The images collide... collapse



A swirling mass of nearly forgotten experiences and half-formed intentions..



Of plans gone awry and the trials of retreat.



All fading as a light appears (nearly blindingly) against closed eyes and, just as quickly, disappears. The man slowly lets in the surrounding environment with every sense but his eyes as his hands pull closer the tattered remains of a dusty blanket warding off the cold that permeated the room.

The whirring of gears from the rather old housekeeping droid is heard explaining the opening and shutting of the door in front of him as his lids remain shut.

Too much of the surrounding sounds invaded and sleep fled further as his mind engaged and his vision cracks open. He sits up slowly drinking in the cold as he watched silently as his breath seemed to take visible shape in the air with each exhale. The room was completely windowless and bare metal with only a slight thin carpet outlining old walkways for an era faded from memory.


At first glance, not a very secure room. Even at second glance.


Though the occupant was a master at the art of facades he had since learned the value and freedom perfect vulnerability brings. The room was exactly as it appeared for even the most advanced in electronic protection would merely serve as beacons to those he'd rather not face.

At least, not right now.


The man wore a uniform equally as dirty as the blanket that covered him and as he stood from his crouched position of sleep, he draped the blanket over the housekeeping droid in passing. He felt no fear or trepidation at being so helpless, the feeling having been burned out of him long ago.

He was a man bridging the gap between sixty-five and seventy and he felt every bit of it. He was amazed at times just how old he had grown to be in a galaxy that had been at war for the greater part of 30 years.

But even then, he knew his luck would eventually run out.


...for everyone dies.


The man held up a hand to run through his grey hair and aborted the motion at the onset of more memories...


Some memories so old, he had to struggle to remember...




The Hell of Arcadia...


Fighting and destroying his father on Sotel...


Defeating Seamus Arliss on Muunillist...


The War with Fearsons...


The Conquest of Coruscant...


The War with the Coalition...


The Fall and Rise of Daemon Hyfe...


The funeral of Searthen Jiren...



The Themein War...


The Fall of the Belkaden Line...


His hand felt the side of his head as the creature's effects were still burned into his mind and he once more felt a twinge of regret. Of sadness and bitterness at the way things turned out.


If only the generator would have held for five more minutes...


The old rant against a past that could not be changed. Five minutes that spelled the difference between an Imperial victory or the living nightmare of war that erupted within an unwary galaxy.

There was nothing to be done.

The line had broken, the enemy had burst through unable to be contained and Kaine's world changed forever.


No use crying over spilt ambrosia.


At that particular moment, staring out into the depths of the bare wall in front, he reflected on all those old contemporaries that had made up the galaxy he had grown into.


He wondered how they fared and where they dwelt since the Belkadan Line broke. With the destruction of the Galactic Holonet System, information was scarce.


Were they victorious in their endeavors?

Were they safely cocooned six feet under solid ground?


He patted his dusty uniform with his gloved hands seeing the particles of dirt scatch the air. He turned back to the wall he had been sleeping against looking at the faded map of the galaxy, several decades old and his mind turned to more practical matters.


Just where was the enemy?


The rumors of the Black Dragon Empire beginning an offensive outside the Cluster remained unconfirmed as yet. Would such a move, so characteristic of the Daemun's boldness, indicate that Raktus still remained head of his empire or would it be indicative of the Daemun's fear that the action would soon be at the Tion's doorstep?

Either way, the move was the best news he had received lately and the soldiers would have to be told.


Propaganda was too scarce to waste with the reality of their failure, of his failure, all too evident around them.


War.

He'd known war. He'd fought in several and had both triumphed and lost.


But this was a different sort of war that they faced . One that their galaxy had never quite experienced before. For in every conflict, whether between Empire and Republic or Jedi and Sith, there were always... always winners and losers.


The triumphant would rule over the defeated.


But not now. Not in this war.


The Themein War was a war of racial superiority.


In the end, there would only be the triumphant living or the vanquished dead.



And the war started on Themos so long ago was ending.


The signs were everywhere.



Their galaxy needed a victory and a victory soon!



Or there would be no Empire...




Or maybe it was something else...


A feeling of futility that seared through the bitterness of the past. Of opportunities that would never be realized.


We live... we serve... and we die. But the Empire lives on...


The old mantra.


