It took Adalric Cronus all of thirty seconds on the military training planet Carida to decide that serving in the Emperor's armed forces was not as romantic and glamorous as he had thought.
Adalric hoisted his belongings, consisting of a large turquoise duffel bag containing what few small parcels he had to show for his pat, onto his back and queued his way up with the rest of the hundred and twenty other recruits, newly fresh stock for the Emperor?s molding. His sense became overwhelmed by the diverse cut of clothes, colors, and unusual smells that wafted from the youth around him. Nervous chatter swept through the lines of eighteen-year-olds, most of whom were away from home for the very first time. A blast of noise reverberated through the shuttle as magnetic seals clicked apart, and the door to the outside sighed open.
Fresh air tumbled in, untouched by atmospheric scrubbers present on the ship; unfiltered light splashed against the gleaming deck, reflected down the hallway, shone upon the faces of the bright young recruits. The planets thick mossy scent began to linger, as the recruits spilled in jogging formation from the shuttle's interior. Adalric looked about him, his eyes swinging from side to side, taking in all the details they could, noting catwalks and military structures, other training squads forming up for self-defense exercises, and the lush vegetation that swamped across Carida. Vines tangled around great trees that curved and bent over each other, giving an awkward appearance indeed. The grass was remarkably green and fertile, Adalric was surprised to see bright spickets of blooms along the branches, giving it an ever more serene look. Truly, this must be the Empire's greatest achievement.
Peering out from the crowd of trainees, for a glorious thirty seconds it seemed that all the hype and rumors about Carida, the planet used by the Emperor?s own elite personal guard as a training camp for his military, were suddenly magnified. This must be the most exciting place for a ship of eighteen-year-olds to begin their new lives.
And then the shouting started.
It was if a bomb had exploded amidst the nervous group of draftees. Chaos, yelling, confusion, and a hundred thousand demands were suddenly thrust upon Adalric from all directions. Officers in olive-gray uniforms or white storm trooper armor swarmed all over them; the recruits stood at attention, rigidly trying to emulate statues as the officers moved to within millimeters of their faces, screaming demands.
Adalric's senses snapped back to reality. His ears flooded in pain as one of the officers stooped over him, blurting something incoherent. His only sudden to try and survive, to get out of this mess alive----he couldn't think, and every time he tried to answer a question that was hurled upon him, someone else would thrust their face next to his and demand something else.
Adalric started yelling, not caring what he said, or whom he was speaking to, but only reacting, attempting to look as though he were busy answering someone else's question. He raised his voice and shouted at the top of his lungs----and the ploy seemed to work. With all the confusion that surrounded him, with a storm trooper major screaming in his face to try and disorient him, he succeeded in diverting attention from himself. But this was only the begging of several months of hellish training that would mold Adalric into of the Emperor's own elite troops.
As the day on Carida grew dim, stirs of jungle creatures began to haunt the grounds outside the training camp. Floodlights flashed overhead from durasteel posts. The weakened and exhausted recruits began to pile into their bunkhouses, filing the complexes with a foul scent, their bodies equally as downtrodden as their spirits. Adalric's eyes were bloodshot, his muscles ached. As he was the last of his comrades to come through the underbrush of the bunkhouse, stepping heavily onto polished metal floors gleaming from the faint moonlight that crept through the portholes, he turned behind him. His mind surged with regret. Despite the day's relentless torture, the night's sleep soon to come would be Adalric's last few precious hours to relax from the next few months of grueling training.
Twenty pounds lighters but immeasurably stronger, Adalric adjusted to the breakneck training routine. The recruits spent less than five hours a night in their room, falling exhausted to sleep after day upon day of relentless training; physical fitness runs, daily expeditions via sub orbital transport to the southern ice fields for winter training, a two week-long expedition to the barren Forgofshar Desert for survival training, a three-day battle against nature in a the equatorial rain forest... Adalric soon lost track of the days.
Adalric and his roommates soon learned to get up before their wake up call, (nothing but an Imperial sergeant bursting through the door blasting a sonic whistle). Rising early, they'd scurry about their dorm cleaning and getting dress, only to jump under their covers before the expected rude awakening. They'd snap to attention, wondering where the day's expedition would take them.
As the day began, or to say for clarity, the morning, the usual irritating sergeant knocking down the door with kick, blasting his whistle.
"You mud slime wake up!"
Adalric and his roommates scrambled out from under their sheets, fully dressed in their normal hiking attire, they approached their officer in charge with a salute, waiting for orders. The drill instructor walked up to Adalric with his hands clasped behind his back. He smiled, he actually smiled! A thin wry grin spread over his weathered features.
"Congrats to you, Corporal Cronus, the day is yours. Report to the rec facility on the other side of the compound."
As bewilderment overwhelmed his senses, he had to force his feet to begin moving towards the door. His other two comrades threw grins of admiration a him, his close companion, an All Terrain class pilot named Davin Felth, whispered slightly.
"Have fun, hot-shot!"
The drill instructor immediately threw his face into Davin's screaming demands and insults. Adalric could only smile himself, doing what was possible to restrain his laughter. He swung around the door, walking through the multiple corridors, pacing towards the main turbo lift that would take him to the complexes pathways around the rest of the training camp. He approached the control pad, dialing up the lift transport. The doors slid open, he stepped through, and they slid shut with a thud. He pressed the button for lobby access, and the lift began its downward descent.
As his thoughts began to wander from his present location to his home world, Charr, he longed to see his parents and younger siblings again. His mother and father, both of whom were quite aging. His sister and bother would be old enough now to join up for Imperial service. He missed the lush plains of Charr, the icy Bad Lands he would go hunting through during his seasons. He wished to see his home community again, the order, the judication that the Empire's New Order had brought had brung the entire planet to whole state of unity and peace. These rebels that believed the Empire's methods were cruel!? Perhaps, but cruel methods were needed to subjugate hostile worlds. And in the long run, the galaxy was slowly coming to a plateau of harmony.
The lift completed its course, the doors slid open. Adalric stepped out, glad to be wafting in the fresh air. Carida was a lust world, full of life. He had seen so many different environments, habitats where stalked all sorts of wildlife. He paced at his leisure across the boardwalks, eyeing other recruits busy with exercises. He approached the rec facility finally, after what seemed like an hour of hiking. He had never truly realized the size of the training grounds.
He activated the security locks, a small retina scan for only prescribed recruits to access. Permission was granted, and the heavy doors swung to the side. Inside he stepped into a narrow corridor, with durasteel mag doors on both sides, leading into different rooms of activities. He began to walk down the corridor, stopping to read the brass plating on each of the mag doors. Virtual Hunting, Sports, Dejark Hologames, Sabacc Tables... he passed by each mag door with uninterested, coming up with anxiety upon the last plate... Tactical War games. He his heart paused, for a second, some distant urging pulled him to the lettering, and his mind pounded with interest, but he shrugged the notion off. He turned his back to the title with a proper military step, and began a brisk walk back to Dejark Hologames. But at the last minute, he swung his head the other direction, placing his hands to his hips. He turned around, and paced back to Tactical War games. He punched in a PIN number, the mag seal clicked open, pressurized locks hissing through. The door split in half horizontally, creating a reverberating noise throughout the corridor.
Adalric's eyes lit up awe as he stepped through, not willing to accept the spectacle visualized before him. The entire room was a simulated version of a Star Destroyer's command bridge. There were tactical overlays everywhere, holograph projectors centered around recon and nav consoles, bright young recruits dressed in naval gray, black, and olive brown attire swarmed over their respected consoles, their eyes flashing forth, either giving orders, or receiving them. Adalric noticed one of the officers, dressed in a dark gray uniform, hands clasped behind his back, shouting one demands after another to the crew.
"Have our flank picket ships route a course aft to intercept those oncoming tie fighters... route power to port side to deflect that bombardment... launch preliminary squadrons."
The officer turned his head towards a two-meter wide display screen, namely a Battle Analysis Cameras console. Exterior cameras emplaced at strategic points displayed the blue photon waves of multiple tractor beams, and in their wake, standard tie fighters launching from the hangar bay of a Star Destroyer. The cameras swiveled to the port side, focusing on multiple cruisers... Liberator class cruisers. Green and red lances from laser fire danced along the particle shielding of the destroyer, erupting into sizzling balls of flame. The BAC counted three, with A-wing intercept fighters swinging into a zonal attack pattern and closing hard on their aft. The camera tilted downward a bit, uncovering three Lancer class frigates forming a Marg Salb closure maneuver into the fighter's vector. From what Adalric could tell, the Imperial force had exited hyperspace into an ambush.
The officer's attention was distracted from the battle at hand at Adalric?s presence. His face bore an amused look, and he spoke to the games online computer interface.
"Pause game."
The BAC console froze in suspended animation, as did all the other equipment. The officer approached Adalric, and the recruit immediately stood at attention and saluted. Other bridge crewmen gazed at the newcomer, some in hope, others in annoyance, many in frustration. The officer glanced at Adalric, and extended a hand. He took the hand in his own, returning the greeting.
"Um... Adalric Cronus... requesting permission to join the fray... captain."
The captain of considered, and then replied.
"Very well...... Captain Cronus."
Adalric's head snapped towards the recruit. He tried to acknowledge in bewilderment when his comrade spoke to the games interface again.
"Computer, scan new recruit, proper captain's attire. Remove me from the simulator repository banks."
Holographic images flooded to life as the recruit?s dark gray uniform suddenly vanished, leaving him in standard hiking attire, common of all recruits. Adalric?s clothing changed as well, to the dark gray uniform of a captain. A horn rimmed cap fit snuggly over his head. The recruit spoke yet again, tuning his head towards his once crew.
"You'll all excuse me, but I've a ten twenty meet with my superior instructor I must attend to."
He turned back towards Captain Cronus.
"You've just exited hyperspace into a Rebel ambush on your port side. They've had squadrons launched as a preliminary contingency, accompanying your Star Destroyer are three picket ships, Lancer frigates."
He began to walk away, then said behind him.
"Good luck, I've yet to beat this module."
Cronus still stood shell shocked, his eyes locked to the ground. His mind was racing. What do I know of star ship tactics... but I'm responsible for our lives... oh... that's right, its just a simulator... he regained focus, stretching his senses towards the BAC console.
"Computer, unpause."
That day had been momentous history throughout the training camp. Crowds of young recruits gathered around the victor, applauding and clapping him on his shoulder. The Kardue de' Mont, the most strenuous training module in the Imperial databanks, yet it taken only a few simple commands for Adalric to gain ground on his opposition. He had literally become a strategic mastermind.
Cronus, now newly instated in the Advanced Tactical Team, had come out not only victorious against the computer module, but with a fresh new start in the Imperial Naval Academy. Admiral Motti operating in the Carida sector had taken notice to his achievements, and had immediately enrolled him in Imperial Engineering. His sole responsibilities were researching and developing new strategies and tactics for fleet personnel to use against the Rebel Alliance.
Deep within the bowels of space, the Lambda test fleet sliced through darkness, wedge shaped destroyers with accompanying picket ships, their bows directed to a destination unknown to all their crews but the most top officials, namely, the fleet admiral and Cronus himself. Adalric was seated in the command chair of the Devastator's bridge, a gleam in his eye that was beholden to the prestige of his rank. Grand Moff Tarkin had taken the liberty to promote his favored employee of the Empire. Superior Admiral Cronus had a nice ring to it.
The fleet consisted of six Republic dreadnaughts, two Star Destroyers. The Devastator, and the Firestorm. During mission briefing, Moff Tarkin had disrupted their début to alert Cronus of a change in command. Admiral Motti had requested personal command of the Lambda test fleet during their preceding exercise. Adalric was enraged, he didn't trust anyone but himself to have sole command of the fleet during their, 'exercises'. In essence, these exercises were test runs for prototype weaponry that were being developed by higher-level engineers in Imperial Engineering. It was a Research and developing mission in the making.
Now, with six hours to deadline test run, the Galaxy Gun cruised in the middle of the formation, flanked of the port and starboard by each of the destroyers and their dreadnaught picket ships. The mammoth super weapon seemed to allure itself as a shadow in space due to its stealth armor plating. As the convoy steadily pushed their way through the gravity well pockets that formed within the depths of the Unknown Territories, transmissions soon began to bounce from transceiver packages off the destroyers, both Admiral Motti and Superior Admiral Cronus conversed via encrypted military hologram projectors. Cronus was in his private chambers, dressing out of his gray black uniform of superiority. From what he could tell from the holograph image of Motti, the Admiral was still taking in with duties around the bridge. Private transmissions are to be held in private, nimrod! Laying out his button down vest over his bed spreading, he said.
"What's our current ETA to the prescribed coordinates, Motti? I'm anxious to back to my own research laboratory, no offense."
A smirk popped up from Motti.
"None taken sir, I fully understand your motives. Naval duties must come as something unfamiliar to anyone who's spent most of their lives in a bunker."
That crude and sarcastic remark hurt Adalric's pride. The commander frowned in repose, but held his ground. He replied with bitter harshness to his voice.
