It was to be a particularly gloomy None-Denominational-Holiday-Time this year.

Every standard year, the Coalition set aside two weeks for the sole sake of getting some time off. All manner of religious, local, or national customs and events took place across the Coalition, some conveniently shifted a bit to better synch up with the otherwise secular holiday, but overall it was a time of rest, recovery, and massive retail profits.

Except this year.

With the Coalition drastically shrunk, the economy struggling, and a general atmosphere of defeat and despair floating overhead, it was little surprise that the holidays felt a little grim. Most people just planned to spend their time at home. After all, even if you still had the money to go on holiday and weren't being forced to work through it due to one of the many ongoing disasters, the delicate foreign situation of the Coalition discouraged adventure holidays. It was hard to stomach going abroad if you weren't sure your country would still be there when you went back.

This grim and dark mood permeated even the Coalition's High Command - indeed, they were perhaps the worst affected, with various high-profile events being cancelled. Lack of interest, lack of energy, and just plain lack was killing what had previously been a time of togetherness and closeness for the Coalition's leaders.

As Regrad looked down from his high office at the rest of the command tower, he couldn't help but sense the gloom in the air. His eye was drawn to empty offices, once inhabited by representatives from now-defunct Coalition member states. Even the office of the Minister of Ethics lay empty, a post he couldn't bring himself to fill after its' former incumbent had resigned. To a large degree, Viryn had been the Ministry of Ethics, and without him the office seemed petty and arrogant.

Ferguson Mumphs, the aged and portly head of the CIB came up to Regrad, a score of documents held under his arm. "Well, I'm setting off for the night. I'm pretty sure everyone else from the office's already gone, too, so I guess we're closed." When Regrad didn't reply, Ferguson pushed on. "Not much of a holiday, huh? Still, we've got that dinner coming up, right?"

"What dinner?" the Prime Minister replied absently, his eyes still roving around the darkening command tower.

Ferguson raised an eyebrow in slight surprise. "Why, the NDHT dinner, remember? We have it every year? That's something to look forwards to, right? Maybe brighten your mood?"

Regrad frowned, shaking his head slightly before replying. "The Sinsangese trade route debates are going to put us into overtime anyways, I doubt we'll have time for anything but a quick supper break tomorrow."

Ferguson seemed disheartened by his superior's words, but perhaps moreso by his resigned tone. "Well, you're the boss, sir. Consider it though... the staff are dead on their feet, they could use it." With that, Ferguson strode off towards the elevator.

The lonely footsteps of one or two office-workers, crossing the dull marbel lobby far below, drew Regrad's vision downwards. The last of the staff were leaving for the night, leaving the Prime Minister almost entirely alone. The lights that lit the main chamber flickered out, so that only his own small quarters were now visible, framing the hulking Azguardian against the expanding darkness in all directions.

Regrad let out a sigh that seemed to echo around for altogether too long. They were working through the holidays, of course - no galactic government could afford a whole two weeks off - but for the first time in years it would feel like they were really working through the holidays. It didn't bear much more thought, though. Such was life now in the Coalition.

"Why me?" growled Regrad, gripping the handrail with both hands. "Why us? Why always us? What have we accomplished, for all this suffering? Has this all been some sort of cosmic joke? If so, I hope our pain was sufficiently entertaining for you! I hope our tragedy was enough to whet your appetite - I'd hate to think it was all in vain!"

Quite suddenly, Regrad felt his weight shift. His position leaning against the handrail that overlooked the main chamber became unbalanced, and he began to tip outwards.

Scrabbling for a grip as he toppled out over nothing, Regrad managed to jam his claws into a stone fixture on the hand rail, hanging by this tenuous grip over a certainly lethal drop.

"...Well, shit," said Regrad, realizing there wasn't much else to say than that. What colour there was in the Azguardian appearance quickly drained as he contemplated his options. There were few that didn't end with him a splatter of red and grey across the marble floor.

