“Who is Adrian Dalaran?”

&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp Voices. All around. Sound waves vibrating off cantina tables, bar decks, swivel chairs.

&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp A smirk lightened the mood at one particular table.

“I’ve been asking myself the same question for the last eleven years.”

“And?”

“And?” The drink rose to his lips, but paused. His eyes spellbound by the ruby contents swirling inside his glass. It was a tranquility, all on it’s own, he mused. Somehow, for some reason, designed by some purpose, there was something majestic about sending a glass’ contents into a halo of motion.

&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp At times like these, Adrian Dalaran found the act to make sense out of a violent, hostile galaxy. War brewed, death reigned, and violence was prominent in every reach and corner of space, yet, all that currently was and would ever be, was him, the swivel seat, the voices all around, and the glass. But it was even more than this.

&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp The ruby did not just make sense, he thought to himself.

“And, well… I’ve grown to understand that there is often much more truth to questions than there is to answers.”

&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp The ruby was sense, in all retrospect and prevalence that encompassed all thought and being. At times like these, all was one, and there was none. No good… how sad, perhaps? But no evil as well. No light, nor darkness. No death, nor life. No Empire or New Republic. No wrong, or right. Truth, deceit, love, hate, calm, turmoil. Yes, no, I do, I do not. All aspects of these existed as one.

&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp Dalaran and the glass, the voices, the swivel seat. The ruby sparkling off his irises, casting a crystalline reflection at the roof of the restaurant.

“I don’t quite understand…”

“Yes,” he said. “I know.”

&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp The man across from him nodded, not in understanding, simply in acknowledgement of his ignorance. Dalaran settled out of his trance, and threw the ruby down his throat, feeling the muscles lining his esophagus burn in pleasure and serenity. His eyes watered a bit, marveling from the beauty and uniqueness such a thing could produce.

“Wonderful,” he murmured.

“What was that,” the man asked.

&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp He shook his head, firmly.

“Nothing. What are you here for?”

&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp The man smiled, fainting a hurt look.

“What, no hello? You’re not even going to offer me a drink?”

&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp Dalaran pushed the bottle of ruby across the table.

“Help yourself,” he said, sporting a barely concealed grin.

&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp The man smirked, and with a helpless shrug, popped the top off the ruby and settled in for an immodest take.

&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp Dalaran sighed, straining to keep his disgust from the man’s eyes. He doesn’t savor the moment. In fact, he’s completely oblivious to it’s existence. And then, something more than disgust fell over him. Pity.

&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp He vouched to quickly change the subject.

“How is the family?”

&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp The man was caught off guard a slight, settling the bottle of ruby aside him. He looked down, as if transfixed on some answer he could not seem to give, or did not want to get into the conversation. So, with all complacency, he gingerly snapped, “fine.”

“Fine? Well, that’s good to hear.”

“You don’t call?”

&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp Dalaran nodded. “I don’t call.”

&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp The reply seemed critical, even angry. “You don’t, can’t, or won’t?”

“Is there a difference?”

“Only by definition. Answer the question Adrian.”

&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp He tilted his head to one side, gesturing his submission.

“Very well. I don’t, because I can’t, though I wouldn’t, if I could.”

“You wont,” came the resignation.

“I won’t,” came the confirmation.

&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp The silence settled between the pair, as the voices seemed to penetrate every fiber of his being, and Dalaran felt as though he knew every voice, could distinguish it by name, by accent, by species, race of species, and so on. He knew the rasped snarls of the Devorian two tables behind, the thrilled chirps and whistles of Elom aside his seat, of the depressed tone and whine of the eccentric Ithorian nestled at the bar.

&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp His nostalgia was pleasant, but not one. It did not make him whole; it did not fill the gap of oblivion that gnawed at his fiber. Ironic. It was something in his life that didn’t make sense.

“Have you played any good games lately,” the man asked.

&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp The reverie dismissed itself. Almost in melancholy reverence, he poured himself another glass of ruby, holding it to his eyes once more.

“Just the same one I’ve been playing for the last eleven years.”

&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp He drank. He sighed. He shook his head. He was asked, “have you won?”