"My duties are of no concern and business of yours. Now what's our eta?"
The Admiral nodded in humility.
"Current eta is six minutes from target system. Shall I pull the escort into cover formation of the Galaxy Gun's aft?"
"Negative, all ships shall hold current position until given further notice. Our own particle shielding should be able to withstand the radiation burners from the Gun. I've made my own formulas over it, we'll be perfectly---"
Motti's attention was drawn by another presence, one that the hologram imager refused to project. As Motti listened intently, his face was deformed into a flash of anger and fear. Barely seconds passed by before Adalric's own pager went off with a flurry of noise.
"Superior Admiral! It's a rebel ambush, one parsec away, and closing fast!"
Cronus picked up his pager off a gleaming sabacc table, and read the computer lettering. Rancor One. The standard Imperial covert operations code for a heavy assault ambush. He turned his attention back towards Motti. The Admiral was trained to be most efficient. Orders were already being relayed to his crew; Adalric decided it was time for him to do the same. Grabbing his vest, he quickly snapped on his tags and made a snatch for his rank cylinders. Running through the corridors, sorting his psyche in turbo lifts; he finally made his way to the bridge. Strolling up the gangplank, one deck officer took notice, promptly shouting.
"Admiral on the bridge! All salute!"
For a split second moment, the crew froze in their positions, fixing themselves upright, delivering a staggering one-hand salute. Truly, these men were the fore front and backbone of the Imperial military machine. Cronus was proud of his brood. Adalric took command of the bridge, seating himself on the command plank. On either sides of him he over looked one end of the bridge, as the plank led straight to the view plates.
"All at ease, relay? what have we got?"
From below him, he over heard a faint voice from the shrill of alarms.
"Three dreadnaughts, bearing republic insignia's approaching from the west, eta 2.4 minutes, one mon calamari cruiser, eta 2.8 minutes, I can't get any bearings on it's hull, over three kilometers long!?were also picking up seven corellian gun ships, mid size, alliance authority at best---"
A lateral hit rocked the Devastator's shields, for a brief period stunning their senses. The voice trailed back shaky in tones.
"---eta three minutes sir!"
Sweat was beginning to form in Adalric's pores.
"Establish secure frequencies, have the Firestorm come about to our aft vector? position his three dreadnaughts at his bow---"
A brilliant spectacle of light shattered over the tampered remains of what was one of Cronus' dreadnaughts. Covering his eyes from the searing pain, he could only curse himself in mental anguish. This would not look professional on his record.
"Damn it! Pull our two picket ships to aft starboard, immediately! Relay, open a frequency to Motti."
As his command was followed through, static burst through the comm unit on his armrest as his second in command spoke up.
"Superior Admiral, have you taken a look at the BAC?"
Cronus shifted his attention to the eight Battle Analysis Camera console screens. Each camera displayed one point from the ships bow, aft, port, and starboard. Tiny relay and focusing mechanisms enabled a commander to pinpoint tracing devices on his ship, enemies at a front, and also acted as a failsafe navigation system. He focused specifically on two cameras designated as starboard controllers. As mentioned before, the fleet formed with Adalric's force on the right, the Gun cruising in mid drift in the middle, and Motti's force in escort on the left.
"Camera six, angle in on approaching ships."
One of the port controllers focused on the raiders. Small blips of white hulls lit up as light splashed across their frames. An impressive force indeed. A shame to be wasted in a futile effort, however. Cronus was quite confident in his tactical initiative. So the enemy was approaching from the rear right, and Motti and his three cruisers were dropping aft of the column, and beginning to roll into a one eighty (semi circle) to point their bows directly down the opposition's throat. An excellent maneuver. Once their force completed its semi circle, Motti could accelerate to ramming speed, form his ships into a single column, and drive straight through the enemy fleets center point, delivering a staggering hit and run tactic. An Ackbar Slash, if you will. The enemy was unable to bring its own guns to bear due to poor targeting controls. However? mon calamari cruisers bear most of its arms on its lateral sides? it could easily disable the Firestorm.
"Motti, fall back on your position, that mon cal cruiser will disable your ship?"
Several seconds passed by, and Motti's force continued to swerve into their semi circle. Cronus was growing desperate.
"Admiral Motti!"
Green lances began to dance along the hull of the Devastator, snapping the Superior Admiral's senses back to his own current situation. Cronus wasted no effort. If Motti wouldn't pay due heed to his warning, then they had no chance to hold their position. DAMN HIM!
"Relay, prep the fleet for emergency departure, have the Gun cruise ahead---"
OH NO! Four of the gun ships had broken through Motti's spearhead maneuver. The Admiral was already driving through the center point of the enemy fleet. His destroyer took aim and obliterated two of the rebel gun ships. The dreadnaughts disabled two frigates as they trudged along in the it have wake. As the column began to descent into the middle of the enemy formation, the mon calamari cruiser suddenly began to pivot on it's axis in a ninety reversal, bearing its starboard armament towards the destroyers bow. Blue volleys of ionized laser fire began to pour down upon the Firestorm's shields, short circuiting all its electric driven components. Adalric noticed a flicker of light, then a blackout. The massive ship hung in space drifting towards oblivion. Cronus didn't wait to see the predicted outcome. His attention was redirected to seeing two of the gun ships going up in a brilliant flare? against the hull of the Galaxy Gun. Smashing into it's propulsion accelerator, setting off chain reactions of explosions throughout its interior, multiple drives and particle emissions spraying mists of deadly gases into the air. White clouds of oxygenated vapor release into space. Suddenly, one of the missiles shot through the oblivion, ricocheting into the void of space, it destination unbeknownst to its overseers. As Cronus' force continued to purge through deep space, with rebel ambush ships gunning for their tail, his only thoughts dwelled on the rouge ballistic. Finally, within moments to spare, his battle group lurched into the vacuum of hyperspace.
Adalric stood at his command console, too shaken to move. It was his first battle encounter with the Alliance. From what he could tell, remarks on his report would proceed in relating that the rebels were cunning, employing ruthless and efficient guerilla tactics. Finally, his eyes locked to the bow view port, he nodded to himself, reasoning out of his dilemma. He whispered to himself.
"Yes, yes... they're ruthless... Motti! If only... if only..."
Training his concerns elsewhere, he stripped off his insignia ranks, and tucked them safely in his breast pocket. He blew a sigh of air in disgust, and indignation at his misfortunes. He needed to be in a private area where he could think, clear his mind. Palpatine would want a full detailed report of the ambush vector series, relay frequencies. Perhaps relay had even picked intercepted one or two transmissions. That would go a little ways in restoring the Emperor's satisfaction and faith in his abilities. Lodging through passageways and corridors, down turbo lifts, he paced a path towards his personal quarters. Keying in a recognition code, the magnetic seals clicked open, releasing the vaulted doors. He stepped in, and a moment later, the motion sensors detected his bio presence, and lit up the room, sealing the doors shut once again. Unbuttoning his vest for a second time in a day, he only wished to get some much needed rest and relaxation. A she sat on himself on his bed spreading, he could only groan in anger and absolute dismay as his comlink twittered in a flurry of noise. He picked up his pager, viewing his displayed message. It read, Intel Report. It sparked his attention; he decided to take the transmission in his dorm. As he rose from his position and walked over to his message board, he spoke to the destroyers multiple onboard systems.
"Computer, acknowledge, recognition alpha quartet."
A faint metallic female voice underlined a speakerphone from the system.
"Acknowledged commander, please state your request."
"Patch a frequency to bridge, console... verify latest transmission sent to this dorm."
"One moment please."
Adalric could only hear a small whirl of servomotors as his command was processed. A small figure form of a? warrant sergeant, from his rank cylinders.
"You have a report for me?"
"Yes sir, we verified the coordinates of the missile that over shot the Gun's destruction."
A lump formed in Cronus' throat. He stuttered words in reply.
"Where... where did in vector out to?"
The intruder came from beyond. A celestial body of sub atomic particles, barium, and detonite, all composed into a neat disposable unit of destruction. It streaked across the gas giant of Charr, lifting debris from the planet's surface as it sent waves of vibration echoing off into distant yet unknown corridors.
This was no ordinary day. As the ballistic began to set off a plasma glow from the sun's brilliance and the atmospheric resistance, booster rockets jettisoned from the main canopy, and a chute deployed. As the citizens of Charr gathered around the spectacle in awe and somewhat disdain, those few with a sense of insecurity and lust for life headed to the nearby spaceport for evacuation. No sirens ever went off. Strangely though, that the Imperial Garrison stationed to Charr would suddenly pick the entire mobile infantry unit... and head for the stars... Some of the more elderly and experienced suspected that something was amidst. But their suspicions would soon come to a violent end.
As the missile's thirty megaton mass came within feet of contact with the surface, crowds gathered about, hoping to inspect and get an up close view of the mysterious visitor from the skies. Somewhere... in the distance church bells rang...
All of Charr staggered from a 12.o earthquake. Millions of tons of water, sediment, and debris burst upward, thrown through the hole in the atmosphere above the impact site and into the stratosphere, along with a great spray of pulverized, fiery rock that was ejected into sub orbital trajectories before raining back to earth as blazing meteorites. Firestorms destroyed forests throughout that world. Volcanoes that had been dormant for thousands of years suddenly erupted, sending oceans of molten lava spreading over millions of square miles, blanketing the ground a thousand or more feet deep. So much smoke and debris were hurled into the atmosphere and later blown into every corner of the land by terrible winds that they blocked out the sun for nearly a year, sending temperatures plunging below freezing, and shrouding Charr in darkness. Climate change in every corner of the world came with incredible suddenness. Temperatures at vast ice fields and northern glaciers rose until they reached between ninety and a hundred degrees Fahrenheit, causing a rapid meltdown. Animals accustomed to tropical and temperate zones became extinct overnight. Many turned to ice where they stood in the warmth of summer grasses and flowers still undigested in their stomachs. Trees, along with their leaves and fruit, were quick-frozen. For days, fish that were hurled upward form the blast fell from the blackened skies.
Waves five to ten miles in height were thrown against the continents, surging over shorelines with a destructive power that was awesome in magnitude. Water swept over low costal plains and swept hundreds of miles inland, destroying everything in its path. Endless quantities of debris and sediment from the ocean floors over low landmasses. Only when the great surge smashed against the base of the mountains did it curl under and begin a slow retreat, but not before changing the course of rivers, filling land basins with seas where none existed before and turning large lakes into deserts. Entire continents were shoved around to new locations.
The chain reaction seemed endless. The destruction was relentless. The convulsions and holocaust went on as if their would never stop.
The dramatic change in oceans and their circulation around the world also caused the poles to shift, drastically disturbing Charr's rotational balance. Charr's axis was temporarily thrown off by a few degrees, as it's north and south poles were displaced to new geographical locations, altering the centrifugal acceleration around the outer surface of the sphere. Because they were fluid, the seas adapted before Charr made another three revolutions. But the landmasses could not react as quickly. Earthquakes continued for months.
Savage storms with brutal winds swirled around Charr, shredding and disintegrating everything that stood on the ground for the next few decades before the poles stopped wobbling and settled into their new rotational axis. In time, sea levels stabilized, permitting new shorelines to form as bizarre climatic conditions continued to moderate. Changes were permanent. The time sequence between night and day changed as the number of days in a year increased. Charr's magnetic field was also affected and moved northwest over hundreds of miles.
The Cronus family was efficiently wiped off the map.
"Teal!"
Cronus snapped viciously, promptly ducking as a crate of some unknown yet probable illegal cargo rotated into a one hundred and eighty degree angle to strike his head.
Out on the docking platform above the newly liberated cloud city, an old Y-4 series of transport perched on durasteel intervals, its rears payloads unlocked and loading gangplanks extended, their own transfixed pullies nudging sacks of foreign materials into the loading compartments. A various assortment weapons, even two All Terrain Personal Transports hung in broken down parts, gears, screws, etc, over storage compartments properly locked down for what appeared to be a rigorous hyperspace trip.
From a hydro crane integrated into the docking platform, blue haired mercenary Teal Skapory gave a sluggish nod and mock salute in Cronus' general direction, not taking his eyes over the precious cargo in which his crane was grappling. His hand brushed a small directional lever, gently allowing leeway to the main pulley to the entrance of the transport.
"You have my condolences."
Cronus grunted sarcastically, his eyes catching a glimpse of the stars as he ducked. For a brief moment, catching past reflections of his life. As if in a void, his mind raced to the fatal day of the holocaust, the burning image of a lone ballistic being swallowed in darkness by the consummation of hyperspace, the desperation, the fear, the dread, waning sickness of terror that made his stomach flip in a horrific motion.
He brushed the thought away. Past reflections aren't as important as future intentions. It was a code he had based his life upon. He rose from his position, his head bobbed downward, eyes scanning his surroundings. He placed his hands over his hips. Months of training at the finest academies, what waste of time.
"I'm freelance mercenary?"
Teal's attention drifted toward him, eyebrows raised in suspicion.
"Um... you said something, Adal?"
