It is a time of great prosperity in the galaxy. The GALACTIC EMPIRE has crowned Daemon Hyfe its second Emperor and taken its rightful place as the most powerful force in the galaxy. Thousands of worlds now pledge their allegiance to the New Order.

<o =""></o>
But on a little-remembered planet in the Mid-Rim, two men do not owe their allegiance to any Empire. King Denid and his brother, Prince Anod, are sworn enemies of the New Order, and their only desire is to see its fall.

<o =""></o>
With the Empire distracted by bigger and better things, these two men will attempt to right the wrongs of forty years, and change the way history is written…

Velmor. The Present.<o:p></o:p>

<o:p> </o:p>

Prince Denid remembered like it was yesterday. The cocky swagger with which the man had walked, the fire in his eyes as he talked with the King. The cold lack of humanity with which he ordered the execution of Denid’s father.

<o:p> </o:p>

“You have no idea,” he had said later, “how hard I found it, signing the order to end your father’s life.”

<o:p> </o:p>

Such words were beyond the young Prince – he had seen his father cut down before his eyes, summarily executed for failing to bend to the Empire’s unwavering demands. The old King had remained resistant to the last, offering his life in return for a free Velmor.

<o:p> </o:p>

It was a foolish decision, and one that would cost Velmor far more in the years to come than one life.

<o:p> </o:p>

Once Tarkin was done with the King, he turned to the Royal Family, which stood in stunned disbelief, staring at the body of the man who ruled Velmor so powerful for half a century. Slaughtered like an animal, in his own office.

<o:p> </o:p>

It was unheard of.

<o:p> </o:p>

Then, without a backward glance, Tarkin had turned away, and his Stromtroopers had raised their rifles and opened fire. Killed in the seconds they held the triggers down where the Queen and her two daughters, and her own brother, who would have taken up the throne had he not been killed.

<o:p> </o:p>

But, curiously, they had left two alive. Princes Denid and Anod, the sons of the King, who where now next in line to take the throne. To this day Denid did not understand the Moff’s decision, and he regretted still that he was not allowed to die and join his family in the heavens.

<o:p> </o:p>

But God, it seemed, had different plans for him.

<o:p> </o:p>

Tarkin had taken the boy aside later, and told him that his father’s death was necessary. The Empire could leave no room for malcontents, and the King was far too set in his ways to make the changes necessary to coexist with the Empire. It had been suggested that he abdicate in favour of his eldest son, an idea scoffed at by the King.

<o:p> </o:p>

And so removing him had become necessary.

<o:p> </o:p>

All of these thoughts and memories flowed through the aged man’s head as he watched the procession from his balcony. The Velmorian Army marched by in their rows, rifles held high, their faces grim with the weight of their duty.

<o:p> </o:p>

The King knew them to be the best. Velmor had spared to expense in training and equipping this new army: when the Empire came back, they would not be run over without a fight. Velmor would go down fighting.

<o:p> </o:p>

It had been four years now since Velmor had thrown off the yolk of Imperial control, four years since they had bought their freedom for the blood of their young men and women. Velmor was free of Imperial rule.

<o:p> </o:p>

But Velmor was lucky as well: lucky not to have been noticed by the Empire. The trouble with Tilaric Brell and his Wrath Virus had distracted the Empire, and though they were now once more the most powerful force in the galaxy, Velmor had escaped their notice.

<o:p> </o:p>

Until recently. Only months ago two planets nearby had joined the ranks of the Empire, renewing fears that the Empire might once more set its sights on Velmor. Thisspiass had fallen first, the Empire plucking the planet out of the worst disaster the galaxy had ever known in exchange for their souls. And Contruum had seen an Imperial invasion, demanded by the people who paid for the Empire’s wars. And even still their limited intelligence showed activity at Obroa-skai and Myrkr.

<o:p> </o:p>

The Empire was coming back to the Mid-Rim with a vengeance.

<o:p> </o:p>

“It is time.” King Denid said softly, observing the glowing effigy of an Imperial officer. Beside him, Anod turned, his smile wiped away.

