Two Months Earlier

Trachta walked down the corridors of the Imperial Palace, wishing more to be in the ISB headquarters, doing his job as Director General of COMPNOR. Instead he was coming here, to the palace to speak with someone he loathed. The officer in front of him lead the way towards the branch of the palace devoted to Imperial Intelligence where Ysanne Isard made her home. Trachta and Isard, being rivals for attention in the field of intelligence in the Empire did not often see eye to eye and for that matter hated one another entirely. Imperial Intelligence and the Imperial Security Bureau were severe rivals, trying to steal funding from one another when they could for their various pet projects. Intelligence was defined by skill, the Bureau by sheer manpower which Trachta had put to great use, creating a network of loyalty monitoring officers throughout the Empire's fleets and military bases. Loyalty was the absolute point of the Bureau and Trachta had made the organization ruthless in the enforcement of it. This had brought him to confront subtle mutiny as well as having to come in conflict with Telan Desaria of the Guard.

What's more, as of late some new rising stars in the Empire had been stealing the glory of the Bureau, this strange new SS organization which had taken Trachta very much off guard. For all he knew, that was why Isard had called him to this meeting to discuss dealing with a threat to the current pecking order in the Empire's heirarchy of intelligence. Either way he was about to find out.

The officer lead Trachta into Isard's chambers where he found the insufferable woman sitting at her desk with a smug look on her face, dressed in her usual red uniform, opposite of Trachta's own preference for black. The two very much were annomalies within the Empire's heirarchy, a woman and a cyborg. They both when against the culture; the male dominance defied by Isard and human purity defied by Trachta's dogged refusal to die, his body heavily augmented by cybernetics. Such qualities made them both very dangerous individuals because it made them paranoid and ruthless, careful to not slip up or face the wrath that would flow upon them if it happened.

Trachta took the seat in front of him and looked across at Isard, neither could read the other because Isard maintained a emotionless mask and Trachta had no features to read, his eyes replaced with photoreceptors, his mouth replaced by a speaker grill and breath mask.

"What is it you want, Isard? I have more important things to do than be summoned to the Palace for some small triviality," Trachta stated in his mechanial, grating voice.

"Ah, but this not trivial at all, I have this for you."

Isard slid a datapad across the table and Trachta looked down at it, taking it in his gloved hands and reading over it. As he did so, he felt ill, defeated even at the words so apparent on the screen in front of him. They were orders for Trachta's transfer to Imperial Intelligence as a Deputy Director due to his so called skills in less savory affairs and also the rising use of the SS over the ISB. Trachta was, in a word, obsolete. COMPNOR was being turned over to a civilian minister, the ISB being given command of to Trachta's second in command, Ruhl. What was the worst part was the Isard was smiling and Trachta had to keep from throwing himself across the table and trying to stangle the life out of her to stop the wretched smile.

"Welcome to Imperial Intelligence, Deputy Director. I've already decided where to place you. You're going to be in charge of our Black Ops division, somewhere no on can see you."

Some where you can't rise to power from, that was the implied meaning. No one but the High Command ever knew about Black Ops because certain members of the Empire might be a little upset to know there were people who served the Empire willing to do obscene and unethical actions to achieve the might of the Empire. This couldn't possibly be happening but it was, a demotion, under a person Trachta probably would have taken great delight in showing his sadistic side to as long as she was the one strapped into the interrogation chair.

Trachta stared at the datapad a little longer, wanting to remain calm, not to snap, not to lose control. Life had never been kind to him, not since the day he'd recieved his cybernetics. He was forced to adapt every time he least expected it and this was happening again. He was being weakened, but he needed to turn that weakness into a strength as he had with everything before. He would usurp Isard's position someday, as a small act of revenge and look towards punishing the SS for weakening his status and the ISB's within the Empire. So much work, dashed in the single signature of the Emperor, how he loathed that mad man.