"Need a lift?" a strangely familiar voice said, and with the barest of touches Regrad was hauled bodily to safety. Surprised, Regrad turned to face his rescuer, only to find himself face to face with Viryn Quell.

"It can't be..." Regrad muttered, shocked. "The CIB lost you somewhere outside of Kuat, how did you ever make it back here so fast?"

"Isn't it obvious?" replied Viryn, who took a swing from a glass of cheap scotch held nonchalently in his off-hand. "I'm your guardian angel."

Even as a being who had conversed with gods and had divine visions, Regrad couldn't contain a throaty laugh. "Forgive me if I say you don't look the part, old friend."

"Maybe not," said Viryn, who drained the glass and threw it over the edge. "Still, the Holy Angel of Righteousness was busy at the moment, so I was all they could afford on short notice. Don't worry, I've got some experience with this sort of thing, so let's get this started - First off, don't throw yourself off the fucking twentieth story."

"I wasn't throwing myself," said Regrad defensively. "I slipped."

"Oh, sure," Viryn rolled his eyes. "And I gave up drinking and smoking for my good health. As well as cussing. Don't tell me you weren't at least feeling a little ambivalent over wether you survived or became the command tower's new festive decoration."

At this, Regrad glanced away with shame, unable to find an appropriate response. Taking silence as agreement (his usual belief), Viryn continued. "It was the whole cursing the cosmic forces thing that tipped me off. So it's all been in vain, huh? Fine time to realize that, now that the bodies are all six feet under and the bills start coming due."

"You know that's not what I meant," snapped Regrad.

With a sagely nod, Viryn said "I know, it's what you did mean that worries me. Go ahead, say it."

Regrad sighed, at last managing to meet his old Minister's eyes. "Was it all in vain? Would we have been better off if none of this had ever happened? If I'd died in some brush war on Krakken IV? If I'd never even heard of my gods' mad prophecy? If I'd never been born?"

A satisfied grin split across Viryn's features, and he swung round to Regrad's side. "That's the magic question. Alright, we're ready to get this show on the road."

Puzzled, Regrad looked away from Viryn as a flash straight ahead of him caught his gaze. The world around them seemed to become fuzzy and flickery, before finally disappearing altogether. Entirely undistrubed, Viryn lit a cigarra drawn from an inner pocket, adding "You might want to brace yourself, bud."

"What?" said Regrad, but before he could be answered a blinding light filled the empty space around them. When it faded, Regrad found himself standing on a mountain plateau.

It took him a moment to realize it, but he was standing on the ground where once the Command Tower had stood, now cleared as though it had never felt the touch of Azguard feet.

"What happened?" mumbled Regrad, as he glanced around, trying to find a landmark to orient himself.

Viryn took a puff from the cigarra. "Exactly what you asked for. This is the galaxy if you were never born." When Regrad looked at him flabbergasted, he added "Don't fight it, trust me, it's just best to go with the flow."

"But..." muttered Regrad, looking around. "Where is everyone? Where did the tower go? The..."

"Do I have to repeat the 'never born' part again?" asked Viryn, grinding his cigarra flat under his boot. "Recap, greyboy, you wanted to know if it was all in vain, here's your chance. This is the galaxy sans you. Go ahead and look around."

Still feeling greatly disoriented, Regrad walked down the dirt path that he had last seen as a major thoroughfare. Reaching the edge of the plateau, he looked down to where the city of Az should have been. Fortunately, it still was.

Mostly.

"Okay, yeah," said Viryn, as he caught up to Regrad. "So step one - remember that guy you replaced early in your career? Dolash? This time you weren't there to exile him. Yolem's resistance cell got crushed flat, leading to much bloodier revolutionaries taking his place, and before you know it? Bam - holy war between the tribes. All against each other, and all against Dolash."

