He was dead.

Amaer Kre Fey pounded his furry fist downward, the move simultaneously allowing him to release pent up frustration and disgust while smashing several buttons on his remote control.

The holoscreen faded to black.

Watching the coverage of the unfolding "Bothan crisis" made Amaer physically ill. He felt an upwelling in the pit of his stomach, and he swallowed hard, willing himself to resist the temptation to vomit. After a few moments of struggling with his body, the overwhelming sensation began to die down and he could relax.

It just wasn't the news alone that had put Amaer in such a state- he was stressed out, exhausted (physically and mentally) and had been until very recently very anxious. Trying to pound out a resolution between the major factions on Corinth had proven to be nigh impossible. He had spent countless hours finagling the most miniscule of compromise from the various sides, nudging and prodding them closer and closer toward a manageable position. It was a diplomatic hell.

It didn't help that no one trusted him, no one thought he was serious.

Amaer Kre Fey was written off, a has-been, his career beyond salvage. Disgraced and discredited, shunned from the public life, his rivals had effectively exiled him, forced him to go to Corinth where many reviled him, blamed him for their "subjugation". His dream, of a Bothan race totally independent from outside influence, one that was a power player on the galactic scale, mentioned in the same breath as the Empire and Coalition and the Dragons was shattered- it was not the Way.

At least that is what they had said, his successors that is. They would return to the Way and all things would be prosperous and paradise would sprout up from Kothlis to Moonus Mandel. The kriffing fools!! They gave The Way nothing but lip service- to them it was a slogan, a way to mobilize and energize the people while they did whatever the hell they wanted.

Amaer had done more for the Bothan Way than any politician in centuries!

They had dismantled his war machine, sold or mothballed his navy, reversed his economic policy, and basically reversed every single inch of progress Amaer had made. All over one tiny indiscretion! And look how it had turned out?

Bothawui was in the process of being occupied, Kothlis was free only due to the "protection" of a Galactic Coalition fleet. The colonies were all but defenseless!

The Empire wouldn't have dared send an invasion fleet into Bothan space when Amaer was Councilor- not if they valued its existence. Every Star Destroyer, every TIE, would have been met by a vessel made by Bothans, manned by Bothans and trained by Bothans- and formidable vessels at that! He hadn't even worried about the Coalition, they were all but hapless.

He felt the urge to vomit again as he contemplated the following statement: Not a single bothan ship had risen to combat the Empire over their own homeworld. No A'krai heavy cruisers, nary a Bothan Assault Cruiser, not even a single Imamiah gunship! It was insanity! Relu Asyr should have just signed the entire sector over! It would have saved time the Imperials time (though not much) and preserved the lives of the few brave Bothans who had taken up arms in defense of their homeworld.

There sacrifice had been in vain. They had been easily overwhelmed- but the fault was not theirs. They had been hung out to dry by their leaders, who were too busy spending the entire Bothan treasury on mineral holdings in the Galactic Coalition.

Amaer might have been disgraced, but he remained in touch with the maneuverings of the government. The actions of the current administration were utterly unforgivable!

There was one silver lining, one tiny glimmer of hope that had accompanied this debacle, one ray of sunshine in an otherwise grim situation.

Inadvertently, the Imperial invasion, the actions of the Bothan government, and the intervention of the Coalition had become the perfect storm- creating the exact conditions that would give Amaer Kre Fey a second chance. Granted, he had needed a bit of outside help (which he grudgingly accepted because it was the only way his plan would work) but the ends would justify the means a million times over.

Amaer knew he need to sleep, to spend some time recuperating his worn out body, but he couldn't. There was one final thing that had to occur, the final piece of the puzzle- and it was out of his hands. He had done his work (and while much remained to be done) it all depended on one critical action.

So he set his com-link in the place where the remote, now somewhere on the floor, had been and waited.

Waited for the call that would bring him back to life....



The Bothan Military was in chaos.

A series of conflicting orders from the military high command (who had ordered an unconditional surrender from Bothawui orbit) the civilian leadership (which was apparently setting up for an insurgent guerilla campaign) and rouge military elements (which had was ordering remaining Bothan forces to regroup at Kothlis) had sent a shockwave of confusion throughout the ranks.

Captain Jerer Pol'Tia was no exception.