To claim the throne, now there would be something truly rewarding but one thing at a time. He must throw himself into his new work and show that he will not let a demotion destroy his will. He would show those who would knock him further down the food-chain just what he was capable of and then he would arise and kill Ysanne Isard, leaving her corpse at the base of the hill of corpses he would stand atop of to achieve his ambition. Death, like anything else was a tool to make use of.

"I will require provisions, and a base of operations."

Isard yawned dismissively and tossed Trachta another datapad with requisition orders.

"Take what you want, just don't go upsetting the High Command. Oh, and don't fail either. I am not very forgiving."

Neither am I

Trachta held that response in, internalizing his rage, refining it into will power to go on. To crush her later when the moment was right. For now he simply stood and bowed to his new superior which seemed to satisfy her rather greatly before leaving to being moving his things into his temporary office at the Palace until he could establish the Black Ops base.

Present

Trachta stood in the observation room of the orbital platform of Kuat, watching quietly as work continued on the modification of the Conqueror-class Star Destroyer. Trachta was rather sure Telan Desaria would have a few words to say about his apparently flippant seizure of one of his larger vessels and conversion of it into something more foreboding and darker. It was the Pariah, a fitting name for its purpose, to act as the headquarters of Black Ops and thusly Trachta's base of operations. The work crews had spent weeks gutting and then refitting the ship, including food and water processing to make the ship practically self sufficient. Most of its munitions had remained in place but crew space had shifted since Trachta had no intention of carting around soldiers. Barracks were replaced with prison blocks, interrogation chambers, and other unsavory facilites. The Pariah was to be a prison ship, one not meant to be found either. Trachta had taken designs from the old Special Operations Carrier he'd had designed for the ISB, installing a very powerful stealth system along with the special periscopic sensors that would all the ship to function with a double blind cloaking shield, as they tended to be the most powerful.

"Depty Director, we've just gotten status on the ship, its about 75 percent completed, they're still having trouble with the power arrays for the stealth field since they had to rip out that damn GDS system. That thing is playing hell with the systems."

Trachta sighed interally, trying not to get irritated at yet another delay in the completion of his new ship. It was taking time to get it all done, but he'd made sure the schematics for this ship would not travel abroad in the Empire. He held the only permanent copy in his possession, all other had a time locked termination on them that would expire soon enough. A pain itself should they fail to complete the ship before the timelock triggered and self-erased the files, meaning Trachta would have to distribute new copies.

That had to be combined with the fact that sooner or later the Navy was going to notice Intel had grabbed the ship and someone was going to come and have a word with Trachta if they weren't already in the process of doing so. Trachta hated dealing with military types, they were often close-minded on certain subjects and he'd a number of them eneimes already due to his time with the ISB and its campaign of loyalty enforcement. He couldn't imagine what they thought of him being in Imperial Intelligence whose operatives often proved more competent. None the less, he would likely find out soon enough.

" I have to come all the way back for this. This!"


The passanger cabin of the luxurious Amarann Yacht was considerably more spacious than it needed to be, its sole function the ferrying of dignitaries from the surface into orbit and thence around the expansive complexes that was Kuat Drive Yards. More than transport though, the Amarann Yachts were designed to impressive, suffocate even guests by the sheer grandiosity of their design. It was little wonder that while one cost more than some planets could gross in a quarter, KDY owned seven.


The House of Desaria owned two. It was in one of those that House's most famed son stood, glaring out the viewports, his black gloved hands dug deep into his arms cross his chest in a poorly-veiled display of displeasure.


" I come home for three days from Onyx only to be presented by a whole host of urgent communiques from the Naval Procurement Office. I hadn't really intended to do anything other than vegitate."


" Now now, when duty calls you must answer. You know that, and you're not the sort of person to complain. You aren't angry you have to work, you're angry why you have to work."