How cold those words feel the closer to the end one gets. And how empty.


The man took one last deep breath before banishing the last of his self doubts, the last of the weak thoughts, the last of memory.


His eyes turned once again hard and Simon Kaine, Emperor of the fractured Galactic Empire, turned and walked to the entrance. Sliding the room's door open he stopped and took in the fires that burned across the Coruscant landscape.

Whatever good such a fight turned out to be.





The hall came to an abrupt end as the walls had been ripped open exposing the structure to the outside weather.

He stepped out, the frost on the ground covering tiny patches moss and vegetation scattered about nearby rocks and broken duracrete stones.







The Blood made no distinction between civilian and military nor, ironically, between human and alien.


Everything was prey.


They had been the stronger and so Isard pulled as much material as she could before the planet fell.


And now here he was, the first Intelligence Agent to return since the fall.

Being in occupied space was audacious enough but to actually be on an occupied planet defied sanity. Imperial Intelligence, such as it was in these trying times, could find no prisons, no holding locations, nothing to indicate just where the Blood kept the hundreds of thousands, no... millions of beings that went missing after a system fell.


No system conquered by the Blood had been retaken in the three decades since their invasion; since the Belkadan Line had broken and they poured into the galaxy with an unrelenting malevolence.


Just what had he hoped to find?





























The Blood did not travel through hyperspace the same as they did. The Blood used some unknown means of travel, the smaller creatures latching onto the large. But their movements were slower but no less effective. What would take an Imperial Star Destroyer days or a week to cross would take the Blood months or a year.

Still, it whereever they travelled, they triumphed.

























































It had started as a joke years before. Now it was not funny.

Former Palatial Grounds, Imperial Center


Everything about the Imperial Palace was afire. And as Kaine moved between the fire-scorched, armoured soldiers standing stalwart amid the darkened ash in the air, the outer courtyard came into view which both lifted the man and brought him low.

What would this have looked like in another setting?

Still the hundreds of men, women, and clones making up the Armoured Corps were preparing to move off into the fires below, hoping against futility to once and for all to drive the insidious enemy from before them. Kaine, having donned his own black armour, scuffed and patched here and there, took the time to halt on the broken precipice and wave to those brave souls (most of whom would not come back). They were going to buy time for the meeting that he was to have and so he would enjoy every precious minute purchased at the cost of their blood.

Once, a long time ago, the Palace Gardens had been a grand sight viewed only by special dignitaries and high ranking officials in the business of extending the Empire's reach. The Empire needed such sights to stimulate the heart as well as motivate the mind.

The absence of them spoke volumes of the situation that faced them. That faced all life within the galaxy.


If the Capital falls, the Empire is shattered.

And if the Empire is shattered, the Blood will roll our forces up and break them once and for all scattering us. Our galaxy will be defeated and we will all die.

Kaine continued his walk over broken marble and cracked duracrete, the flash of plasma enveloping the darkened dawn emerged in the distance only to fall between several towers of broken steel, plastic and concrete.

The Blood seems to have been pushed back somewhat.

He noted a figure standing idle staring out at flashes of weapons fire in the distant horizon without sharing Kaine’s apparent interest in the disposition of the enemy flank. A young figure, not much over twenty years of age turned as the Emperor approached. Kaine smiled warmly at him despite the grim surroundings.

“Marus. How are the preparations coming?” he called out by way of greeting waving off the salute all were required to extend to the Emperor.

Marus Gevel stood a little straighter giving the question serious thought, his gaze as intense as his father’s.


He was preparing the logistics report for the Bastion Conclave's part in the largest offensive planned in the galaxy's history, and for this preparation, his father, Theren Gevel, had insisted on a detailed study of historical battles. Being a former history teacher himself, he expected nothing less than sharp intelligence from his children. Marus, being the oldest, was the first to undergo the scrutiny of the higher members of the Conclave in addition to his father's. Theren would accept no hint of nepotism and so doubled his son’s requirements confident that they could not only be met but exceeded despite the continuing war that surrounded their lives for the past thirty years. Even Blood could not sway the principles in which Theren Gevel lived his life.

It is what made the man such a rock for the Emperor.

Kaine took measure of the young man and had to agree with his friend’s assessment of his son. If anyone could exceed the expectation of the Conclave’s master, it was Marus Gevel.