&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp He laughed. It was not jovial. It did not give him any piece of mind. It did nothing to lighten the mood. It a was bitter, even cynical laugh, born of cruel fate and revelation’s of epiphanies that explained that life was not the serene fields of wild flowers, nor calm rolling oceans of blue, nor the quiet peace of deep space. Life was cruel, treacherous, filled with malicious deceit and clever trickery.

“No,” he shook his head, but he knew the appropriate answer. “I’ve barely come to understand the rules.”

“What are the rules?”

“There are none.”

&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp The man’s eyebrows raised in consideration. He took another sip of the ruby, then leaned back and allowed his girth to sink into the swivel seat.

“How can you understand the game if it is not bound to some definition of order?”

“Because the game is order, and it is also mayhem. There are laws, but no one obeys them. There are boundaries and statutes and codes and margins that govern what you do and where you go and what you say…”

“But?”

&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp Dalaran breathed in deeply. But… control is…

“But all is null and void to being who you are. A murderer cannot murder because it is supposed to be evil, wrong. Who says it is wrong?”

“It is unnatural, and cruel.”

“Says whom?”

&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp The man shook his head stubbornly.

“Such things are defined by the beginnings of life.”

&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp Dalaran smiled obtrusively. He was close to a point.

“Every beginning to something requires that we understand it to make an end. That means that in order to understand a beginning, we must sometimes make a translation all on our own…”

“Yes but-“

“…so who’s to say what translation is right or wrong, good or evil? Who sanctions such things?”

&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp The man was speechless, but nevertheless, by his face, Dalaran knew he was groping for an answer, desperate for a candle or matchstick in a pitch black oblivion. Desperate for understanding, desperate to grab and hold onto a solid something than an empty nothing.

“The only way to win the game is to be who you are. If the murdered murders, it is not because he is mentally insane. It is not because of any biological reaction to flashbacks of an abusive upbringing. It is because of what is in his heart.”

“But control-“

“Control is an illusion.”

&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp The man across from Dalaran chuckled, shaking his head.

“I once remember a certain Adrian of the House Dalaran who thought differently.”

&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp Adrian smirked. He set his glass down, put a credit chip on the table, and said, “I shed that skin along time ago.”

“Yes,” the reply came, it was sad, resigned. “I know.”

“Certainly,” said Adrian, offering his hand to the fat man. “But one thing you didn’t know is that I knew you’d be coming to see me today.”

&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp The fat man looked at him piously, lifted the ruby to his lips, finishing the glass, then took Adrian’s hand in his, rushing off the swivel chair.

“And just how did you know that?”

“Oh, I’m not really sure,” he commented as they passed the restaurant’s colorful denizens. “General feeling of intuition I suppose.”

&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp Grunt. Cough. Snarl. Hack. Whine. Whistle.

“Regardless, I felt the need to place a bet on matter with a dear friend, about five foot ten inches, blue eyes with flecks of gold in the irises, suave brown hair, very dashing, quite a charming figure, if I do say so myself.”

&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp A once over, a jovial chuckle, and the man patted Dalaran on the back.

“I must meet this friend of yours some other occasion, he seems to be a lot like yourself.”

&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp Adrian shook his head, giving the man a strange, awry stare.

“Not really,” he said, cool and collected. “He’s quite the bitter cynic.”

&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp They walked out together into a bright flare.

“I love springtime, Illidan.”

There are no other seasons like springtime in Chandrila, Adrian thought to himself as the pair stepped out onto the causeway. Springtime always marked the end of the cycle of death, a tightrope between two struggling opposites that could never satiate one another in harmony. But death’s end meant a period of new life, and Chandrila’s native ecosystems always seemed to make the profound effect that to beings who shared Adrian’s thoughts, life’s rewards and it’s promises of reincarnation seemed to sooth out the worries and qualms that inevitable death brought.

“How has the Archangel project been coming along”, Illidan Dalaran asked.

&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp Adrian considered the truth of his answer carefully, an replied, “It’s coming along smoothly enough, as long as I continue to have the resources I need at my disposal, I should have something ready to offer the Jutraalian Research and Development commission within the next few months.