Even from their distant spot on the mountain slope, the fires that burned the city of Az looked like raging infernos. Flags and crude graffiti were plastered across battered walls, marking different districts as belonging to different tribes. At the center, the once idyllic starport had been transformed into a massive, blackened fortress. The fortress seemed under siege, but if he squinted, it seemed to Regrad that the besiegers spent as much time blasting each other as the fortress walls.

"Let's get a closer look," said Viryn, setting off towards the city. Regrad managed to snap out of his shock in order to follow.

"What about the gods?" exclaimed Regrad, horrified. "Their guidance kept the peace on Azguard for hundreds of millenia! Countless thousands of generations have passed in peace!"

"Yeah, funny things, gods," remarked Viryn. "Let's see what the locals have to say about that."

It wasn't long before they reached the city perimeter. Azguardian architecture tended to be all over the place, from smooth and elegant curves to blocky gothic architecture as the mood struck them. After sufficient civil war, however, all architecture starts to look the same - ruined. Ruined guard posts still watched over ruined highways that lead into ruined streets lined with ruined buildings. Some of it was on fire. Those were the bits still intact enough to have flammable componants.

"Is it safe?" said Regrad, inching forwards uneasily. Some of the graffiti had been written in blood.

"Hell no," said Viryn, who strode happily forwards. "Don't worry, you can't die here. Probably."

They hadn't taken more than a step into the city itself before the sound of shooting could be heard. Two jeeps came burning along the road, spitting small arms fire at each other as the passengers tried to tear each other apart.

Instinctively, Regrad rolled towards an alley for cover, watching with horrified fascination as members of the Light and Fire tribes roared and spat las-fire back and forth. Their clothes were ragged and dirty, but far more terrifying were their expressions, twisted into masks of pure contempt far from anything Regrad had witnessed besetting his people.

At last, the jeep carrying the Fire tribe warriors caught alight and smashed into another wreck, causing the vehicle to burst into a sudden fireball. Cheering victoriously, the Light tribe's jeep came to a screeching halt barely a few meters from Regrad and Viryn's hiding place.

They didn't go unnoticed for long, with one of the warriors turning and spotting them as they lurked. He barked in the gutteral native tongue of Azguard, pointing a threatening blaster in Regrad's direction, before his expression softened. "Oh, I'm sorry brother, these streets are dangerous and mistakes are often made."

Recognized as a tribemate, Regrad rose from his position. "No harm done. Tell me, what's going on?"

Grinning, the warrior moved over to make space for Regrad in the jeep. "We're massing for a fresh assault on the tyrant's fort. Care to join us?"

Seeing no alternative at the moment, Regrad climbed aboard. No one seemed to notice or care that Viryn followed him, if they could even see him at all. "What's happened to this city?"

"Too much," the warrior growled, already scanning the horizon for any other approaching targets. "It is as prophecy fortold. The end times are nigh, and all true believers must stand against the darkness!"

"And this darkness... you think it's Dolash?" Regrad could remember him as somewhat of an arrogant and small-minded fool, but the idea that he was the evil of legend seemed... insulting. Merely a big fish in a small pond. Or a small fish in a puddle.

"No, of course not," sniffed the warrior in reply. "It's everyone. Everyone but us, of course. The others have abandoned the ways of the Gods, but today - today we, of the Light tribe, will return it to them!" Whooping and hollaring, the other warriors in the jeep began to fire in the air. They were rapidly approaching the dark fortress, where a massive and chaotic pitched battle was taking place.

"We have to get moving," said Viryn, nodding towards a landing pad sticking off the side of the fortress. "There's a lot more for you to see, and not much left to do here."

Feeling torn between his urge to stay and reason with his kinsmen and his desire to see the rest of his dream through, the decision was made for Regrad when they hit a landmine. Sent hurtling through the air, only through the most reflexive of leaps did he manage to escape being crushed by the burning ruin of the jeep and the corpses of his fellows.

Recovering his senses quickly, Regrad soon realized what a mistake that was when he saw the extent of the carnage before him. All around, Azguardian tore into Azguardian with blade, claw, and gun. With seven sides involved in the fighting, there was little discrimination between opponants, resulting in one long, savage slaughter.