His senses focused to reality, drifting from his brief mental pause. He took his hands off his hips, gently running them through his dark, wavy brown hair, sighing from fatigue. He looked a Teal, then towards the crate, suddenly growing indignant.
"Teal watch it!"
The mercenary looked at his load, hollered in surprise, jamming the directional lever hard left, just in the nick of time from sending the freight load crashing into the cockpit bulkhead. He grinned and shrugged his shoulders mechanically. Cronus looked back at him with cold resolve and contempt. Teal decided it was best not to provoke the situation any further. He eyes quickly locked onto his work.
Inside the cockpit, Orin Mersai and Davin Brandl were busily locked down in detailed work planning hyperspace routes and preparing for pre flight procedures to some classified location. Davin was watching the activity out on the docking platform, grinning from the comical muse Teal and Adalric constantly set themselves in. Though they seemed at times to blow unyielding hostility toward each other, in relaxed and more comfortable atmosphere, it would be difficult to analyze that they ever once had arguments between each other.
He leaned in close to an exterior relay comm system, his voice bursting in through a flurry of static, sounding barely audible and weary, most likely due to weeks of nonstop tactical planning for the mission ahead.
"How are things coming along down there? Our eta to dust off is?"
There was a momentary pause.
"... fifty six minutes... accordingly. We need to be on time..."
Cronus looked around him, obviously searching for a pinpoint of the camera system Davin was monitoring on. Davin caught his intentions. He smiled.
"Don?t bother, it?s the newly refurbished nano BAC."
Actually, Cronus did have a general clue where to look. His eyes locked focus with the camera lens, and Davin was instantly taken aback. He stared in disbelief, but a tight grin crept to his lips.
"Mind telling me how the hell you did that?"
From what Davin could tell, Adalric brandished his own wily, sadistic nod.
"Maybe some other time..."
He looked around him, eyeing a few more scattered parcels littering the ground.
"... well, we should be done here... and have everything in lock down status shortly, give or take forty, forty five minutes."
"Good, Orin needs only to infiltrate the main comm center to this station to patch a long range frequency to Garqui, and were gone."
Adalric's eyes lowered to his feet, he uttered an inaudible whisper under his breath.
"And were gone."
A young technicians controler slumped lazily in his chair, his head making a barely noticeable thud against one of numerous communications consoles that were integrated into the Traffic and Communications Control Center of Bespin’s cloud city. Though the mega complex was poorly lit, his dark blue military cut style of dress stood out rather well, making him an easy target. Though it wasn’t as if any of the other console operators or their directors would have made quite a challenge to effectively neutralized. Having confidence in one’s abilities was the first step towards success. Knowledge of one’s surroundings was the second.
Orin Mersai lived by an ancient Jedi philosophy; kill only when there appears to be a need for killing. Live and let live. An extremely eerie an incredulous code for any mercenary to follow. This man was different though, standing at five ft. eleven in. off the ground, he was sure to appear an intimidating spectacle, his silvery gray Vandyke beard gave off a wild appearance of untamed wisdom, this man had experience. His aged hair matching his beard, he was well out of his prime, but still kept physically leveled, he could pull the ears off a gundark, or so he looked. Blue eyes gave off a soft, endearing nature towards all living things, and Orin did indeed cherish life. It was in his ancestry. The reason for the young man’s continuous among the living, he’d be dead now, were it another man.
Hand covering his mouth, an ammonia draped cloth in the other, he too slumped forward over the body, dropping his means of incapacitation to grab the young man by his feet and his collar, shoving him in one corner of the cubicle. Death was so dirty and unclean, let the living keep on ticking.
Pulling the chair from underneath the console platform, he rotated the seat to a comfortable degree, and sat down. He sighed; the ammonia was having a dozy affect on him. Extending his hands towards the control columns, his fingers danced along the frame, until a small twerp rang from the system response chime, and a list of data scrolled down on the analysis screen. A short list of options also appeared on a side bar menu. Orin finger activated the option listed as Out of Orbit Transmission. By doing this, he could send a transmission from the planet’s surface to Bespin’s Out of Orbit Relay Station, centered in atmospheric space above Bespin, where the transmission would then be sent to systems, starships, or space stations beyond.
He finally managed to patch in his transmission to a small backwater planet named inconspicuously, Garqui. A voice replied in greeting.
"Garqui Out of Orbit Relay Station, where may we patch your transmission."
His voice was calm.
"Yes. I’d prefer a direct connection the Imperial Docking Station, console operator unknown, serial number 22-33-959-48."
His contact had preferred not to list his name, but gave his serial number. When Orin had tapped a link into the Imperial Database Courascant to get a profile, no name was registered under the serial number, meaning a highly skilled slicer had gone in ahead of time to edit the records... whoever this was wanted to stay anonymous, and they would get their wish. This man, unfortunately had talent.
"Hold please."
Some time passed, before the console’s servo motors finally uploading the patch link. A rough voice rasped in surprise and hinted annoyance.
"I told you never to contact me!"
"You understand were about to depart to Garqui? I needed to contact you to give you our eta."
"I have it loaded on a device timer, I have your current location as well."
"Your tracking our ship?"
Orin could picture their contact smiling sadistically.
"I shall contact you when arrive in orbit to give you the proper docking codes you’ll need to get pass security, good luck."
Before he could terminate the connection, Orin interrupted with a flurry.
"Wait!? At least give me a name to go by?"
There was an uncomfortable pause on the recipients part.
"... my name is of no relative importance right now... good day, Orin Mersai."
The connection ended with a faint, dead click. There was no automated dial tone, simply, dead silence. Orin looked shocked and dumbfounded. His memory was impeccable, he could recall events with explicit detail, yet... I never told him my name...
Davin sighed as he fingered through a stack of manila folders in his personal quarters locker. Fatigued from lack of nutrition, sleep, and basic human companionship, he was relieved to be finally en route to their hyperspace destination, finally, with all shipboard systems nominal, he could get some rest... after the mission briefing.
Standard Red Moon Mercenary Guild procedure was directed by a simple philosophy. Relay the mission outline when en route. Thus, lives are sparred from possible traitorous tendencies amongst the group. After all, they were mercenaries to the highest bidder.
Filing through his locker, he retrieved the one specific folder that contained all the known acquired intelligence data gathered by preliminary RMMG spies that would be needed for a successful trip. All to often though, success was in the dictionary of the common mercenary. The label on the file read, Top Security, towards the center bottom of the file read, (read en route). Top Security eh? How ironic.
Shoving the file into his breast pocket of his jumpsuit, proceeded outwards from his quarters to a small rendezvous point in the storage compartment of the transport. In essence, it was a pylon table set up in small, windowless containment arch for high pressurized and potentially volatile materials. During the Empire’s use, it would have most likely been used as a storage locker for explosives used by primary infantry.
As he proceeded down multiple narrow corridors, his eyes sagged and gave off what appeared to be allergy shiners, making the deep red of his irises barely noticeable. A mane of dark brown wavy hair shown with a fury under the fluorescent lighting overhead, standing six ft. He had to duck under most passageways, constantly producing aches through his vertebrae that he was forced to cure from rigorous medical examinations on system to system he was assigned to.
Finally reaching his desired point, he palm printed an activation code to the doors magnetic lock, a hiss gave way as the seal parted at vertical intervals. Teal Skapory, Orin, and Adalric were seated around three sides of the table, their eyes turning in unison at Davin’s presence. Teal grinned, looking the huge merc up and down as is giving him a visual inspection.
"Man, you look like hell."
Davin feigned hurt feelings, frowning and replying in a sad, yet bemused tone.
"Ah shucks Teal, you know you don’t have to kiss my ass to get the top bunk. Its yours."
The ground finally gave sighs and laughter of relief, taking in sweet feelings of anticipation for the rest soon to come.
"Okay..."
Davin said, as he kept standing over the table’s edge, he set the manila folder down on its gleaming surface, looking casually from moment to moment at the three hardened faces. Adalric's feint grin took on a look of all knowing anxiety.
"Uh-oh, I don’t like the way this is starting."
Davin’s attention snapped to Cronus.
"Well guess what? You’re going to hate it even more as this progresses."
Teal leaned back in his seat, Cronus propped his feet up on the table, Orin stood hands clasped, resting the small of his neck. Davin remained standing.
"Okay folks, here’s the deal... as most of you know, the Pentastar Alignment as gained much support from the Corporate Sector... they’ve accumulated vast amounts of unlimited resources to expand their military machine. Much of this is due to the Empire’s aid to the Alignment, seeking them as an ally and probable economic business partner..."
Davin's eyes shifted from his audience to the reading contents.
"... however... RMMG spies have just received word that RA forces foiled the Empire’s main super project, the DS2, in an attempt of sabotage. When the Vader’s mainstay fleet was prepped to meet them, they met hostile forces in great number..."
His eyes lifted. He seemed to stare into a void of pure self-reflection. He was deep in personal conviction.
"... ladies and gents, it gives me great pleasure to announce that the Empire has been defeated. Their forces just vectored in retreat from Endor. I’ve received notice that the RA is planning to take Coruscant soon... we’ve witnessed the dawning of a new error."
Everyone in the small storage locker was instantly ecstatic. All except Cronus. His eyes were hidden with a blanket of malice. His face was contorted with disbelief and denial. Impossible!
"That can’t be... the fleet was, defeated? There were no reports of for reinforcements?"
"Apparently, it was Vice Admiral... no name currently... who gave the order for immediate retreat."
Adalric slumped in his chair. Davin continued.
"Reports of their defeat are spreading across the galaxy like wildfire. Countless systems are rebelling against their prefects, overturning the sector regents. However, the entire Corporate Sector is still under PA sovereign. The PA would wipe out the entire system’s populace to keep their precious industrial facilities. They need the resources if they’re to stand against the new RA offensive. One of the most influential and powerful of these industrial politicians is Merr-Sonn Delgado, of the Merr-Sonn Munitions Inc. They’ve specialized in field infantry explosives. Their corporation ranks in the fortune four hundred companies. Needless to say, Delgado wishes to remove himself from the PA sovereignty. He wants to give the company up to RA politicians, but he knows that the Pentastar officials won’t stand for it... he was dead on target about that assumption. Just days ago, suspected PA special forces kidnapped his two children..."
He shuffled through the papers, looking for something that eluded him.
"... their profiles weren’t listed here..."
Finally Davin tossed the manila folder to the table. He grabbed the seat, turned it backwards, and drew himself down. His arms rested on the chairs back, his eyes took on a distant appearance, his thoughts wondering.
"... that leaves our job. We’re to infiltrate the docking station at Garqui, get into the Imperial Garrison established just west, and rescue the those kids."
Adalric eyes lit up with surprise.
"RMMG expects us to just walk into the Garrison and take the kids?"
"We have a contact who can grant us access."
He motioned towards Orin, who nodded back in confirmation.
"... but, if the situation dissolves down to a one man stand, the kids are to be eliminated."
Teal was the first to object. He threw up his hands in dismay and disappointment.
"Wait... wait... they want us to just pop two innocent kids for being in the wrong place at the wrong time? That’s murder."
Davin's features etched down to cold resolve. His senses were finely tuned, he was prepared to accomplish the job at hand, at all costs.
"The RA can’t afford to lose support of Merr-Sonn Munitions. Their company means a valuable asset to both the RA and PA. If the kids die, then Delgado will surely sway his complete support to the Alliance due to grief and personal vengeance..."
He uttered a statement as somewhat of finality. After this briefing their would be no turning back, no formal retreat. Most likely they’d all die in the rescue attempt. Orin’s eyes took a distant and sad forlorn appeal.
"... gentlemen, to the people that pay our wages, their lives aren’t worth two credits."
Drizzles of gray transparent hail stormed over Garqui’s interplanetary spaceport. Citizens of various ethnicities and cultures fled to some avail in a plain attempt to take cover from the rain. Flood warnings were in effect, leaving a portion of the populous in intrepid anxiety. For the small backwater planet, rain was uncommon, and perceived highly only by the portion of the people whose sole source of bitter income was provided by agriculture.
Pairs of lights exploded from the horizon of deep opaque black, as incoming vessels were given safe and clear passage to numerous docking stations that were integrated into the main docking control tower superstructure. Aliens of a variety of culture lurked in the shadows of huge durasteel towers, urging passing pedestrians of high class for a bit of generosity, any way their thoughts could muster.
One noticeable pair, well... perhaps not so noticeable pair of lights streaked in diagonal vector toward one of the docking platforms, then shot in a tight half arch semi circle over the platform for a sudden decrease of acceleration, banked slightly to the right, and came to a most inscrutable landing, only to grudged by its occupants. A ship of box-like structure... notably Correlian design shutdown auxiliary exterior landing lights, as the security lamp on the docking plate activated from motion circuitry.
A boarding ramp extended from the ships aft, as two silhouettes jogged down its gangplank, and took up checkpoints at parallel ends of the platform, odd devices aimed towards the magnetic armored door that vacuumed passage from the platform, to the interior of the control station. Multiple turbo lifts granted passerbys of rights access to the lower levels of the gargantuan complex, of which led to the outward areas of Garqui’s capital, Temecula, the center of congress, economy, and government to it’s citizens.