“So soon?” Illidan seemed flustered by the unexpected news, nodding his appreciation however. “I didn’t think that you’d have prepped a rough draft until at least the next nine months.”

“Well,” he replied, “your funding has been put to good use. Denning and Racine are excellent physicists, and access to the old Imperial engineering protocols as given me a better glimpse at just what kind of resources the House will need to acquire if they accept the proposal to construct it.”

“And what has been your conclusion?”

“The resources that will be implemented will overwhelm the national treasury,” Adrian said. A hurt look sprung into his eyes, quickly fading into determination.

“But I won’t stop here,” he said. “I’ll find the additional funding I need elsewhere.” Then turned to Illidan with a halfhearted smile.

“I’m sure there are plenty of over eager capitalistic bureaucrats who’d love to give me their time of day.”

&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp They both toured the immense expanse of the causeway, one of five that ran through the small but brimming metropolis of Hanna, Chandrila’s capitol city. A spaceport community earning its income through trade and commerce, serving as the national capitol that banked into a long history of galactic politics. True enough, Chandrila’s role in Bormea sector had always been one of a strong willed anti-dictatorship-tyranny-totalitarian voice with ultimately strong anti-Imperialism sentiments. The Chandrilan’s had served in giving voice to the galactic wide complaints of the old Empire’s oppressive rule, and with their weight in the archaic Galactic Senate they certainly gave the running Chancellor Palpatine much stress and heartache in his domineering role.

&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp The many beloved politicians included the Houses of Mothma and Omonda, who both had representatives either serving now, of had been an influential voice in the New Republic senate and the age old Rebel Alliance cause. With the retirement of Mon Mothma to her estate on Coruscant, a new House was required to be elected in her place in representing Chandrila in galactic affairs. House Dalaran was that constituent who gained control of Chandrilan politics, both in private and senatorial matters.

&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp The House consisted of Adrian’s grandmother and grandfather, Alderado Dalaran and Melissa Dalaran, who ran domestic politics and represented the sector on the current New Republic senate. Their two sons, Benjamin and Gregory Dalaran were next in line for succession in the Right to Office for Chandrilan politics. The Houses were elected in democratic proceedings, though once a House was elected to rule, it stayed in power until all members of it in line for succession to rule were deceased, or turned down to responsibilities of office. Benjamin had married a young microbiologist from Correlian bloodline, Marriana Jominus, whom he had met on a diplomatic parlay to the Correlian sector. They both had a child, Adrian, in whom they had put all their pride and joy and hopes. This child, whom they had invested all of the Dalaran succession to rule, was to be third in for succession.

Destiny, it seems, did not warrant Adrian a life of luxury and political power that it did for the rest of his family. A graduate from the Brionelle Memorial Military Academy at the top two percentile of his class at the age of twenty-three warranted him respect and admiration from many of his peers and family early in his life. Rejecting the opportunity to fully indulge in a glorious military career at the Imperial Naval Academy center on Yaga Minor, he went on to continue his education in Astrophysics and Molecular Metallurgy at the University of Chandrila to accept his many prestigious degrees in sciences. He stayed in school until he was twenty-nine.

Early on during his childhood, Adrian had developed a strong sense of independence and stubbornness from his family, so far as to reject the Right to Office that was in time supposed to be passed down to him. However, in Chandrilan political society, a family member who would turn down that right was looked upon with a manner of great disdain. Such a dishonor was contemptuous, and was even viewed as a traitorous act to the ruling House in most cases.

With no surprise to him, his entire family save one had turned their backs on him, disowning him to the rest of Chandrilan society. For the next few months to proceed, Adrian had come to find that life without the many benefits and advantages of royalty was anything but the blissful independence he had hoped it would be. With the dishonor that hung from his shoulders, it turned out that his relatives were not the only ones who looked upon him with such contempt and disgust. Even with his extraordinary education, no institute of research or engineering would favor the blemish that would come with taking in this outcast mockery of aristocracy he had become.

In despair, only one man dared to show compassion and understanding to Adrian, his uncle and close friend, Illidan Dalaran.