"I found a curious point within the records, Lord." the boy fell in line with the Emperor's stride. When Kaine nodded, Marus continued, "While sensitive operations were classified, I found an old personal log from a weapon's officer aboard the Zenith. It seems my father obliterated whole cities on N'zoth killing millions of Yevethans."

The dead calm of the boy's reiteration of past events sparked Kaine's anger once more and the Emperor turned to the young man and spoke vehemently.

"I'll not have you even suggest the Yevethans were some sort of noble race! They were animals with only one purpose: The Fall of Man! And they deserved everything they received!"

That's all we need! Someone to suggest the Blood were noble deserving life just as they are killing us!


"Yes sir." the boy replied deadpan.


Kaine's anger suddenly had no catalyst and so began to subside. "Alright." he said and was about to turn when Marus spoke once more in asking, "Then why isn't my father the Emperor?"

The Emperor of the New Order stopped and slowly turned his head to the younger man his narrowed, scowling eyes turning to amusement.


And then the Emperor laughed. The armoured soldiers who lined the smashed corridor at their sovereign's outburst.


"How long did it take you to come up with that?"


"It hit me last night." Marus admitted, his deadpan turning into a slight grin.


"Well, you've definitely mastered the art of the verbal flank, should we see how you do with it's military counterpart?"


"My father awaits your pleasure, lord." the young man paused slightly, "..and the personal log of that officer was destroyed."


Kaine nodded pleased that the boy had realized the importance of his discovery. The next generation of Imperials would do well with leadership under such young men.


Assuming there was a next generation. This ambitious offensive would tell the tale.


The two men kept walking, the Emperor's mood having been brightened slightly.

The vision is an old one. The dream mere embers blown across the cosmos, forgotten as time marches inevitably onward...


But there are some things that are not forgotten.


Deeds.



Words.



Perhaps powerless at the time when spoken seem to lie dormant when, unexpectedly, their power is unleashed.



There are words important to this story.


Words that refused to die despite time.



Words that would no longer remain silent.


Words of a man dead for over thirty years....


The old man’s eyes suddenly grew hopeful at the tone of Ciscero’s voice. “Two wrongs, Motsician do not make a right. The Empire was vile, tyrannical and set up a government of fear… the New Republic is obtuse, ineffective, greedy and self interested….


Must we select between two evils?


No!


If we know what is right, WE SET THE EXAMPLE!


...You have exceptional perception and foresight!


Act on events to shape the future as we desire!


Do not let events shape you!


Do not let events push you along a course that you do not want..”




Ciscero contemplated the course that lay before him. A road that he had told himself time and again he had abandoned with various acts committed over the years.

But then, that thinking only applied when one sought redemption.


Ciscero wanted no redemption.


Balledan's old arguement before the soldiers took him away... The old man who had the privilege of being the last Republican Senator on Coruscant before it fell to the Empire refused to fade from memory.


One man can make a difference.


It was time for him to act on events to shape the future...


It was time to cast the dice...



The Blood would only give them one chance..


He signaled the Shroud, focusing his attention away from the Black Hand operative, and back towards the settlements.


It was supposed to be a test. The Emperor needed his answer.



But the settlement changed things.



"K-234, activate and release them." he whispered.

WHEN!



The question became a demand and Byron cried out, "I DON'T KNOW!"


There had been rumors that the Emperor was planning something big but those rumors were always spread around.

WHERE?


The voice demanded. An unusually harsh and alien presence and Byron's eyes registered confusion. Before he could voice it, a memory of seeing a holovid of the Emperor was recalled.


WHERE?


And Byron wanted to scream as the pressure increased.


"NO!" he shouted out but his mind was already relenting, a vision of the Imperial Palace came to mind.


And all of a sudden, images came to mind. Images of the creatures retreating from their central position before the Imperial armies allowing them to advance. The Blood moved along a singular route toward the Agreon Sector. Once gathered in full strength, hidden behind the lines of the armoured corps, they would move to the surface, propell themselves over the Administrative District giving the Blood a foothold in the Imperial District and the bastion of Emperor Kaine.


With the Palace and District destroyed, the Imperials would be on the run and the forces of the Blood would began to advance from without as well as outward from the center enveloping the remaining human armies.


By being surrounded now, they set themselves up at being the central anvil for their brethren fleeing from the advance of the humans when they chose to stop and strike once more.