Again, Viryn seemed to move unnoticed and unharmed through the crowd, leading Regrad onwards. The fighting was so intense they moved easily to the blasted walls of the fortress itself. They made it all the way to the landing pad, where ships aplenty awaited them - Regrad thought it odd that none seemed to want to use the ships to escape the bloodshed, but felt a chill when he realized that assumed anyone wanted to leave. Even so warped, he recognized the natural Azguardian inclination towards stubborness. They would fight here until every one of them laid dead.



The journey through space had been unremarkable, which was itself remarkable until Regrad remembered that the extensive space defenses he had built to protect Azguard would not have been built without him. Their destination, however, was far more heavily protected.

Viryn was taking them to Naboo, and time seemed to pass incredibly fast as they flew, so that the trip across the galaxy seemed to take only a few minutes. Approaching the wondrous green-blue world, Regrad saw that its' beauty was marred by black scars, and that a vast Imperial fleet of no design he recognized lay in orbit.

"Don't worry about getting in," remarked Viryn. "Even if I wasn't doing my supernatural spirit-quest thing, the Empire's dumb as shit in every reality. It's no problem skirting around them."

A few minutes more and they were on the ground, outside of Theed. The city seemed different, somehow colder and less colourful. Dolash had only read about the planet and seen it in pictures, of course, but the moment he stepped off the shuttle he could feel it.

"There's something wrong here..." he muttered.

"You may find that's a running theme," remarked Viryn, who pointed at a banner hanging over a city street. "Same goes for those Imperial flags hanging so patriotically over main street. Come on, let's see if the mastermind who schemed the invasion of Corellia can figure out what's going on here."

As they walked towards the city, Regrad said "The Jedi Order... they live - or, lived here... Why would... I mean, didn't the Empire and the Sith take Naboo in our timeline as well?"

"Oh yes, certainly they did," said Viryn, who lead Regrad down the darkened streets. "All these stormtroopers you seen marching around, they're all in the real world too. Same guys, even. Except the 'real world' doesn't have this."

Rounding a bend, Regrad stopped dead as his eyes fell on a horrific sight. "My gods... what happened here?"

The Jedi temple - or at least, the ground where it had once stood - was a burnt mess, a vast crater torn apart so violently that the land and buildings surrounding it for hundreds of yards had been burnt to nothingness. Taking a few steps closer, Regrad tried to explain it in his mind.

"The Jedi Order disbanded before the Empire and the Sith came to wipe them out..." he muttered as he walked. "Why, then..."

"Who was the Jedi who disbanded the order, huh?" said Viryn, keeping pace as they approached the ruins. "Your nephew, the other Dolash, who never would have become a Jedi if you hadn't been there for him. He never became a Jedi, so the Order never disbanded, so when the Empire and Sith came, well..."

Reaching the ruins itself, Regrad could now see only one stone was standing in the whole area, a monolith inscribed with fine script. Approaching it, Regrad realized it was a list of names. "Traitors to the Empire and the Force..." he mumbled, as he began to read. "There were so many... even children."

"It's amazing the sorts of people the Empire can take offense to, huh?" remarked Viryn.

Regrad's eyes alighted on one name in particular, as he looked. "Frakutsk, of all people? But he wouldn't hurt a fly! He's the softest and kindest practicioner of the Force I've ever met."

"Yeah, soft and kind doesn't exactly fly with the 'new' Jedi," said Viryn, who stuck his thumb out towards a knot of approaching stormtroopers. "Speak of the devil..."

As the troopers approached, they parted to allow a man in a crisp black uniform to take the lead. "You there, Alien," he spat, with clear contempt. "What are you doing here? This is a restricted area, especially for your kind."

"My kind?" replied Regrad, feeling claws already extending from his hands.