In the cockpit of the Gundark, Davin and Orin sat in complexion of insight as they traded whispers in the darkened cabin to each other. Davin sat with hands folded in his lap, his senses primed, the mission at hand; he craved for the wanderlust of adventure. Orin, on the other hand, simply looked at this as another blood bath, to be noted, that he didn’t falter in Grace. His features expressed a complexion of solemnity. Davin eyes flickered to the exterior camera system. His voice was gruff, yet betrayed, clear hinted excitement.
"Adal and Teal are in position..."
His features flickered towards a notion of readiness.
"... we ought to be going then."
Behemoth ships sent vibrant waves of electro magnetic energy breaking through Charr’s atmosphere... or at least what was left of it. Sentinel Flotilla peaked the systems space traffic, gargantuan ships of wedge shaped design vectoring towards the system’s surface, casting shadows over the remnants of planets ecology.
Sensor analyses were streaming in data of the planets geological activity to the central intelligence databanks of the Blaze of Glory. Physicist and geologists of the finest Imperial Academies under of the Imperial Republic gathered around designated biological scanner consoles, ecstatic of the productive industrial resources that were being ascertained by the scanners biological receptors.
Storms and insidious volcanic activity were causing massive earthquakes that occurred in scenes echoing off the Richter scale. But consequences stem from events, productive, and wasteful.
Discoveries of rich deposits of mineral resources were bringing in every major business contractor in galaxy coordinating their nav computers to Charr. Civilian traffic had become dense to the point of Adalric Cronus offering the option of martial law of the sector. The result had been the politicians urging the militant caste to declare Imperial martial law over the system and its surrounding assets, effectively cutting Charr’s valuable mineral resources to the disposal of the Republic.
Khurgee had been directed from his political superiors to set up military blockade throughout the quadrant. Battle Group director Adalric Cronus had requested not to present at the requisition of resource parcels that were being distributed to the many benefactors of the Republic. Apparently he had deep connections with the once inhabitants of the system, and the system itself. The situation was reasonable for his part, and to anyone with an iota of emotion, understandable.
Sentinel Flottilla had launched a series of economic enterprises with the surrounding factions of business within diplomatic reasoning. Skilled politicians and diplomats of the Republican senate had endured grueling processes of negotiation with the entrepreneurs of the Tagge Corporation, developing multiple relational contracts that would ensure the prosperity of both factions, in economic terms. Tagge enterprises had always been a long economical supporter of the Empire, its own corporation giving seventy percent ownership to Imperial Officials, a dominating supplier of military goods and services, a carrier of industrial hierarchy that would glorify the Empire to it’s needs.
Khurgee was his in War Commission chamber, developing the necessary contracts and forgoing the last revisions of negotiation with Teguel Mel’dar, chief benefactor and proficient executive of the Tagge Corporation. The short, stalk man was gruff in stature and pudgy, a succulent taste for delicacies of a variety of cultures, a politician at best, Khurgee’s suspicions and anxieties of course confirmed. Damn politicians...
Mel’dar held great honor and prestige among the political caste of his home world. Deceitful and psychologically menacing, he was influential in the political and economic regime of the Galaxy. The Mel’dar family had earned itself a most notorious reputation. The fat man intently glared as Khurgee was flipping though the revisions, signing to the reputation of the Imperial Republic.
During the clone wars, The Mel’dar patriarch had gone through great extents to ensure the survival of his family, to means of serving on the political side he didn’t care much for. During the insurrection of the Alliance, a birthed rivaling faction from the Old Republic, he had been a chief economic adviser on lord Palpatine’s political committee, earning himself a handsome reputation amongst his colleagues.
After the destruction of the second Death Star project, the political brigade had all but dissolved from the Imperial ranks. Most had squandered what resources could be accommodated for. With the renaissance of the Imperial Regime symbolized by the notorious faction, the Pentastar Alignment, he had vague hopes of regaining the prestige once offered to loyal supporters of the Empire.
Sadly, the Alignment had rejected his services. Under the jurisdiction of militant characters, need for political hags were very little. At long last, he gathering the shattered remnants of a long begotten economic enterprise and formed what is known as the Tagge Corporation.
He thumbed a classic handlebar mustache. His lips parted, savoring the moment. Apparently he held the upper hand in the business agreement. But he was starting to grow anxious if perhaps he was pushing his fortune. He decided it would be a wise action to display some humility and gratefulness.
"I must express to you lieutenant Khurgee..."
He rested his hands on a gleaming durasteel.
"... we sincerely condone your actions of martial law throughout this sector... and we’re most grateful to have the slightest opportunity to benefit from your expedition."
Khurgee’s hands stopped in motion, he raised an eyebrow, and grinned thoughtfully at Mel’dar
"Then I would sincerely propose that we lower the standard rates..."
Mel’dar’s wolfish grin feel to a perpetual frown.
"... because it seems to me that the Tagge Corporation is getting far more from the business covenant that they need."
Mel’dar was hasty to retort in objection.
"Oh no... of course lieutenant. I trust your judgment"
Khurgee glared in retort. He nodded assuring.
"Yes... I sincerely hope you do..."
He turned his attention back towards the paperwork. Flipping though several economic blueprints, he paused on one page. A bit his lip, seemingly frustrated at yet another error. Mel’dar noticed the change of posture.
"Is anything of concern to you, lieutenant?"
Khurgee looked from his paperwork.
"Hmm... it seems there’s a mistake in the rates of percentage exchange you’ll be providing us for being privileged to make use of Charr’s natural resources... here."
With a hint of relief, he gladly shifted the revisions to Mel’dar. The pompous politician scanned through the legislative documents attentively, hoping to catch the lieutenant’s error in judgment and editing. He frowned and glared in disgust as he discovered the error was indeed his.
"Well damn..."
He replied, sighing in perpetual malevolence.
"... I’ll have to have a word with my secretarial staff. Unfortunately, it seems this meeting was worthless to our resources..."
He arose in union with Khurgee, who extended his hand in a gesture of good faith and ecstasy of the politician’s departure. Mel’dar took the gesture with his own, offering an alternative of holding another meeting with haughty militant.
"... instead of having to expend out time in another conference, I can simply have my staff fax you a direct copy of the revisions, and we can close this god forsaken deal."
Khurgee considered the option as the first bright idea the stubby politician ever conceived.
"Sounds like a plan... although, standard Republic procedure would issue me a court martial for not impending the signatures in person... unfortunately, the economic article of our constitution is quite politically biased."
Mel’dar returned the retort with a sly grin.
Lieutenant... I’m quite certain arrangements can be made to ensure the sanctity of your career.
Khurgee returned the grin... Well... a change of heart, Mel’dar? Khurgee decided that if this ass was going to act with discretion and impart some form of friendly act, he would follow suit.
Finally, I find a reason to support politics.
Both men laughed in unison.
Somewhere In Time...
"Addy? Addy, is that you?" The little girl's soft whisper, carried over the bustle of droids working nearby..but only faintly.
Her light brown pony tail bobbed as she ran in and out crevices looking for her playmate. Addy, for his part, had picked a most strategic location with which to watch her failed attempts at finding him.
There was only one door in the entire room, and he could count on the droids not being distracted by his presence (thus giving his location away) so he simply had to find a spot where he could keep an eye on her.
At 8 years old, that was a lot of thinking for a child of a rather successful (if small) garment maker. The boy's mind had captured the interests of his teachers, his advancement accelerating rapidly. But all that didn't matter now... for the task at hand was the evasion of his hunter.
The bulky stitching droids moved about, in their preselected instructions totally oblivious to the playing.
Bot C-4 had not been operational for about a week and he knew the little girl was slightly scared of it.
So as he clung to the side of the rather dome looking robot, sliding right or left away from the sound of her calling his name he smirked to himself at his own ingeniousness.
Girls!
"Addy! I know you are in here!"
The girl's hunt became strangely more methodical and suddenly understanding dawned on his little mind.
She's trying to scare me?
It was so surprising a revelation that it took him several minutes to fully digest the fact of what was happening and turn the information into practical action.
Her voice would naturally compell him to move away from it, and as he watched her actions he noted the pattern that emerged.
After searching an area, she was so confident that she hadn't missed anything that she never really looked back.
That was information he could use!
She did not know that he held onto the side of the big domelike robot, in the center of the room simply sliding back and forth keeping her at the far end of the droid at all times.
He looked about at a location the girl had already searched and wondered if he could make it without being seen. Her search pattern would eventually have her run out of options and naturally turn to the center.
It was just a matter of time.
Well, didn't dad always say to work smarter and not hard?
suddenly, before he could move the massive door opened again and an adult male entered the room.
"Carol? What are you doing here? Your parents would be very disappointed if they found out you were playing in the workroom. I know the droids are safe, but accidents CAN happen. Come along."
The man held out his hand and the girl moved across the room and grasped it.
"What were you doing? Have you seen Adalric?"
Better not snitch... you... you... girl!
Carol smiled and pulled out a control box she had taken off a table. Adalric had wondered if she would steal it (Can girls be cool?).
Better not snitch...
She pushed a button before Adalric's father could take it away from her and C-4 suddenly came to life, his body raising against four legs.
The movement so surprised Adalric that he yelped, letting go of the sides.
"There he is, Mr. Cronus."
Carol smiled sweetly.
"Adalric!? How many times have I told you to stay away from newly repaired droids!!"
His father had roared.
Adalric's eyes drifted from his father's angry face to briefly rest on Carol and she stuck her tongue out at him.
She had known the whole time...
I failed...
"Hey Adal! You coming or what?"
Adalric Cronus looked up from his studies and into the eager eyes of Carol, and noted that he had never seen a more lovely dress on her (especially since he had made it specifically for her).
They were the two brightest children in their small town of Hapens Port, Charr, had been friends since they were children so therefore it was only natural (at least so friends and family thought) that they get together.
He had planned the evening perfectly, nothing was going to interrupt his...
"Carrol?"
Came the voice of his mother as she entered his room.
His girlfriend turned and her smile fell. The look on his
mother's face revealed extreme anxiety.
"What is it?"
Carol and Adalric asked in unison.
Adalric's mother came over, tears in her eyes.
"Oh Carol..."
She started...
"... it's... it's... your father. He's had a terrible accident."
Adalric's arms wrapped around her as Carol's knees suddenly went weak.
His plans were shattered.
He had failed...
Not all were laughing, however.
Failure.
"No!"
Cronus stirred violently, shuddering under his mesh of bed sheets, rising suddenly with a jolt of terror. He was sweating profusely, his pores reeking secretion. His mind swelled, a knot seemed to overwhelm his senses in a flood of pain. We awoke in his quarters, in his bed, in a puddle of perspiration.
His voice was hoarse, his lungs gasped for oxygen. Pulling the bed sheets from his torso, amidst the panting he strived to pull himself from his bedding. His feet hit the hard marble flooring, his feet attempted to pull himself from his seat.
With excruciating pain, he arose, grabbing the end railing of the bed for support, leaning to revive his senses. He figured his feet had lost feeling, so he began shaking each to restore a common blood flow. Soon afterward, he had regained posture, and begun getting dressed, quite casual for the occasion.
Strapping on a charred gray vest, he dialed in for a status report from Khurgee. By now, the lieutenant had hopefully wrapped up all negotiations with the Charr annexation from the outer rim authorities, and begun the construction of the designated and preferred industrial facilities.
A crackle erupted from the loudspeaker system, a faint familiar commandeering voice echoed through the room.
"Admiral?"
Khurgee noted and replied. He smiled awry.
"Lieutenant Khurgee, how goes the objectives. I trust that we’ve gained good ground with the outer rim authorities."
"Yes... the negotiations were successful in reaching a peaceful agreement with Mr. Tagge and I."
"An excellent report sir, and Maintenance?"
Adalric heard a brief shuffle of papers on the other line. Khurgee must have recently received the report himself.
"Yes admiral, Maintenance reports that construction has begun on the logistical facilities assigned and discussed by Regent Tenloss and the senate."
He was brimming with confidence. With the new expansion from Korriban, the Republic would now deem the resources needed for the frontal assault need against the Rebel Alliance and their coefficient affiliates. Doomsday was at hand.
"Bravo to you lieutenant. You are to commended for your efforts. Consider a promotion in store for your efficiency. What of the ship’s current status?"
Khurgee’s voice was tainted in enthusiasm. He to, recognized the imminent chaos and havoc that would ensue the Rebellion.
"Navigation just brought us into a hyperspace vector for Onderon sir. Taskforces Alpha and Sigma have been recalled back to Korriban for immediate protection against the threat of riot and insurrection received by the Regional Intelligence Committee."
"The rival politicians still haven't assimilated to Tenloss' point of views?"
His eyebrow wavered in surprise. He muttered under his breath.
"Tenloss will have a ball breaking their moral."
"Sir?"