Byron wanted to lash out against the creature knowing he could be killed instantly but the creature kept him held by some unseen vice.


And then an image of his wife appeared, causing the fight to drain out of Byron.


SEE?


The man numbly nodded and the creature moved away from the human allowing him to see the darkened corridor that led further down into the bowels of the City Planet and Agreon Sector.


The vice holding him immobile suddenly disappeared and the man stood weakly.


The creatures did not move though he saw smaller ones crawling upside down overhead slowly.


He began to walk towards the corridor trying vainly to remember details about his wife, tears streaming from his eyes.


At the entrance he hesitated for it was pitch black. He turned his face around to look at the creature and the image of his wife came back and the voice again sounded.

SEE?



And he stepped through the entrance and into the black.


All around he heard carapace movement and the clicking of pincers. And as he moved farther in, the light from the entrance dimming he thought he was able to see ahead as his eyes ajusted.


"Veni?" he called out weakly, his face wet with crying.


Only a rustling sound came from ahead.


His shoes crunched the small broken pieces of duracrete the farther in he went.


"Veni?"


And then his eyes caught sight of something.



Tiny.



Like little white squares upon an obsidion smooth sphere.


The rustling sound came again and a clicking noise to his left and right.


There were hundreds upon hundreds of the itny white squares set against the smooth obsidion.


Thousands!


The creature behind him in the entrance moved blocking the light from the opening and the squares disappeared but only for a second.


The rustling sound was closer.


His voice broke into a sob as the reality of his situation finally broke through.


"VENI!" he screamed as the reflection of the entrance faded from the eyes watching him.


And the human screams filled the blackness...

The Republic


“Shuttle on approach vector acknowledged. Welcome home Admiral.”


“Shuttle confirms. It’s good to be back.” Admiral Vespian, tired and exhausted, looked down at his similarly aged Helm Commander and noted how they had both been together since the beginning. In fact, his entire Command Crew had remained with him throughout the thin and thick of life and were there with him now.


At the end.


The Iron Mantis, a keel laid in an early New Republic shipyard over thirty years ago, was still his pride and joy. But even the sentimentality he felt took a back seat when one looked at the Victory Star Destroyer now.


Even the name drew a cynical response.


Victory.


Was it even sane to dream of it now?



The Mantis had survived many battles and was one of the Republic’s few command ships that had survived the invasion of their galaxy by the Blood.


Sanctuary, the planet that Han Solo and those that remained from the Rebellion had hoped would spark the fire that would eventually grow into a Republic, once more.


An answer against the brutality of the Empire.


It was funny how life was sometimes. Ironic, really. He had harbored a hatred for Emperor Kaine for as long as he could remember. He had spent decades thinking his fiance, Marlena, was dead after the battle of Dantooine, the successful attack against the Empire's Eclipse Class Star Destroyer led by Gash Jiren and Xylon Hexyra.


Two powerful Jedi Masters who he wished were here now.


Desperately, for these were desperate times.


Ten years ago, the Empire, the Black Dragon Empire, the Coalition and the Republic had held a war council to decide just what would be done to combat the proliferation of the Blood. During that time, and after winning an exchange of information concession from the Empire, Trajan had learned that Marlena has survived the attack and was being held in a prison planet.


Unfortunately, the planet was well within the sphere of the Blood but with the Grand Offensive, it was then called, Vespian thought that the Mantis might have been able to reach the prison planet.


As it turned out, the Grand Offensive failed and the Iron Mantis did reach the planet. Unfortunately, the planet was devoid of life.


And now, there she was..


The VSD Iron Mantis, pitted and scarred and covered with plate armor to repair numerous hull breaches and bristling with weaponry designed for larger ships, Trajan could not help but feel some sense of futility.



How many more would have to die before we lose hope?


He remembered the meeting he and his old captain attended on Corellia during the Empire's blockade of the system. When Gash Jiren proposed a strike against Tilaric Brel's New Empire.


An alliance with the Empire had seemed a bitter pill to swallow.



Now, it seemed to be the thread by which all their lives dangled.


He had just come from Waypoint, the last Republic shipyard in existence. He had been sent by the President to evaluate and improve the efficiency of the operation as quickly as possible for the Blood were pressing ever further.


