The images collide... collapse



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



Of plans gone awry and of triumphant marches.



All fading as the light of dawn appears (at first softly) against closed eyes.


The man slowly lets in yet another day as slowly his limbs pull back the white silk comforter and sheets. He sits up slowly drinking in the cold air from well maintained air circulators and pauses to glance out the large windows that surround his room. White padded carpet set against white walls, his oversized bed being the only piece of furniture within a room surrounded by walls of glass on all sides.


At first glance, not a very secure room.


But only at first glance.


For the occupant was a master at the art of facades and would do with nothing less than the best protection power could obtain. So while he sat there in quiet contemplation clothed in only what he slept in, he felt no fear or trepidation at being so vulnerable.

He was a man bridging the gap between sixty-five and seventy. And even with the best medical care to be had he knew eventually even the best of them succumb. No matter the manner or road to potential immortality, it seemed that no one could escape the inevitable truth...


..everyone dies.






A fact experienced time and again the longer one lived.


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





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...


His hand went to his head as the creature's effects were still burned into his mind.

Standing on the bridge of the Galactus ordering the burning of Arliss Towers and the death of Jenice...


Praetor Gevel and the rise of The Way...


The rise of the Jedi Corps....




The victories... the defeats... the scars...


At that particular moment, mean't nothing. Staring out into space he reflected on all those old contemporaries that made space such a dangerous place for people such as he. Most dead now.


Already he had surpassed Palpatine in many ways and yet..


...yet, he still felt dissatisfied. The last decade, after the Battle of Algeron, had left the galaxy relatively at peace.


Imperial Center was the crown jewel of the Empire and it once more radiated to all parts of the galaxy. Or perhaps that was just fancy. For the Corporate Sector and Tion Cluster still remained independent as did the Coalition Colonies.

Still with the treaties hammered out, all parties coexisted peacefully. The alternative was yet another destructive war.



No, perhaps his unsettled feeling stemmed from something closer to home. The brief thought of Jenice brought forth an older memory. A deeper flash of emotion connected to someone else.

And while the pain was felt no longer, there seemed an emptiness inside that simply would not fill. A gaping hole that just would not close over and his heart felt heavy.

Mya.


And as quickly as the memory invaded, so it faded leaving only the low hum of the air circulators.

He had never married though he retained many.....concubines?


Was that what Dakkon Darksword once called them?


In any event, it pleased the political and social circles within the Empire to know that he had a companion.... even companions. His disinterest in any sort of formal marriage kept the politicians in constant competition to maneuver favor in hopes of that he would answer the 'heir' question.


Who would be heir to the Empire?


It was a simple game that he liked to play with those he had a certain amount of contempt for.


And while his companions did give him a temporary measure of joy, it was fleeting.


The unhappy ruler.


He wondered if any of his counterparts (friends or foes) felt the same sense of dissatisfaction even when set against their accomplishments.



Or maybe it was something else...


For the Galactus was being decommissioned today. The once pinnacle of Imperial Engineering was already outdated when set against even greater, more powerful warships in his service.


How many of his soldiers, how many of his old 256th died in her corridors?

How many had died from her guns?


Yes, whether famous or infamous, there was no doubt that the Galaxy knew the warship.

After over nearly four decades in active service, the Imperial High Command had felt her time was over.



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.



His eyes glanced at the polished necklace of skulls slipped around a bed post and he shut his eyes, the memory finding it's way up and out...



"Simon?" came a small voice.. "Simon.. are you here?"

"Sssshhh" came an angry whisper. "keep your voice down!"

"what's happening?" said the small boy inching through the dirt to reach his companion.

Simon had stopped his climb, over the soft, powdery dirt and peered out for a brief second. His head quickly ducked back into the dirt, his eyes wide with panic.

"worms!" he whispered in fright.

His friend gasped and began to scramble away quickly.

"Tarin! No!" Simon hissed vehemently.. but panic had already taken his companion and the boy slid down the dirt hill ..to run and hide..

Little clouds of dust were appearing as the boy fled but quickly dissipated in a light breeze.

It wasn't long before he heard his friend's familiar voice crying aloud in hysterical panic.

"Simon!!!" Simon!!!" he stammered.. faster and faster his voice ran..

Simon gripped pockets of dirt and, shaking all over from fear, started to move to look over the hill.


They had Tarin. The worms had him!


A figure with glowing eyes moved closer to the wimpering Tarin, his gold robes fluttering in the breeze. The alien ran his fingers across the terrified boy's face, relishing his fright.

The alien took the boy's hand and drew him to a pool of water, still warm from weapons fire from his mighty vessels of war. As they drew nearer, the water began to move as if containing life.


The alien held Tarin over the water and the frightened child looked into the increasingly agitated water...


"simon..simon...simon...SIMON!" he screamed as the alien dropped him into the pool..


Simon's eyes tried to shut but couldn't. Frozen in fear, he looked at the alien laugh to himself and motion his soldiers onward.

The activity around the area lessened as darkness fell.. Soon, from his little hill he saw the massive ships of the aliens rise into the sky....

