CinnigarThe automatic cooling systems of the Legionnaires’ armor compensated for the harsh climate of Cinnigar’s deserts, but the climate was nonetheless somewhat disconcerting for the two, who had never been outside of climate-controlled environments – except in the harsh, frigidly wet climate of Kamino. These Legionnaires, though, were doubly uncomfortable, given that they were not Legionnaires at all – though their identities would be forever opaque to all but a select few.
These were Conclave Executors, genetically modified Yevetha encased in modified Legionnaire armor. They were agile, stealthy, and inhumanly strong – but likely, less so in this heat. Luckily, their role today was not one of combat, but one of thought. More well-equipped forces would be handling combat.
Three and Four were their only names, the Second Pair within the Executorial Legion. “Gevel has something planned, I assume,” Four said, as they strode past a pair of armed Stormtroopers into the core of the Legislative Assembly chambers.
“Of course,” Three replied.
“You know of it?”
“No. The mission does not require me to. But you can always be assured that Gevel has a plan; past experience dictates it.”
“Yes,” Four assented. Finally, the two walked through another pair of double doors, into a circular office containing one pale, somewhat overweight man with an unruly mop of jet-black hair. He seemed to be examining his chronometer once every two or three seconds.
“You are –” He began.
“Not important enough to be named,” Three replied, without missing a beat.
“We are here on behalf of Governor Theren Gevel, who himself is acting on behalf of Admiral Bhindi Drayson,” Four continued. There was an uncanny level of coordination between Three and Four; Gevel himself had once said of them that there was no better team in the Empire.
“We are now prepared to take control of the situation.” Three concluded. “I trust you have some sort of…”
“…command bunker?” Four finished.
The man got to his feet. “Yes, sirs… ah, if you’ll just come with me.”
* * * * *
Fallout Bunker<p align=right><table width=90%><hr>
The holovid opened with two children playing outside.
The children, blond, a boy and a girl, were neatly dressed and were all smiles as the girl chased the boy around several fruit trees.
The camera pans to a mother looking out a window, a classical, traditional setting as she places a meal on a table. Her eyes glance at a time piece and the camera shoots to a man in an Imperial Uniform directing refugees in an orbiting space station. His eyes glance up at the time.
He was due home soon.
The camera view changes to the children again. Both children are laughing, the girl having caught the boy and they both fall down.
The view freezes and fades to white.
The Coalition’s Ambassador’s voice is heard over shouting masses against the white background:
“So BEWARE!, Empire,
for we ARE coming!”
A Mon Calamari Battleship appears in orbit of an Imperial planet.
The camera angles in on the mother as she drops a glass.
The alien vessel opens fire on the orbiting station and panic stricken voices are heard over the sounds of destruction. The ship begins to open fire on the planet and the yard the children are playing in is turned to ash.
The window explodes inward against the mother, knocking her back before fire begins to consume the house.
The picture fades.
KNOW WHERE THE CLOSEST SHELTER IS LOCATED.
REGISTER AND LOG ONTO THE ARLISS SECURITY NET FOR YOUR UP TO THE MINUTE NEWS AND EMERGENCY EVACUATION PROCEDURES.
GOVERNMENT SPONSERED MILITIA BARRACKS AVAILABLE TO ALL WISHING TO SIGN UP.
BE A PATRIOT AND STOP THE ALIEN AGGRESSION!<hr></table></p>
All across the Empire, the call had long ago gone out; join the militia, or face the encroachment of the alien sympathizers. The commercial was simple, but brilliant in its simplicity; it didn’t play on racism, but on fears that the
aliens were racist, particularly after the Kamino scandal during which Theren Gevel discredited the Coalition judicial, legislative, and executive systems as crooked, corrupt, and above all, racist.
Militias had been formed on many worlds, but on the worlds of Empress Teta, with a long Imperial and Sith legacy, the turnout had been more than could have been expected. Hundreds upon hundreds of millions turned out to be uniformed and outfitted with a weapon, and while many were ill-suited to use that weapon, the advantage of numbers would certainly be theirs.
Even those not willing to become part of the militia had been given weapons by the government, and enlisted to help build fallout shelters and bunkers. The construction had been quick and dirty, using more an overwhelming amount of material than anything else. Now, bunkers and shelters, most half-underground, dotted almost every city on Cinnigar and Koros Major.
It was a general’s nightmare. Urban warfare against entrenched troops. With the pair of Conclave Executors, as well, had been sent a group of Legionnaires to augment the already-present force of Stormtroopers.
Three himself, in his metallic, ringing synthesized voice, now sent the transmission. “All militia members to their bunkers or assigned posts. All citizens to fallout bunkers. The Empire is under attack,” he said.
And on both Cinnigar and Koros Major, even as the enemy vessels first emerged from hyperspace, the Imperial citizens braced for war.
