On the Battleship Dragon's Fang, currently en route to the world of Formos...

Last preparations were being made. It was always such a bother, but it needed to be done. Preparations had been under way for the better part of a week now, tireless drills, and more drilling, to the point of exhuastion. Thus was the way of life in the Farfalen navy. Their crews needed to be in tip top shape to deal with all enventualities. This one concerned a planet that was a liability to the security of Kessel. A liability that was being taken of advantage of, among other pirate groups, the criminal organization of the Black Sun. However, contacts within the criminal organization had recieved confusing information and reports. It appears that although they were the insignia and uniforms of Black Sun troopers, that this is only a rogue or imposter division of the criminal organization.

The fleet spiraled down hyperspace torwards it's goal. The enemy planet was once a lifeless ball and cesspool of smugglers using it as a stopover for smuggling spice. Recently, certain factions have made Formos their own, and even more recently, bands of pirates have begun to prey on merchant ships traveling to and from Kessel with full loads of valuable types of spices. Occasionally, it was not a worry, as the ships were small, and occasionally easily trapped, and destroyed, but as of late, more and more powerful warships were seen to appear, a sign that the pirates were using their procured funds to buy larger and badder warships.

Finally, action was decided to be taken directly when a small convoy of merchant ships, mainly about thirty or forty YT series freighters, with an escort of one Shoto cruiser, and several pickets, were jumped by a force of four Star Destroyers, of the Nebula class, with plenty of support ships. The Shoto cruiser, one Harker had served on before, the Kirishima, had fought valianty, but in the end was destroyed. She took one Nebula down with her though. The Kessel pickets had been scattered, and most of the convoy had been disabled and captured, losing about ten billion credits worth of glitterstim in the process.

Before not much concern was placed on the pirates, but not only are they getting more dangerous and bold, but they have also destroyed a capital warship belonging to the combined BDE/Farfalen empire. Such boldness and daring was a crude insult spit into the face of their leaders, that such a meager band of filth should destroy one of the pride of the navy. The orders had been passed down for a massive strike to be launched, for the reason of utterly wiping out the pirates. Leave no survivors, let no survivors escape, had been the orders. Let the scum of the Black Market, and other areas know of the power of the Black Dragon Empire. Let these scum serve as yet another example, when many leaders thought that the Vergresso Asteriods would serve as enough of an example.

Harker reflected on that battle, more of a series of battles, a campaign. Then the pirates had been strong, but not ruthelss as these have been. Rather, the other pirates were weaker, less willing to take chances, and lacked coordination of all things it seemed. Battle images taken from the surviving pickets had shown several different pirate crests on the Nebula Destroyers, telling of different gangs had combined in this attack, yet their coordination and timing were almost perfect. Beatiful coordination was serving this group of gangs very well. But it would not save them from the heavy end of the hammer. Not this time around.......

The indicator on the navigation system brought Harker out of his revelie and back into reality. The fleet was getting ready to drop into the system proper. He secured himself, and issued orders for other crew members to do likewise, and just waited for the proper moment, the moment when he would see just what these pirates were up to. Five seconds, he thought just five more, then four, and then three, finally two, and when he thought it may never end, one second, and then the stars collasped from streaks into specs, and just like that, the BDE armada had reached the planet of Formos.

Admiral Harker stood from his chair after unstrapping, and strode to the viewports. Around his Tion class Star Destroyer the other ships of the fleet flashed back into reality. Three more Tion class Star Destroyers, eight Shoto class Battecruisers, a support force of ten Espos class transports carrying the ground army needed for the campaign to capture the planet, and combined into both forces, about forty each of the Cutter, and Kessel gunships and pickets. Around the planet up ahead orbited a large battlefleet, reminiscent of old holo images showing Byss in the days of the Emporer Reborn, Star Destroyers and support vessels in low and high orbits. Admiral Harker snorted in contempt. Let them come, and be slaughtered he thought coldly to himself as he issued orders for fleet formations, and to assume battle positions.

Admiral Harker strode from the viewport, and over to the sensors station. They showed the vast majority of the fleet breaking orbit, and heading out to meet his fleet, while another fair number headed away from the Farfalen armada, and torwards one of the hyperlane exits. He pointed to the entry/exit vector, and sent a message that fleet two was to exit here, and cut off their escape. Barely five minutes had passed since his order was issued, and another fleet came out of hyperspace. This one consisted of six Shoto cruisers and ten pickets escorting a force of four Interdictor cruisers of the Farfalen brand.