"Sounds like he's trouble," growled one of the troopers, subtly flicking his rifle's setting from stun to kill. "You want I should take him down?"

"No, not yet," replied the man in the uniform, who reached down to his belt and unclipped a lightsaber. "Let me try reasoning with the beast - your presence here is unwelcome, animal. By authority of the Jedi Corps, I demand that you leave."

Regrad seemed prepared to throw himself into a violent frenzy and rip the man - the pretender - into two easily manageable pieces. Only Viryn's touch on his arm caused him to regain control and offer a jerky nod. The two of them strode away, the Imperial soldiers' gaze boring holes into their backs until they were gone.

"Let's go," said Viryn. "There's more for you to see."



Regrad had never actually been to Bonadan, but it was much as he'd imagined it. Huge corporate skyscrapers, parks, fast transit, all part of making commerce thrive. "Seems pretty normal," said Regrad, as they touched down in a starport.

"Oh, really?" said Viryn, who climbed out of the pilot's chair. "Gee, I wonder if I made a mistake? I'm only your omniscient spirit guide, maybe I stumbled into the wrong scene?"

"Point taken," said Regrad, who followed. They walked for a time in the twisty streets before descending a few levels, down where sunlight was rarer and litter more common. Eventually, Viryn's natural sense of direction seemed to draw him to a seedy dive bar, one so low to the ground Regrad had to bend double just to get in.

"Smells like home," Viryn remarked with a grin. "Pull up a stool."

Feeling uncertain about what he was supposed to notice, Regrad did so. They didn't have to wait long before the sound of a fight behind them caught their attention.

"I don't need you!" shouted a scruffy man with too much stubble and too much drink. "I don't need anybody! Not anymore! Not never!" The man he was making these statements to was a stone-faced bouncer, who had had the audacity to ask him if he was feeling alright.

The rant quickly broke down into unintelligible gibbering, and the bouncer was about to articulate his response before Viryn helpfully lowered the raised fist and said "Take a hike, buddy, I'll deal with this guy." Taking the cue, the bouncer departed.

Helping the drunk back on to his seat, Viryn gestured for Regrad to sit with them in the little dingy booth. "Sounds like you've had a hard life, stranger."

"You don't know the half of it," the grizzled old man replied, momentarily regaining focus. "You got any spare change? My tab here's killing me."

"Sorry, fresh out," replied Viryn. "You know, we didn't catch your name earlier."

"Prolly 'cause I didn't said it," said the man, who slapped the table and laughed hoarsely as though this was the height of comedy. "N'ver mind, s'just as good as mud now, nobody wants to know my name."

"So whose name do they want to know?" asked Regrad, catching on to Viryn's line of thinking."

The man's lip curled in disgust. "Arliss!" he hissed. "That rat-fink sonuvabitch ran me out of business on crooked contracts and Imperial nepotism! Fuck him! Fuck him in his... in his daughter!" This seemed to cause the man to break down and cry, as if touching a painful memory.

"Wait, Arliss?" said Regrad, his brow furrowing. "I know that name... what do you mean he ran you out of business?"

"Take a look," the man muttered, pointing to a window above them. "What, you think I drink here for the companionship? No, this dive's got the best view of what he stole from me."

Looking up, Regrad saw the huge logo of Arliss Industries hanging on the side of a building he'd seen countless times, either in intelligence reports, economic updates, or plastered on the covers of success-story magazines. "He stole that from you? But that means you're..."

"Fuck off," muttered Seth Vinda, knocking over his drink with a sudden angry spasm. "Fuck off and let me drink."

"Sure," said Viryn, a touch of sympathy entering his voice. "Let's go, Regrad."

The two departed the little bar and began walking back towards the surface as Regrad tried to work it all out. "But the Empire could never have taken over the Corporate sector. Their financial muscle was a far greater deterrant than the Coalition's actual muscle."