Captain Pol'Tia commanded the New Republic Assault Frigate (basically a heavily modified Dreadnaught class heavy cruiser) Submergence, one of the two Bothan ships that remained in orbit over Corinth.

Not so long ago the force over Corinth had been significantly larger, a matter of necessity given the planet's recent history. Everyone knew that just about the only thing members of the various Corinthian factions could agree upon was that they despised the Combined Clans, and that as eager as they were to get at each other, they were more eager to return to independence.

The Corinth force, as it had been known in the navy, had been tasked with ensuring that didn't happen.

Devoid of any naval forces of their own, the threat of tactical orbital bombardment (coupled with the enormous, fortress-like Combined Clans base the Army maintained on the outskirts of Gilgorian) had kept the planet in line. They may have been more open to violence than most Bothans, but they were still Bothans- they knew when a battle wasn't worth fighting.

Then the Empire had come. And suddenly keeping Corinth part of the Clans seemed like a very insignificant concern.

Jerer Pol'Tia acknowledged that the Empire was certainly something to worry about, but short of orders from the High Command, he wasn't about to leave his station. He was in the minority.

The task force commander had determined that there were more pressing matters to deal with. He'd virtually evacuated the planet's garrison, leaving nothing but a skeleton force at the Gilgorian base, and told his captains he was going to join up with the elements at Kothlis. Jerer had protested, correctly mentioning that the task force had received no new orders from the High Command. The commander then told every captain he was free to choose- stay at Corinth, or accompany him to Kothlis.

One solitary captain, of the Nebulon B frigate Isolatt, chose to stay with Jerer.

What had once been a formidable fighting force was reduced to two aging ships, left to support a poor contingent of heavily outnumbered Bothan regulars stationed on a planet that would like nothing more than to drag their carcasses through the streets of the capital.

Still, Jerer wasn't too worried. The Corinthians couldn't have anything more than a squadron or two of snubfighters, if that, hidden on the planet. They had a significant industrial base, but the Clans had inspectors that watched them with an unfailing vigilance.

The Corinthians might be able to sting a bit, but without any capitals to back up there fighters they couldn't hope to destroy the Submergence . Maybe if he was alone, but with the support of the Isolatt Jerer was confident he could keep the planet at least nominally in line.

I will uphold my duty.

When the crisis blew over (and Jerer was sure it would) he would be commended for maintaining the territorial integrity of the clans. Maybe even promoted.

He wore the smile that thought had prompted him to don right up until the MC-90 came out of hyperspace virtually on top of the Submergence.

The ship didn't send any transmission. It made no attempt to communicate in any fashion. Before Jerer could even think, before he could take any action at all, the bright flashes of turbolaser fire exploded outward from one of the numerous weapons blisters on the lumpy craft.

And for Jerer Pol'Tia all became black.

Space above Bothuwai
Fifteen minutes after the surrender of the Bothan fleet


Shuttles began disembarking from the Star Destroyers. Space was filled with powered-down Bothan ships, including one Star Destoyer, and the occupying Imperial force. Several of the Bothan ships had disobeyed the order of their new fleet commander, fighting on despite the odds. These ships were quickly dispatched, the entire crew suffering for the disobedience of a few. It was a good precident to set, as Wes had already arranged for a governor that would do the same to the population; the more resistance, the more Bothans would die.

But first the planet had to be secured. Wes would only play a supporting role in this fight, though he didn't expect much resisitance. The Bothans were good at slicing and administrative work, but they were not exceptional fighters. Besides, Wes had already laid the groudwork for occupation.



Two months previous



The Trem Clan of the Bothans had supported the Empire for many years, and even though the Empire had been forced to retreat from Bothan space after the fall of Palpatine, their support had not waned. General Boone, under whose control fell the ISF and all their operations, knew this fact and planned to make use of it. Upon the orders of TNO High Command that Bothan Space once again become an Imperial possession, he immediately set the wheels of Bothan politics turning.

As he strode through the halls of the Imperial palace (a privilege, to be sure), he was already planning ways to contact the Bothan clans and prepare ground support for an Imperial attack. As it was, he didn't have to do very much.

When he reached his quarters, a shrouded figure greeted him. The alien's specific features were obscured, but it was definitely a Bothan. General Boone scrunched his eyebrows as his hand went to his blaster. "Can I help you with something?" he asked.

"I am a messenger from the Trem clans," he said. "We wish to know when the mighty Imperials plan to once again come to protect the Bothan people."