Sudden movement became evident as Simon looked down, he noticed long, black shapes slithering out of the pool. In the glitter of two full moons on the horizon, he noticed other pools of water, each with dark shapes slithering away..

His world belonged to the worms now.....and as the night progressed, heard in the distance, many screams and shouts as the worms found victims.

As the night continued onward Simon felt himself grow extremely tired, his exhaustion finally catching up with him. He sagged down into the powdery dust and fell asleep, his fear leaving him....

"Mother.." he murmered and began to cry silently until he fell asleep. His mind started to dream horrible dreams.<!--EZCODE ITALIC END--><!-- / message --><!-- message, attachments, sig -->



The memory faded.... but the man's anger blazed once more.


The Chiss had paid for that!


Set against the Wrath Virus, he had struck at their heart...


Insidion took care of the rest...


..and his anger began to subside.


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 Galactic Empire, rose to once again face the Galaxy.

The events in this roleplay take place 30 years after Apparitions: Specters of the Truth…












Krake's Planet - Former Imperial Intelligence HQ



The halls were dark, the metal interior showing signs of aging. Most notably, while some areas were definitely kept up to par due to simple habitation, it was readily evident that this wing had been abandoned.


True organizational evolution at work.


The man had not been inside the facility for the better part of a decade though his recall of the floor plan from memory was nearly complete. There were some additions which was to be expected by the sheer passage of time.

What was strange was the fact that while the wing itself was in ruin, it was still protected and guarded from unauthorized entrances. Being a master of various disguises as well as a master at manipulating people, he found his way into the wing with no trouble.

Assuming the identity of a high ranking officer and portraying such with total perfection merely provided the catalyst for the Imperial Intelligence goons to carry out their designated function: to follow orders.

He stopped at a nondescript door and entered a code. The sounds of electronic recognition set the locking mechanism in motion and the slow clicks of acceptance soon caused the door to slide open.

And lying on a dirty hospital bed, strapped by the wrists and ankles was the shaking form of Ysanne Isard. Her aging had not gone well and soon had developed a debilitating disease that soon exempted her from her vaunted position as Director of Intelligence.

Still, the old bat could not be gotten rid of that easily. She knew far too many secrets to simply kill and so the administrations that followed kept her alive. A wild card of sorts.


Keeping options open. Something Kaine taught...


The man switched on a single light that caused the shaking woman to squint.

"Wh....who's there?" she called out in a halting voice.

Ciscero walked into the light and for a minute, he thought she would not recognize him.

Then her eyes narrowed and it seemed, for a second, her shaking calmed.

"You!" she hissed.

"Proverbial bad credit..." he said gently.

"You were ...were listed as dead after Algeron!"

Ciscero grinned. "The news of my death has been greatly exaggerated."

And Isard rasped out a laugh. "You always were my most gifted student, Ciscero." She coughed a little and Ciscero moved closer.

"You are unwell." he commented.

"I am dying, Ciscero. A biological agent I discovered too late."
Her voice came out stuttering, due to her uncontrollable shaking.

"Kaine?"

"He wins on all fronts..." she whispered. "But.... not for long."


"No... not for long." he agreed and she shifted to look up at him.


"You... know? About Algeron?"


Ciscero smiled. The greatest space battle in the history of the galaxy and the greatest gamble he had ever seen. The Republic ships facing off the greater Imperial Fleet, only to be supported by the Dragons. A surprise move that created an even more destructive consequence.

But that was history now.


"Algeron cemented Kaine's supremacy for the next 10 years and beyond." Ciscero remarked and Isard's raspy voice chuckled.

"Algeron cemented Kaine's confidence. Nothing more!" Isard's hands slid their straps over and she grasped Ciscero's. "He will kill you, my boy. It would be better for you to stay dead but it would be even more better if you killed him."


"Why would I?" the Intelligence Agent asked genuinely curious.


"Because I order it." she said with a strange confidence. "Because you have no choice if you want to live."


Ciscero's eyes narrowed.


"I have made sure he knows all about Balledan's grandchildren."


The mention of the former Republic Senator caused Ciscero to draw back in surprise. "What about them?"

"They are alive!" she rasped out, the shaking of her body causing her to cry out.

"You let Kaine think he had killed them.. Now they are alive, they are grown and there will be revenge!"

"I don't see what two children.." Ciscero did not bother denying the charge for she was right. They had been alive when he saved them. How they lived their life after that was their business. Still, hearing even from Isard that they were gave him a strange sense of accomplishment.

"They are Jedi! And they will come for our glorious Emperor." The former Director of Intelligence grinned an aweful grin. "And you will help them or die."

"That would finish me in Intelligence for good, Director." he commented softly.

"Yes." she agreed.

"How did Kaine find out?" he asked, the meeting with the Emperor those many years ago coming back into his mind...


“The Senator’s grandchildren and wife were on the shuttle weren’t they, Ciscero?” Kaine asked quietly.


Ciscero stared out a window, barely hearing the General. “You knew they were on the ship.” He said rather absently.


“It was an educated guess.” The General confirmed.


“Why?” Ciscero asked, swiveling around to face the General. “They posed no threat. They were children.”