"Nothing lieutenant, i'll be preparring my reports for the Onderon overliege, notify me when we vector into hyperspace."
Adalric hoisted his belongings, consisting of a large turquoise duffel bag containing what few small parcels he had to show for his pat, onto his back and queued his way up with the rest of the hundred and twenty other recruits, newly fresh stock for the Emperor?s molding. His sense became overwhelmed by the diverse cut of clothes, colors, and unusual smells that wafted from the youth around him. Nervous chatter swept through the lines of eighteen-year-olds, most of whom were away from home for the very first time. A blast of noise reverberated through the shuttle as magnetic seals clicked apart, and the door to the outside sighed open.
Fresh air tumbled in, untouched by atmospheric scrubbers present on the ship; unfiltered light splashed against the gleaming deck, reflected down the hallway, shone upon the faces of the bright young recruits. The planets thick mossy scent began to linger, as the recruits spilled in jogging formation from the shuttle's interior. Adalric looked about him, his eyes swinging from side to side, taking in all the details they could, noting catwalks and military structures, other training squads forming up for self-defense exercises, and the lush vegetation that swamped across Carida. Vines tangled around great trees that curved and bent over each other, giving an awkward appearance indeed. The grass was remarkably green and fertile, Adalric was surprised to see bright spickets of blooms along the branches, giving it an ever more serene look. Truly, this must be the Empire's greatest achievement.
Peering out from the crowd of trainees, for a glorious thirty seconds it seemed that all the hype and rumors about Carida, the planet used by the Emperor?s own elite personal guard as a training camp for his military, were suddenly magnified. This must be the most exciting place for a ship of eighteen-year-olds to begin their new lives.
And then the shouting started.
It was if a bomb had exploded amidst the nervous group of draftees. Chaos, yelling, confusion, and a hundred thousand demands were suddenly thrust upon Adalric from all directions. Officers in olive-gray uniforms or white storm trooper armor swarmed all over them; the recruits stood at attention, rigidly trying to emulate statues as the officers moved to within millimeters of their faces, screaming demands.
Adalric's senses snapped back to reality. His ears flooded in pain as one of the officers stooped over him, blurting something incoherent. His only sudden to try and survive, to get out of this mess alive----he couldn't think, and every time he tried to answer a question that was hurled upon him, someone else would thrust their face next to his and demand something else.
Adalric started yelling, not caring what he said, or whom he was speaking to, but only reacting, attempting to look as though he were busy answering someone else's question. He raised his voice and shouted at the top of his lungs----and the ploy seemed to work. With all the confusion that surrounded him, with a storm trooper major screaming in his face to try and disorient him, he succeeded in diverting attention from himself. But this was only the begging of several months of hellish training that would mold Adalric into of the Emperor's own elite troops.
As the day on Carida grew dim, stirs of jungle creatures began to haunt the grounds outside the training camp. Floodlights flashed overhead from durasteel posts. The weakened and exhausted recruits began to pile into their bunkhouses, filing the complexes with a foul scent, their bodies equally as downtrodden as their spirits. Adalric's eyes were bloodshot, his muscles ached. As he was the last of his comrades to come through the underbrush of the bunkhouse, stepping heavily onto polished metal floors gleaming from the faint moonlight that crept through the portholes, he turned behind him. His mind surged with regret. Despite the day's relentless torture, the night's sleep soon to come would be Adalric's last few precious hours to relax from the next few months of grueling training.
Twenty pounds lighters but immeasurably stronger, Adalric adjusted to the breakneck training routine. The recruits spent less than five hours a night in their room, falling exhausted to sleep after day upon day of relentless training; physical fitness runs, daily expeditions via sub orbital transport to the southern ice fields for winter training, a two week-long expedition to the barren Forgofshar Desert for survival training, a three-day battle against nature in a the equatorial rain forest... Adalric soon lost track of the days.
Adalric and his roommates soon learned to get up before their wake up call, (nothing but an Imperial sergeant bursting through the door blasting a sonic whistle). Rising early, they'd scurry about their dorm cleaning and getting dress, only to jump under their covers before the expected rude awakening. They'd snap to attention, wondering where the day's expedition would take them.
As the day began, or to say for clarity, the morning, the usual irritating sergeant knocking down the door with kick, blasting his whistle.
"You mud slime wake up!"
Adalric and his roommates scrambled out from under their sheets, fully dressed in their normal hiking attire, they approached their officer in charge with a salute, waiting for orders. The drill instructor walked up to Adalric with his hands clasped behind his back. He smiled, he actually smiled! A thin wry grin spread over his weathered features.
"Congrats to you, Corporal Cronus, the day is yours. Report to the rec facility on the other side of the compound."
As bewilderment overwhelmed his senses, he had to force his feet to begin moving towards the door. His other two comrades threw grins of admiration a him, his close companion, an All Terrain class pilot named Davin Felth, whispered slightly.
"Have fun, hot-shot!"
The drill instructor immediately threw his face into Davin's screaming demands and insults. Adalric could only smile himself, doing what was possible to restrain his laughter. He swung around the door, walking through the multiple corridors, pacing towards the main turbo lift that would take him to the complexes pathways around the rest of the training camp. He approached the control pad, dialing up the lift transport. The doors slid open, he stepped through, and they slid shut with a thud. He pressed the button for lobby access, and the lift began its downward descent.
As his thoughts began to wander from his present location to his home world, Charr, he longed to see his parents and younger siblings again. His mother and father, both of whom were quite aging. His sister and bother would be old enough now to join up for Imperial service. He missed the lush plains of Charr, the icy Bad Lands he would go hunting through during his seasons. He wished to see his home community again, the order, the judication that the Empire's New Order had brought had brung the entire planet to whole state of unity and peace. These rebels that believed the Empire's methods were cruel!? Perhaps, but cruel methods were needed to subjugate hostile worlds. And in the long run, the galaxy was slowly coming to a plateau of harmony.
The lift completed its course, the doors slid open. Adalric stepped out, glad to be wafting in the fresh air. Carida was a lust world, full of life. He had seen so many different environments, habitats where stalked all sorts of wildlife. He paced at his leisure across the boardwalks, eyeing other recruits busy with exercises. He approached the rec facility finally, after what seemed like an hour of hiking. He had never truly realized the size of the training grounds.
He activated the security locks, a small retina scan for only prescribed recruits to access. Permission was granted, and the heavy doors swung to the side. Inside he stepped into a narrow corridor, with durasteel mag doors on both sides, leading into different rooms of activities. He began to walk down the corridor, stopping to read the brass plating on each of the mag doors. Virtual Hunting, Sports, Dejark Hologames, Sabacc Tables... he passed by each mag door with uninterested, coming up with anxiety upon the last plate... Tactical War games. He his heart paused, for a second, some distant urging pulled him to the lettering, and his mind pounded with interest, but he shrugged the notion off. He turned his back to the title with a proper military step, and began a brisk walk back to Dejark Hologames. But at the last minute, he swung his head the other direction, placing his hands to his hips. He turned around, and paced back to Tactical War games. He punched in a PIN number, the mag seal clicked open, pressurized locks hissing through. The door split in half horizontally, creating a reverberating noise throughout the corridor.
Adalric's eyes lit up awe as he stepped through, not willing to accept the spectacle visualized before him. The entire room was a simulated version of a Star Destroyer's command bridge. There were tactical overlays everywhere, holograph projectors centered around recon and nav consoles, bright young recruits dressed in naval gray, black, and olive brown attire swarmed over their respected consoles, their eyes flashing forth, either giving orders, or receiving them. Adalric noticed one of the officers, dressed in a dark gray uniform, hands clasped behind his back, shouting one demands after another to the crew.
"Have our flank picket ships route a course aft to intercept those oncoming tie fighters... route power to port side to deflect that bombardment... launch preliminary squadrons."
The officer turned his head towards a two-meter wide display screen, namely a Battle Analysis Cameras console. Exterior cameras emplaced at strategic points displayed the blue photon waves of multiple tractor beams, and in their wake, standard tie fighters launching from the hangar bay of a Star Destroyer. The cameras swiveled to the port side, focusing on multiple cruisers... Liberator class cruisers. Green and red lances from laser fire danced along the particle shielding of the destroyer, erupting into sizzling balls of flame. The BAC counted three, with A-wing intercept fighters swinging into a zonal attack pattern and closing hard on their aft. The camera tilted downward a bit, uncovering three Lancer class frigates forming a Marg Salb closure maneuver into the fighter's vector. From what Adalric could tell, the Imperial force had exited hyperspace into an ambush.
The officer's attention was distracted from the battle at hand at Adalric?s presence. His face bore an amused look, and he spoke to the games online computer interface.
"Pause game."
The BAC console froze in suspended animation, as did all the other equipment. The officer approached Adalric, and the recruit immediately stood at attention and saluted. Other bridge crewmen gazed at the newcomer, some in hope, others in annoyance, many in frustration. The officer glanced at Adalric, and extended a hand. He took the hand in his own, returning the greeting.
"Um... Adalric Cronus... requesting permission to join the fray... captain."
The captain of considered, and then replied.
"Very well...... Captain Cronus."
Adalric's head snapped towards the recruit. He tried to acknowledge in bewilderment when his comrade spoke to the games interface again.
"Computer, scan new recruit, proper captain's attire. Remove me from the simulator repository banks."
Holographic images flooded to life as the recruit?s dark gray uniform suddenly vanished, leaving him in standard hiking attire, common of all recruits. Adalric?s clothing changed as well, to the dark gray uniform of a captain. A horn rimmed cap fit snuggly over his head. The recruit spoke yet again, tuning his head towards his once crew.
"You'll all excuse me, but I've a ten twenty meet with my superior instructor I must attend to."
He turned back towards Captain Cronus.
"You've just exited hyperspace into a Rebel ambush on your port side. They've had squadrons launched as a preliminary contingency, accompanying your Star Destroyer are three picket ships, Lancer frigates."
He began to walk away, then said behind him.
"Good luck, I've yet to beat this module."
Cronus still stood shell shocked, his eyes locked to the ground. His mind was racing. What do I know of star ship tactics... but I'm responsible for our lives... oh... that's right, its just a simulator... he regained focus, stretching his senses towards the BAC console.
"Computer, unpause."
That day had been momentous history throughout the training camp. Crowds of young recruits gathered around the victor, applauding and clapping him on his shoulder. The Kardue de' Mont, the most strenuous training module in the Imperial databanks, yet it taken only a few simple commands for Adalric to gain ground on his opposition. He had literally become a strategic mastermind.
Cronus, now newly instated in the Advanced Tactical Team, had come out not only victorious against the computer module, but with a fresh new start in the Imperial Naval Academy. Admiral Motti operating in the Carida sector had taken notice to his achievements, and had immediately enrolled him in Imperial Engineering. His sole responsibilities were researching and developing new strategies and tactics for fleet personnel to use against the Rebel Alliance.
Deep within the bowels of space, the Lambda test fleet sliced through darkness, wedge shaped destroyers with accompanying picket ships, their bows directed to a destination unknown to all their crews but the most top officials, namely, the fleet admiral and Cronus himself. Adalric was seated in the command chair of the Devastator's bridge, a gleam in his eye that was beholden to the prestige of his rank. Grand Moff Tarkin had taken the liberty to promote his favored employee of the Empire. Superior Admiral Cronus had a nice ring to it.
The fleet consisted of six Republic dreadnaughts, two Star Destroyers. The Devastator, and the Firestorm. During mission briefing, Moff Tarkin had disrupted their début to alert Cronus of a change in command. Admiral Motti had requested personal command of the Lambda test fleet during their preceding exercise. Adalric was enraged, he didn't trust anyone but himself to have sole command of the fleet during their, 'exercises'. In essence, these exercises were test runs for prototype weaponry that were being developed by higher-level engineers in Imperial Engineering. It was a Research and developing mission in the making.
Now, with six hours to deadline test run, the Galaxy Gun cruised in the middle of the formation, flanked of the port and starboard by each of the destroyers and their dreadnaught picket ships. The mammoth super weapon seemed to allure itself as a shadow in space due to its stealth armor plating. As the convoy steadily pushed their way through the gravity well pockets that formed within the depths of the Unknown Territories, transmissions soon began to bounce from transceiver packages off the destroyers, both Admiral Motti and Superior Admiral Cronus conversed via encrypted military hologram projectors. Cronus was in his private chambers, dressing out of his gray black uniform of superiority. From what he could tell from the holograph image of Motti, the Admiral was still taking in with duties around the bridge. Private transmissions are to be held in private, nimrod! Laying out his button down vest over his bed spreading, he said.
"What's our current ETA to the prescribed coordinates, Motti? I'm anxious to back to my own research laboratory, no offense."
A smirk popped up from Motti.
"None taken sir, I fully understand your motives. Naval duties must come as something unfamiliar to anyone who's spent most of their lives in a bunker."
That crude and sarcastic remark hurt Adalric's pride. The commander frowned in repose, but held his ground. He replied with bitter harshness to his voice.
"My duties are of no concern and business of yours. Now what's our eta?"