Illidan had served for the next several years as Adrian’s conscience and mentor, helping him to adjust to life without his family and outside of all the bureaucratic affairs that he so used to being raised around. His uncle had provided him with small time yet modest paying employment in a remote research facility near the shores of Lake Sah’Ot, doing research in new advancements on molecular atmospheric processors onboard starships. He took Adrian into his residential estate, Kahazdi Shores beside Lake Sah’Ot, named after the first House to rule Chandrila, over seven thousand years ago. There, Adrian and Illidan lived in relative peace away from the political melee reigning in Hanna and the New Republic senate. Though scoffed at by many of his longtime associates and colleagues, even family, Illidan remained steadfast in his affectionate loyalty to his nephew and developed to be a dynamic influence in Adrian’s life.

And while Adrian’s philosophical beliefs had strayed into a complex and twisted path that Illidan did not seem to understand, he admired his nephew’s outgoing and explorative personality that kept him continually asking why and how.

It wasn’t until a breakthrough, or a great tide of revelation that Adrian’s life once again had a higher fulfillment, until he presented Illidan with the Archangel project. The conception design and model of a new Super class Star Destroyer, the Archangel was a dream, one such that could only be spoken about in whispers, or it would vanish altogether, or come under the direct scrutiny of Chandrilan Defense, or worse Adrian’s younger brother, Gregory Dalaran, commander of Chandrilan Military. His younger brother had gone on to serve a military career, not wedding and not giving his parents any inclination of looking for a suitable mate.

And so, very discreetly and very privately, Illidan had ‘misappropriated’ small, unnoticeable amounts of fleet assets and resources to help Adrian in his efforts to engineer a fully feasible blueprint of the Archangel. Adrian’s two most beloved friends who had helped him during his tribulations from his family’s disownment, Seth Dennings and Dianna Racine had agreed with Illidan to help Adrian realize the project’s full potential. Both having graduated from UC in numerous forms of physics, they were apt and eager to put their minds to work on a project that would hold for them wonders and challenges they had not dreamed of.

But for all three of them, the Archangel project would offer much more than challenges and self-actualization. They all knew that if the Archangel project were a success, they would have a one-way ticket off Chandrila, and onto something greater and bigger than any of them had yet to fully consider. To Adrian, the Archangel’s success would be the milestone in his life that would change his fortunes forever. It would mean a name. It would mean getting far, very far away from his family, from Chandrila, and realizing a potential in himself that he had yet to discover. It was surety. Certainty. Something solid he could finally call his own. Illidan new this also, and therefore was as determined as his nephew to help him inasmuch ways as he could, financially and emotionally, he would give Adrian as much support as he could afford.

After thirty months of laborious non-stop work, he and his small but zealous team had made breakthrough after breakthrough, and could now be content with recognizing that hey had nearly a complete modeled blueprint of the project.

Adrian smiled, reminding himself that he would have to take his two good friends on a much needed vacation after this. I owe them so much.

“Good grief,” his uncle said, breaking Adrian's reminisces. Adrian tilted his chin upward, sparing a glance at a mega screen liquid crystal display impacted into once side of an immense skyscraper. The local news was in the spotlight, addressing s string of deaths that had taken place recently within the past month or two. The cause of the deaths, to Adrian’s knowledge, or whatever it was his uncle would tell him from his private conferences with Benjamin, was currently uncertain with local authorities.

“These deaths are getting out of hand,” he said. “The authorities are baffled by their nature.”

“Have they figured anything tangible to a cause?”

“Yes.”

&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp Adrian grinned, and Illidan said nothing more. It was obviously something not meant for him to hear. But his stubbornness edged him, and he asked, “Can you say?”

&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp Illidan frowned, shaking his head.

“I’m sworn under secrecy not to.” A few moments passed, after which he added, “But a criminal investigative team turned up some leads in their bio-chemical department. Now, don’t get me wrong Adrian, I was just as skeptical as you will be, but they said it was spontaneous combustion.”

&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp Adrian threw his uncle a sidelong glance then shook his head in skeptical disbelief. “What will they think of next,” he sarcastically mused. “Well, what made you a believer?”

“The bio-chemical analysis of the remains.”