This force immediatly activated the gravity well projectors, with the Shotos moving to engage the enemy vessels. Most of them were freighters, some of them old large ore haulers, used to transport captured goods, or smuggle spice stolen from the factories. Either way they were in deep shit. Most of them scattered, doing their very best to try to flee the oncoming Shotos. Smiling at this, Harker turned back to the battle display. He ordered all Dragon Claws to be launched, and for shields and combat systems to be brought fully online. He would let his enemy make the first move, and then he would utterly crush them like the insects they were.

The enemy fleet, consisting of six of the old Nebula type destroyers, four of the even more ancient Victory class, and perhaps twenty old carrack cruisers, a potent force in any one's mind, came on strong, with a second fleet of old ragtag vessels forming behind them, preparing for a second wave, or perhaps a set of reinforcements to fill holes as need be? It almost didn't matter, for the BDE forces had enough to deal with as it was. That's when new contacts dotted the boards. The enemy fleet was launching starfighters, and dozens of them at that. Most of the contacts were somewhat modern E-wings, although there were a few A-9s, and Howlrunners in the mix. Well, he thought, this was a powerful and modern fleet. Too bad it had to be crushed, he thought.

He ordered his own Tion Deathgliders to issue forth, and to engage the enemy starfighter fleets. He watched as forty eight such starfighters went forth. Designated Red, Green, Yellow, and Blue squadrons for ease of identification, these units would deliver the first blow against the enemy fleets. All Harker could do was to watch and wait, and send in more ships, if need be. Hopefully they could handle all of the enemy, Harker glanced at his display board, one hundred twenty or so enemy fighters. Like he thought, he would just wait, watch, and see.

Aboard Red Leader, Leader of the forty eight Tion Deathgliders.....

"Red two, Red three, form on me. Break the rest of the squadron into shield trios. Concentrate firepower on one enemy starfighter on the first pass. After that, break into individual units. No wingman, nothing. We need to defeat the enemy through sheer brute strength, nothing more. He have the capability to do this, so let it be done. And to all squadrons, good hunting." said Red one as he signed off the air, and prepared to meet the enemy squadrons head on. He would still issue orders, but they would be snap decisions, not short motivational speeches, and overall engagement orders.

The enemy force kept on coming strong, and as they got closer, the enemy squadrons broke into enemy wingpairs, something that was done quite often and was a very overused tatic. Time to teach the enemy of their mistakes. Too bad they would not live to learn of them. Breaking into wingpairs forced one pilot to stay with another, and prevented him from going off into the void to seek his own targets, and reduce the enemy. Well, his pilots would not be denied this chance, and each had the training to make good on their own. He would prove it.

As the range scrolled down, they were finally within firing range. He and his pilots opened fire with laser cannons, shooting at precise targets. The enemy starfighters, on the other hand, preferred to launch volleys of proton torpedoes, and then follow up with massed laser fire, most of which missed. He heard three cries over his comm board, and a quick glance at his displays told him that one of the shield trios had been hit hard, with three pilots, in particular Red ten, eleven, and twelve, vanishing into fireballs. All glory to you, warriors. He thought as he completed his run. His target had been destroyed. All around him, some twelve enemy starfighters had vanished under the concentrated assaults. Now it was time for every pilot to fend for himself.

On his own, Red one was a merciless, cruel, and awesome starfighter pilot. Within moments of detaching, he vaped an E-wing trying to get onto the tail of Red two, and then went after a pair of E-wings going through the formation, intent on attacking the capital ships, his home. He fired a proximimty proton torpedo at them, which exploded between them, and disabled both vehicles. Laser fire finished off both of them. An alert sounded in his ear. He pulled up just as a proton torpedo streaked under him. He nosed down and fired, destroying the torpedo that had been aimed at him. He then quickly came about, and fired his own torpedo, and saw satisfaction as the E-wing that had been aiming at him detonated in a bright ball of fire.

Another warning tone startled him. He executed a corksrew manuever that let the two proton torpedoes aimed at him slip by without hitting him. The two E-wings, a wingpair, came straight at him, and emptied more proton torpedoes onto his tail, which through brilliant flying, managed to evade. He thought he may have met his match when the starboard of the two enemy E-wings vanished under sudden fire from an Deathglider. He sent his thanks to Red two, always looking out for him, he thought, and then quickly turned on his attacker. The E-wing detonated into a spectacular fireball as his laser fire penetrated it.