The Admiral nodded in humility.
"Current eta is six minutes from target system. Shall I pull the escort into cover formation of the Galaxy Gun's aft?"
"Negative, all ships shall hold current position until given further notice. Our own particle shielding should be able to withstand the radiation burners from the Gun. I've made my own formulas over it, we'll be perfectly---"
Motti's attention was drawn by another presence, one that the hologram imager refused to project. As Motti listened intently, his face was deformed into a flash of anger and fear. Barely seconds passed by before Adalric's own pager went off with a flurry of noise.
"Superior Admiral! It's a rebel ambush, one parsec away, and closing fast!"
Cronus picked up his pager off a gleaming sabacc table, and read the computer lettering. Rancor One. The standard Imperial covert operations code for a heavy assault ambush. He turned his attention back towards Motti. The Admiral was trained to be most efficient. Orders were already being relayed to his crew; Adalric decided it was time for him to do the same. Grabbing his vest, he quickly snapped on his tags and made a snatch for his rank cylinders. Running through the corridors, sorting his psyche in turbo lifts; he finally made his way to the bridge. Strolling up the gangplank, one deck officer took notice, promptly shouting.
"Admiral on the bridge! All salute!"
For a split second moment, the crew froze in their positions, fixing themselves upright, delivering a staggering one-hand salute. Truly, these men were the fore front and backbone of the Imperial military machine. Cronus was proud of his brood. Adalric took command of the bridge, seating himself on the command plank. On either sides of him he over looked one end of the bridge, as the plank led straight to the view plates.
"All at ease, relay? what have we got?"
From below him, he over heard a faint voice from the shrill of alarms.
"Three dreadnaughts, bearing republic insignia's approaching from the west, eta 2.4 minutes, one mon calamari cruiser, eta 2.8 minutes, I can't get any bearings on it's hull, over three kilometers long!?were also picking up seven corellian gun ships, mid size, alliance authority at best---"
A lateral hit rocked the Devastator's shields, for a brief period stunning their senses. The voice trailed back shaky in tones.
"---eta three minutes sir!"
Sweat was beginning to form in Adalric's pores.
"Establish secure frequencies, have the Firestorm come about to our aft vector? position his three dreadnaughts at his bow---"
A brilliant spectacle of light shattered over the tampered remains of what was one of Cronus' dreadnaughts. Covering his eyes from the searing pain, he could only curse himself in mental anguish. This would not look professional on his record.
"Damn it! Pull our two picket ships to aft starboard, immediately! Relay, open a frequency to Motti."
As his command was followed through, static burst through the comm unit on his armrest as his second in command spoke up.
"Superior Admiral, have you taken a look at the BAC?"
Cronus shifted his attention to the eight Battle Analysis Camera console screens. Each camera displayed one point from the ships bow, aft, port, and starboard. Tiny relay and focusing mechanisms enabled a commander to pinpoint tracing devices on his ship, enemies at a front, and also acted as a failsafe navigation system. He focused specifically on two cameras designated as starboard controllers. As mentioned before, the fleet formed with Adalric's force on the right, the Gun cruising in mid drift in the middle, and Motti's force in escort on the left.
"Camera six, angle in on approaching ships."
One of the port controllers focused on the raiders. Small blips of white hulls lit up as light splashed across their frames. An impressive force indeed. A shame to be wasted in a futile effort, however. Cronus was quite confident in his tactical initiative. So the enemy was approaching from the rear right, and Motti and his three cruisers were dropping aft of the column, and beginning to roll into a one eighty (semi circle) to point their bows directly down the opposition's throat. An excellent maneuver. Once their force completed its semi circle, Motti could accelerate to ramming speed, form his ships into a single column, and drive straight through the enemy fleets center point, delivering a staggering hit and run tactic. An Ackbar Slash, if you will. The enemy was unable to bring its own guns to bear due to poor targeting controls. However? mon calamari cruisers bear most of its arms on its lateral sides? it could easily disable the Firestorm.
"Motti, fall back on your position, that mon cal cruiser will disable your ship?"
Several seconds passed by, and Motti's force continued to swerve into their semi circle. Cronus was growing desperate.
"Admiral Motti!"
Green lances began to dance along the hull of the Devastator, snapping the Superior Admiral's senses back to his own current situation. Cronus wasted no effort. If Motti wouldn't pay due heed to his warning, then they had no chance to hold their position. DAMN HIM!
"Relay, prep the fleet for emergency departure, have the Gun cruise ahead---"
OH NO! Four of the gun ships had broken through Motti's spearhead maneuver. The Admiral was already driving through the center point of the enemy fleet. His destroyer took aim and obliterated two of the rebel gun ships. The dreadnaughts disabled two frigates as they trudged along in the it have wake. As the column began to descent into the middle of the enemy formation, the mon calamari cruiser suddenly began to pivot on it's axis in a ninety reversal, bearing its starboard armament towards the destroyers bow. Blue volleys of ionized laser fire began to pour down upon the Firestorm's shields, short circuiting all its electric driven components. Adalric noticed a flicker of light, then a blackout. The massive ship hung in space drifting towards oblivion. Cronus didn't wait to see the predicted outcome. His attention was redirected to seeing two of the gun ships going up in a brilliant flare? against the hull of the Galaxy Gun. Smashing into it's propulsion accelerator, setting off chain reactions of explosions throughout its interior, multiple drives and particle emissions spraying mists of deadly gases into the air. White clouds of oxygenated vapor release into space. Suddenly, one of the missiles shot through the oblivion, ricocheting into the void of space, it destination unbeknownst to its overseers. As Cronus' force continued to purge through deep space, with rebel ambush ships gunning for their tail, his only thoughts dwelled on the rouge ballistic. Finally, within moments to spare, his battle group lurched into the vacuum of hyperspace.
Adalric stood at his command console, too shaken to move. It was his first battle encounter with the Alliance. From what he could tell, remarks on his report would proceed in relating that the rebels were cunning, employing ruthless and efficient guerilla tactics. Finally, his eyes locked to the bow view port, he nodded to himself, reasoning out of his dilemma. He whispered to himself.
"Yes, yes... they're ruthless... Motti! If only... if only..."
Training his concerns elsewhere, he stripped off his insignia ranks, and tucked them safely in his breast pocket. He blew a sigh of air in disgust, and indignation at his misfortunes. He needed to be in a private area where he could think, clear his mind. Palpatine would want a full detailed report of the ambush vector series, relay frequencies. Perhaps relay had even picked intercepted one or two transmissions. That would go a little ways in restoring the Emperor's satisfaction and faith in his abilities. Lodging through passageways and corridors, down turbo lifts, he paced a path towards his personal quarters. Keying in a recognition code, the magnetic seals clicked open, releasing the vaulted doors. He stepped in, and a moment later, the motion sensors detected his bio presence, and lit up the room, sealing the doors shut once again. Unbuttoning his vest for a second time in a day, he only wished to get some much needed rest and relaxation. A she sat on himself on his bed spreading, he could only groan in anger and absolute dismay as his comlink twittered in a flurry of noise. He picked up his pager, viewing his displayed message. It read, Intel Report. It sparked his attention; he decided to take the transmission in his dorm. As he rose from his position and walked over to his message board, he spoke to the destroyers multiple onboard systems.
"Computer, acknowledge, recognition alpha quartet."
A faint metallic female voice underlined a speakerphone from the system.
"Acknowledged commander, please state your request."
"Patch a frequency to bridge, console... verify latest transmission sent to this dorm."
"One moment please."
Adalric could only hear a small whirl of servomotors as his command was processed. A small figure form of a? warrant sergeant, from his rank cylinders.
"You have a report for me?"
"Yes sir, we verified the coordinates of the missile that over shot the Gun's destruction."
A lump formed in Cronus' throat. He stuttered words in reply.
"Where... where did in vector out to?"
The intruder came from beyond. A celestial body of sub atomic particles, barium, and detonite, all composed into a neat disposable unit of destruction. It streaked across the gas giant of Charr, lifting debris from the planet's surface as it sent waves of vibration echoing off into distant yet unknown corridors.
This was no ordinary day. As the ballistic began to set off a plasma glow from the sun's brilliance and the atmospheric resistance, booster rockets jettisoned from the main canopy, and a chute deployed. As the citizens of Charr gathered around the spectacle in awe and somewhat disdain, those few with a sense of insecurity and lust for life headed to the nearby spaceport for evacuation. No sirens ever went off. Strangely though, that the Imperial Garrison stationed to Charr would suddenly pick the entire mobile infantry unit... and head for the stars... Some of the more elderly and experienced suspected that something was amidst. But their suspicions would soon come to a violent end.
As the missile's thirty megaton mass came within feet of contact with the surface, crowds gathered about, hoping to inspect and get an up close view of the mysterious visitor from the skies. Somewhere... in the distance church bells rang...
All of Charr staggered from a 12.o earthquake. Millions of tons of water, sediment, and debris burst upward, thrown through the hole in the atmosphere above the impact site and into the stratosphere, along with a great spray of pulverized, fiery rock that was ejected into sub orbital trajectories before raining back to earth as blazing meteorites. Firestorms destroyed forests throughout that world. Volcanoes that had been dormant for thousands of years suddenly erupted, sending oceans of molten lava spreading over millions of square miles, blanketing the ground a thousand or more feet deep. So much smoke and debris were hurled into the atmosphere and later blown into every corner of the land by terrible winds that they blocked out the sun for nearly a year, sending temperatures plunging below freezing, and shrouding Charr in darkness. Climate change in every corner of the world came with incredible suddenness. Temperatures at vast ice fields and northern glaciers rose until they reached between ninety and a hundred degrees Fahrenheit, causing a rapid meltdown. Animals accustomed to tropical and temperate zones became extinct overnight. Many turned to ice where they stood in the warmth of summer grasses and flowers still undigested in their stomachs. Trees, along with their leaves and fruit, were quick-frozen. For days, fish that were hurled upward form the blast fell from the blackened skies.
Waves five to ten miles in height were thrown against the continents, surging over shorelines with a destructive power that was awesome in magnitude. Water swept over low costal plains and swept hundreds of miles inland, destroying everything in its path. Endless quantities of debris and sediment from the ocean floors over low landmasses. Only when the great surge smashed against the base of the mountains did it curl under and begin a slow retreat, but not before changing the course of rivers, filling land basins with seas where none existed before and turning large lakes into deserts. Entire continents were shoved around to new locations.
The chain reaction seemed endless. The destruction was relentless. The convulsions and holocaust went on as if their would never stop.
The dramatic change in oceans and their circulation around the world also caused the poles to shift, drastically disturbing Charr's rotational balance. Charr's axis was temporarily thrown off by a few degrees, as it's north and south poles were displaced to new geographical locations, altering the centrifugal acceleration around the outer surface of the sphere. Because they were fluid, the seas adapted before Charr made another three revolutions. But the landmasses could not react as quickly. Earthquakes continued for months.
Savage storms with brutal winds swirled around Charr, shredding and disintegrating everything that stood on the ground for the next few decades before the poles stopped wobbling and settled into their new rotational axis. In time, sea levels stabilized, permitting new shorelines to form as bizarre climatic conditions continued to moderate. Changes were permanent. The time sequence between night and day changed as the number of days in a year increased. Charr's magnetic field was also affected and moved northwest over hundreds of miles.
The Cronus family was efficiently wiped off the map.
"Teal!"
Cronus snapped viciously, promptly ducking as a crate of some unknown yet probable illegal cargo rotated into a one hundred and eighty degree angle to strike his head.
Out on the docking platform above the newly liberated cloud city, an old Y-4 series of transport perched on durasteel intervals, its rears payloads unlocked and loading gangplanks extended, their own transfixed pullies nudging sacks of foreign materials into the loading compartments. A various assortment weapons, even two All Terrain Personal Transports hung in broken down parts, gears, screws, etc, over storage compartments properly locked down for what appeared to be a rigorous hyperspace trip.
From a hydro crane integrated into the docking platform, blue haired mercenary Teal Skapory gave a sluggish nod and mock salute in Cronus' general direction, not taking his eyes over the precious cargo in which his crane was grappling. His hand brushed a small directional lever, gently allowing leeway to the main pulley to the entrance of the transport.
"You have my condolences."
Cronus grunted sarcastically, his eyes catching a glimpse of the stars as he ducked. For a brief moment, catching past reflections of his life. As if in a void, his mind raced to the fatal day of the holocaust, the burning image of a lone ballistic being swallowed in darkness by the consummation of hyperspace, the desperation, the fear, the dread, waning sickness of terror that made his stomach flip in a horrific motion.
He brushed the thought away. Past reflections aren't as important as future intentions. It was a code he had based his life upon. He rose from his position, his head bobbed downward, eyes scanning his surroundings. He placed his hands over his hips. Months of training at the finest academies, what waste of time.
"I'm freelance mercenary?"
Teal's attention drifted toward him, eyebrows raised in suspicion.
"Um... you said something, Adal?"