“Ahh, yes, Ciscero. And who would be there for these orphans growing up? Who would train them, raise them?” Kaine’s eyes became intense. “Their hatred. Their desire to destroy that which took all they hold dear and that which made them orphans. I do not want the Empire to face those grown orphans whose sole purpose would be to cause it’s downfall.”


The General smiled at the thought. “Ironic isn’t it. For that is what eventually brought about the Rebellion’s downfall.”


Kaine’s eyes became distant.


“One orphan..”<!-- / message --><!-- message, attachments, sig -->



Her pale lips curled into an ugly smile, "I told him." Her bitter thoughts coming to the fore:



I will not be defeated by a mere General! Where were you General Kaine? Where were you when the Empire was crumbling at the hands of the Rebels? Where was your genius then?


You, Zell, Hyfe and Thrawn… biding your time…

Warlords, all of you!

... if he dies, he will die by my hand and very slowly!



Ciscero only stared at the ancient, wretched woman before him.


"You betrayed me for your part in Endgame, Ciscero." her eyes turned angry, "And for that, you will either hunt or be hunted!"

A surge of energy seemed to come from deep within her as she began to shout: "IT IS MY LAST LAUGH! IT IS......."



...and she spoke no more.










Ciscero exited the wing content to leave Isard's body in peace. It was set into motion and he had done his last favor for a woman he, at one time, respected. He made sure she had gotten the information regarding his act to keep Balledan's grandchildren alive. Still, finding out they were Jedi and were formidable opponents now in their thirties gave him an odd feeling. For they wouldn't have been if not for him. None of their experiences, none of the lives they touched, none of their triumphs and tribulations would have come about if not for him, a single Intelligence Agent.


A single act of kindness for an old man he respected.

His greatest regret was that he was unable to save the Senator himself.


His thoughts turned to Isard. By allowing Isard to know the secret it had given her one last advantage to squeeze... one last tool to wield before the end. He owed her that much.


And with Kaine putting him Beyond Salvage (a term used to describe the elimination of an Intelligence Agent) it would give Ciscero credibility.


Credibility he would need for his next act.


He was vaguely surprised she mentioned Algeron and her lack of explanation nagged at him.


It implied that he was missing something.

That Kaine was missing something.



Had been for a decade..



He needed to go over all the data on Algeron that the Empire had.



Isard had figured something out...



And that made him nervous.


He stopped at the corner of the wing before leaving and turned one last time to glance at the aging hall remembering when it was filled with people moving to and fro with purpose. He felt a sudden twinge of loss for those were the golden years. Here on Krake's Planet. A single Intelligence Agency against the galaxy, the eyes and ears of a fledgling Empire.

Now this place was nothing more than a historical footnote.

He wondered how the Director's death would be noted.

Ysanne Isard, once the most feared woman in the galaxy and former Director of Imperial Intelligence, died today in an obscure, small, 12 x 12 room. She died alone and is survived by no one, her proteges having died at the Battle of Algeron.


He paused, thinking about his own mortality and smirked slightly.


Everyone dies in the end....




Even Emperors...

Palatial Grounds, Imperial Center


Everything about the Imperial Palace was white. And as Kaine walked thru the passages of the Palace, the outer courtyard came into view which did much to soothe the foul mood he’d started the morning with. One of the few parts of Coruscant where vegetation grew plenty and the landscaping second to none resided. The Palace Gardens would have been a grand tourist attraction had the public been allowed to view them. Only special dignitaries and high ranking officials ever caught a glimpse of them.


It was nice to see such beauty within an organization whose sole claim to the galaxy was at the end of a gun.


He noted a figure standing idle staring out at the gardens without sharing Kaine’s apparent interest or the gardeners working on the outside. A young figure, not much over twenty years of age turned as the Emperor approached. Kaine smiled warmly at him.

“Marus. How are the preparations coming?” he called out by way of greeting waving off the bow 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 for some sort of right of passage within the Conclave and for this preparation, his father, Theren Gevel, had insisted on a detailed study of history. 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.

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!"

"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.


"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 sent to the High Command."


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.


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

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...

Byron Shell walked briskly down the sparcely populated walkway in the Agreon Sector of Coruscant. A newly refurbished sector, renamed and reopened after extensive renovations. Almost to the square kilometer where the old Invisec was located during Isard's brief reign before the New Republic and subsequent Sith pulled it from her hands.

If Byron were to stop and look around at his surroundings he would see none of the old refinements taht made the area habitable to different alien species. No, the old Invisec had been eventually emptied by viral outbreaks and in response to Imperial Health Protocols. The area had, at the time, been called the "Ghetto of Coruscant".

And with Wrath, Phage, Conscription, War and general relocation of groups to combat bioweapons specifically targeting races serving the Empire by it's enemies, Invisec was emptied. A contracter representing the Arliss Conglomerate had put forward a bid to raze the area and rebuild it to the new Imperial codes.

The Civil Authority agreed with the Emperor's blessing.

The area, with it's location near the Administrative District, was settled by typically young couples whose career was up and coming within the Empire.