He was left out of the main engagement zone for a few minutes, and he used this time to take a quick overview of the total engagement. So far, including the three initial losses, he had lost seven pilots, of which five were killed, and the other two were too badly damaged to participate further in the battle. In return every single one of his pilots had scored at least one kill, half of them scoring at least two kills. That totalled some ninety enemy pilots, and the total enemy pilots killed taking into account other kills totalled an even one hundred. There were only twenty enemy pilots left, and most of them were fighting a retreat, and were the most skilled of the enemy pilots.

Red one smiled as he and three other pilots that had been left behind zoomed up to rejoined the fight. He managed to make quick torpedo kill on someone trying to get behind one of Yellow's pilots, and had also managed to get an assisted kill with Red two against two more enemy pilots, making one more for him, and his total kills made five, making him an instant ace. Although, in the Black Dragon Empire, twenty five kills officially stood for an ace. For his career, Red One still had another five kills to go though, since he had only twenty, thus far counting the ones he had killed so far. The engagement was over in a very short manner, the enemy elite pilots managing to kill three more of his pilots before they were overwhelmed. That made their losses a total of ten deathgliders, a cheap price to pay in exchange for the destruction of one hundred twenty of the best pilots the enemy had to offer.

He formed up with his remainining squadron mates. Red Nine had fallen, one of the last ones to be destroyed, as a matter of fact, leaving him with eight pilots. So flight three, containing the youngest and greenest of his pilots, although all of them were veterans by any means, had all been killed. In the other squadrons, two pilots from Yellow squadron, and four pilots from Blue squadron, which with him had seen some of the toughest fighting. That left Green squadron with the least worst squadron of all, with no losses.

He talked with his home ship concerning further orders. He was ordered to attack the enemy capital ship formation along with his following pilots. They were ordered to gauge the strength, cunning, and worthiness of the enemy capital ships. From this data Admiral Harker would draw up the plan needed to soundly defeat these worthless scum. He ordered Green Squadron to take lead, followed by Yellow squadron, and Red Squadron, with Blue Squadron protecting their flanks. As they approached the enemy ships more new contacts lit up the boards, more new enemy starfighter launches. These contacts surronded the capital ships, suggesting a screen, and in some numbers too.

As they approached to within visual range, Red one allowed himself a smile. The enemy starfighters were of the oldest types, and consisted of the original TIE Fighters, and X-wing snubfighters, along with some types of Uglies, most noticeably Die-wings. These were probably craft the pirates had first flown before they caught their share of the new found fortunes. This was nothing more than cannon fodder to the BDE pilots, and the enemy commanders probably knew it. There had to be some kind of trap, this was probably most likely a decoy of some kind, but for what? Red One signaled back to his commanders his thoughts, and asked for scans of the surronding areas.

The answers came a moment later. According to the second fleet, which had an excellent view of the rear of the enemy main force, two pairs of Lancer class Frigates had snuck up behind the Star Destroyers, and were ready to pounce on the Deathgliders. A concerned Admiral Harker had issued orders for two new squadrons of Deathgliders, Gold and Gray squadrons, to be sent in as reinforcements. They would arrive within thirty seconds. So with this in mind, Red one sent two comm clicks across the squadron's channel, a signal for the attack to commence. He selected his first pair of targets, and dove in, eargerly firing his laser cannons as he did so.

Meanwhile, the Lancer Frigates, upon hearing the engagement had begun, now began to arc up and over the Star Destroyers, and headed in torwards the starfigther engagement. Their laser cannons opened up on the starfighter formations, chewing apart Deathgliders, and destroying some ten of them in short fashion. Admiral Harker grimaced at this. He did not want to lose good pilots this way. Fortunatley, a counter attack was being planned at the moment. He leanded down to the gunner's station. "Are the PIM's ready yet?" he asked. "Yes sir, we are merely awaiting for your premission to fire sir." said the gunner. "Then commence firing." ordered Harker.

He watched as the four missiles leapt out of their speical tubes, and streaked across the blackness of space. The enemy had turned the rules on them, engaging the starfighters with special captial ships instead of with other starfighters. Well in one move Admiral Harker was telling the enemy that he would not let them do this. They would play by his rules, or be mercissley slaughtered. As it was Harker did not want to slaughter them outright, but rather wanted to play with them first, and let his pilot's, ground troops, and ship's crew get some valuable combat experience.

