XKJ11A system... The meeting would not appear in any official records. It would not, as far as the Empire was concerned, have ever happened. If questioned, each of the officials present had an alibi that explained where they were when the meeting took place.
Not, of course, that they would ever admit the meeting had taken place.
The system chosen to hold the meeting was not noteworthy, save for its distance from any inhabited world or travelled space lane. It had been discovered thousands of years ago by an unknown cartographer, recorded simply as XKJ11A, and forgotten.
"Engel. Wolfgang. Nimtz. Hitchcock," A man said, scanning a datapad in his lap, "they're all here."
"Aye. And a dozen others. All we need is Kaine himself here and this would be the biggest meeting since-“
"Where is Kaine?" The first man interrupted, snapping the datapad shut and frowning.
"Who knows," replied the first, "probably practising some of that Art of War bullshit. Let me tell you, there's only one way to win a fight: shoot first, and shoot last."
Both men gave a chuckle.
“Gentlemen. Is everyone accounted for?”
“Aye, Sir.”
“Then let us join them.”
The meeting was to be held on the Star Destroyer Arch Hammer. XKJ11A was not an inhabitable planet, but that hardly mattered. Even had it been, the meeting to take place presently was too important to take place outside the security of one of the Empire’s most feared ships or bases. And given its sensitive nature, holding it on the fortress that was Yaga Minor, Coruscant, or Corellia was not an option.
And so here they were, some of the most brilliant minds in the Empire, sitting around a table aboard the Arch Hammer, waiting for their host.
The door snapped open with the quickness that had come to be expected of Imperial machinery, so fast that the occupants barely had time to react to the influx of light (the chamber itself was only dimly lit) before Yuri was taking his place in the middle of the table.
“Yuri!” Hitchcock said at once. “You should know, I do not enjoy very much being called away from my office without notice like this. I have an important project on the go that could require my presence at any stage-”
Yuri quieted the man with a wave of his gloved hand.
“Your investigation into the homosexual tendencies of clones will be fine without you’re oversight for a few days, Commander.” Yuri returned, bored, “Now, if we can get to business.”
“And what is ‘business’, Yuri?” Another man asked, his face already glowing red from the wine that had (perhaps foolhardily) been provided.
“All in good time, Doctor Falcone. To start with, is everyone familiar with everyone? More to the point, is anyone unfamiliar with anyone here’s work?”
There was a chorus of agreement that they did, in fact, all know or know of one another.
“Good. Doctor Koffman, would you please explain the basics of the Empire project, for those who don’t know?”
The Doctor nodded, and dimming the lights, began to explain…
From Classification…
The meeting of the Bastion Conclave was three days later, set, as always, on Bastion. The miniature tribunal was small, yet formed the core government of the worlds Theren Gevel had conquered. It had been set up in a makeshift manner, created very basically out of necessity, yet in time it had become known as the primary authority in the Bastion territories. So, Theren had made it official that it was; he’d given it a semi-democratic identity (purely for the purpose of appeasing the public), and made its existence known officially.
Each member represented his world, from an official perspective. In reality, each one dictated the orders of Theren Gevel to his world, and bent the pseudo-democratic political systems of their planets to the whims of the Empire. In the end, everyone could be bought, and the politicians of the Bastion Conclave were little more than pawns.
Cris Kellis, the Lieutenant-Governor of Karfeddion, was busy speechmaking. “Obviously, the citizens of Karfeddion were rather impressed by your –” he nodded to Theren “—display of propaganda, over the Kamino issue. Resistance has fallen twelve percent this week alone.”
Theren nodded. “You can sit down, Lieutenant-Governor. To be clear, the Conclave meetings don’t need to be formal. We’re the ruling council of a sizable portion of territory, and we’re all on the same side. Just state your opinions.
Kellis nodded, appearing somewhat relieved. “Well, we could use more Stormtroopers for garrison. Essentially, the uprising left a small sect of people rather displeased with the way things went. Fanatics.”
Theren stood, nodding his agreement. “This is a problem, throughout the Empire. There are always groups of people who splinter off from the normal public, who fanatically resist our occupation. Every government has this problem, really; it’s difficult to escape. You can’t please everyone, propaganda or no propaganda.”