&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp Adrian frowned. He’d been following up on the recent crisis with the newscasters and had come to learn that the bio-chemical report had been deemed classified by the defense force. Someone wanted to keep the mystery around these deaths sealed tight. No report had been released to the news agencies.

“What were the conclusions?” he asked.

“All evidence points to death by extreme temperature increases within the body. The victims literally just ignited, whether in their beds, standing, sitting in their offices…” he paused, unsure as how to explain the rest.

“What else?” Adrian encouraged him.

“The amount of damage to the bodies is too extent to be a random occurrence of this phenomena. Everything from the victim’s clothes, to skin tissue, to organ, to hair follicle is gone. Everything was incinerated. Damn it, even they’re skeletal structure was barely recognizable. Most of it turned into liquid marrow or carbon vapor,” he sighed.

“My point is, that this is more than just some phenomena. If it was some random freak accident, we’d have something to go by. A blood sample, a strain of hair, something. At least on one the bodies there would be some trace of past existence. Someone wanted to make sure there was nothing left of the remains for us to investigate. The deaths are simply to clean.”

“You suspect foul play?” Adrian asked.

Illidan nodded.

“And bloody hell Adrian, we’ve only been able to identify the victims from their familiars who said that the last time they were seen, they were in the bedroom or sitting down or at their offices. We can’t get a DNA sample from anything. It’s all been burned to ash cinders.”

&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp Adrian had a thought and spoke up. “But if it was a murder, then how would the culprit have gone about his act? It’s extremely difficult to contain a blazing fire indoors. Were there any other scorch marks around the furniture, ceiling?”

“That, my dear nephew, is the strangest part about all of this.”

&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp Adrian looked at his uncle with wide eyes. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“Are you saying that only thing to suffer the effects of the flames were the bodies? Are you saying that the investigation team didn’t find any other traces of soot, or ash, or scorch marks in the vicinity?”

&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp Illidan shook his head a negative. “Not one…damn…thing. Nothing. Not so much as carbon monoxide traces in the air that would have been produced in the air. It’s all un-@#%$-believable.”

“How the hell could someone had done that,” he asked. “What about traces of chemical reactants to flames?”

“There wasn’t any of that either,” his uncle clarified. “No chemicals, no toxins, nothing that would start a fire, that’s for sure.”

&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp Adrian shook his head lightly, continuing their pace along the causeway.

“Sounds like a definite dead end to me,” he remarked.

“Sounds like a definite dead end to the victims,” his uncle replied.

“Hey there flyboy.”

&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp Adrian looked up from his data transcripts just as a slender high-heeled brunette strolled into one of the lower research stations of the Epson research and development facility near the shores of lake Sah’Ot. Mahogany locks set into a ‘military’ tight ponytail, it was everyone’s wonder-----except Adrian’s-----why Dianna Racine had not yet been picked up by an eligible and upstanding bachelor. It was complex relationship that Adrian didn’t want to think about at the moment, yet seeing the depth and clarity of mind in those hazel eyes set his mind in a motion of swirls and halos.

“Hi Dianna.”

“What are you doing?” she asked walking to his side of the immense lab station he was seated at and looking over his shoulder.

“Ah, Seth asked me to review these numbers he crunched for something…oh damn. I don’t remember, it has to do with the main hyper drive assembly,” he replied.

&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp Her face crinkled into comical disgust, and he smiled warmly. “Yea, my thoughts exactly. But we need to start wrapping up all this damn data crunching soon.”

“You’re telling me,” she tautly replied, and headed to a small refrigerating unit at the far end of the lab station. Unsealing the hatch, she grabbed some of the local juri juice, asking Adrian if he wanted one. She aptly tossed him a dispense pouch, grabbing another and heading back for his station. Pulling up a lab chair beside him she nipped the dispense pouch open a put it to her lips. Adrian left his where it was.

“So where were you?” she asked.

“Oh,” he stretched searching for something other than, ‘at a tap café’. “I met up with Illidan, we needed to talk,” he casually remarked. Well, half-truth was better than a half-lie, he concluded.

“Oh,” she said and sipped on her juri juice, waiting for the other half of the story he was waiting for her to ask for. He decided to be generous.