Thirty seconds had passed since the missiles had been launched. Admiral Harker watched the display screens. The reinforcing squadrons of Deathgliders had reached the engagement zone, and were helping the standing deathgliders polish off the cannon fodder. Five more deathgliders had perished under the guns of the lancer frigates. And then, with a bright static display on the sensor board, the PIM's arrived on their targets, blasting through the shields, and detonating against the hulls of the lancer frigates. In one moment the four two hundred fifty meter long vessels were completley disabled. With that distraction gone, the remaining Deathglider pilots easily mopped up the remaining cannon fodder, and turned their attention to the nearest of the Nebula Star Destroyers.

Red one lead his starfighters through the debris fields of the last of the enemy pilots, and headed straight torwards the nearest enemy star destroyer. His squadrons had sustained heavy losses in the last round, twenty of his pilots having fallen to the combined guns of the lancer frigates, and to the swarms of the enemy green pilots. But in return, thanks to intervention by Admiral Harker, four lancer frigates lay disabled, and some two hundred additional enemy pilots were dead. That accounted for all the starfighter capability of the advance squadron of enemy warships. In his squadron he had lost all of two flight, leaving one flight. He had merged his squadron with the remaining four pilots of Yellow squadron, and the three remaining pilots of Blue squadron. That left eleven starfighters in Red Squadron, and ten starfighters in Green squadron, which once again had suffered the least amount of losses.

They approached the enemy Star Destroyer, which targeted the cloud of starfighters with it's turbolaser cannons, firing in massed volleys at the enemy starfighters approaching it. Red One let loose with his remaining torpedoes, his fellow pilots doing likewise. He pulled away then, and headed back for home. Behind him, exlosions flared across the length of the Unruly, decimating her shields, and damaging her hull. Their mission accomplished, the Black Dragon Empire starfighters turned for home, as ordered. The rest of the engagement was left to the capital ships.

<b>On the surface of Formos, one week after the engagement above her skies...</b>

The night sky over Formos had been a lurid red, shot through with yellow and streaked with black. The wind that blew across the capital city stank of smoke and spilled fuel and the sour nose-prickling smell of fusion-beam cannons in prolonged use. It carried with it the heavy crump of explosions, the crash of structures collapsing into rubble, the tumult of voices shouting and screaming.

The Black Sun pirate was running, dodging through the streets, trying to make it to Formos's spaceport on foot. He'd seen Black Sun's branch go down, seen the main building collapse into itself when the concussion missles hit, seen the pillar of smoke and flame rising into the sky. The deed was necessary, he knew, for those on the other side-- the mercs had been holding their branch in force with small arms and at least one laser tower. Still-- minutes ago his squad had been there, and now there was nothing where they had stood except craters and a pile of rubble.

He was out of breath, stumbling as he ran. He'd come on foot all the way from his unit's last stronghold. Hours and hours it had taken-- walking fifty paces, running fifty, walking fifty again, as he'd been taught in his military training to reserve his strength-- and he hadn't dared to grab a vehicle for any of it, because that would have made him too good a target.

The streets were blocked by civilians, merchants, and smugglers trying to escape the capital, and choked with merc, rebel and pirate defenders coming in, while the invaders poured from the landed DragonClaws and spread out into the city like ink into water. When he'd seen on the holovids the path the invaders were taking, and the places where resistance was gathering to meet them, he knew that he had to find his beloved and escape from Formos. Her home was near the spaceports-- right along the path where the forces would collide. Were now colliding.

He saw the main street ahead at last, a broad avenue running through the heart of the city from the smuggler's district to the civil buildings. He had to cross it, one way or another. Her home lay beyond, in a neighborhood of homes grouped around open squares. He prayed she was still there, or at least nearby in hiding.

Now the avenue ran like a river of destruction in his path. He crouched in the shelter of a flight of durocrete steps leading up to a first floor building. The structure's windows were all broken, and the room inside was dark. Flashes of blaster fire came from the upper windows across the avenue, and more flashes answered them from the windows above his head.

A squad of merc soldiers crouched in the shelter of a public transit stop, firing at the windows on the far side of the avenue. One of the mercs threw a dark green smoke grenade, and in the next instant the air roiled with throat-clenching white fog. The mercs shouted and rushed into the street, moving like shadowy figures through the smoke. More blaster fire came flashing down; some of the shadowy figures fell, but the others kept on running. The smoke scattered the laser fire, making a light too brilliant to look at.