Grand Admiral Desaria looked down at his reflection in the viewport, his face impassive as he growled. On his left chest was a gold inlay star-shaped crest with a white center and seven multi-sided emeralds: the Crest of the Governor of Onyx. The crest was a tad more garrish than he liked and not at all a martial award, but protocol demanded he wear it. He frowned having to look at it, and convinced himself it was that which soured his visage and not the truth of his mother's words.


" Bah," the Baron spat out, turning his back fully to the regal lady at the far corner of the opulent cabin, her purple evening gown sparkling in the half-light. SHe was quick to smile and chided her third child of seven."


" You're a terrible liar, Telan."





" Sir. Sir!"


A yeoman in an Ensign's uniform trotted up next to the Director of the Internal Security Bureau and bowed as low as he could; where the floor a void, the young man would have been consumed so deep did his fear run. It burned in his eyes though he tried vainly to remain professional and courteous. He made eye - photoreceptor, really - contact only once before he could bear it no more and let everything blur. It was much easier to speak then.


" The Grand Admiral approaches to see you. Wait here please."


Director Trachta mumbled. Or rather, he might have mumbled had he any vocal cords left, or lips for that matter. Instead there was a host of circuitry, bionetic implants, and cybernetic projectors that simulated in an almost monotone resonation the beginning of a thought and its cancellation in infancy. He stood there, his droid-like eyes not looking only recording, and waited for the terrified officer to rush off.


The Ensign rushed off down the viewport-lined corridor and disappeared around a corner into the center of the large monitoring station at a speed that was far from deliberate. Had Trachta any lips, he might have twisted them into a smile at the weight - and terror - of his reputation. From the same corner the Ensign had turned another approached, but this man let no fear show on his face. His eyes were emerald and set deep inside chizeled features. His uniform was immaculate and pressed as if fresh from the spinster; the covetted Imperial Cross with Pforr Leaves and Sabres hung his his collar, a pair of crests sat on his left chest and another on his right - Trachta noted one a bit more gaudy than the rest. The eqaulettes on each shoulder gave the man away as a Grand Admiral, though such discernment wasn't neccessary, the man's face on many Holos, three different recruiting posters, and the most recent edition of the male society holo-zine, Modern Imperial - he was Telan Desaria.


The Grand Admiral walked up to Trachta and stopped just arm's length short.


" Director Trachta, you know why I am here. What does the Security Bureau want with a Conqueror-class Destoyer?"

Trachta could have laughed at the sight of the medals and insignia dotting the Grand Admiral's uniform but retrained himself lest he irritate Desaria more and make him uncooperative. Trachta's own black uniform bore no medals, no insignia, utterly spartan, yet his features were hard to forget. Anyone who had heard of him recognized him almost immediately as they would this man standing before him who was so popular in the Empire. It was even more amusing to know the Grand Admiral was not privy to Trachta's humiliating transfer and demotion, the thought of it still irked him but let it fade so as to deal with this anticipated event.

"Alas, Admiral, I am no longer with the Bureau. His majesty has seen fit to reassign me for his own reasons I care not to discern."

Trachta reached into his hip pocked, producing a small datapad with his transfer orders along with the requisition orders he had filled out to acquire the ship that was being gutted and refitted even as the pair stood there facing eachother.

"As you can see, I'm now Deputy Director of Imperial Intelligence under Director Isard. I require a ship to operate from as most of the Cluster shall be turned back over to the Empire Proper, save for perhaps Kuat and Mechis. It's all been signed for by his Imperial Majesty."

Trachta smiled to himself, the only way he could smile really since he was utterly in capable of displaying emotions with his features. But he was enjoying the fact he lorded over the Grand Admiral's homeworld as its Regent, something he had pulled off ages ago when he'd brought the world under total Imperial control through trickery and betrayal rather than direct invasion which could have harmed the shipyards.

"But as for what exactly I want with the ship, that's knowledge only for Intelligence personnel which I notice you are not a part of despite all of those impressive emblems and medals on your uniform," Trachta said in his metallic voice, not even bothering to hide his distaste for the gaudy items or the aristocrat who wore them.