“Just casual stuff. He mentioned the project once, but I tried to stay away from that talk this time. I just needed to relax a bit, get my mind off work, you know?”

&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp She nodded. “Did you see that crap that was being fed on the news feed at Hanna today?”

“I did actually, very strange. When did you see it?”

&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “Oh,” she replied smiling naughtily at Adrian, “I was at Hanna myself today. I needed to pick up some groceries for the station that had just come in from Coruscant.”

“Aha,” he said. “So, what did your so called contact sneak in on the cargo this time?”

&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp She laughed, “Oh wouldn’t you like to know.”

“What?” he asked. When this made her smile wide, he pushed again, “What is it?”

Reaching into a side hip pocket on her traditional jumpsuit, she produced three small vials of a bluish powder substance. Adrian frowned at the sight, throwing Dianna a sidelong glance. Shaking his head he said, “You know, you are some bit of trouble.”

She feigned a hurt expression, pursing her lips in an apologetic manner. “What, you think I was going to keep all this ryll kor to myself?” she said, and handed one of the vials to Adrian.

“A present,” she said, as Adrian hesitantly took the vial of illicit narcotic. “Enjoy. I got one for Seth too. Now I know what you’re thinking: ‘Dianna, you know I don’t like this crap being kept inside the station, much less the fact that you’re into that sort thing-“ he laughed at that.

“What is it now?” she prompted him. “Just what in hell are thinking behind that shaggy brow of yours?”

“I’m thinking that you’re trying to take advantage of me.” They held an intense gaze for a moment. Adrian finally got up with his paperwork and belongings and made for door at the end of the lab station.

“Where are you going now?” she asked quietly, facing away from him.

&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp He paused, not sure what to say. She was a co-worker and good friend. Illidan is not going to like this, he thought. What the hell, life’s short and cruel.

&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp He turned to face her, and felt her longing gaze penetrating the fibers of his being. Gesturing towards the crew quarters in the east wing of the complex, he said, “I know a good cocktail of juri juice and some ancient chardonnay I’ve got stored in my quarters. And with this crap,” he held up the vial of spice, “I plan to make tonight interesting and relaxing.”

&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp She nodded her approval. Just before reaching the corridor leading to the crew quarters, he looked back.

“Care to join me?” he asked.

&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp She met his eyes, and those hazel voids sent sparks through him as she got up and sauntered over to him.

“Of course,” she said, grabbing his hand and leading him out onto the main passageway. “I was just waiting for you to ask.”

“Incoming priority message. Source, Dalaran, Illidan.”

&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp The communications unit rang off a series of alarming beeps again, intensifying the headache that Adrian was already feeling.

“God damn noise,” he murmured as rolled out from under Dianna’s arm. She moaned softly, he wasn’t the only one feeling the effects from of a hangover. Putting on some slacks and walking to the room’s audiovisual communications setup, he thumbed a recognition switch.

A chime echoed, followed by the gruff and worried looking visage of his uncle.

“Adrian. I have bad news.”

&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp A chill began to slowly ebb its way up Adrian’s spine. “What is it?” he asked.

“Have seen the news lately?”

“No, not since yesterday afternoon in Hanna,” he said, simultaneously bringing up another video panel to life, homing in on the local news frequency. “One second uncle,” he commented, staring at the monitor springing to life.

“-And yes, we have found an information source connecting the Empirical remnants to the murders.”

&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp Adrian stared in disbelief at his younger brother Benjamin. What in hell is going on around here?

“A full investigation is being brought to bear on everyone that currently is or was in the past recent months connected to the victims in any way. I can’t stress the seriousness of this situation.

This string of killings has been nothing more than a highly funded governmental assassination plot orchestrated by the Empire-“

&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp He couldn’t stand anymore of this political bullshit. It simply wasn’t his style. He looked back to Illidan who had been patiently waiting.

“I don’t get it,” he said. “How did this happen?”

&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp Illidan sighed. “Earlier this morning the remains of were found of one of the Defense Force’s command ranking military officials.”

“Who?”

“Teliman Jelani.”