That his flagship, the Mantis, still remained was a source of relief.


The shuttle docked smoothly and as Admiral Vespian left, followed by his staff who had followed him to Waypoint. Upon descending from the shuttle, he found himself face to face with the President of the Republic. His stance instantly straightened and he saluted.


“Permission to come aboard, Mr. President.” He asked formally.


The President stared at him with the glare that had made him famous before his equally famous grin's white teeth spread across his lips. “You've gotta lot nerve coming here after what you pulled.”


The Admiral was taken aback by the sadness in the man's voice despite the grin as he said those words.

Still, Trajan returned the grin, “I appreciate you taking me from there, Lando.”


The older man shrugged off Trajan’s words with a wave of his hand, “Nonsense. I figured you pulled our collective bacons out of the fire often enough, it was the least we could do.”


“And how is...?” Vespian asked, an odd gleam in his eye. The President's grin widened and patted Trajan on the shoulder. "Enough of my personal life, we have to get down to business."


That drew Vespian up seriously. “Kaine?”


“The New Order is about to have it’s shroud of secrecy unveiled and the Blood are not going to be happy.”


Trajan looked unconvinced. “They’ve been trying to conquer Coruscant for years. Decades!”


“But this time something will be done. We have the power and the clout to reveal ourselves just one more time. To once again play on the galactic scale. It is time we controlled events!” the President was emphatic on that last part.


“Emperor Kaine must have an impressive plan, Mr. President, to see you so worked up."


President Calrissian stopped to allow the Admiral to arrange for use of the ship's conference room. As he did so, he whispered. "Traj, the Empire is losing. The Dragons report that advance elements of the Blood have finally reached Dameo and the Coalition front was smashed a week ago. High Lord Regrad is engaged in a reinforced retreat to safe worlds.

There is no telling how safe those worlds will remain and there is no telling just how much men and materials our Alliance has lost.

They've bought us time with their lives.


It's time we fought!"

Imperial Center, Imperial High Command


Strategic Planning Room -
Themein War, 27th year after the fall of the Belkaden Line



Simon Kaine took a seat at the cracked conference table. Gone was the typical holographic projection of the galaxy he displayed when younger. In it's place were several holonet links to the various Imperial military groups scattered across the galaxy. At least, those major Imperial fleet divisions still with access to workable holonet technology.


With the aging Emperor was the equally ancient Grand Marshall Azrael Zell, Praetor Theren Gevel, Sever Kraken, a relative of the late Vice Admiral Park Kraken and several other Imperial fleet leaders. The one notable absence that they were all holding their breath on was Grand Moff Bhindi Palleon. She had married a cousin of the late Admiral that had succeeded former Grand Admiral Thrawn and, after seizing the man's family's assets, had him killed securing for herself a political foundation.

Something that could have given her enough political clout to make a bid for the Emperor-ship should she have wanted it. Unfortunately, the Blood Invasion secured her attention for the past few decades.

And now, from the half-gathered intel reports, the Blood was making a final push toward the heart of the Yaga Minor Protectorate, Yaga Minor itself.

Kaine new that the fate of the Empire could very well rest in the outcome of that battle for it not only would the fate of one of the Empire's greatest fleet strategists be determined but, almost as important, the outcome of one of the Empire's largest fleets including the Moff's famed "Black Fleet".


Her role would be critical in the upcoming plans for what fleet she had left afterward would be what forces the Empire had on station to strike Belkaden directly; something that was all but impossible before for the Blood had remained there in strength.

Now, moving forward with their attacks, the Blood presence had diminished giving the Empire.. giving the Galaxy a narrow window of opportunity to smash their foundation on the planet and stop the source of Blood reinforcements.

Bhindi's fleet alone would not be nearly enough but it was a start. And Kaine preferred to have an Imperial tactical mind on location.. one he trusted to work to get the job done.


It was times like these that he missed his old comrade, Ibren Chandler. But the Admiral had been dead over ten years and there was nothing the Emperor had save impotent memories and futile wishes.


The meeting was going to start as soon as the New Republic representative connected from their hidden location and, hopefully, when High Lord Regrad of the Coalition signaled.


Regular updates from the front in the surrounding districts came in over a datapad next to him and his eyes glanced at numbers, positions and loss figures that scrolled by.