The two stood apart form eachother, polar opposites it seemed, Desaria the dashing poster boy of the Empire's glory in his white Grand Admirals uniform and medals. Trachta the disfigured yet insidious man behind the scenes who had made sure the Empire actually ran like it was supposed to, his uniform always black, always lacking insigina. Both known, both with reputation; one of admiration, the other of fear. And now they were having a dispute over a ship it seemed.

" Do not overestimate your importance, Deputy Director."


Grand Admiral Desaria was not a cruel man. Indeed, he lived his life a strict moral code of honour and loyalty from which there was no deviation. He could despise the SS but still respect their bravery and their zeal. For ISB, he had not a kind word. Theirs was the lot which turned loyal, honest officers into scapegoats, turned military defeat into a politically motivated coup - no, they were not soldiers, they were henchmen.


What then, did that made Trachta? He was no longer a henchmen, nor their head. Now he was a minion of Ysanne Isard, a woman as cold in deed as the cyborg before the Grand Admiral was in appearence. All in all, for a moment at least, Desaria relished the man's demotion.


" I can think of a thousand better suited craft that a Conqueror-class Star Destroyer. These are battleships, specifically designed and their crews picked at some detail by the Personnel Office. It will not do to have you commandeering one! Besides, what use have you of a GDS? Or such a ship anyway?"


The Grand Admiral was irritated - he had been told on his arrival that some one from Intelligence was requisitioning the newest ship to join the Fleet, the Pariah. A Conqueror, on sheer military terms, was unsuited for the work Trachta would put it to; Desaria did not know what work, but any Intelligence use was wasteful use. He was not sure, but as he stood there and looked at the flesh-covered drone, he had to believe at least in part that the decision to take the Pariah was not military, but personal.


He wants to anger me. He's done it.

"As you can see, Admiral, I've already gutted the ship. There is no more GDS, its being replaced with stealth systems."

Trachta turned and pointed to the vessel, directing Desaria's attention to it. For a moment they watched the workers scuttling over it, continually ripping away and replacing equipement. It was very clear Trachta was having the ship heavily refitted.

"If you must know, Admiral, I am relinquishing my governorship over almost the enitre Mechis Cluster to take up my new responsibilities and I require a mobile headquarters for my personal usage. This battleship, is now a baseship and a prison ship. And as I have told you that, you are required by the articles of security to not give that information to anyone lest you be considered a traitor..."

Trachta let that hang in the air, not daring to actually imply Desaria would ever do something like that. He knew not to push certain individuals too far yet still he was also in the right.

"None the less, it doesn't matter what you think or want. The ship is mine now. His majesty gave me signed permission via Director Isard to seize whatever resources I saw necessary to assume my new office. Your navy isn't going to miss a single ship when its serving the Empire in ways I couldn't possibly see you being involved with. Rest assured, I am as much a patriot as you, I just happen to lack scruples."

" Indeed you do."

Grand Admiral Desaria chuckled the words out to hide the fact that a chill had run down his spine. A bodily turn towards the refitting warship masked the shudder, but it was there. Trachta lacked morals, indeed he lacked many things that made a man...a man. He was a cold, calculating instrument of the Emperor's Will. He was a device, a machine, doing only that which secured the Empire's place in the annals of history rather than its ash-heap. His ways were horrible, unthinkable, and devoid of honour of any kind. Worse yet, they were neccessary. Every govenment in history has a secretive organization that is willing to execute the acts so base in its name that all who hold power either refuse to acknolwedge its existence or distance themselves from it.

Perhaps under that tunic are SS runes.

" You're gutting this ship. You've removed the GDS; I don't even want to think about what you're putting in its place."

Desaria ignored the Director's comments about informational security; he knew the rules all too well. Trachta was a dangerous man - or thing - to be kept in check. He was evil, but a neccessary one. The aristocrat blinked away those thoughts as best he could; the line he walked between Grand Admiral and Imperial Guardsman was already fine enough.