Byron Shell and his wife, Veni, both worked for the Imperial News Services. At least at first. Veni had opted to take the option of remaining at home when their young child was born. It was a decision of practicality for Byron seemed more likely (with his department) to be promoted than she with hers. And time with their smiling child soon dispelled any resentment at having to put her career on hold within her.

She greeted him with a smile when he entered briskly throwing his briefcase at the wall causing several holopictures to fall. The act drew immediate concern and she rushed over but her husband was shouting...


...at nothing.


Veni had never seen him like this and soon the baby was wailing in the background in response to the loud noise.


It was as if her world suddenly had been turned upside down.


"Byron!? What happened?" she nearly shouted bringing her husbands arms down.


The man slid down against the wall and let out a cry of anguish so horrifying that she thought he was hurt. Desperately her eyes searched for a sign of some sort of wound.

"I'LL CALL THE MEDIVAC!" she shouted, thinking her husband in pain and was about to rush over to the transmitter when her husband grabbed her arm and sobbed out a response finally.

"No... no. They will know..." her blood chilled at that. What had her husband gotten himself into?


"Just hold me.." he said and gently cried against her breast. She rarely saw her husband cry and then, usually in joy (for instance when their boy was born).

So, confused, she drew her arms protectively over her husband and was moved to tears herself from sheer empathy.


"They're dead..." he murmured into her shoulder. "They're all dead."


Who?


"How could we...?"


The look in his eyes frightened her as he turned up to look at her, his eyes searching for...demanding... answers! Answers to questions she did not understand.



*


Her husband and child were soon asleep and she sat on a chair watching her sleeping "men" wondering about her husband's words. He had calmed down but did not desire to speak much as he was withdrawn in his thoughts no matter how much she tried to draw him out.


As she sat there her monitor began to beep and a logo appeard that sent a chill down her spine.

It indicated the seriousness of whatever was bothering her husband.


Why would the Jedi be calling?


The Jedi Corps organization, under the COMPNOR charter, had come into being after Simon Kaine became Emperor bringing the Guardians of Peace and Justice back to the galaxy.


Still, fear that her husband had done something brought out Veni's protective instinct.

Was her family in danger?


And there, unanswered, shined the familiar logo...

*
***
*

The Republic


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

“Shuttle confirms. It’s good to be back.” Admiral Vespian looked down at his aging 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, as he waited for his new command.

The Iron Mantis, a keel laid in an early New Republic shipyard over thirty years ago, was still his pride and joy and the expense of refitting the entire ship into a new class of vessels was one gladly undertaken by the Republic government.

The Mantis had survived many battles and was one of the Republic’s few command ships that had survived the Battle of Algeron.



Out of respect for the aging Admiral, the Republic leadership authorized a new class of warships and paid the extravagant costs of rebuilding the similarly aging Victory Class Star Destroyer into the new Star Explorer Class vessel.

Larger, more heavily armed and with enough additions to make the vessel truly practical in operations having been refitted with second to none medical facilities, increased cargo capacities for relief efforts and science facilities that would shame some universities.

Trajan was content.

After having spent a decade discovering all over again his devotion to a woman he had thought dead, the healing had smoothed over much of her ill treatment. He had led the attack on an Imperial world shrouded in secrecy that had directly lead to the discovery and subsequent release of many Republic officers and citizens imprisoned by the Empire and forgotten. Forging an escape route through Algeron with many of his comrades sacrificing their ships and lives, he got their people home.

Marlena had been among that crowd rescued and his life suddenly felt robbed of it’s pain.

It was not an unwelcome feeling though it did take time to get used to it. He had nursed his pain and hate for quite some time.

They had adopted several children, the lack of attention (or as a direct result of the wrong kind of attention) in prison deprived Marlena Vespian of the ability to conceive. It was a situation they both learned to live with especially as they raised several children orphaned by the Empire.

The Star Explorer Class Iron Mantis came into full view and Trajan let out an involuntary gasp. The vessel was larger than anything he had ever commanded. Not quite as big as an Imperial Venerator warship or the Coalition’s Viscount Class, it still held a formidable presence.

The shuttle docked smoothly and as Admiral Vespian left, followed by his command staff, 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 roguish grin spread across his lips. “Granted and quite a ship you’ve got here, Traj.”


Trajan returned the grin, “I appreciate you paying for it, Han.”


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 Mrs. Solo?” Vespian asked, an odd gleam in his eye. The President’s wedding anniversary was coming up and both men knew it.


“Probably conniving a way to spend my more of my money and being egged on by your wife!” Han returned a bit grumpily. An act and again, both men knew it.


A responding growl came from behind President Solo and Vespian turned a grin to the graying Wookiee that approached.


“Lando sends his best and says if you ever want to leave Han, he’s got a place for you Chewie.” Vespian called out, noting the slight coloring to the aging President's face.


Chewbacca growled back and Trajan laughed at the rather coarse language the Wookiee used in response to Lando’s offer. “He’s been hanging around you too much.” Trajan observed to the President and Han Solo smiled his best 'who me?' smile.


“Come, my wayward Admiral. There are developments that are happening and it looks like our costly payment at Algeron is about to finally pay off.”