<o:p> </o:p>

“You are sure?” He said. The plan had been in place since the revolution, the army and what fleet they had training for it since their formation. The plan was their singular purpose. But putting it into action meant times where taking a turning point.

<o:p> </o:p>

“What else can we do?” The King asked. “The Empire is on our doorstep, Anod. We cannot hope to fight them back if they chose to invade.”

<o:p> </o:p>

“Our army is strong. Small, I admit. But they are well trained, and they have spirit.”

<o:p> </o:p>

“And so is the Empire’s. Well trained, and they have many times the numbers we do. They could take Velmor at a cost of tens of thousands. And they will do it.”

<o:p> </o:p>

Anod nodded. He understood this. His objection was merely his own feeling of futility in the face of such great power.

<o:p> </o:p>

“What do we do,” he asked, “in the face of such hatred? Of such willingness to destroy?”

<o:p> </o:p>

The King managed a smile.

<o:p> </o:p>

“We do what we must.”

Imperial Centre

<o:p> </o:p>

Admiral Kyoto had been to the capital only once since its return to Imperial hands, to witness first hand the address from the <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:PlaceName w:st="on">Imperial</st1:PlaceName> <st1:PlaceType w:st="on">Palace</st1:PlaceType></st1:place> that announced Daemon Hyfe Lord Regent and Simon Kaine Grand Marshall and Supreme Commander. Since that day the Admiral had been absent from the capital, assigned a Star Destroyer and given the arduous task of restoring some semblance of order to the Outer Rim.

<o:p> </o:p>

Now, with a recent and near-bloodless victory at Contruum under his belt, he had returned to the capital.

<o:p> </o:p>

The <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:PlaceName w:st="on">Imperial</st1:PlaceName> <st1:PlaceType w:st="on">Palace</st1:PlaceType></st1:place> was a sprawling construct, stretching some ten city blocks in all directions from its central courtyard. Built in honour of the late Emperor Palpatine, the Palace had been nearly destroyed a dozen times in the conflicts between the Eternal Rogue Order, the Empire, and the <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:PlaceName w:st="on">New</st1:PlaceName> <st1:PlaceType w:st="on">Republic</st1:PlaceType></st1:place>. But in spite of everything thrown at it the building stood defiant.

<o:p> </o:p>

Imperial engineering at its best.

<o:p> </o:p>

“Admiral, Sir.” A voice said from the cockpit, shaking the officer out of his thoughts. “We’ve received our final clearance. We’ll be landing at the Palace shortly.”

<o:p> </o:p>

<st1:City w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Kyoto</st1:place></st1:City> offered a short thank you to the pilot and returned his attention to the building below. As they swept in over the top, he noticed the pilot banked to avoid the higher class sections of the palace, and that in spite of their approved transponder codes and clear Imperial markings, defensive batteries tracked to follow them in.

<o:p> </o:p>

The Empire was taking no chances with its heart. And with good reason: the Rebels had shown time and time again their ingenuity in attacking Imperial targets.

<o:p> </o:p>

In spite of the precautions, the shuttle landed without incidence, and Admiral Kyoto found himself met by a squadron not of Stormtroopers as he had expected, but six members of the Royal Guard, adorned in their flowing crimson robes and carrying force pikes. He knew the Guard to be amongst the deadliest units in the Empire, and wondered briefly why they would have been assigned to protect him.

<o:p> </o:p>

“Admiral Kyoto.” One of them said, his voice expressionless. “Welcome to Imperial Centre. We have been assigned by Grand Moff Drayson to be your security detail.”

<o:p> </o:p>

That took the Admiral aback. He knew Drayson, of course, having met the famed Imperial warlord recently as they planned the fall of Contruum. But he had no idea she would assign him a security detail, never mind the Royal Guards. It all seemed like to much for the Admiral, who three months ago had been an unnoticed member of the fleet assigned to a routine enforcement mission in the Rim.

<o:p> </o:p>

“Thank you, Lieutenant.” He said, guessing that the Guards ranks worked on the same principle of the regular army corps and that a squadron such as this would be led by a Lieutenant.