"Consider that without your actual muscle to keep them busy, the Imperial fleet would have nothing better to do than show businessmen what a fire sale really means," Viryn answered as they ascended another story. "I was going to hit up the Commonwealth too, to show you what happened to them, but I like the personal touch Seth brought to things. Also, it's hard to get personal with the Commonwealth now that they're all corpses on glass-balls. Don't even get me started on Capricia - the planet looks like a giant disco-ball."

As they approached the starport, a knick-knack salesman suddenly cut in front of them. "Excuse me gentlemen, could I interest you in a few reminders of your trip to Bonadan? Maybe a few postcards? I have some great holo-cameras for holiday snaps."

Regrad was once again stopped dead in his tracks, as his eyes narrowed on the man behind the little beat-up cart. "Jan? Jan Dondana?"

Suddenly looking hunted and scared, the knick-knack man stepped back. "Who? What? No, you must be mistaking me for someone else, I'm Snow Aitken."

"What the hell are you doing selling crap on Bonadan?"

"After the whole rebel thing didn't work out he went into hiding," explained Viryn, much to Jan's horror. "Frankly I don't know why you're so surprised, the guy was always one disaster away from flipping out and going to live in the wilderness with Ewoks or some shit."

Jan threw his souvenier cart to the ground and ran screaming into the city, elicting only a few spare glances from the well-dressed passers by. Without missing a beat, Viryn kept going towards their ship. "Let's keep going."



The Core had been much as he'd expected, even as they only rocketed past it on their way to Coruscant. The Imperial fleet was everywhere, their ships far larger and more fearsome than ever before.

Monuments to Imperial glory, some comemorating men Regrad knew as monsters or battles remembered as slaughters, dotted space and also the worlds that filled it. When they passed the Death Star memorial, in remembrance to the fallen crew and made of the melted-down remains of Alderaan, Regrad had almost burst out laughing at the abusrd super-villany levels the Empire had apparently achieved.

Corsucant, on the other hand, Regrad had seen before and thus had a standard to compare it against. The first thing he noticed as they touched down, though, was "Where are the aliens?"

"What do you mean?" said Viryn, eyeing the twelve foot hairless grey creature at his side.

"The non-humans..." Regrad frowned. "I know the Empire killed or drove off many of them, but I don't even see any near-humans. Everyone's just... human."

"If you need me to explain that one to you, I'm going to take back that 'genius of Corellia' thing I said," said Viryn as they set out on to the street. "Come on, let's head for the palace."

"But why would the Coalition impact a purely internal matter with the Empire?" said Regrad, puzzled. "The Empire of the real world employs Chiss and other near-humans almost happily."

"That's because the Empire of the real galaxy needs those aliens to bulk up the numbers and actually make conquest viable," replied Viryn with an exasperated tone. "Not to mention it's much easier to push ethnic cleansing without having to worry about what the neighbours think."

A massive statue of Palpetine dominated the plaza before the palace. It was indicative of an entire style shift for Coruscant, that felt - if it were possible - as if the city were somehow 'more' Imperial than before. Where before Coruscant had seemed the eternal city, merely draped in Imperial finery, now it seemd as if something distinctly Imperial had seeped into the very architecture.

Being the only alien was making navigation of this new world difficult, however, or else it would have done if not for the dream seemingly hiding Regrad's presence again. He and Viryn walked without concern all the way up to the Imperial palace itself, which seemed far more decadent and luxurious than the business-minded High Command had been. As they approached the doors, at last someone seemed to notice them.

"Do you have an appointment?" a bored-looking security guard droned from behind a checkpoint. A note of sarcasm tinged his voice, as if to suggest his next two words would have been "Not likely."

Viryn seemed genuinely surprised at the interruption. "How come you can see us? This is supposed to be a private dream sequence."

"Yeah, well, I'm his fairy godmother and you're nosing in on my turf," the guard replied, the sarcasm now running thick.

"Look, Mr... Palestar," said Viryn, reading off the nametag. "When you're the one directing the dream sequence, you can come up with whatever soppy message and meaningful images you want. I'm running the show on this one, and I say we get to go into the palace, so set aside."

