, pulling his cap back on and beginning to walk towards the ring of Imperials and Sith waiting to receive the Nubian leader.
“Aside from the necessary formalities, yes,” Ming replied, strolling with him. Paullman checked his pace to match the General’s, and a squad of stormtroopers fell in behind. “Which means that aside from signing reports our work is over with.”
“Right...damn it,” Paullman said, spitting on the ground as they neared the welcoming committee, the body of Darksword’s man now being dragged away. “It never ends, does it. I mean, <i>this</i> is over, yes, but now what?”
“I return to the Academy, you go back to Arkanisis,” Ming said. He slowed his pace.
“Yes, but that’s just until next time. And the time after that. And <i>this</i> is what we’re handing these worlds over to,” he said, indicating the body being carried past them.
Ming hesitated. Paullman didn’t, and Ming had to walk faster to catch up.
“I know what you’re talking about,” he said. “And yes, it bothers me, but...we’ll discuss this later, alright.”
“Fine,” Paullman said. And they joined the circle of people and watched and waited as Nub’Julay approached in his speeder, ready to hand the Governorship of his world over to Lupercus Darksword.