<o:p> </o:p>

“Major, actually, Sir.” The commander replied. A half squadron, under the direct command of a full Major? Clearly the Guards took their role with the utmost seriousness. “No member of the Royal Guards is ranked lower than Lieutenant, First Class.” The Major went on, and <st1:City w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Kyoto</st1:place></st1:City> thought he could detect some pride in the man’s voice. He decided to hazard a guess.

<o:p> </o:p>

“You’re not a clone, are you?” He asked, knowing full well that a large majority of the Empire’s soldiers, especially those in the army, where clones bred from long dead elites soldiers.

<o:p> </o:p>

“No, Sir. None of the Royal Guards are. The Emperor wants his bodyguards to be able to think for themselves.”

<o:p> </o:p>

Not to mention be able to tell them apart if one of them goes bad. The Admiral thought, but he said nothing.

<o:p> </o:p>

“If you’ll follow me, Sir.” The Guardsman said, official procedure taking over as the conversation lulled. Still, the Admiral thought as they walked, he had found a chink. The Guards were human, after all.

<o:p> </o:p>

<o:p> </o:p>



Grand Moff Drayson was waiting for him when he arrived. He saluted and dismissed his escort, who informed him they would await him in the corridor. He nodded and took the seat offered to him by Drayson.

<o:p> </o:p>

“Do you like your guards, Admiral?” The Grand Moff asked by way of greeting.

<o:p> </o:p>

“They do seem… efficient.” He offered. “I have to wonder if my position warrants such an expenditure. Surely the Royal Guard does not come without a price.

<o:p> </o:p>

“Without a doubt.” The woman said, and <st1:City w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Kyoto</st1:place></st1:City> had the feeling she knew all too well the cost of deploying the Royal Guard. “However, the Imperial High Command feels you warrant the protection. The Guard are the best, Admiral. And you will need the best protection the Empire can offer.”

<o:p> </o:p>

<st1:City w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Kyoto</st1:place></st1:City> said nothing, waiting for the Grand Moff to go on.

<o:p> </o:p>

“You are aware that last week the Imperial High Command signed into existence a bill authorizing the creation of a new Protectorate.” She said. <st1:City w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Kyoto</st1:place></st1:City> simply nodded. “The Borderland Protectorate will encompass Contruum and Thisspiass, both recent additions to the Empire’s ranks, as you know, as well as a number of planets currently under the control of other Protectorates, and several worlds in the process of being… acquired.

<o:p> </o:p>

“The Protectorate, Admiral, is in need of leadership. High Command has under its observation a number of candidates to lead the sector politically, but what they need is a military leader to oversee the Protectorate’s forces and continue its expansion.”

<o:p> </o:p>

Realization dawned on the Admiral, and he smiled thinly.

<o:p> </o:p>

“I would be more than happy, Grand Moff, to take command of the Borderland’s naval forces.”

<o:p> </o:p>

“I thought you would, Admiral. Good. Your first task will be to create that naval force. High Command is in the process of assembling a fleet for your command. They are moving swiftly, but you can be sure what you get will be a mix and matched force of whatever the other Protectorates can spare. Whatever defence vessels the worlds of the Borderland have, of course, will be under your command, as well as whatever you can lay hands on yourself.

<o:p> </o:p>

“Training your crew will be your first priority, Admiral, as none of these men will have worked together in the past. Most of the ships you get will be under crewed, as the Protectorate leaders will no doubt save their best officers for their own fleets.

<o:p> </o:p>

“I expect you to produce a fleet that can perform well, Admiral. Yours will be our first line of defence against the Dragons if (or when) they attack. The defences have to hold!”

<o:p> </o:p>

“They will hold.” The Admiral replied, confident, already planning manoeuvres and training exercises.

<o:p> </o:p>

“Good. You will, of course, have access to whatever training facilities you might need. Send your requests directly to me, Admiral. I will ensure that your demands are met.”