That drew Vespian up seriously. “Kaine?”


“The New Order is about to have it’s shroud of secrecy unveiled.”


Trajan looked unconvinced. “We’ve been doing that for years. Decades.”


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


“Emperor Kaine has an impressive government and military machine to wield, Mr. President. We are simply a coalition of trading associations….”


“… with Jedi support. Leia finally agreed to commit the Jedi Order to our little endeavor.”


“What convinced her?” Trajan asked. He knew the leader of the Jedi Order was nobody’s fool and did not wish to openly support a secret Republic government unless there was a better than half chance of success. Too many from her order were hunted by both the Sith and the equally frightening Jedi Corps of the Empire.


“What I am about to show you, Admiral.” And Trajan noted that Han Solo looked every bit as old as he confessed to being. “Some things just should never be allowed to happen.”


Trajan was walking besides the President of the Republic and turned questioningly to his old friend and Han Solo, flanked by Chewbacca and several aides, spoke softly. “We now know what Project Insidion is. We now know what happened to the Chiss.”


Trajan heard both pain and sorrow in the older man's voice. And something else.


Anger.

Imperial Center



“That is preposterous Bishop! The Citadel was created to be a control measure, nothing more!”


“So was INS,” replied the Bishop, “and they enjoy government positions and status.”


“INS is governed through the Ministry of Information. Just as the Citadel is governed by the Ministry of Religion. That is as far as government positions and status go either way.” Karrix, the Jedi Corps representative to the Ministries, said, flaying both underlings.

Neither the INS representative nor the Bishop were heads of state for the government agencies they served under and so were held in contempt by the Karrix.

“The people will not stand by while the government ignores their efforts to gain eternal salvation.” The Bishop countered drawing guffaws from all around the table.


“Since the people believe what I tell them anyway..” the INS representative began but was interrupted.


“LIAR!” the Bishop shouted in immediate response.


The INS person would probably have had a snappy comeback. That was the way with INS employees, especially the writers. But he didn’t get the chance.


A blaster bolt took him between the eyes and he slumped back into his chair.


The Bishop turned, surprise lighting his face, at the form of an angry Emperor and the two Spartans flanking him with weapons raised. And before he could speak, one of the Spartans fired decorating the Bishop’s head with a new burn hole. He too slumped down dead.


“Anyone else?” Kaine growled at the heads of the various ministries making up the Imperial government. His eyes rested on the heads of the Ministry of Information, whose public arm was INS, and the Ministry of Religion, whose public arm was the Citadel.


A raspy laugh filled the room and Kaine turned to the oldest looking man he’d ever seen. Hard living both in war and in peace had taken their toll, but old Grand Moff Zell was too cantankerous for nature to kill.


The Centenarian grinned, “Nice to see you haven’t gone soft in your old age.”


“You set them up?” Simon asked absently as he went to his at the head.


“We set you up. It’s good for the young fools of this Empire to know that their stupid fancies have no place in the machinery of government.” Theren Gevel, Head of the Bastion Conclave, (the secret ‘government within the government’) stated drawing a slight grin of the Emperor’s own.


“I was wondering why they were being allowed to continue their nonsense..” Kaine admitted and sat down, a stern gaze came over him once again.


Several people had come in and taken the bodies of the dead and Kaine nodded at their silent efficiency.


“Let’s begin with today’s report. Domestic Issues. First and foremost, Military. Naval Command?”



Grand Admiral Jaeder looked up from his notes and spoke, “Fleet strength is at nominal levels.” Which meant the rate of rebuilding after the Battle of Algeron was continuing.


Theren Gevel spoke up voicing the Emperor’s main concern, “Training?”


Jaeder shuffled through some papers and continued to speak, “We’ve expanded the programs on all major worlds, following the same pattern the Academy on Carida laid out. And we have quite a large number of people qualified to teach, they being mostly veterans. But fleet production currently outstrips our ability to put viable crews aboard.”


“What happens to the ships?” Zell rasped out.


“Sir?”


“The empty ships that cannot be filled. What happens to them?”


Jaeder frowned, “They are still filled out. Just not with crews up to par with our veteran fleets. They are still competent, god knows we wouldn’t outfit our ships with fools.”



“No,” droned Zell, twisting his knife in, “we only do that with leaders.”


Theren Gevel barked out a harsh laugh. “My analysis shows that the Yaga Minor Protectorate, Mid Rim, Empire Proper and the Braxant Sectors have the better fleets. The Ison Corridor looks pretty good too. Our Outer Rim concerns as well as the Expansion Region are so under-strength as to suggest incompetence.”


Grand Moff Bhindi Drayson’s absence at the morning’s meeting was very noticeable.



“Understrength perhaps from a Naval perspective,” Kaine commented. “Imperial Army?”



Grand Marshall Chau Ming, older than Kaine but younger than Zell, turned to his Emperor. “Legion strength is optimal. All heavily industry sectors are very well garrisoned. The ratio drops the farther out from the Core you get but we have excellent presence even the Mechis Cluster.” He shrugged, knowing the next question, “Training for Army personnel is not as specialized as those requirements of the Navy so we can field more men and better qualified men.”