" You will have to supply your own crew. The Fleet will not contribute to such an enterprise as what I fear you may be planning. If you want to recruit from our numbers then so be it, I am happy to be rid of anyone that wishes to wear black over green; no one will be assigned this vessel. It is yours then. Complete your refit and get it out of here."

Damn it. Five Conqueror's in service, this was to be six. Now we start over again.

"But of course, Admiral, I had anticipated that. I've already written up a roster and summoned reliable crew for the Pariah. It will be ready to ship out the moment it is complete and its supplies and equipment stocked."

Trachta was amused by the slight shift in Desaria's body language, unsettled by the reminder of Trachta's ruthlessness in his pursuit of duty to further the ends of the Empire. It was why the Guard had clashed with the ISB while Trachta had operated it. The two organizations were opposites, heavily influenced by these two men's ideals. Honor versus amorality.

"And no need to worry about my trying to recruit from your Guard. I'm afraid your concept of honor has infected the organization too much to produce the individuals I require to serve me."

A back-handed compliment perhaps but very much a truth because Trachta couldn't afford having agents going on about any sort of moral or honor code when the Empire's fate was at stake. Simon Kaine had done an excellent job weakening the foes of the Empire but they were still out there, watching and waiting for weakness, something possible with his departure as the power structure shifted and adjusted. It meant ruthless cunning was required to safeguard the Empire against the hidden threats that might be used as its military might was hard to challenge on most occasions.

"So, is there anything else you care to discuss, Admiral?" Trachta turned, looking at Desaria as inquisitively as possible for someone withou the ability to display it facially.

" Actually, Director, there is. Let us be honest for a moment - you loathe me as much as I despise you. But you need me, just as I need you. Now I am acting Governor of the Onyx Sector, an assignment I do not enjoy. I serve, however, as the Emperor sees fit.

" As such, I require your assistance, the full resources of Intelligence. There is a world near the new borders of the Empire which the Coalition claims by ideal if not name - Sinsang. It has become a fortress with the defection of the Onyxian Fleet and becomes more and more fortified with every passing week. It is a threat to the stablility of the Empire. What can you do to weaken it so that I might take it by storm?"

Trachta seemed to pause, accessing his memory of enemy worlds for what few scraps he could remember about Sinsang since the Admiral actually had a job for him, something he would acutally relish doing since it would be in service to the Empire. The Coalition had held onto the world after the annexation of the Onyx worlds which was a security problem all its own that the Imperial Security Bureau would have to deal with but that wasn't Trachta's business anymore. He'd been asked to consider what damage could be done to an enemy planet as covertly as possible.

"There are innumerable things one can do to attack and weaken his enemies. I won't even begin to go into detail as they would be most unpleasant, but let us simply say that I imagine I could find a few ways to hamper efforts to defend the planet though it might require you men not to come into contact with anything from the planet for a bit afterwards..."

Trachta left that hanging, already displaying his talent for thinking such horrible, unethical ideas so easily and without shame or remorse for the pain and suffering they would likely cause. They were the enemy, afterall. Why should he care if he was just as willing to torture and manipulate fellow imperials while under the ISB? His tone was also more business-like, lacking any personal intonation like before. It was obvious he was taking the request very seriously, almost eager to get to work.

Grand Admiral Desaria held up a black gloved hand to forestall the Director's list of the unspeakable acts only he and his dark-uniformed minions were capable of. Grand Admiral and Guardsman, Desaria could not stomach cruelty. The horror of war, he was used to, but needless suffering was something he would never develop a taste for.

" I would rather now know what means you wish to use, for in this ignorance truly is bliss. Do, whatever it is you do, but do it. Sinsang is a thorn in the Imperial side, one that currently forces a great deal of assets to be deployed that is quite disproportinate to its strategic import."

" You help, Director, in this matter is appreciated. As for your ship, I will see that it gets completed on time, which, as designed, would have been five weeks from now."