<o:p> </o:p>

With that, the Grand Moff rose, indicating that the meeting was over. <st1:City w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Kyoto</st1:place></st1:City> saluted and left the building, his new Royal Guard in tow…

The deepest circles of hell, they say, are reserved for murderers and mutineers. Argon Vold could be described as both, and the lower levels of <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:PlaceName w:st="on">Imperial</st1:PlaceName> <st1:PlaceType w:st="on">City</st1:PlaceType></st1:place> were as close as one was likely to come to hell while still being counted among the living. The den (for want of a better word) that Argon had fashioned himself was set amongst the most disgusting levels of the city-planet, so deep that the sun’s rays had not seen it in what must certainly be centuries, if not longer. It could barely be described as habitable, unless one was very good at surviving.

<o:p> </o:p>

Fortunately for Argon Vold, he was good at surviving. It had been his life’s work, surviving where few others could and passing information back to his masters on Velmor. The deepest levels of the Imperial capital where the safest for an agent like Argon – the patrols never dared to venture this deep, and what few creatures lived down here where no match for modern weapons, smuggled to Vold by the other agents stationed on the planet.

<o:p> </o:p>

Argon Vold had been assigned to Imperial Centre as the New Empire rose, easily lost to the site of the Imperial authorities in the confusion of the Wrath virus. He had lived for a time on the surface, furnished by his masters and blending in with the Imperial elite. He had attracted far too much attention to himself, however, and had been forced to run as Stormtroopers smashed down the door to his penthouse.

<o:p> </o:p>

He had been living in this den for the last three years, surviving as best he could, waiting for the next phase of his mission to begin.

<o:p> </o:p>

And, at long last, it had.

<o:p> </o:p>

Argon Vold rose from his camp bed for the last time and stood before the cracked mirror fastened to one wall, observing the way his features had deteriorated since he had entered this underworld hell. His face had not seen sunlight since that day, and was now an eerie white not far off from the colour of flimsy. His hair had largely fallen away, but for a long beard that nearly reached his waste. He had not been bothered to shave since finding this place.

<o:p> </o:p>

Argon smiled the first proper smile he had worn in years and picked up an electric razor, removing it from its sealed package and activating it. He felt his pulse quicken as the unit began to vibrate, and he began the process of returning his body to normality.

<o:p> </o:p>


<o:p> </o:p>

Argon Vold squinted behind his dark sunglasses as the turbolift emerged into the bright morning sunlight of Imperial Centre’s Palace District. It was the first time in a long while that he had been this close to the surface, and so close to the many thousands of different species that coexisted on the Imperial capitol. He found himself unprepared for the plethora of different smells and even feels in the air, and he wished for a moment that he was back in his lair.

<o:p> </o:p>

But then he thought of his mission, entrusted to him by none other than the King of Velmor, and all thought of giving up vanished. The mission was of the utmost importance, and could not be called off for any reason.

<o:p> </o:p>

Smiling grimly, he hailed a cab and instructed the droid pilot to take him as close to the monolithic <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:PlaceName w:st="on">Imperial</st1:PlaceName> <st1:PlaceType w:st="on">Palace</st1:PlaceType></st1:place> as he dared, without attracting undue suspicion. The flight took only a few minutes, the droid observing everything in the air around it and taking the vehicle through manoeuvres Vold doubted a human pilot could have performed. Before long they had arrived, Vold paying the droid with a small stack of credit ships and exiting the vehicle.

<o:p> </o:p>

The Palace rose above him like a great temple, erected to please the Gods. It was massive, stretching any number of city blocks (Vold could not tell from his vantage point) and all made up of the same dark-coloured stone that was so synonymous with the Empire. What the Palace lacked in decoration and beauty though, it made up in sheer size and grandeur.

<o:p> </o:p>

With so large a place, Vold thought, security would surely never notice a single man who, possessing all the proper codes and passes, managed to penetrate it. Such was his hope, anyway – the codes he carried had been current when the other spies on the world had attained them, but Imperial security was known to be freakishly deceptive; it was said the entire ‘security leak’ that led the Rebels to Endor was in fact a trap set out by the Emperor that had gone wrong.

<o:p> </o:p>

Either way, Vold knew he had no choice but to approach the security check point and present his identification card to the officers on duty there. These were no grunts of the Empire, like one might find on any number of outpost worlds guarding their garrisons, but highly professional soldiers. It was rumoured, in fact, that each of the guard teams had one member of the elite Imperial Guard among them.