“..And women.” Vice Admiral Gatticus interjected, her grandmother, also an Admiral, having died at Algeron.



“Men, women, clones ..whatever..” Ming corrected himself without resentment the distinction meaning little to him.


“Lord,” Chau directly addressed Kaine, “We may have few capital warships in certain regions but we’ve plenty strike craft and transports. Unless someone drops a massive fleet in our backyard, they can hold till the reinforcements arrive.”


Grand Admiral Jaeder spoke up, “That is true, my lord. Our smaller strike craft may not be able to go toe to toe with an enemy command ship but we can out maneuver and out shoot them.”


“Not with inexperienced crews you can’t!” shot out Zell.



Jaeder spread out his hands, “We aren’t at war..”



Kaine drummed his fingers in disapproval. “We will return to that. Census?”



A small man with beady eyes who served as head of the Ministry of Census smiled warmly, “I am pleased to announce, lord, that Imperial Center has been cleansed.”



After that followed silence and then Zell began clapping his hands. Soon the Admiralty and the other heads of state also drew their hands together in growing applause. Even the Emperor was impressed by the annoucement.


"Bout damn time.." muttered Zell, to Kaine from his seat next to him. "Ever since that meeting where you predicted the fall of the Empire.."


The Emperor chuckled to himself. "That did capture their attention, didn't it?"



"Palpatine would have been pleased to see what you've accomplished." Zell said in a rare show of sentiment.


"What we've accomplished," Kaine replied knowingly and Zell's raspy voice broke out in a laugh.


"We showed those alien fuckers the real meaning of evolutionary progress, eh?"


"The Axioms of Evolution spare no breath for sentimentality, kindness or perceived goodness." Theren Gevel joined in and Kaine nodded.


"Superior race breeds superior contempt." The Emperor gave a brief grin that spoke of irony.

The Republic



“This is insane!” Trajan exclaimed as he looked over the reports. “Most of these are rumors, half baked and vindictive from people mistreated by the Empire. No more than ravings.” he looked at Han Solo incredulously.
“And you want to go to war over this?”


“NO!” shouted the President of the Republic a little more emphatic than intended. “We cannot win with a large scale assault on the Empire, Traj. I realize this. But for the moment, let us say that the Empire is doing the unthinkable which is not a large stretch. What sort of reception do you think the Imperial Command would have with it’s member worlds if word of what was going on became public?”


“Civil War.” Whispered Vespian as the ramifications of what they were talking about sank in. Then Trajan frowned, “But perhaps not. The Empire has much more internal controls than they did during the Rebellion. The planets back then had more autonomy. The Empire of Palpatine was still based on the republican model whereas the Empire of today was based on their emergency contingencies after their retreat to Bastion. Once they emerged from the Braxant Sector, their model changed to that of a conquering force.”


Solo sighed. “We fought Palpatine because of the evil his Empire represented. The evil he personified. And, Kaine, damn him, found a way to carry it out despite all our efforts. Despite everything!”


“It is a shame he doesn’t have the self confidence of the Sith.” Came a voice of a man in black that joined the two men. "Otherwise, he'd be scheming his own downfall."


“Luke! You sure took your time to get here kid.” The President said and the Jedi Master smiled at the inside reference. “I ran into the Corps on the way here.” He said off-handedly and both Solo and Vespian became concerned.


“I hear they are real nasty.” the Republic Admiral stated flatly.


“They were problematic,” Luke said diplomatically.


“Emperor’s black bones! Luke! If they had caught you…” the President griped in sudden concern.


“The Jedi Corps operate on different principles than the Order, or even the Sith Order. By themselves, a member of the Corps may still use the force to his advantage with norms but one on one against a true Jedi, or even a Sith, they will lose.

The Corps strength comes in their numbers. They always contain force-users by linking themselves and the more there are, the more powerful they are. There were only three of them this time, which would have been an even match with the force against a Jedi Knight…”

“..but they were facing a Jedi Master.” Han finished. “Lucky you they were not expecting you.”


“The package knew how to slip by them and we would have made it if they had not picked through my force mask.”


“Is such a thing possible?” Trajan asked in surprise.


“Obviously,” Luke answered blankly and they grinned at Trajan’s flush face. “The Corps is always trying to unmask force-users though in this instance, I believe, they were trying to keep tabs on their Sith brethren.”


“The package.” The President interrupted. “We did retrieve it?”


“It’s on it’s way here as we speak.”


“Package?” Trajan asked knowing he had some catching up to do.


“You were correct in stating that the monstrous acts recorded before you are mere supposition and half formed rumors. We need confirmation before any sort of action is undertaken.”


Trajan suddenly felt uncomfortable. “What sort of confirmation?”


A chime sounded and President Solo responded with an invitation to enter.
Looking at Trajan, he said, “The sort of confirmation that leaves no doubt whatsoever!”


The door opened and all the doubts in the world suddenly entered Trajan’s mind.


“You!” he spat out angrily, old emotions running to the surface.



Though older there was no mistaking the Intelligence Officer.



Ciscero grinned.


"Hello Admiral."

The Past...Endgame...