&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp Adrian was familiar with the name, and the man. He had been with Adrian at Brionelle, and was an exceptional combat leader, and proved to be skilled and ruthless tactician. They had both graduated in the same class together, and Jelani had naturally went on to further his career with the Defense Force soon after. His success decorated him as the Defense Force’s highest ranking and highest paid Field Marshal. His loss meant a severe blow suffered to the Defense Force’s pool of competent officers.

“Dear god,” Adrian said, not quite expecting such dire and sudden news. “Dead? Just like the rest of the killings?”

&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp Illidan nodded. “But that’s not all.” he paused for effect and locking a steady gaze on Adrian. “We received word earlier this month about Corulag. It is currently under Imperial control. All we really know is that Lexicon was running the planet, and then Imperial capitalism stepped in to try and nationalize the place.”

&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp Adrian blew out a long, tired sigh, combing his hair with a calloused hand.

“Oh god. I can imagine that Lexicon executives could not have liked that very much.”

&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp Illidan nodded again.

“So they fought back?” Adrian asked.

“Not really. There was a huge press campaign played out on both sides to try and either stir anti-Imperial sentiments or win the public’s favor. You can guess how that turned out. Lexicon discovered that with its CEO dead at the hands of some Imperial assassin, they’re instrumentation in the press weighed thin. They cracked.”

&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp Adrian shook his head. “God damn,” he said.

“But that’s not all,” he continued. “So the Empire succeeds, they nationalize the company, and ultimately subdue all its assets which include the whole damn planet. Guess what happens to the rest of the Lexicon executives?”

&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp Adrian smirked. It was only common knowledge what happened to an opposing force in a war against the Empire.

“They were either forced to fully cooperate with the Imperials, or killed.”

&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp Illidan shook his head, a fleeting smile coming across his face.

“Even worse. They come here.”

“What!?”

&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp He couldn’t believe it. But then again, it was logical. Chandrila was the closest system habitable that would definitely have a past history for accepting refugees from the Empire’s rule. He pause any word of thought he had to let Illidan finish.

“They came separate, sometimes in groups, some with their credentials and staff, others with only ID’s. We nailed ‘em all as they came through port security. We didn’t detain them. Hell we couldn’t. All of them we caught had references of top executive employees for companies here on Chandrila.

Once we confirmed their references were genuine, most were given transport to their contacts, or disappeared altogether. We only know where a few of them had turned up. But all that has changed since the murders.”

&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp And that was all it took. Adrian guessed the rest. But he had to know for certain.

“Illidan, does the Empire know where those Lexicons fled?”

&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp His uncle was silent for a long time.

“It is a definite probability we’ve considered. The deaths that have been reported match the profiles and reports of the Lexicon refugees.”

&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp He nodded, soaking it all in.

“So,” he said, very slowly. “The case is this. You’ve got Lexicon fugitives on Chandrila that are still being hunted down. By whom or what or how they are being killed, you don’t know. Now Jelani turns up dead.”

Adrian considered this, and said, “Um, god Illidan. This is starting to look like the Empire is wrapping up its business with Lexicon and turning its attention on you.”

“It appears that way Adrian. If they are starting to cripple the leadership efficiency of the military, then we also need to think about what they’ll try to do to the government.”

&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp It all dawned on him. The whole @#%$ government. House Dalaran. His grandparents, his parents, his brother, even Illidan. Even him. They were all in serious danger.

“Oh @#%$. What the hell do we do?” he asked.

“Right now stay calm. Your brother is well protected. Of course he’s going to be needed to administrate the military it comes down to an all out brawl with the Imperial Navy. I’m needed to help regulate the evacuation of Hanna.

We’ve got plenty of good countryside that we’re about to make use of, and someone needs to see to it that some brain dead @#%$ up doesn’t make a mess of things down here.

The rest of the House is being escorted under heavy guard to a military bunker in Hanna. They’ll be safe there. And you,” he said, very calmly. “You dear nephew stay put exactly where you are, I’ll send a detachment to the station to pick you and your team up and escort you to the safe house.”

&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp Adrian nodded, already thinking of contingency plans just in the case of Chandrila fell to Imperial occupation. No, not if it falls. When it falls. He knew, and so did Illidan, that there was no way any lone system could withstand the brunt a an Imperial task force. The answer to Chandrila’s fate did not lay with whether it would fall or not, it simply a matter of time.