<o:p> </o:p>

The guard Vold had approached looked over his information on a portable reader and frowned.

<o:p> </o:p>

“Contract worker?” He asked, a note of suspicious in his voice. “These codes expired three days ago.”

<o:p> </o:p>

Vold shrugged nonchalantly, trying his best to appear unworried.

<o:p> </o:p>

“That’s what my supervisor gave me. The regular guy’s down with a bad case of the flu, I guess he didn’t think to check the codes when he shuffled the schedule. We were supposed to be here last week.”

<o:p> </o:p>

“I’ll have to check this. Wait here.”

<o:p> </o:p>

The guard motioned for two Stormtroopers, who had been standing in silence behind him, to move up and watch over Vold. The agent held his breath as the guard entered the small security hut and punched something into the computer terminal there. A moment later he returned.

<o:p> </o:p>

“This checks out. Your visa is good for six hours – I wouldn’t suggest testing that limit. Have a good day.”

<o:p> </o:p>

The guard promptly forgot Vold, moving on to process the next case. The Stormtroopers stepped aside somewhat reluctantly, and Vold, praising the Gods, passed through the various scanners and detectors and finally entered the Palace grounds.

<o:p> </o:p>

He had never been inside the <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:PlaceName w:st="on">Imperial</st1:PlaceName> <st1:PlaceType w:st="on">Palace</st1:PlaceType></st1:place> before, but he had studied its floor plans obsessively and planned his route to a T. He even knew approximately how long it would take him. Whistling a tune, he set off.

Somewhere near Contruum...

"Hyperspace reversion detected, Admiral! Rebellion cruiser, Mon Remonda class!" Someplace nearby, an alarm klaxon began to sound, signalling the crew of the Stalwart to man their battle stations.

"Shields up!" Admiral Kyoto barked, while bringing the scene up on his own tactical display. The Mon Cal cruiser was smaller than the Stalwart, an Allegiance class Star Destroyer, by a kilometre, but it was well armed and armoured, and in the hands of a compitent commander could wield impressive damage.

And she was manoeuvring to bring the undefended stern of the Imperial Star Destroyer under the fire of her main guns; if the cruiser managed to get into broadside position, she could unload nearly half her guns into the butt of the Stalwart with little worry of reprisal.

There was precious little time for the Imperial ship to respond; the cruiser had jumped in close and was moving in at good speed, already firing ranging shots that did little to penetrate the larger vessel's sturdy shields, but which were no less discontenting to the Admiral.

"Execute order ten-one." Kyoto gave the oder almost casually, watching his crew. The enemy ship was settling into its rhythm, firing her heavy guns against the Star Destroyer. Normally, the Stalwart would have accelerated to turn, exposing the enemy ship to full fury of her own main guns. But such a manoeuvre took precious time, and left the ship's great engines exposed for far too long to the enemy barrage - if the shields were breached and the engines damaged, the massive ship would be little more than a sitting duck.

Seconds passed and the Stalwart failed to move, her shields simply absorbing the barrage from the enemy vessel. Then, without so much as a parting shot, she leapt forward at the speed of light. Her hyperdrive motors screamed in protest as the ship slowed almost as fast, the journey lasting only a fraction of a second and carrying them only a handful of leauges from the enemy ship.

But far enough for their purposes.

The Mon Calamari cruiser, bewildered, detected the Stalwart and moved to give pursuit, a handful of gunners still firing at what was now empty space. Kyoto had to give them credit, they had reacted with amazing speed to the Stalwart's manoeuvre.

But then, they were one of the best crews the Empire had to offer.

"End simulation." The Admiral said, and the alarms died, the lighting returning to its normal colour.

In front of him, the smiling image of Captain Jean Hewlett appeared.

"It went well that time, I thought," He offered, "your navigator is getting faster."

"Not fast enough," Kyoto said, though with a small note of pride, scanning the simulated damage report, "we lost half our rear shields, and three turbolasers before we jumped."