He hated what he was about to do for it effectively would shatter the New Order for a good long time if not forever. When he thought back to all the operations, all the battles, all the conflicts he had been embroiled in he wondered what it all amounted too.


What good did he do for the Empire after it was all said and done?


He also waited for a report from Ciscero, one of the few Intelligence agents left. Isard and her organization had been destroyed during one of the first bold strikes the Blood made to intimidate the various galactic governments.


Krake's Planet had all been forgotten since the Belkaden Line.



He wondered if his presumption was correct after all.



After all, the fate of the galaxy rested on it.

Uh, No

After all, the fate of the galaxy rested on it.





The Emperor's mind cast back to the greatest space battle that the galaxy had seen in ages.


The Battle of Algeron.




Back when we thought our cause was the power within our veins...


Back when the illusion of our army's invincibility still held fast...



The vast resources of nearly every government of the galaxy had come together to defend the largest assault on a single planet by the Blood since Belkaden.



The Blood were creatures that could travel through the vacuum of space, unhindered by any technological accessories. Living... terrifying creatures that traversed the spaceways as one might traverse the bottom of an oceanic expanse.


Fortunately for the galaxy, the Blood travelled them rather slowly. Where a typical journey by hyperdrive would take five days, it would take the Blood five weeks on up to two months.


But their lack of speed was compensated by their incredible strength and ability to withstand brutal turbolaser assaults of the many people's they destroyed.


When, at the beginning of the Themien War, the Blood had opened the door between their home and the galaxy over Belkaden, it fell to the New Order to defend the galaxy's interests and close that door. Unfortunately, the line established by the Empire did not quite do the job and, in breaking, allowed the Blood to pour into the galaxy... and there was not alot anyone could do about it.


And while the Empire retreated, the Blood did not seem interested in pursuing their victory in battle to it's logical conclusion. They merely kept pouring into Belkaden, their position growing stronger and stronger as the weeks turned to months and the months to years.


And while the galaxy met in various conferences to try to unite in purpose, to hastily put their differences aside, the Blood worked toward their own designs and launched themselves against Naboo, the home of the Jedi Order.


And while the move spoke volumes to the Empire, Republic and various governments of the invader's interest in destroying the Jedi, there was not much they could do in the way of halting their design.


Naboo's fate was sealed when the Blood turned their gaze towards it.


But the fate of the people... the fate of the Jedi had yet to be decided.


And so the governments prepared to meet the advancement of the Blood sent to Naboo on ground of their choosing (as it were).


They attacked the Blood enroute, in the Algeron System.


And what they thought would be a single Quorom (fleet) of the Blood ended up being upwards over five.


The resulting battle in the Algeron System shattered the galaxy's fleets while the Blood survived with many, many more.


And the spark of hope that those on Naboo had held out was quicly extinguished. Shuttles were scrambled and the order to evacuate the people and the Jedi was sent out.


The Empire... The Republic.... The Coalition.... Everyone, did not expect such a defeat. It would not be their last though it was the most costly.


In the mayhem, Emperor Kaine, jumped his fleet into Naboo space opening the hangers of his largest warships to the evacuees amid the proximity of the enemy.


It is generally believed that the Emperor and his 1st Fleet would have been decimated (if not outright destroyed), the Jedi Order obliterated and the population of Naboo reduced to a nomadic band if not for the heroic efforts of Searthen Jiren of Ossus.


Whatever warships the Rogue Jedi had gathered for the conflict held off four Quoroms for nearly an hour giving everyone the time they needed.


In the end, however, the Zenith broke and the Blood took apart the Ossian fleet. Moving past their burning wrecks and shattered hulls, they made planetfall and have never been removed since.


Searthen Jiren was dead, the final losses of the Battle of Algeron growing to two million humans and aliens alike and the defeat of the Blood seemed farther away than before.



It was now, when a dark shroud had settled across the galaxy... when hope seemed lost and the living began to envy the dead.. that a question stirred the mind of Simon Kaine to renewed purpose.


He remembered it clearly.



At the funeral of Searthen Jiren.





With the Blood remaining in firm control of Belkaden and now, Naboo... they seemed content to sit tight allowing for a much needed reprieve as governments from all over tried to recover from the massive loss of man and materials.


And time was taken to salute the fallen Hero of Algeron as Searthen Jiren was buried on Ossus.