The Lieutenant-Governors nodded their assent to this obvious truth, and Theren continued. “As you may have heard, from our esteemed Lieutenant-Governor of Kamino, my people have been working on a project in co-operation with the Kaminoan cloners. In a sense, it is a way of giving the Bastion Conclave its own identity; its own classification. Our own classification.” That intrigued them, Theren could see. Behind him, a hologram appeared, featuring one of the Legionnaires. “This, Mr. Kellis, will be your reinforcement; a Stormtrooper all our own, created with materials from our sectors and superior to any trooper in the Imperial corps. Kaminoan cloning technology, Yevethan blasters and armor, Karfeddion cloning subjects. The best we have to offer.”
The men nodded. Kellis spoke up. “They’re red.”
“No shit,” Theren said. “Psychologically, red is the most intimidating of colors. It’s the color of blood, and the color of war. And, after we’ve demonstrated the might of these soldiers – Legionnaires, they’re called – anyone who isn’t intimidated by the color will be intimidated by the reputation. They’re instantly identifiable, even on a crowded battlefield. And the will strike fear into the hearts of our enemies.”
The men stared dumbstruck by Theren’s speech, eyes focused on the hologram. Theren was conscious of his ability to make a speech; it came naturally, as did all language to him. Kellis was the first to break out of his stupor. “You mentioned a demonstration.”
Theren smirked. “Yes. Tornel, go ahead.” His aide immediately emerged from the shadowy edges of the room to begin distributing small datapads. “Your datapads have information on the world known as Duro. It’s an alien world, populated by the ancestors of the Neimoidians. I assume most of you have heard of it, but in case any of you are any dumber than you look…”
“Yeah,” Kellis said.
“To most of you, this should be fairly basic, by now. We’re going to move in, circumvent the enemy fleet, land troops with drop ships, and hit the defenders from behind. It isn’t very difficult, but I’ll be expecting each of you to spare me a detachment of your defense forces to do it.” Though Theren went about the meeting as though it was routine, in truth, it was the first time the Bastion Conclave had contemplated to act militarily.
The Conclave had come together through a string of crises, arising one after another, devious plots unraveled by Gevel’s cunning, his military and political savvy. But this time, no such crisis motivated them; merely basic expansionist principles. “Duro’s surface is uninhabited, covered in automated construction facilities. Once captured, they’ll be upgraded by Yevethan slaves. The orbital cities will need to be directly taken.”
What Theren didn’t say – perhaps because he didn’t have to – was, ‘By any means necessary.’
The Past… Kamino…
“I am Commodore Theren Gevel, of the Galactic Empire, whom you serve, were created to serve, and will serve until the day you die.” Theren fell silent for a moment, smirking. The speech was all prepared, of course. “You are not normal Stormtroopers; you are better than normal Stormtroopers. You wear red, the color of battle, and you will strike fear into the heart of your foes. You are the Legionnaires.” “Legionnaires?” Yuri asked, the hint of a smile playing on his lips.
“Yeah. They’re my troops, I think that gives me the right to call them whatever the hell I want. If I wanted them to be called Santa’s Little Helpers, they’d be called Santa’s Little Helpers.”
Theren Gevel was a man that Yuri would like very much to have at his will, to dig into his psyche and see what went through his mind. His off-colour comments and derision for authority had denied him a promotion none in the Admiralty could deny he deserved. What drove him?
But that was neither here nor there.
“Do you like them?”
“If they perform as well as you say they will, Yuri, I’ll tell you how I like them.”
“They will.” Yuri said simply, his eyes cold. “Your Legionnaires are now unmatched in the galaxy.”
Gevel turned to go, his face expressionless.
“Good.”
The Legionnaires were, for all intents and purposes, an extension of the Empire project. Theren Gevel’s grip on his Bastion Conclave was strong, but the prying minds of Black Mantis were more potent even that the Commodore. When Gevel came to Kamino looking for a new supersoldier, he came to unbeknownst to Black Mantis. Curious, Yuri had travelled to Kamino to see the end result of the project, and what had been created astonished him.
Under the direction of one especially skilled doctor named Koffman, the genetic material of the Legionnaires had not simply been modified, but vastly improved upon. Gevel, with his incredible powers of observation, would surely notice that his soldiers ate less food less often than conventional soldiers, required less sleep, and did not seem to tire the same way even a clone Stormtrooper would. The Executor, the hypersecret offshoot of the Legionnaire, and Gevel’s secret weapon, took this modification a step further. Executors were modified Yevetha, their ungainly natural bone structure changed to adapt to Legionnaire armour, themselves 100% loyal to the Commodore.