"Aye, but if you hadn't been planning to jump you wouldn't have left yourself exposed like that." Hewlett said reasonably. "Still, wouldn't hurt to keep those damages down, would it?" He mused, also scanning the damage report.

"Why did you end the exercise, though? I think I might have had you that time. A few more minutes..."

"After we jumped it was just another cap slug-out, wasn't it?" Kyoto interupted, "There's a place for that, but I wanted to find out your impressions about how we performed."

The exercise was relatively simple. In a traditional ambush, the enemy ships would attack the stern of the Star Destroyer, as it was a well known fact that Star Destroyers were underdefended at the stern. And the Star Destroyer would then waste time and effort in turning to bring her main guns to bear, time in which an enemy ship could do serious damage to her drive motors.

The microjump carried them far enough from the fight to turn and face the enemy on an even ground, provided they weren't within a planetary gravity well. It was only one of the exercises designed by the newly minted commander of the Borderland Protectorate's naval forces.

The other captain gave a small shrug, "As I said, Admiral, I think your navigator is getting the hang of it. You pull that manouver off in battle and the enemy won't know what hit them."

Kyoto smiled thinly.

"That is the general idea. Very well, let's run the excerise once more, and then we'll call it a day."
<!--[if !supportLineBreakNewLine]-->
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Argon Vold was not a man to leave anything to chance. He had planned his route into the Imperial Palace meticulously. He knew every passageway and corridor between himself and his destination.

There was only one small thing that could get in the way of his journey.

The plans he possessed were out of date. And apparently some Imperial architect had decided it would be a good idea to seal off one of the small, rarely used passages he had planned on taking, in favour of the longer but much more spectacular Grand Corridor.

The Grand Corridor was the single most grandiose public space in the palace. Busts of the Empire’s greatest leaders: Tarkin, Thrawn, Zell, Hyfe, Kaine, Dessaria, Drayson, and Kraken lined the aisle. The Empire’s history was spelled out in tapestry along the walls.

The problem with the Grand Corridor was that it was also one of the most heavily guarded parts of the Palace. Because it led to both the Emperor’s Throne Room and the offices of the Imperial High Command, those that could pass from end to end were limited to high-ranking officials and guests of the Emperor.

Argon Vold, playing the part of a dutiful contract worker, met neither qualification.

Approaching the first security checkpoint, Argon swallowed and presented his pass card. The officer on duty looked at him quizzically as the information rolled across his screen.

Run. Just drop your bag and run for the exit. You might even make it out of the palace before they kill you.

The officer was speaking to him. Argon blinked, his mind racing.

“I said, you’re clear to continue.” The officer said, his eyes now digging into Vold’s. “You’re to go straight to your job and straight back, understand? An escort will meet you at the end of the hall.”

Vold found his voice and thanked the officer, silently cursing. An escort would ruin everything – he could hardly slip off his approved course if he was being followed by a brainless Imperial stormtrooper.

The Grand Corridor was every bit as ridiculous as he expected. The Empire had spared no expense in constructing it. No doubt the history told on the walls was fabricated, painting the Empire in the glowing light they did not deserve. Argon wondered vaguely if the Imperials truly believed what they said about themselves, or if they knew they were full of shit. He wondered if they cared.

As promised, his escort was waiting at the next security station. Only one stormtrooper, and he was armed only with a pistol, no blaster rifle. Good.

The soldier did not greet Argon, simply indicated the way and followed Argon. One hand rested firmly on the butt of his blaster. They had gone a considerable distance in silence when Argon pitched forward, cursing. Instinctively the stormtrooper reached forward to grab Vold, his hand leaving his blaster for only a second.

It was long enough: Argon pulled the trooper down with him, rolling so that the Imperial was below him and pinned to the ground. Vold reached into the stormtrooper’s belt and calmly removed his blaster. There was no stun setting, so Vold simply smashed the butt several times into the Solder’s helmet. When he was sure the other man was not going to be getting up any time soon, he rose.

He had precious little time: no doubt the stormtrooper had managed to radio something of a warning before being knocked unconscious, and reinforcements would be here soon. Argon dragged the body into the nearest corner and set about removing the armour. It was a job he had done countless times back on Velmor, removing the armour from dead Imperials.