Kaine remembered the solemn assembly where he gazed upon those he had just a few years ago called foes.


Now, brothers in arms against the Blood.


Everyone had left and Kaine merely stood over the stone of the only man to hold Kaine's life in his hand. The man deserved some of the Emperor's time and Simon wondered if his own death would create such fanfare.


Or would he die alone, in some dark corner fighting the Blood to the last?


Would he live long enough to see everything familiar pulled down by these creatures?



Lost in those dark thoughts, Kaine found that he was not alone. For next to him, unassuming and quiet, stood a small, simplistic-looking droid.


At first, Kaine's mind dismissed it as a service droid for the funeral detail. But as his practiced eye moved across the metallic body of the droid noting it's weathered (experienced) appearance, he knew this machine was nothing ordinary.


And, for the life of him, Simon seemed to feel that the droid radiated a sadness as it gazed silently at the plot of land that was now home to Searthen Jiren.


And he was instantly struck with pity. For while Kaine took comfort in the fact that he too would one day die and join those that had gone before him, the question sparked in his mind: What of droids? What of this droid?


Given certain circumstances, they would out pace the onslaught of time.



They would know a thousand introductions and know a thousand losses.


Perhaps it was fortunate that they were droids and devoid of emotion (or so he thought).


What would be this droid's fate?




The droid's optics radiated a glowing intensity and then, suddenly, it's metallic voice addressed Kaine.


"Searthen seemed to indicate that the Blood based their biology, based everything around an advanced form of pyschokinesis. I believe your Research and Development people term it: Psionics." the droid never took his gaze off the grave.


So sudden, so unexpected was the comment that Kaine let a brief moment settle before responding. In all reality, how do you respond to a droid?


Was it off it's programming or did he accept what it said at face value?


He decided the latter for the moment.


"Did he explain?" Simon started but the droid simply seemed to shake its head.



"He couldn't. He died before anything else was relayed. The bastard was always selfish that way."


Simon was not sure how to respond to that and so said nothing. The droid simply kept on talking, "Pretty unaccomodating of him, wouldn't you say?"


"He already knew that. The psychokinesis hypothesis, I mean. We all know it." Simon murmured.


"Of course you do." the droid responded exasperated. "It explains why the Jedi were such a big priority. With their popularity within the galaxy, the Jedi (and the Sith for that matter) must be the closest thing to Blood we have and maybe that scared them. But that's not the point I am making so I would wish you'd stop second guessing me and shut your mouth."


Kaine's eyes narrowed. He'd never met a droid with such an attitude. "It's amazing Jiren did not melt you down to scrap."


The droid merely gave the appearance of shrugging. "It was on his "to do" list. Now shut up and listen."

The droid lifted his gaze to the Emperor, "The Blood direct powerful telekinesis and telepathy at your shields, at your ships, and at your crew's minds.

They must travel manipulating these kinds of energies that we have, even now, found no way to measure."



Though classified, this was nothing new. Simon merely smiled grimly. "You seem to like hacking into Ossian military database."



The droid looked away from the headstone, as if looking around. "Hey, I got skills. Most of them in the company of that lazy bastard napping below my feet."


"Your point, droid." Kaine ordered, feeling that he was not going to be harrassed by a sarcastic droid that seemed to spend too much time in the company of a certain dead Rogue Jedi.


"Only a simple question, Lord and Master of the Galaxy."


Kaine had begun to turn around when the droid's next words stopped him. "What effect does the Blood's telepathy have on the positronic brain?"


An instantly, Kaine's mind was on fire. For as it turned out, that was a very good question. He turned slowly to look at the droid that he knew was going to grow to be a pain in the ass; specifically, his ass.


"My name is D31 and I like frequent oil baths." the droid remarked casually.



"Simon Kaine, Lord and Master of the Galaxy. And we, my obnoxious little friend are going to Geonosis. Now!"


And that was how, on that day, a simple droid became the most important resource in the galaxy.


And Kaine could swear that he heard Gash Jiren laughing from his grave as despair suddenly found a pin-point light shining through.

10 Years Ago, after the Battle of Algeron





"The Blood assaulted our forces using some sort of mind control.."

"Mind control?"

"Well, telepathy. Psychological battering that reduced our ship's performance by almost fifty percent."