In short, the project had created the most potent soldier that biology could sustain. There were, after all, natural limits on how long even a genetically modified man could go without food or water or sleep.
Following the invasion of Duro by Gevel’s forces, as the widespread acceptance of the Legionnaire in his forces, Yuri removed Doctor Koffman from his post at Kamino and put him to work.
From Past, Present, and Future...
The door to the hospital room opened, letting the sterile white light of the corridor outside spill in. The room itself was small - a Bacta tank stood in one corner with a figure suspended within it, and beside it the necessary monitoring equipment and controls.
"She was brought here yesterday. She's taken well to the Bacta, so far... but there are some things that even that cannot reconstruct. She would be dead if she wasn't in the tank now."
The woman nodded, moving closer to the tank and brushing away the accumulated condensation with her hand. The girl in the tank was hardly even her age, though how she appeared in the tank may have belayed that. Her face was torn and burned, and her body had been bruised and scorched by the explosion.
"Can she be saved?"
"By all rights, Ma'am, she should be dead. We arrived some days after the attack, and by all rights she should have died of her wounds before then. If we hadn't received your call before we found her, we would not have tried to save her. She is incredibly lucky to be alive."
"You didn't answer my question, Doctor."
The man shrugged, frowning.
"There's only a little bit that the Bacta can do. Even the premium stuff like this can't repair what isn't there, and she was hurt enough that some of her internal organs aren't there... she's on machinery for that stuff right now, but unless she wants to walk around with a cart of machines sticking out of her..."
He trailed off.
The woman nodded slowly.
"Keep her the best you can. There is someone I must speak with."
The Doctor nodded, frowning again as the woman left. The door slid shut once more, and he turned back to the tank.
"Keep her alive? What kind of life is this?"
For a moment, he eyed the power control for the tank. It would be a simple matter to say she had died of her own accord... but she was shrewd, shrewd enough perhaps to see past that.
No... it would be best to wait for her decision.
Whatever IT may be.
* * * * *
The door opened from the security corridor, once more sending the shadows scurrying for cover as the bright white lights violated her sanctuary.
"Yuri." She said from her chair, not turning around. "Shut the door." The older man did so, cutting off the influx of harsh light and plunging the room back into its darkness. Indeed, the only light was coming from the system's single sun, which was passing out of the ship's orbit. On the surface, the sun was setting through the clear sky, turning the atmosphere red, gold, and purple.
"Thank you for coming so swiftly, Yuri." Bhindi Drayson said, rising and shaking the man's hand. "You've read the report, I presume?"
"I have, Admiral." Yuri replied curtly. Yuri Katarn (though few knew his family name) spoke with the same aristocratic accent of those born within Coruscant's Imperial Elite - yet Bhindi knew that he was neither born nor raised there. Yuri had been born on the world of Adumar, an out of the way world that was known only for the stereotyped hillbillies it produced.
"It was most interesting." The man's eyes seemed to gleam as he said this, and Bhindi nodded gravely. Yuri had convinced most of the Empire (at least, those he interacted with, and they were few) that he was an elite - but in fact he had been born poor, the fifth child of a woman who died when he was only seven. His father was a tradesman, making barely enough money for them to scrape by.
"Have you had time to develop a solution?" The Admiral asked, moving forward. There was a definite note of pleading in her voice, now, which no doubt Yuri would not fail to notice.
"I have something. It is an experimental procedure... only 25% of the clones we have attempted it on have survived the procedure. And they were all in perfect health before we began."
Drayson nodded. A 25% chance of success... less than that, even.
"Can you do it now? Here?"
"I need merely summon the Arc Hammer. There I can perform the operation."
What else was left?
"Do it."
From The living and the dead
Belderone
Trinity awoke to find herself in a medical facility. It brought disurbing memories of the time she had found herself the victim of an ambush on her ship, wounded almost to death and saved only by the intervention of Moff Drayson at the time.
She could not remember what had brought her to the bed this time, and this bothered her perhaps more than the injury itself.
"She was extremely lucky." A voice said, agonizingly familar, but she couldn't place it.