Then he heard the rumble of machinery and the sound of metal thudding on durocrete in regular, titanic footfalls. He looked to his left. Down at the main civic hall at the end of the avenue, a looming anthropomorphic shape strode around the corner of the building, one massive arm punching out and into the third-floor windows as it came: a BDE All-Terrain Battle-Transport or AT-BT, swinging into action. He had no chance at all of crossing the avenue now.

In desperation, he backtracked a block to a transit tunnel entrance, and plunged down its steps into the dark. He paused at the bottom to let his eyes adjust-- as he'd hoped, the battery-powered lumas were on, and the tunnel was illuminated by their crimson glow. he didn't see either rebels or mercs anywhere nearby. If the hovertrains were no longer running, he could follow the tunnel down one-- no, two-- stops, then up and through the civic hall subterranean concourse to get out, and make it to his love's home that way from the other side.

<I>Please Lyra...</i> he thought, <I>I hope you have gotten out in time...</I>

He lowered himself off the platform and down onto the guide tracks, taking care to stay away from the electrified rail in case the power should unexpectedly return. He trotted down the tunnel, from one dim patch of red light to the next. A platform opened out ahead-- the first stop-- he kept moving, going on into the dark. At the second stop, he swung himself up onto the platform, barely noticing the pain when he banged his knee against the edge, and climbed the steps of a staircase into the civic hall's concourse.

On a typical day, thousands of merchants, pirates, smugglers, and mercenaries would pass through the concourse's vast rotunda; at any given moment, it could hold several hundred. Today, after the fighting had passed through and reduced its merchant stands and kiosks to wreckage, it was empty-- no, not quite empty. As he made his way around the perimeter of the concourse, he saw a half dozen figures, civilians by their clothing, huddled together inside what had been a cantina. One of them at least appeared badly hurt, a business-suited Rodian lying half across the lap of an older, stouter, smuggler-looking human female. The clothes of both were soaked with two types of blood: the Rodian's and hers.

He would have gone on, intent of his self-imposed mission, if a young male human in a bartender's uniform hadn't pushed himself to his feet and come forward. The bartender asked him, "Do you know if it's safe yet outside?"

He shook his head. "Not yet. There's fighting all over."

"Please," said the woman smuggler. She looked down at the Rodian who lay across her lap. "He's dying. Please, can you call for help, or send someone, or--"

"I can't," he said. "I don't think there's anybody left to come."

Another one of the customers spoke up-- a Corellian merchant, gray-haired and well-tailored under all the dirt and blood. "Do you know if it's true what they were saying before the holovids went dark? That it is the Black Dragon Empire who has come?"

He felt the bitter anger rising up in him like a poisonous spring. He had not thought he could hate so much. "The BDE?" he said. "Yes. They have... and we have lost Formos to them."

Hard-eyed, the female smuggler said, "I hope you gave them hell at least."

"We tried," he said, then felt a wave of dizziness pass over him-- <I>the lack of good air</I>, he told himself groggily, here in the downbelow. Somebody pressed soemthing cool into his hand; when his head cleared, he saw it was the young bartender with a chilled bottle of R'alla spring water.

"Here. Drink some, pour the rest over your head-- we've got plenty in the cooler and I don't think the manager is going to be in to check the inventory for a very long time."

"Why?"

"He's dead..."

The water was good; it soothed his throat and cooled his skin. "Thank you," he said. "I have to go now-- my girl, in the Corellian district-- I have to see if she is still there or made it out."

"Good luck," said the older Corellian. "Good luck," came from the others in a murmured echo.

Then he was running again, around the perimeter of the concourse to the broad durocrete stairs going up into the light above. He slowed as he neared the street level, taking time to look and listen.

The street was empty, and the sounds of fighting were distant; the invaders had moved on. They had left behind the marks of their passage: overturned and burned out air-speeders; the marks of missle impacts in the cratered road; gaping holes in roofs and walls; trees and bushes shredded into mulch. A man-- not pirate, or merc, but a civilian-- lay dead near the transit entrance, crumpled and bloody in a limbs-not-meant-to-go-that-way heap.