“Grandpa! Grandpa!” the wimpering children cried out in fear. "Where's Grandpa?"


The man hustled them along towards the waiting shuttlecraft glancing around as the sirens blared overhead in buildings whose tops were too high to be seen by the naked eye.


Air traffic was hectic as civilian traffic and former military traffic went into panic.

The lights of the Imperial Fleet could be seen as points moving overhead and the man involuntarily let out a gasp.


There were hundreds of warships and thousands of support ships.


There must be!

The Empire had returned and returned in force.

Then man hustled the children along hoping to reach the shuttle and leave as quickly as possible.


*


Governor Motsician watched the monitors as the legions began to pour through the Gree Gateway in Siennar District.


Slowly, level by level, corps commanders would station themselves preplanned against the utility grids of Coruscant.


From above troop transports and mechanized division barges launched towards Coruscant to begin on the outer and upper levels.


The Grand Colonnade that had been witness to such great events as Palpatine’s First Imperial Address, the exodus of the Grand Army of the Republic to fight the after the Geonosis Campaign that signaled the beginning of the Clone Wars was now witnessing the arrival of Grand Admiral.. no! Regent Daemon Hyfe heralding the end of the Empire’s exile from the Core.


And General Kaine would soon follow.


Motsician sighed as Balledan’s words echoed in his mind. Idealism against the hard cold fact of war.


The lessons Kaine taught others were as harsh as the lessons he learned in life.


And yet the damned fools of the Republic still dared to dream!


Their biggest miscalculation. The Republic tried to draw attention away from Coruscant by creating their capital on Corellia. They perhaps figured the Empire would be more interested in engaging the Republic’s leaders rather than the logistical nightmares of territory grabs.


Palpatine, Isard and their ilk often focused their personal anger towards the Republic’s leaders and so acted on those impulses.


General Kaine, however, was different. He felt no personal animosity towards any individual. No, his animosity was directed to the Republic as a whole. He knew the importance of symbolism to those that would again be ruled by the Empire. And what better symbol to send to the galaxy than that of retaking Coruscant!


And what better platform than Coruscant to launch into the heart of the Republic in the Corellian Sector?

Yes, the Republic had been outflanked but Kaine would soon be disappointed. He wanted a straight attack into Corellia breaking Han Solo, Xylon Hexyra, Gash “Jiren”, and Luke Skywalker’s back in one swift stroke.


No… Motsician thought. “Regent” Hyfe would want to consolidate his power. And the Senators of Bastion could not be moved on a military time-table no matter how loud the General yelled.


The Empire would slow down, consolidate and fortify. Even so, Corellia was doomed but the Republic would be given that which was most precious, what it desperately needed: Time.


And in that, he knew that while Kaine may be hailed as the conqueror of Coruscant, he would not be hailed as the conqueror of the New Republic. Defeated by bureaucracy and hampered by political personal agendas, the Rebels would once more slip through his fingers.


If there was one thing the Rebels excelled at, it was at being dodgy.


Motsician knew his power was only temporary and that with the new Imperial overlords it would quickly evaporate.


So what to do in the interim?


Motsician smiled. He knew exactly what he would do.


"Major, there is a man with two small children heading for the Senatorial Hangers. I want him detained and prepare a remote for Senator Ballendan's shuttle."

"A remote?" the Imperial Major asked with slight distaste.


The man may think himself too good to take orders from the former "Governor of Coruscant" but he knew he had to take orders from an Imperial Intelligence Operative.


That is to say, if he wanted a healthy and long life.


He grinned.


Wheels within wheels.

400 Years into the future... Dameo


The planet was dead. Not from war or from enemy attack but from choice. The very definition of life had changed as the mechanical paradise of the machines stretched between land and sea.

The planet was a shrine to the glory of the Taj as the Dracconis Superior spread their tentacles throughout the area formerly known as the Outer Rim.

Now, it was simply one of many Gardens of Paradise.

It was a wonderful time for the those that made the evolutionary jump from The Black Dragon Empire to something new.

At least, it should have been.












"Sanctus ... Sanctus ... Sanctus ... Dominus Deus Sabaoth ... "


Diosynes sat unmoving as the ancient protocol was sounded once more. The old chant did not move him as it had a century and a half ago. A waste really for Dracconis had no need for voice transmission.

It was a concession made for the benefit of those that called themselves their brothers, those remaining attached to the archaic institution called the Black Dragon Empire. An entity that had nothing to do with color, nor the creature called myth on more than one world of flesh.

Of what uses were these facades but a mark of humility to the inferior flesh?

Humility!


The word gave the matrix of Diosynes a sense of distaste. A word of flesh that had no meaning for Dracconis.


"Pleni sunt caeli et terra ... Gloria tua ... "


Diosynes was amused at the quaint tradition.

Gloria tua, indeed!


Does not one see the irony of the words uttered by flesh that no longer exist?

Even in this we follow blindly.


"Raktus in excelsis ... Benedictus qui venit ... in Nomine Domini ... "


And even Diosynes had to lower his visage in acknowledgement of that which lead all. Even if the Taj did remain attached to the obsolete. That the Taj evolved to the power he was Diosynes did not question. It was well recorded and entrenched in Mystery.