"I do not believe in luck, Doctor. Trinity was saved by your skill, and that is all there is to it. I thank the Gods that you were there to tend to her."
"She seems to have a penchant for that, doesn't she?" He said with a chuckle. In Trinity's head, something clicked. It was Doctor Koffman, the same man who had saved her life once before. And suddenly it all came flooding back: Belderone, the rebels, Sergeant Selkirk, the rebel shot that had bounced into her...
And with a start, she realized that he was talking to none other than Moff Drayson.
"That she does, Doctor. Everything is operating properly, then."
"Yes. Although, I should check on her, if you don't mind."
"May I see her?"
"Of course. Follow me, please."
The door opened, and Trinity dropped her head, pretending to be asleep. The Doctor checked some readouts and nodded slowly.
"Everything seems fine, she's recovering wonderfully. If you'd like to sit with her, I'll leave you be. Although don't expect her to talk, she's still out from the drugs."
Trinity heard the door open and shut, and the sound as Bhindi Drayson took chair beside the bed.
"Well, Trin, you sure know how to give me a scare." She said, dropping in that moment the entire facade of the merciless Imperial Moff and Admiral, the master tactician who oversaw the deaths of thousands, and became a simple friend, the same as any other in the galaxy.
"Bhindi?" Trinity said, opening her eyes. The Admiral smiled.
"The old man was wrong. You're quite awake, aren't you?"
"Yes." The younger woman admitted. "Can I ask you something?"
Bhindi nodded, her smile growing. She had not entirely believed Doctor Koffman when he said that Trinity would be fine. But hearing her speak had put to rest whatever doubts she had.
"What did you mean when you asked if everything was operating properly?"
Bhindi stopped cold. She had not expected Trinity to hear that, nevermind ask about it. Her smile vanished.
"Nothing." She said quickly. Too quickly: her old friend could tell she was lying.
"Please, tell me." Trinity said. "I want to know."
And, biting her lip, Bhindi Drayson told her exactly what she had meant.
* * * * *
Some years previously, Ariel Trinity's ship had been ambushed while assigned to the Unknown Regions. The Star Destroyer was destroyed, and the only survivour found of the massacare was Ariel Trinity, near death. Saved only by intervention by Moff Drayson, the woman became the first 'real person' to be treated by Yuri Katarn's newest pet project.
Ironically, Belderone had played a huge part in the process that went into saving Ariel Trinity's life. It was Doctor Koffman himself who had developed much of the biomechanics that went into preserving the young Line-Captain's life.
The same biomechanicans that had created the Empire's Spartan-II 'supersoldiers'.
Working feverishly, Yuri and Koffman had replaced half of Trinity's vital organs with machines. That her life had been spared by some divine miracle was all Trinity was told: she had been utterly unaware up to this point that she was, literally, half machine.
"I'm sure you've noticed," Bhindi said as she neared the end of the story, "that you are far stronger now than before. You need less sleep, eat less, get tired less easily."
Trinity nodded. She was attempting to wrap her mind around the fact that she was only half human, that her heart and lungs were mere machines designed to keep her alive.
"Why didn't you tell me?" Was all she asked as the Moff finished telling her.
Bhindi shrugged.
"Both Yuri and Koffman advised against it. They thought it would only hurt you, that you would resent the fact that you survived only because of machines.
"More to the point, it was thouhgt it may impact your work."
They were both silent for a moment, and then finally Bhindi spoke again.
"Their work saved your life again on Belderone, Ariel. The wounds you recieved would have killed anyone else in a matter of minutes. You are, once again, incredibly fortunate to be alive."
And with that, Bhindi Drayson left Trinity to ponder over what she now knew.
From Foundation: New Chaos, New Order
From the both sides of the speeder now came soldiers, adorned in the Black Spartan armour they had seen in the base shortly before. These ones carried rifles and equipment belts, strapped to which seemed to be a number of grenades and other devices.
There were six in all, and though they themselves were quite tall (being some 2.5 meters in height, respectively), the Bu’ranas towered over them, roaring and hissing at the Spartans. One of the men, evidently the squad commander, raised his right fist, and the troops sprang into motion.
Two from each group fired, advancing slowly and purposefully towards their targeted beast. The weapons seemed to have only a slight effect – evidently the Bu’ranas’ hide was thicker than most animals.
The other two vanished, and it was only after a moment than Bhindi realized they were on their stomachs, pulling themselves towards the massive beasts.