"Suit yourself," Mr. Palestar growled. "Not like they pay me enough to guard this stupid place anyways."

Proceeding into the palace, Regrad felt a tangible drop in temperature and increase in anxiety. "This place is... unnatural."

"'The cave!'" exclaimed Viryn in a silly voice. "'Remember the day you were in the cave!' Seriously, Regrad, it's just the manifest sensation of evil hanging in the air, nothing to worry about."

As they went further into the luxuriously decorated Imperial palace, however, the sense of unease grew within Regrad until he felt as though he was going to jump out of his skin. "Whatever we're approaching, it must be of the Dark Side of the Force. Only that sort of dark sorcery could create this much dread."

"The boy got it in one!" said Viryn, smiling as he threw open the last set of doors in front of them. "Let's show him his prize!"

At last reaching the throne room, Regrad was awestruck at the construction before him. A wondrously evil thing of all manner of precious stones and metals, the entire chamber seemed like one sweeping rise towards a gloriously mounted seat. In that seat sat a figure so repulsive, yet so recognizable, that it caused Regrad to shout "You have got to be fucking joking."

"That's my line," grunted Viryn moodily as he followed Regrad. "Say hello to Emperor Hyfe, otherwise known as Emperor Palpetine the Second."

"But he's... and he's... then he was... the bastard is dead!"

"Yeah, life's funny like that, answered Viryn, as he casually approached the ruling demon. "The long and short of it is that at one point, Palpetine's ghost tries to take over Hyfe to become Emperor again. He's stopped by the Jedi Corps and... something else, it's confusing. The point is though, he wouldn't have been stopped if those things hadn't existed, and those things wouldn't have existed if the Empire didn't need to fight the Coalition, and the Empire wouldn't need to fight the Coalition if you weren't there to make it what it was.

"Six degrees of seperation, huh?" remakred Viryn, now standing next to Palpetine II. "It's a hell of a game."

As Regrad approached, he saw the sides of the throne were lined with men in black robes, their heads bowed and their voices hushed. "Sith acolytes," explained Viryn, as Regrad watched them. "In case it wasn't clear by now, the Dark Side is riding pretty high. Once the big bad over here disposed of the bickering newcomers like Lupercus and Vance, it was a hop, skip, and a jump to rebuilding the Sith in his old crazy image."

"So does this explain why the Empire became so much more radical?" asked Regrad, as he stood now before the Emperor himself. "Does this explain the aggression? The oppression?"

"A little bit, but don't confuse cause and effect," Viryn replied. "The Emperor's pretty bad, but a lot of the evil you've seen was just the result of there being no one to check the Empire along the way."

Regrad looked into the face of the Emperor, having to kneel down to do so. He wondered for a moment at the last time he had done this, and considered if this Emperor would have been as forgiving, as merciful as the other. Or if he would have preffered to tear the galaxy bloodily apart just so he could stand alone as unchallenged ruler of all.

"Let's go," said Viryn, as he descended the steps of the throne. "Just one more stop."



"I don't understand why we're here," muttered Regrad, as the wandered the halls of the psych ward. It had been a surprisingly short walk from the palace, even counting the time-warping effect of the dream. Situated in the side of a huge block of offices and the like, the ward had looked half mental hospital and half prison.

On the inside things weren't much better. The first thing Regrad had noticed was that it was operated entirely by droids. They shuffled about with trays of medication and stacks of paperwork, making the place feel all the less alive and all the more monstrous. The only light came from the row upon row of padded cells, each blindingly white and bright as the light spilled through narrow windows into the rest of the facility.

"Don't worry, you will," replied Viryn, as usual in the lead. The men and women on the other sides of the doors run the gamut from stark raving mad, screaming and jumping, to simply being curled in the corner, silent and alone.

Eventually reaching a cell at the furthest end of the ward, Viryn popped the lock with practiced ease and opened the door. "Step inside, there's an old friend I want you to meet."