Soon he was dressed in the white armour of an Imperial stromtrooper. The unconscious soldier he left lying in the corner, the helmet’s com unit on top of his body. Then he marched purposefully down the hall. Two minutes had passed – other troops would now be finding the body, putting out an alert.

Argon found what he was looking for quickly enough. This was the real test – Velmor’s hackers were not renowned for their skill, but he had been assured these codes would work. If they did not, well, Argon did not want to consider the consequences.

Entering the restricted elevator, he punched in his code and waited.

The response seemed to take an age to come. A single green light lit up, and he breathed out a sigh of relief. The lift began to move, carrying him upwards towards his ultimate destination.

“The target is Aveo, a large moon whose mother planet was destroyed in the same upset that hit Thisspiass last year.”

Kyoto’s words echoed in the overcrowded hanger bay. They were holding the briefing here because it was supposed to be a simulation of an emergency call – an assault on an Imperial base, and a rapid response by the closest available unit. As a result, the force that Kyoto was fielding was something of a mismatch of ships. The Borderland could field a formidable fleet, but it was divided up amongst their worlds, varyingly on patrol, customs duty, and homeland defence. What Aveo would be getting was whatever could be scrambled to hold the enemy, until support could be mobilized. For their purposes today, that meant not even a Star Destroyer. The largest ship Kyto would be fielding today would be an Aegis carrier – a moderately armed but dreadfully under shielded carrier/cruiser that had been the mainstay of many government fleets because of its relative power for its cost. Not to mention the fact that, with its distinct arrowhead shape, it resembled the Star Destroyers of the Empire.

“The Rebels,” (played, of course, by Imperial sailors), “attacked the planet and are strafing the planetary bases, likely softening them up for a ground assault.” Kyoto went on.

He looked around the hanger bay. He had spent the last month rigorously training his fleet for this. This engagement would be their big test – word had come from Imperial Centre last night that Grand Moff Drayson herself would be observing.

“That means their cappies will be without starfighter cover for a good five, maybe ten minutes.” Brock Jayce, his Wing Commander, said. Kyoto nodded at the big man.

“Yes, it does. And because our fleet is fairly light on heavy firepower, I want you to use that time to pound their capital ships with your proton torpedoes.”

The starfighter pilot nodded. While the simulated fleet was supposed to be hastily assembled, and thus lacked many large capital ships, they had a good number of TIE Defender starfighters and Scimitar bombers. Those ships, with their proton torpedoes and concussion missiles, could deal significant damage to capital ships.

“Interceptors will fly cover and try and take out the enemy starfighters as they return to the engagement. Understood? Good.”

Wing Commander saluted, and immediately turned to his pilots, barking orders.

* * * * *

Aveo was unimpressive world, overshadowed by the nearby relative wonders of Thisspiass and Contruum. There was little of value for anyone to be had on Aveo, and were it not for its strategic position between the Imperial Core and the Black Dragon Empire, it would not even warrant the small Imperial garrison that was stationed there.

Kyoto’s fleet emerged from hyperspace in line, his pair of Dreadnaught cruisers flying point for the Aegis that was serving as his temporary flag. It was an unconventional formation, given that Dreadnaughts were vastly undefended and undergunned; the Aegis in contrast was a powerhouse.

“Sensors?” The Admiral asked, straining to see something out the viewports. The distance was to great, of course. All he could see was the mass of Aveo, filling the viewscreen. The enemy ships – if they were there – would be invisible against it.

“Seven contacts, Sir. Two cruiser analogues, sensor profile suggests Assault class. Three frigates, possibly Nebulon variety. And one corvette analogue, confirmed Marauder class Tenacious Grip. And one Loranor Corporation Strike Cruiser.”

None of which boded well for Kyoto’s fleet. His pair of Dreadnaughts outgunned the Rebel Assault Cruisers (which were in fact nothing more than modified Dreadnaughts themselves), but the enemy ships were faster and more manoeuvrable. More importantly, they were distinctly suited to engaging enemy starfighters, on which a large degree of Kyoto’s plan relied.

“Starfighters?”