His senses focused to reality, drifting from his brief mental pause. He took his hands off his hips, gently running them through his dark, wavy brown hair, sighing from fatigue. He looked a Teal, then towards the crate, suddenly growing indignant.
"Teal watch it!"
The mercenary looked at his load, hollered in surprise, jamming the directional lever hard left, just in the nick of time from sending the freight load crashing into the cockpit bulkhead. He grinned and shrugged his shoulders mechanically. Cronus looked back at him with cold resolve and contempt. Teal decided it was best not to provoke the situation any further. He eyes quickly locked onto his work.
Inside the cockpit, Orin Mersai and Davin Brandl were busily locked down in detailed work planning hyperspace routes and preparing for pre flight procedures to some classified location. Davin was watching the activity out on the docking platform, grinning from the comical muse Teal and Adalric constantly set themselves in. Though they seemed at times to blow unyielding hostility toward each other, in relaxed and more comfortable atmosphere, it would be difficult to analyze that they ever once had arguments between each other.
He leaned in close to an exterior relay comm system, his voice bursting in through a flurry of static, sounding barely audible and weary, most likely due to weeks of nonstop tactical planning for the mission ahead.
"How are things coming along down there? Our eta to dust off is?"
There was a momentary pause.
"... fifty six minutes... accordingly. We need to be on time..."
Cronus looked around him, obviously searching for a pinpoint of the camera system Davin was monitoring on. Davin caught his intentions. He smiled.
"Don?t bother, it?s the newly refurbished nano BAC."
Actually, Cronus did have a general clue where to look. His eyes locked focus with the camera lens, and Davin was instantly taken aback. He stared in disbelief, but a tight grin crept to his lips.
"Mind telling me how the hell you did that?"
From what Davin could tell, Adalric brandished his own wily, sadistic nod.
"Maybe some other time..."
He looked around him, eyeing a few more scattered parcels littering the ground.
"... well, we should be done here... and have everything in lock down status shortly, give or take forty, forty five minutes."
"Good, Orin needs only to infiltrate the main comm center to this station to patch a long range frequency to Garqui, and were gone."
Adalric's eyes lowered to his feet, he uttered an inaudible whisper under his breath.
"And were gone."
A young technicians controler slumped lazily in his chair, his head making a barely noticeable thud against one of numerous communications consoles that were integrated into the Traffic and Communications Control Center of Bespin’s cloud city. Though the mega complex was poorly lit, his dark blue military cut style of dress stood out rather well, making him an easy target. Though it wasn’t as if any of the other console operators or their directors would have made quite a challenge to effectively neutralized. Having confidence in one’s abilities was the first step towards success. Knowledge of one’s surroundings was the second.
Orin Mersai lived by an ancient Jedi philosophy; kill only when there appears to be a need for killing. Live and let live. An extremely eerie an incredulous code for any mercenary to follow. This man was different though, standing at five ft. eleven in. off the ground, he was sure to appear an intimidating spectacle, his silvery gray Vandyke beard gave off a wild appearance of untamed wisdom, this man had experience. His aged hair matching his beard, he was well out of his prime, but still kept physically leveled, he could pull the ears off a gundark, or so he looked. Blue eyes gave off a soft, endearing nature towards all living things, and Orin did indeed cherish life. It was in his ancestry. The reason for the young man’s continuous among the living, he’d be dead now, were it another man.
Hand covering his mouth, an ammonia draped cloth in the other, he too slumped forward over the body, dropping his means of incapacitation to grab the young man by his feet and his collar, shoving him in one corner of the cubicle. Death was so dirty and unclean, let the living keep on ticking.
Pulling the chair from underneath the console platform, he rotated the seat to a comfortable degree, and sat down. He sighed; the ammonia was having a dozy affect on him. Extending his hands towards the control columns, his fingers danced along the frame, until a small twerp rang from the system response chime, and a list of data scrolled down on the analysis screen. A short list of options also appeared on a side bar menu. Orin finger activated the option listed as Out of Orbit Transmission. By doing this, he could send a transmission from the planet’s surface to Bespin’s Out of Orbit Relay Station, centered in atmospheric space above Bespin, where the transmission would then be sent to systems, starships, or space stations beyond.
He finally managed to patch in his transmission to a small backwater planet named inconspicuously, Garqui. A voice replied in greeting.
"Garqui Out of Orbit Relay Station, where may we patch your transmission."
His voice was calm.
"Yes. I’d prefer a direct connection the Imperial Docking Station, console operator unknown, serial number 22-33-959-48."
His contact had preferred not to list his name, but gave his serial number. When Orin had tapped a link into the Imperial Database Courascant to get a profile, no name was registered under the serial number, meaning a highly skilled slicer had gone in ahead of time to edit the records... whoever this was wanted to stay anonymous, and they would get their wish. This man, unfortunately had talent.
"Hold please."
Some time passed, before the console’s servo motors finally uploading the patch link. A rough voice rasped in surprise and hinted annoyance.
"I told you never to contact me!"
"You understand were about to depart to Garqui? I needed to contact you to give you our eta."
"I have it loaded on a device timer, I have your current location as well."
"Your tracking our ship?"
Orin could picture their contact smiling sadistically.
"I shall contact you when arrive in orbit to give you the proper docking codes you’ll need to get pass security, good luck."
Before he could terminate the connection, Orin interrupted with a flurry.
"Wait!? At least give me a name to go by?"
There was an uncomfortable pause on the recipients part.
"... my name is of no relative importance right now... good day, Orin Mersai."
The connection ended with a faint, dead click. There was no automated dial tone, simply, dead silence. Orin looked shocked and dumbfounded. His memory was impeccable, he could recall events with explicit detail, yet... I never told him my name...
Davin sighed as he fingered through a stack of manila folders in his personal quarters locker. Fatigued from lack of nutrition, sleep, and basic human companionship, he was relieved to be finally en route to their hyperspace destination, finally, with all shipboard systems nominal, he could get some rest... after the mission briefing.
Standard Red Moon Mercenary Guild procedure was directed by a simple philosophy. Relay the mission outline when en route. Thus, lives are sparred from possible traitorous tendencies amongst the group. After all, they were mercenaries to the highest bidder.
Filing through his locker, he retrieved the one specific folder that contained all the known acquired intelligence data gathered by preliminary RMMG spies that would be needed for a successful trip. All to often though, success was in the dictionary of the common mercenary. The label on the file read, Top Security, towards the center bottom of the file read, (read en route). Top Security eh? How ironic.
Shoving the file into his breast pocket of his jumpsuit, proceeded outwards from his quarters to a small rendezvous point in the storage compartment of the transport. In essence, it was a pylon table set up in small, windowless containment arch for high pressurized and potentially volatile materials. During the Empire’s use, it would have most likely been used as a storage locker for explosives used by primary infantry.
As he proceeded down multiple narrow corridors, his eyes sagged and gave off what appeared to be allergy shiners, making the deep red of his irises barely noticeable. A mane of dark brown wavy hair shown with a fury under the fluorescent lighting overhead, standing six ft. He had to duck under most passageways, constantly producing aches through his vertebrae that he was forced to cure from rigorous medical examinations on system to system he was assigned to.
Finally reaching his desired point, he palm printed an activation code to the doors magnetic lock, a hiss gave way as the seal parted at vertical intervals. Teal Skapory, Orin, and Adalric were seated around three sides of the table, their eyes turning in unison at Davin’s presence. Teal grinned, looking the huge merc up and down as is giving him a visual inspection.
"Man, you look like hell."
Davin feigned hurt feelings, frowning and replying in a sad, yet bemused tone.
"Ah shucks Teal, you know you don’t have to kiss my ass to get the top bunk. Its yours."
The ground finally gave sighs and laughter of relief, taking in sweet feelings of anticipation for the rest soon to come.
"Okay..."
Davin said, as he kept standing over the table’s edge, he set the manila folder down on its gleaming surface, looking casually from moment to moment at the three hardened faces. Adalric's feint grin took on a look of all knowing anxiety.
"Uh-oh, I don’t like the way this is starting."
Davin’s attention snapped to Cronus.
"Well guess what? You’re going to hate it even more as this progresses."
Teal leaned back in his seat, Cronus propped his feet up on the table, Orin stood hands clasped, resting the small of his neck. Davin remained standing.
"Okay folks, here’s the deal... as most of you know, the Pentastar Alignment as gained much support from the Corporate Sector... they’ve accumulated vast amounts of unlimited resources to expand their military machine. Much of this is due to the Empire’s aid to the Alignment, seeking them as an ally and probable economic business partner..."
Davin's eyes shifted from his audience to the reading contents.
"... however... RMMG spies have just received word that RA forces foiled the Empire’s main super project, the DS2, in an attempt of sabotage. When the Vader’s mainstay fleet was prepped to meet them, they met hostile forces in great number..."
His eyes lifted. He seemed to stare into a void of pure self-reflection. He was deep in personal conviction.
"... ladies and gents, it gives me great pleasure to announce that the Empire has been defeated. Their forces just vectored in retreat from Endor. I’ve received notice that the RA is planning to take Coruscant soon... we’ve witnessed the dawning of a new error."
Everyone in the small storage locker was instantly ecstatic. All except Cronus. His eyes were hidden with a blanket of malice. His face was contorted with disbelief and denial. Impossible!
"That can’t be... the fleet was, defeated? There were no reports of for reinforcements?"
"Apparently, it was Vice Admiral... no name currently... who gave the order for immediate retreat."
Adalric slumped in his chair. Davin continued.
"Reports of their defeat are spreading across the galaxy like wildfire. Countless systems are rebelling against their prefects, overturning the sector regents. However, the entire Corporate Sector is still under PA sovereign. The PA would wipe out the entire system’s populace to keep their precious industrial facilities. They need the resources if they’re to stand against the new RA offensive. One of the most influential and powerful of these industrial politicians is Merr-Sonn Delgado, of the Merr-Sonn Munitions Inc. They’ve specialized in field infantry explosives. Their corporation ranks in the fortune four hundred companies. Needless to say, Delgado wishes to remove himself from the PA sovereignty. He wants to give the company up to RA politicians, but he knows that the Pentastar officials won’t stand for it... he was dead on target about that assumption. Just days ago, suspected PA special forces kidnapped his two children..."
He shuffled through the papers, looking for something that eluded him.
"... their profiles weren’t listed here..."
Finally Davin tossed the manila folder to the table. He grabbed the seat, turned it backwards, and drew himself down. His arms rested on the chairs back, his eyes took on a distant appearance, his thoughts wondering.
"... that leaves our job. We’re to infiltrate the docking station at Garqui, get into the Imperial Garrison established just west, and rescue the those kids."
Adalric eyes lit up with surprise.
"RMMG expects us to just walk into the Garrison and take the kids?"
"We have a contact who can grant us access."
He motioned towards Orin, who nodded back in confirmation.
"... but, if the situation dissolves down to a one man stand, the kids are to be eliminated."
Teal was the first to object. He threw up his hands in dismay and disappointment.
"Wait... wait... they want us to just pop two innocent kids for being in the wrong place at the wrong time? That’s murder."
Davin's features etched down to cold resolve. His senses were finely tuned, he was prepared to accomplish the job at hand, at all costs.
"The RA can’t afford to lose support of Merr-Sonn Munitions. Their company means a valuable asset to both the RA and PA. If the kids die, then Delgado will surely sway his complete support to the Alliance due to grief and personal vengeance..."
He uttered a statement as somewhat of finality. After this briefing their would be no turning back, no formal retreat. Most likely they’d all die in the rescue attempt. Orin’s eyes took a distant and sad forlorn appeal.
"... gentlemen, to the people that pay our wages, their lives aren’t worth two credits."
Drizzles of gray transparent hail stormed over Garqui’s interplanetary spaceport. Citizens of various ethnicities and cultures fled to some avail in a plain attempt to take cover from the rain. Flood warnings were in effect, leaving a portion of the populous in intrepid anxiety. For the small backwater planet, rain was uncommon, and perceived highly only by the portion of the people whose sole source of bitter income was provided by agriculture.
Pairs of lights exploded from the horizon of deep opaque black, as incoming vessels were given safe and clear passage to numerous docking stations that were integrated into the main docking control tower superstructure. Aliens of a variety of culture lurked in the shadows of huge durasteel towers, urging passing pedestrians of high class for a bit of generosity, any way their thoughts could muster.
One noticeable pair, well... perhaps not so noticeable pair of lights streaked in diagonal vector toward one of the docking platforms, then shot in a tight half arch semi circle over the platform for a sudden decrease of acceleration, banked slightly to the right, and came to a most inscrutable landing, only to grudged by its occupants. A ship of box-like structure... notably Correlian design shutdown auxiliary exterior landing lights, as the security lamp on the docking plate activated from motion circuitry.
A boarding ramp extended from the ships aft, as two silhouettes jogged down its gangplank, and took up checkpoints at parallel ends of the platform, odd devices aimed towards the magnetic armored door that vacuumed passage from the platform, to the interior of the control station. Multiple turbo lifts granted passerbys of rights access to the lower levels of the gargantuan complex, of which led to the outward areas of Garqui’s capital, Temecula, the center of congress, economy, and government to it’s citizens.