But in the very thought lay the contrast and the paradox.

That the Taj evolved to the power he was...


While he and others evolved further from Dragon to Draconnis, the Taj remained and that fact, if thought of objectively, showed two reasons:

That the Taj had reached his pinnacle and could no longer acheive what the Dracconis had.

Or, that the Dracconis did not represent the correct evolutionary path for Daemun. What the flesh called "the dead".


But how could Diosynes not represent the correct path? The Dracconis were in every way superior and technological evolution compelled them to eventually replace that which was obsolete.


But such thoughts, while logical, if applied to the Taj, resulted in heresy.












~Visyon, what troubles your matrix?

The Dracconis had left the ceremony early and Diosynes found him overlooking the heavily mined mineral Valley of Caerna. The blackened dust travelled skyward blotting out the sun (a condition that had been for decades) creating a truly remarkable beauty all it's own.

He noted the receptacles containing the Phage linked into Matrix were of a different color and an interogative query was transmitted as well.


~BioLogic was Visyon's only response.


~The Taj prohibited...


~That is because the Taj feels a need to bargain with this not-life!

If Visyon could have spit in disgust he would have. That he applied a "flesh word" to the Taj was sign enough. Visyon continued transmitting.

~I feel no need to bargain with inferiority. I will take BioLogic if it pleases me. I am of the evolved. My operating matrix does not attempt to integrate with obsolete operating systems. Why the Taj feels it necessary is known only to him.


Diosynes suddenly found insight in the datastream as he responded without any sort of excitement.

~ So the negotiations with the flesh empires....

~..did not go as well as we would have liked. We should have eliminated flesh long ago!

Diosynes gently smoothed, ~even the Sorcerers of Tund?


~Especially them! They are the only things that stand between us and total integration of the complete Dragon matrix by Dracconis. AND THEY ARE FLESH!

~Tools merely.

~Tell them and they'll turn on the Dragons as well. Would these Flesh gladly offer their blood simply by the order of the Taj or would they falter?

~The Taj offers them immortality.

Visyon would have snorted if he could. ~The Taj bargains with flesh! It humbles us before flesh.

Diosynes suddenly became concerned. ~Visyon, you are unusually bold this cycle.


Visyon suddenly turned from the view to face his fellow Dracconis and the entity he called ally. ~It is finished. Soon we will be able to see just how ..


~ A device that manipulates time? The theories indicated that such travel was impossible.

~Theories of Flesh, Diosynes. We are much, much more. And I tell you another thing: Without the merge of Phage and of BioLogic, it would not have been possible.

~ You are certain?

~After twenty cycles, I would do well to be. The Taj wasted the glorious creation as mere virus's to flesh. He bestowed on the flesh the advances and benefits of Phage. ON FLESH FIRST! And even now, the Edict remains in effect.

~ The Taj knows that some defy the Edict.

~ The Edict is old. Just like our Taj. He may transfer after so many years but his matrix is old. Too old.

~ You speak heresy, Visyons.

~I have an instrument of Truth.

~The time device.

~Imagine, Diosynes. We have at our mind's call glorious amounts of data to follow the Time Stream back to a point where we can insert ourselves and set our inferior.. 'brothers' on the right path. The entire realm would then evolve to what we are NOW!

~And if the Taj evolves?

~Then we have what we want.

~And if the Taj does not evolve?

~Then the Taj becomes obsolete, a victim not of us but of the axioms of evolution. WE are not setting out to destroy the Black Dragon Empire. We set out to improve it! We set out to end the dominance of the flesh in the galaxy.

Diosynes would have smiled if he could. ~ We set out to purge the land.

~And once the land is purged, the Taj would recognize our contributions and know that it was by the hand of evolution that we embarked on this... this... Crusade!


Diosynes felt something stir within his matrix. ~ But what of the Sorcerers. They will stop us.


Visyon matrix shifted and Diosynes sensed amusement.

~Come, my brother.





The part of the city was old. Very old as the forgotten carbon walls lay in a state of neglect. With the sunlight drowned out by machine vigilance few plantlife could be seen. And those that were, were a combination of machine and tissue.

Forced evolution...

Diosynes did not recognize what he saw even though the general area was known.

There were others of the Dracconis here that were diligent in whatever task they had set themselves on. He found that Viosynes was leading him towards those working.


A slab had been unearthed.

An unmarked, smooth slab.

~Carbon? Diosynes inquired.

~Not carbon like the broken walls that surround us. Carbonite.

~I've never heard of it..

~It is a flesh device.


~HERE? Suddenly Diosynes' matrix was uncomfortable.


~ Look


Visyons looked at the rather advanced scanning device and aimed at the smooth slab. A visage formed on the monitor and Diosynes' matrix recoiled automatically.

~IMPOSSIBLE!

Visyons again showed amusement but also confided, ~ I reacted the same way when I first found it.

Diosynes gaze turned back to the monitor.


And there: scarred, scorched, and broken though unmistakable...



...was the visage of Grevious.


The infamous General of the ancient Black Dragon Empire.