He was running hard now. Two blocks, five blocks. In one of the squares, he saw the turf chewed and shredded by the BDE's Riant tanks, and a merc's vehicle twisted into a unrecognizable metal shape. Six more blocks, and he came to the row of gray stone town houses each with their metal steps and downstairs bay window and tiny front garden with flowers and trees in wooden tubs.

There was the house with the green door and the metal door knocker. He ran up the steps. The door wasn't locked; it wasn't even latched. It swung open when he touched-- when he half-fell-- against it. He stumbled into the front hallway.

The wood table with the big metal bowl on it-- his gift to her from their last anniversary; he used to lean his forehead against the bowl's cool metal on hot summer days-- was knocked over now, the bowl rolled away into a corner and the flowers it had held scattered across the entry hall in a diagonal stripe, and spilled water everywhere.

He saw muddy footprints on the stairway, going up. He stared at them. They weren't human footprints. They were machine. He realized what had came up these stairs. They were the monstrosities his unit captain uttered when they came down those ramps from the BDE ships. They were called Drhazi Dameuns, the elite super-soldiers of the Black Dragon Empire.

Automatically, he knew the outcome. Lyra was either dead or taken prisoner to become one of their minions, to be converted to serve their cause and expand their faith-- brainwashed to serve their god.

He slumped to his knees and a tear fell toward the muddy floor.

He never bothered to realize the lingering AT-BT had stopped behind him and began to level the house where he lay...

<b>Aboard the Tion Star Destroyer <I>Erebus</i>...</b>

"... Captain Adaala.." the comlink uttered, between bursts of static.

The outside sound pickup wasn't as good as it would have been aboard her command bridge. The dojo's designers had paid more attention to blocking out external noise than they did to admitting it.

"Yes?"

"... Admiral Vincent Harker of the Farfalen wishes to speak with you via holotransmission."

Adaala finished her exercise and pulled on an outer robe over her loose garments, belting it tight around her waist. She hurried out from her dojo and across the polished floors of her chambers toward the holoprojector to receive Admiral Harker. She would have preferred the chance to shower first, but she wanted to make it clear to the Admiral that she took such messages seriously. Representing the Tion Cluster's involvement in Farfalen's takeover of Formos was already hard enough without alienating the very people who were supposed to be helping her do the job.

The holoprojection came to life, displaying the image of Admiral Harker as a lean man with close-trimmed hair and a well-maintained mustache. His uniform was fresh and crisply pressed, and the medals on the breast of his tunic spoke of an eminently respectable though not flamboyant service career. He could have passed for an artist's depiction of old style military spit and polish. Seeing him, Adaala felt even more conscious than before of her own sweat-flattened hair and informal garb.

She put her chin up. She was a Captain and a commander of a Tion Star Destroyer, whatever she was wearing, and no mere Admiral of Farfalen was going to stare her out of countenance.

"Admiral Harker," she said, giving him her most practiced gracious smile. A kindy salutation had its occasional uses even in her current position. When she absolutely had to, she could charm almost anybody. "I'm afraid my dojo isn't very good about picking up external channels-- you wish to speak with me?"

"There's a Shoto coming out of hyperspace in a few days," Admiral Harker said. "They sent word ahead. They've got a Farfalen government official on board, coming to take rule over Formos as soon as we clean up."

Adaala felt her smile turn cynical, and couldn't help but feel a twinge of regret at her own reaction. She did so well on Embaril with its takeover, stealing Gien Schi's limelight away from him. Too bad she couldn't do the same with the Farfalen.

"I take it Formos is now ours?" she said, raising an eyebrow.

"The last of the scum and villanly have surrendered to the Black Dragon Empire," Harker said, making his statement conclusive. "The Farfalen thank the Tion Cluster for their participation in this operation. You and your crew have done well, Captain Adaala."

She relaxed a little; the Admiral apparently approved of her leadership and participation in the campaign. She caught a strand of one of her braids between her fingers and twisted it thoughtfully.

"Thank you, Admiral. Your orders?"

"Your work here is finished. Your forces can return back to the Tion Cluster. We will finish our work here."

She drew a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to send out the rest of her anxiety along with it. "As you wish. I will order my forces off-planet and set our course back to Tion space."

Harker merely nodded in approval and the holoprojection suddenly faded.

Adaala tapped the comm's console. "Subcommander Roun, commence to order our forces back to the <I>Erebus</I> and have navigation begin plotting their hypercourse back to Argai.

Our work is done..."