In the cockpit of the Gundark, Davin and Orin sat in complexion of insight as they traded whispers in the darkened cabin to each other. Davin sat with hands folded in his lap, his senses primed, the mission at hand; he craved for the wanderlust of adventure. Orin, on the other hand, simply looked at this as another blood bath, to be noted, that he didn’t falter in Grace. His features expressed a complexion of solemnity. Davin eyes flickered to the exterior camera system. His voice was gruff, yet betrayed, clear hinted excitement.
"Adal and Teal are in position..."
His features flickered towards a notion of readiness.
"... we ought to be going then."
Behemoth ships sent vibrant waves of electro magnetic energy breaking through Charr’s atmosphere... or at least what was left of it. Sentinel Flotilla peaked the systems space traffic, gargantuan ships of wedge shaped design vectoring towards the system’s surface, casting shadows over the remnants of planets ecology.
Sensor analyses were streaming in data of the planets geological activity to the central intelligence databanks of the Blaze of Glory. Physicist and geologists of the finest Imperial Academies under of the Imperial Republic gathered around designated biological scanner consoles, ecstatic of the productive industrial resources that were being ascertained by the scanners biological receptors.
Storms and insidious volcanic activity were causing massive earthquakes that occurred in scenes echoing off the Richter scale. But consequences stem from events, productive, and wasteful.
Discoveries of rich deposits of mineral resources were bringing in every major business contractor in galaxy coordinating their nav computers to Charr. Civilian traffic had become dense to the point of Adalric Cronus offering the option of martial law of the sector. The result had been the politicians urging the militant caste to declare Imperial martial law over the system and its surrounding assets, effectively cutting Charr’s valuable mineral resources to the disposal of the Republic.
Khurgee had been directed from his political superiors to set up military blockade throughout the quadrant. Battle Group director Adalric Cronus had requested not to present at the requisition of resource parcels that were being distributed to the many benefactors of the Republic. Apparently he had deep connections with the once inhabitants of the system, and the system itself. The situation was reasonable for his part, and to anyone with an iota of emotion, understandable.
Sentinel Flottilla had launched a series of economic enterprises with the surrounding factions of business within diplomatic reasoning. Skilled politicians and diplomats of the Republican senate had endured grueling processes of negotiation with the entrepreneurs of the Tagge Corporation, developing multiple relational contracts that would ensure the prosperity of both factions, in economic terms. Tagge enterprises had always been a long economical supporter of the Empire, its own corporation giving seventy percent ownership to Imperial Officials, a dominating supplier of military goods and services, a carrier of industrial hierarchy that would glorify the Empire to it’s needs.
Khurgee was his in War Commission chamber, developing the necessary contracts and forgoing the last revisions of negotiation with Teguel Mel’dar, chief benefactor and proficient executive of the Tagge Corporation. The short, stalk man was gruff in stature and pudgy, a succulent taste for delicacies of a variety of cultures, a politician at best, Khurgee’s suspicions and anxieties of course confirmed. Damn politicians...
Mel’dar held great honor and prestige among the political caste of his home world. Deceitful and psychologically menacing, he was influential in the political and economic regime of the Galaxy. The Mel’dar family had earned itself a most notorious reputation. The fat man intently glared as Khurgee was flipping though the revisions, signing to the reputation of the Imperial Republic.
During the clone wars, The Mel’dar patriarch had gone through great extents to ensure the survival of his family, to means of serving on the political side he didn’t care much for. During the insurrection of the Alliance, a birthed rivaling faction from the Old Republic, he had been a chief economic adviser on lord Palpatine’s political committee, earning himself a handsome reputation amongst his colleagues.
After the destruction of the second Death Star project, the political brigade had all but dissolved from the Imperial ranks. Most had squandered what resources could be accommodated for. With the renaissance of the Imperial Regime symbolized by the notorious faction, the Pentastar Alignment, he had vague hopes of regaining the prestige once offered to loyal supporters of the Empire.
Sadly, the Alignment had rejected his services. Under the jurisdiction of militant characters, need for political hags were very little. At long last, he gathering the shattered remnants of a long begotten economic enterprise and formed what is known as the Tagge Corporation.
He thumbed a classic handlebar mustache. His lips parted, savoring the moment. Apparently he held the upper hand in the business agreement. But he was starting to grow anxious if perhaps he was pushing his fortune. He decided it would be a wise action to display some humility and gratefulness.
"I must express to you lieutenant Khurgee..."
He rested his hands on a gleaming durasteel.
"... we sincerely condone your actions of martial law throughout this sector... and we’re most grateful to have the slightest opportunity to benefit from your expedition."
Khurgee’s hands stopped in motion, he raised an eyebrow, and grinned thoughtfully at Mel’dar
"Then I would sincerely propose that we lower the standard rates..."
Mel’dar’s wolfish grin feel to a perpetual frown.
"... because it seems to me that the Tagge Corporation is getting far more from the business covenant that they need."
Mel’dar was hasty to retort in objection.
"Oh no... of course lieutenant. I trust your judgment"
Khurgee glared in retort. He nodded assuring.
"Yes... I sincerely hope you do..."
He turned his attention back towards the paperwork. Flipping though several economic blueprints, he paused on one page. A bit his lip, seemingly frustrated at yet another error. Mel’dar noticed the change of posture.
"Is anything of concern to you, lieutenant?"
Khurgee looked from his paperwork.
"Hmm... it seems there’s a mistake in the rates of percentage exchange you’ll be providing us for being privileged to make use of Charr’s natural resources... here."
With a hint of relief, he gladly shifted the revisions to Mel’dar. The pompous politician scanned through the legislative documents attentively, hoping to catch the lieutenant’s error in judgment and editing. He frowned and glared in disgust as he discovered the error was indeed his.
"Well damn..."
He replied, sighing in perpetual malevolence.
"... I’ll have to have a word with my secretarial staff. Unfortunately, it seems this meeting was worthless to our resources..."
He arose in union with Khurgee, who extended his hand in a gesture of good faith and ecstasy of the politician’s departure. Mel’dar took the gesture with his own, offering an alternative of holding another meeting with haughty militant.
"... instead of having to expend out time in another conference, I can simply have my staff fax you a direct copy of the revisions, and we can close this god forsaken deal."
Khurgee considered the option as the first bright idea the stubby politician ever conceived.
"Sounds like a plan... although, standard Republic procedure would issue me a court martial for not impending the signatures in person... unfortunately, the economic article of our constitution is quite politically biased."
Mel’dar returned the retort with a sly grin.
Lieutenant... I’m quite certain arrangements can be made to ensure the sanctity of your career.
Khurgee returned the grin... Well... a change of heart, Mel’dar? Khurgee decided that if this ass was going to act with discretion and impart some form of friendly act, he would follow suit.
Finally, I find a reason to support politics.
Both men laughed in unison.
Somewhere In Time...
"Addy? Addy, is that you?" The little girl's soft whisper, carried over the bustle of droids working nearby..but only faintly.
Her light brown pony tail bobbed as she ran in and out crevices looking for her playmate. Addy, for his part, had picked a most strategic location with which to watch her failed attempts at finding him.
There was only one door in the entire room, and he could count on the droids not being distracted by his presence (thus giving his location away) so he simply had to find a spot where he could keep an eye on her.
At 8 years old, that was a lot of thinking for a child of a rather successful (if small) garment maker. The boy's mind had captured the interests of his teachers, his advancement accelerating rapidly. But all that didn't matter now... for the task at hand was the evasion of his hunter.
The bulky stitching droids moved about, in their preselected instructions totally oblivious to the playing.
Bot C-4 had not been operational for about a week and he knew the little girl was slightly scared of it.
So as he clung to the side of the rather dome looking robot, sliding right or left away from the sound of her calling his name he smirked to himself at his own ingeniousness.
Girls!
"Addy! I know you are in here!"
The girl's hunt became strangely more methodical and suddenly understanding dawned on his little mind.
She's trying to scare me?
It was so surprising a revelation that it took him several minutes to fully digest the fact of what was happening and turn the information into practical action.
Her voice would naturally compell him to move away from it, and as he watched her actions he noted the pattern that emerged.
After searching an area, she was so confident that she hadn't missed anything that she never really looked back.
That was information he could use!
She did not know that he held onto the side of the big domelike robot, in the center of the room simply sliding back and forth keeping her at the far end of the droid at all times.
He looked about at a location the girl had already searched and wondered if he could make it without being seen. Her search pattern would eventually have her run out of options and naturally turn to the center.
It was just a matter of time.
Well, didn't dad always say to work smarter and not hard?
suddenly, before he could move the massive door opened again and an adult male entered the room.
"Carol? What are you doing here? Your parents would be very disappointed if they found out you were playing in the workroom. I know the droids are safe, but accidents CAN happen. Come along."
The man held out his hand and the girl moved across the room and grasped it.
"What were you doing? Have you seen Adalric?"
Better not snitch... you... you... girl!
Carol smiled and pulled out a control box she had taken off a table. Adalric had wondered if she would steal it (Can girls be cool?).
Better not snitch...
She pushed a button before Adalric's father could take it away from her and C-4 suddenly came to life, his body raising against four legs.
The movement so surprised Adalric that he yelped, letting go of the sides.
"There he is, Mr. Cronus."
Carol smiled sweetly.
"Adalric!? How many times have I told you to stay away from newly repaired droids!!"
His father had roared.
Adalric's eyes drifted from his father's angry face to briefly rest on Carol and she stuck her tongue out at him.
She had known the whole time...
I failed...
"Hey Adal! You coming or what?"
Adalric Cronus looked up from his studies and into the eager eyes of Carol, and noted that he had never seen a more lovely dress on her (especially since he had made it specifically for her).
They were the two brightest children in their small town of Hapens Port, Charr, had been friends since they were children so therefore it was only natural (at least so friends and family thought) that they get together.
He had planned the evening perfectly, nothing was going to interrupt his...
"Carrol?"
Came the voice of his mother as she entered his room.
His girlfriend turned and her smile fell. The look on his
mother's face revealed extreme anxiety.
"What is it?"
Carol and Adalric asked in unison.
Adalric's mother came over, tears in her eyes.
"Oh Carol..."
She started...
"... it's... it's... your father. He's had a terrible accident."
Adalric's arms wrapped around her as Carol's knees suddenly went weak.
His plans were shattered.
He had failed...
Not all were laughing, however.
Failure.
"No!"
Cronus stirred violently, shuddering under his mesh of bed sheets, rising suddenly with a jolt of terror. He was sweating profusely, his pores reeking secretion. His mind swelled, a knot seemed to overwhelm his senses in a flood of pain. We awoke in his quarters, in his bed, in a puddle of perspiration.
His voice was hoarse, his lungs gasped for oxygen. Pulling the bed sheets from his torso, amidst the panting he strived to pull himself from his bedding. His feet hit the hard marble flooring, his feet attempted to pull himself from his seat.
With excruciating pain, he arose, grabbing the end railing of the bed for support, leaning to revive his senses. He figured his feet had lost feeling, so he began shaking each to restore a common blood flow. Soon afterward, he had regained posture, and begun getting dressed, quite casual for the occasion.
Strapping on a charred gray vest, he dialed in for a status report from Khurgee. By now, the lieutenant had hopefully wrapped up all negotiations with the Charr annexation from the outer rim authorities, and begun the construction of the designated and preferred industrial facilities.
A crackle erupted from the loudspeaker system, a faint familiar commandeering voice echoed through the room.
"Admiral?"
Khurgee noted and replied. He smiled awry.
"Lieutenant Khurgee, how goes the objectives. I trust that we’ve gained good ground with the outer rim authorities."
"Yes... the negotiations were successful in reaching a peaceful agreement with Mr. Tagge and I."
"An excellent report sir, and Maintenance?"
Adalric heard a brief shuffle of papers on the other line. Khurgee must have recently received the report himself.
"Yes admiral, Maintenance reports that construction has begun on the logistical facilities assigned and discussed by Regent Tenloss and the senate."
He was brimming with confidence. With the new expansion from Korriban, the Republic would now deem the resources needed for the frontal assault need against the Rebel Alliance and their coefficient affiliates. Doomsday was at hand.
"Bravo to you lieutenant. You are to commended for your efforts. Consider a promotion in store for your efficiency. What of the ship’s current status?"
Khurgee’s voice was tainted in enthusiasm. He to, recognized the imminent chaos and havoc that would ensue the Rebellion.
"Navigation just brought us into a hyperspace vector for Onderon sir. Taskforces Alpha and Sigma have been recalled back to Korriban for immediate protection against the threat of riot and insurrection received by the Regional Intelligence Committee."
"The rival politicians still haven't assimilated to Tenloss' point of views?"
His eyebrow wavered in surprise. He muttered under his breath.
"Tenloss will have a ball breaking their moral."
"Sir?"
"Nothing lieutenant, i'll be preparring my reports for the Onderon overliege, notify me when we vector into hyperspace."