Boone didn't believe in gods; such foolish notions were for aliens and those crazy Black Dragons. But had he been such a believer, he would have immediately thought that this creature was a gift from God. Either that, or Imperial security was compromised. Something to check into later.

But now to verify the identity of this...thing. "I'm glad to hear that the Bothan people wish to be under our rule once again," he said. "But I'm not sure why you approached me. Or why you think we have any designs towards Bothan Space."

The Bothan lifted his hood, revealing himself as the son of the head of the Trem clans. His face had just been placed in the folder Boone was carrying, identifying potential Imperial supporters on Bothuwai. If there was such a thing as luck, Boone was rolling in it.

"You know who I am, General Boone," the Bothan said. "I know who you are. I also know that the Imperials will not leave the Bothans to join the Galactic Coalition. That would be a travesty of monumental proportions for both the Bothan people and the Empire. All we wish to know is when the attack is coming."

General Boone smiled and rolled his neck. "Here's what I can tell you. We don't know when the attack will be or who will command it. But I do have orders for you."

"I assume the execution of these orders will be well rewarded?"

Boone's eyes twinkled. "How about making the Trem clan the leading Bothan clan, and instituting a Trem governor on Bothuwai? Not to mention turning the Bothan fleet over to the Trem clan."

The Bothan attempted to keep his face expressionless, but his eyes displayed his greed and his acceptance before he began to negotiate. So Boone didn't let him. "Good, I see these terms are acceptable to you. Here are the orders. Whenever the attack comes, you are to secure as many weapons caches as possible. You are also to do as much damage as possible to Bothan communications and transportation systems. Make it as easy as possible for the Imperial army to invade. If the invasion goes as planned, you will receive the positions mentioned as well as that portion of the Bothan fleet that is not confiscated and does not escape."

The Bothan smiled. "Of course, General. We will do as you command."





Present
Bothuwai



Even though the Trems had agreed to support the Imperial attack, they were not stupid. They knew that to begin their sabotage while the Imperial fleet had not secured the space above the planet would be political and potentially physical suicide. However, once the surrender of the Bothan fleet had been broadcast over the holonet, the Trems began their attacks.

Two teams were assigned to communications centers, and there wasn't very much for them to do. During the initial assault, the Phantoms had targeted the comm centers pretty well. However, there were a few areas still standing. A few bombs, or a well-directed computer virus, and the main city of Bothuwai was under a total communications blackout.

Other teams had different tasks. One unit made its way to the main (known) weapons dump in Drev'starn, located near what used to be the Bothan shield generator. Due to the clandestine nature of the destruction of military equipment, the Trems, who were known for their support of the Empire, had not heard about it. Nevertheless, they arrived at the main dump before the orders could be carried out.

Led by Terran Vel'skar, one of the more violent of the Trem clan, the twenty-Bothan task force moved silently into the base. Only one guard met them, which made Terran suspect that something was going on. The guard, unfortunately, had decided not to support the new masters of Bothuwai and was necessarily silenced. Permanently.

As they entered the base, the smell of fuel filled Terran's nostrils. He signaled to his followers to hurry. The hallways were empty - a sure sign of foul play. Ironic, Terran thought. Here I am thinking of the "loyal" Bothans as committing foul play, when I'm betraying the "rightful" government. Humph. A lot of good that government did for me. This gets pulled off, I get to be Chief of Security. Then those kriffers will see what real justice is.

They reached the weapons storeroom with no further problems. Terran palmed the security lock and to his surprise the door slid open. More to his surprise, though, was what he found when the team entered.

Sergeant Vurroc Vel'kji of the Bothan Security Force stood over the weapons, pouring fuel from a ten-gallon can directly on top of them. Vel'kji had once been Terran's commander in the BSF, and he'd been a good one. Now, to see him betraying the hopes and dreams of the Bothan people like this really ticked him off. "Sergeant!" he called.

Vurroc turned, startled. "Terran," he said. "What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same question," Terran replied, moving his hand to his holstered blaster. "Don't you know that these weapons have been claimed by the rightful rulers of Bothuwai?"

"Of course I know that," replied the sergeant. "Why do you think I'm destroying them? Wait...did you say the rightful rulers? Oh, Terran, don't tell me you've sided with the Imperials. Please tell me..."

"They are the rightful rulers of Bothuwai. I'll give you one chance to join us, Sergeant. I don't want to have to arrest you."