Ciscero glanced up, "We actually know the percentage?"

The military man giving the report nearly growled, "It IS an estimate."

"Fact of the matter is, we got our asses kicked at Algeron."

"Kaine was able to rescue alot of the inhabitants, namely the Jedi. It is unfortunate that some of their Masters refused to leave."

"Courageous if stupid. They didn't stand a chance." the military man sat down tired. "Still, they did tell us something we didn't know before."

"And that is?" Ciscero looked interested.

"That the Blood can defeat even Jedi Masters. Makes you realize just how helpful or helpless Lupercus Darksword's Sith will fare."

"Don't count them out just yet." Looking up, "We need to keep the two groups separate, however. There is just too much bad blood between Jedi and Sith to deal with, especially in our present state. Are there any indications that the Blood are continuing to push?"

"No, Sir. Just remaining on Naboo for the time being."

"But closer. Ever closer." murmured the Intelligence Agent. He turned to the view port to note the shipyards working overtime to make hasty repairs. And there were many, many damaged ships out there.


"Why Naboo?" he asked suddenly. "If the Jedi Masters made no difference, why attack in the first place?"


The military officer shrugged. "No difference that we know of, Sir. Still--."


And suddenly there was commotion as Isard walked into the conference area breathing heavily. She had been diagnosed as terminally ill but she still kept on working as she had before and would probably die at her desk.

"Those clever bugs!" she spat out and sat down unceremoniously. "Those damned clever .."

"Director?" Ciscero asked, concerned.

"We should have seen it Ciscero. Damn us all to hell!" and she laughed harshly.

"Director?" Ciscero again prodded.

"They destroyed the Naboo Holonet Relay Station!"


"And?" Ciscero still didn't understand quite yet.

"Agent," Isard started as if she were a teacher and Ciscero the student, "Holonet relays are sacrosanct! In a battle, even the Empire jams signals rather than destroy the holonet..."


"... because we all make use of it." Ciscero concluded and Isard nodded. "But Naboo? What part of the Empire routes it's communications through Naboo?"


Isard smiled grimly. "Imperial Intelligence. We use the passive systems on the relay to bypass any detection perimeters. And so, it serves as a hub for the sector."


"So, unless the military sends a ship.." Ciscero started.


"..We have no way of communicating with our agents in the area."


Ciscero nodded at that. "As you said, clever."








Krake's Planet, Now



"You'd better put this on," Ciscero said to the Black Hand Agent.

As she accepted the head cover made from a material she could not identify, her eyes met his. "What is it designed..."


"You are familiar with the Blood's abilty to blanket areas with telepathic energy?"

"Psionics?"

"Exactly. If they did so, we'd be immobilized in seconds. The 'caps' are designed to prevent us from succumbing to the power."

"How much can they take.."

Ciscero grinned. "It doesn't work that way. The material deflects telepathic connections."


"H... how did you come by this?" the Black Hand agent demanded.


"The material is not common but we've had experience with telepathic species before and dealing with them."

"Who?"


"Ever hear of the Quermians?"


"The propaganda was true?!" the woman was so shocked that Ciscero laughed lightly. "Well, at least that part."

And they slipped the material over their heads securing the cap's straps.


"Well march the droids into the settlement."

"They won't detect your ship?"


"All the crew are outfitted with caps. Hopefully, the Blood won't detect the droids until they enter the city. We are not sure how they will react to positronic minds."


"Droid warriors. Amazing that it comes down to that."


"If all goes according to plan, they will work better than our clone troopers."


"Your Emperor is a genius."


"Well, he can't take all the credit. The initial idea came from a droid, amazingly enough. Kaine just had the good sense to recognize the idea for what it was and impliment practical action."


"Those are old Trade Federation droids."


"Black Hand agents do have some skills," Ciscero commented flippantly as his focus was narrowed on the droids.


The lines of the battle droids began to move, fifty in all, toward the settlemen in the distance.


All our hopes hinge here.


He turned to the other agent. "Here are some extra caps. I want to see if we can capture some of those people in the settlement. I have a theory and I need to test it."


"You want to go down there?!" the woman's eyes widened in terror.


"Nevermind," Ciscero snapped grabbing the extra caps and began to scale down, moving parallel to the droids marching, attempting to remain unseen.


Where are you bug uglies!?