Within minutes, it was over. The two beasts were laying in the dirt ahead of them, one of them howling with pain. The other’s body had been reduced to charred ash, the smell of overcooked meat filling the air around them. One of the Spartans placed his rifle to the head of the wounded beast and fired several times, reducing the skull to fragments and silencing the beast.
“Your creations are very impressive.” Bhindi said, sitting now at a conference table back at the base.
“They are nearly perfected. Soon, they will be complete; the absolute achievement in cyborg warrior.” Showing his yellow teeth, he looked at the lone Spartan-II who guarded the doorway. “It is almost a shame that these experiments will all have to be destroyed, when we begin manufacture.”
The soldier did not respond. His face was invisible behind his mask, but Bhindi knew it to be expressionless. The Spartan-IIs were designed to be incapable of emotion, built to serve and die for the Empire.
“They do not feel pain, they do not feel pity, they do not feel anger. They follow orders, but they retain enough of their original wit and sense to improvise, when necessary. They are completely independent. And perfectly, one hundred percent, loyal, to the Empire.”
“It’s like playing God.” Deusvult said.
“It is playing God, my boy! We destroy who they are, put new ideas and pieces into their head and make them believe what we tell them to believe. You could tell a Spartan-II that Imperial Centre is a tropical paradise and they would believe it!”
The commander frowned, but Yuri only went on, his smile growing with each minute.
“We’ve removed everything that made them men. They’re more machine now than man – no heart, no organs, nothing. They do not need food, sleep, entertainment. They simply are. They exist for the sole purpose of serving the Empire. They have no other purpose.”
“What makes them different from druids, then?” Bhindi asked.
“Simple. They have a brain. Not a mechanical droid brain, but a real one. A brain taken from an elite Imperial soldier, connected to their new body just as their old one was. We clone the brain, and insert it into a modified body. They are conditioned, of course. Modified. They do not remember their previous life, only their service to the Empire. All of our Spartans are experienced in war – they have been fighting since Kaine was a mere General.”
“And their bodies. They are modified, as well?”
“Of course. Muscles have been conditioned. They can run faster than any man, lift weights hundreds of times heavier… and they can be beaten to a pulp and still survive, so long as they remain operational.”
“But they can die?” Desuvult said, curious now.
“Oh, yes. They are ‘alive’, you might say. Their hearts still beat. They still need air to breath. A shot to the heart, or the brain, will kill them. They are simply stronger, faster. Better.”
“When will they be ready for production?” Bhindi asked, looking too at the soldier who guarded the room.
“Within the month.”
The Past… Black Mantis Research Facility “The brain is the most important part.” Koffman said, observing something on a screen as data was directed to it from electrodes connected to a live brain. The thing was eerie, floating freely in a small tank on the table next to him.
“Of course. But how do we feed the brain without a body? Machines can replace organs, but without the shell they cannot recreate the sense of self. And without that sense of self, the brains fail.”
This was the problem that had troubled Yuri and Koffman since the last iteration of the Empire project had launched. The Spartan-II super-soldiers had been wildly successful, supplanting Stormtroopers in invasion fleets and proving even more effective in battle than Theren Gevel’s vaunted Legionnaires. Which was not unexpected, as the Legionnaires were little more than prototypes for the Spartans.
“Perhaps religionists are right.” Koffman suggested, turning away from the computer now and frowning. “Perhaps there is a soul contained in the body. Perhaps that’s why the brains are failing so soon after becoming aware.”
The idea was simple in concept. It was a given that a living brain – conditioned or otherwise – was superior to a droid brain in critical thinking and intuition. In a battlefield situation, a droid could simply not react as well as a sentient being. So, remove the brain from the body and connect it to a computer. Have that computer control a ship. Eliminate the body, which was weak, and replace it with machines, controlled by a brain.
And it worked. Tests had shown their brain-controlled fighters were faster and more capable than even their best droids – better even than many of their living pilots. But the brains ceased to function after only a few hours of use. They did not die, they simply ceased, the same way the brain of someone with severe brain damage might cease to operate.
“No. It can work. Palpatine did it. He had his Shadow Droids – brains implanted in ships. And nothing I’ve read indicates that they died so shortly.”
Koffman spread his hands.
“Then what did Palpatine know that we don’t?”