The sergeant smiled ruefully. "You know I can't do that."

Terran's face was cold as stone. "Then I truly am sorry for you, Vurroc. You were always a friend." Straightening, he pronounced, "Sergeant Vurroc Vel'kji, I hereby arrest you in the name of His Imperial Majesty, Daemon Hyfe, and require that you come peacefully to the nearest detention center for processing."

The sergeant's smile remained on his face as he said, "I'm sorry, too." In a flash, his hand went for his blaster, and as it came out, he aimed it at the still-wet fuel. A single shot would light the entire weapons dump on fire, probably demolishing the whole compound. But Terran was quicker, his shot plowing into the sergeant's chest and flinging him backwards. The unfired blaster flew off to the side, harmless, as the dead Bothan landed across his own work. Terran, managing to remain cold and hard, ordered, "Secure this dump. Clean these weapons as best you can, and be sure that no one else comes to destroy them. We want the Imperials to like us when they get here."

The same thing was happening all over Bothuwai. Small teams of Trems and others who joined them were attacking and attempting to secure weapons dumps, key strategic locations, and important communications centers. Some were successful, some were not. No vital information fell into the Trem hands, though some information was discovered that could make things sticky for a few Bothan leaders. In some areas, though, the attempts to counter the loyalist threat met with disaster. As the casualties mounted on the surface, though, the Imperials were about to begin their main assault.



Space above Bothuwai

The two Venerator troopships dropped out of hyperspace right on time. The Bothan fleet was still being secured, but by now Wesley Vos had turned his attention to the newly arrived army. A link was quickly established, and within a minute General Sennacharib's image was projected above the small holoprojector on the communications console of the Vos.

"General," began Wes, "Are your men ready?"

Sennacherib saluted. That's interesting, Wes thought. It isn't often a General salutes a Captain.

"Yes, Captain," the general replied. "We are ready to begin the assault on your order."

Wes nodded. "You may commence the attack. Eliminate any resistance, and give no quarter to the enemies of the Empire. But be careful to preserve the Trem clan. They are with us."

"It will be as you say, Captain," came the reply, and the link was cut. Wes sat back, his major job completed. He didn't expect much Bothan resistance - the race was skilled in subterfuge and terrorism, but not open combat. Still, the domination of the planet was still not complete.



Bothuwai
Several miles from Drev'starn

The dropships came in one after the other, dropping unit after unit of infantry and an entire regiment of armor. The new Skorpion GAVs were prominent among the armored forces, moving into position as part of the first wave, with the larger and slower armored vehicles behind, all supported with infantry. They closed quickly on the city, knowing that if the Trems had done their job then the conquest of the city would be quite easy.

The Imperials advanced in a solid line. The Skorpion GAVs formed a wall of anti-infantry gun platforms, while the AT-ATs moved in behind them, ready to annihilate any armor the Bothans had. It was not to be. The Trem clans had done a very efficient job of taking out bases, weapons depots, communications, and in essence eliminating sources of resistance. Many Bothans had fled Drev'starn for the countryside in the face of the Imperial onslaught, prepared to resist the Empire from behind cover rather than be slaughterd in a useless defense.

General Sennacherib surveyed his forces as they moved forward. It was almost as if they were on parade. No shots had yet been fired in Drev'starn's defense. He was almost surprised...almost. In truth, he had an idea the Bothans might do something like this. They never were very courageous. Still, whoever ended up occupying the planet would find that they had a very difficult job ahead of them. He was glad he didn't have to deal with it.

As the Skorpions moved into the city, a delegation of Trem officials came out to meet them. General Sennacherib saluted their leader, then began to speak. "Your service to the Empire has been noted. As such, you are hereby given control of the planet Bothuwai to govern as you see fit. You have the full backing of the New Order, and we will aid you militarily in any way necessary. Within the next few days, several hundred thousand troops will be landing on the surface to supplement the security forces until all rebellion is quelled. Bothans," he raised his voice, "Bothuwai is once again yours!"

The cheering of the Trems could be heard throughout the city. Others joined them, either in fear of the Empire or in the hopes that they could restore order to and unify the divided clans. There were those, though, that did not cheer. These would form the base of a rebellion that would stretch far into the future, having implications that even they did not yet realize. It was with them that the true hopes and dreams of the Bothan people lay.


End