“Good luck uncle,” he briskly said.

“Good luck my dear neph-“ the communication shut off.

&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp What the @#%$ happened? His mind was racing. Why did the communiqué-. He wasn’t able to finish his train of thought. He quickly punched a receiver node on his console and brought up the main artificial intelligence construct for the station.

“Computer,” he began, sounding desperate. “Retrace the last call and dial.”

&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp A few moments passed, after which a light female metallic tone responded, “Sir, the stations transmission assembly is unable to comply with your request.”

“Why?”

“Relays are picking up an intermitting frequency broadcast that interfering with our operations.”

&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp He thought for a moment before replying.

“What about Hanna, are they suffering any kind of communications blackout?”

“No sir. The relays are picking up bits and pieces of code coming in Hanna, but again, the transmission assembly cannot trace a whole code with the current interference.”

“Can you track the broadcast?”

“We can trace the frequency, though its only audio. Shall I input the code into your console?”

“Do it,” he replied.

“Please standby.”

&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp A moment later, a blaring sound of static came through the console’s speakers, startling him, then followed by a brisk and steady voice.

“This is Commodore and Governor Theren Gevel of the Galactic Empire. I come here on behalf of the Regent as a liberating force, to once again bring justice and peace to Chandrila. People of Chandrila, your government has been harboring known fugitives, defectors from the Empire and former members of Lexicon Industries. It has become a puppet to these capitalist whores, these pro-Republic servants of evil. The military of your corrupt and useless government has been crushed like a bug under the might of the Empire, and so too have the figureheads of this twisted regime. I call upon you not to fear Imperial rule, but to embrace it, as your brothers on Corulag have; to revel in the freedom we bring with us. Gevel out.”

&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp Silence, he could only stand there in silence. The figureheads of this twisted regime, he thought. House Dalaran. Illidan! Twisting violently to the door, he stopped in mid stride. Dianna watched him with fearful, penetrating eyes, sitting up in the bed with a sheet covering up to her under arms. He didn’t know what to tell her. How much of what she heard she should not have known.

“Oh Adrian,” she began, but her words drowned, and she could only look at him in silence.

&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp He walked up to her, getting on his knees and drawing her head into his hands, kissed her. It seemed to be the only proper response he could find. He turned again, bracing against the door to main passageway beyond. He could faintly hear her calling out at him from the adrenaline he felt surging through his veins. He could only process one thought, to get to the capitol and find Illidan, to find his uncle, his friend.

Turning into the west wing of the corridor, he passed through a doorway and into the stations garage pool. Two swoop bikes and mid sized land speeder hovered in silence. Speed, he thought, heading to the nearest swoop bike. Triggering the garage’s side entrance bay, he brought the bike’s full repulsorlift system online and gunned a trail of heat vapor out of the station.

God damn me if I’ll let some Imperial son of a @#%$ hurt my family. God damn me.

&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp Dianna ran for Seth’s room as fast as her legs would carry her, but surprisingly, he met her halfway down the central corridor with a similar worried expression on his face.

“Seth,” she gasped, “It’s Adrian, he’s-“

“I know,” he said, taking her trembling hands into his. “I know. The station alerted my console when the message came through…I listened in on the conversation.”

&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp Tears were streaming down her flushed cheeks. She looked around the corridor as if searching for some hidden solution. “You have to go after him, she pleaded. He’s a nervous wreck right now, I don’t what he’ll do if he finds-“, the words trailed off between choked sobs, but Seth understood what she was trying to get at.

&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp If Adrian managed to get to his uncle’s office at Hanna and found something he was hoping against hope wouldn’t come to pass, he’d be a loose cannon. Someone needed to be there with him for support. Or simply to keep him under control.

&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp He nodded faintly, pulling Dianna into a firm, warm embrace. “It’s alright,” he soothed her. “I’ll go after him, everything will be fine.”

&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp A few minutes later Seth had brought about the remaining swoop bike out of the bay’s entranceway, racing against time to save his friend from his own mourning despair.