“We have contacts, at least three squadrons and climbing, moving to rejoin the enemy fleet. No suggestions on what variant they are, but based on their speed I would guess Rebel X-wing class.”

The enemy fleet was reacting, too. The Assault Frigates and Strike Cruiser were hanging back, hoping to have the Imperial fleet pass through the screen of their smaller capital ships to engage them. Kyoto would have done the same thing: lure the Imperial ships behind his frigates, and let those ships pound away at their relatively undefended sterns.

And all the while, those fighters were getting closer.

“Allright. Starfighters are clear to begin their first run. Priority targets are the Nebulon frigates. Designate targets by squadron. Helm, bring us to attack speed and target the same, order the fleet to do likewise. Target the frigates and fire as soon as we’re in range, I want those ships dead by the time we reach them.”

Before long space above Aveo was a mess. The TIE Defenders, exercising their impressive speed, they snapped across the distance and let loose a full barrage of proton torpedoes. Shamelessly a tactic stolen from the Rebel Alliance, the missile assault was as effective against their ships as against those of the Empire. No gouts of fire gave away the simulated missiles’ impact, but the computer showed shields down and minor hull breaches across the board on the targeted vessels.

Then the fighters were gone, evading the enemy antistarfighter fire by diving down, towards the planet. Working with gravity now they redirected engine power forwards into shields and met the rising X-wings head on, the two sides exchanging thousands of millions of joules of energy before they were past, the TIEs no turning against gravity to pursue. But the effectiveness of their lightning attack could not be doubted – the Imperial fleet fast approaching in their wake now found the enemy frigates unshielded, and easy pickings for their turbolasers. And the enemy starfighters were splintered – some still on course for the capital ship engagement, others turning to do battle with the Imperial pilots.

From the bridge of his flagship, Admiral Kyoto watched events unfold. The speed of their attack had caught the enemy off guard, and he was down two of his Nebulon B frigates. But against his Dreadnaughts, the enemy Assault Frigates still held the upper hand, and the Aegis was trapped in a pitted battle against the Strike Cruiser. Here, in Aveo’s gravity shadow, the superior manoeuvrability of the Strike Cruiser did it little good. But if it could keep the bigger ship from reaching the Dreadnaughts, it could well mean the death of those two ships. The only (minor) consolation was that Kyoto’s Carrack cruisers had made short work of the enemy Marauder corvette and remaining frigate, and now they moved forward and raked the bow of the enemy Strike Cruiser with fire.

In mere moments, the assault had gone from good to a slugging match. And in Admiral Kyoto’s mind, slugging matches were never good.

“Fighters returning, Admiral.” The report came from sensors. Indeed, the enemy and Imperial fighters were both returning now to the fleet engagement. The X-wings were leading, with the TIEs in hot pursuit. “Dreadnaught Iron Man reports targeting lock.”

Kyoto brought the sensor displays from the Iron Man up on his screen and smiled thinly. Iron Man was one of his Dreadnaughts engaging the pair of Rebel Assault Frigates. And it was being targeted by the approaching hoard of Rebel fighter craft, nearly two squadrons worth still.

“Order Captain McLaren to execute order seventy-two at his prerogative. Let’s see if the new training has paid off.”

A moment passed, and then the bright blue propellant trails of proton torpedoes appeared in the bleakness of space, lancing across the distance between the fighters and the Dreadnaught. And then, strangely, stopping.

The fighter pilots, accustomed to seeing their missiles devastate enemy vessels, were so surprised by the sudden change that they forgot the TIE Defenders approaching in their wake – until those ships opened fire, eliminating several of the enemy ships and then breaking, away from the deadly Assault Frigate ahead.

Completing a rotation on her axis, the Iron Man used her tractor beams, their operators laboriously trained to utilize sheer plane mode to its greatest extent, to accelerate the frozen proton torpedoes into the flank of the Rebel Assault Frigate. Unprepared for such an attack, and still attempting to ward off the Dreadnaught with which she was engaged, the Assault Frigate broadcast total systems failure, and shut down.

Which left just the Strike Cruiser, and the second Assault Frigate. But then, everything changed.