Puzzled, Regrad stepped inside. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the blinding light, but he could see a figure sitting cross-legged in the middle of the room, his arms bound by a straight-jacket. A low table had been set before him.

"No..." muttered Regrad, as his eyes adjusted. "It couldn't possibly be..."

There before him sat Simon Kaine, once Supreme Commander of the Empire, impassively staring at the table set before him. Painted on the table surface was a chessboard. There were no pieces, and yet he stared at it intently.

"With no enemies to fight, his purpose was served," said Viryn, as he circled the man before them. "It was too early, though, for some sort of grand retirement. He wasn't finished moulding the New Order, and as soon as his services weren't needed he was finished. A few psycho pills, an order from the Emperor himself, and suddenly the greatest mind in the galaxy is rotting away in obscurity.

"He never stopped Hyfe from turning into Palpetine. He never curbed the power of the Sith or put a limit on the genocidal practices of the Empire. He didn't order the mass murder of the Core's aliens, but others with far less noble intentions ordered much larger massacres without his help. He never truly became Simon Kaine."

As Regrad watched, Simon Kaine made no move whatsoever. Only the barest movement of his chest suggested he was alive at all. There were no pieces to move, no free hands with which to move them, and no opponant to play against. There was just a man, waiting.

"I've seen enough," Regrad muttered. "I'm finished with this dream. I know now, I know! It wasn't in vain! Even in failure, even in defeat and embarrasment and pain and shame and suffering, it was worth it! Every struggle, every mistake, every decision! All worth it and all ones I'd make again! Just let me wake from this nightmare!"

"Wish granted," Viryn replied, and the light in the little cell went out.



When it turned back on, Regrad found his was lying on the floor just outside his room. Paramedics, security staff, and all manner of officials from the House were crowded around him.

"Easy there, big fella," said Jan, leaning in from one side. "You okay there? Paramedics say to fell backwards and smacked your head on the ground. Good thing you didn't fall forwards or we'd be using a spatula right about now."

"Jan?" said Regrad, muzzily. "You're okay?"

"Of course I am," said Jan, with a big smile. "You should be the one we're worrying about. Damn nearly cracked your skull open. That'd be messy, I mean there's two brains sloshing around up there."

"Hesa needin' bandaygees?" asked Frakutsk, whose stalk-eyes poked up over the crowd, and who gripped handfulls of bandages in each hand. "I brings from mesa office, fix boss-guy's head-thinker right up if need."

"No, no, I'm quite fine," said Regrad, who struggled to his feet. "Just a nasty tumble. What time is it?"

"Still early," said Ferguson, who dusted off Regrad as he readjusted his robes. "We've got those Sinsangese trade negotiators in the lobby waiting to talk to you, if we hurry we can stay on schedule for that evening meeting-"

"You know what?" said Regrad, now turning to address the dozens of staff members gathered around him. "I was thinking... let's cancel the evening meeting. Get the cooking staff together and see about laying down some trestle tables in the main chamber. Why don't we have a little dinner to celebrate NDHT?"

This got a round of supportive cheers, as well as more than a few surprised looks. "Sir," said Ferguson, gesturing down towards the ambassadors. "What about the Sinsangese? We can't just cancel that meeting, can we?"

"Of course not, how thoughtless of me," said Regrad, slinging and friendly arm over Ferguson's shoulders. "Tell them they're invited to dinner too. Hell, everyone's invited. Send a runner to Az - the whole city's invited. I think it's time we start celebrating the holiday right."

And so the staff of th Coalition Command tower spread out all over town, bringing friends and well-wishers to dine with the staff and the Coalition's leaders. Everyone, from ambassadors and ministers to the common people of the city gathered round to eat, sing, and be merry, and praise what fortune they did have in life.

And as they feasted, Regrad could hear a bell ringing. Somewhere, somehow, Viryn had gotten a drink.