From Empire: The Big Picture...



The Wheel

“Bets, gentlemen?” The man asked, his white teeth gleaming even in the low light. “Mr. Morrison, surely you’re not out already?”

The other looked over at the speaker, his eyes cold.

“You wish, Zaltin.” With a sneer that conveyed everything he couldn’t say, he pushed his chips into the centre of the table.

And so it went, each man putting his money down. When the last man put in his chips, the first man smiled kindly.

“Thank you, Gentlemen.” And with a flourish, he laid out his cards. “Twenty-three, friends.”

He was just beginning to sweep the chips towards his end of the table when a strong hand grabbed his wrist and stopped him.

“I won fair and square, Mr. Morrison. There’s no reason to get angry.” He said calmly. “Please let go of me.”

The other man grinned and shook his head.

“I’ll let go of you when you explain this.” Reaching out with his other hand, he touched the corner of the topmost card and, to everyone’s surprise save his own, it transformed from the Idiot into the Queen of Air and Darkness.

“A skifter! He’s been cheating all along!” One of the other gamblers, a small man with a mousy nose exclaimed. “Security!”

“It’s all right, Edwards.” Morrison said, standing and pulling the smaller Zaltin towards him. “I’ll deal with this.” Still holding the other man’s wrist, he spilled the contents of the Sabacc Hand onto the table and said, “Divide the winnings. This scumbag doesn’t deserve any of it.”

Pulling Zaltin behind him, Morrison led him from the casino into the brighter corridors of The Wheel. Once out of sight of the place, the larger man let him go and turned to face him.

“What the fuck was that all about, Jon?” Zaltin demanded, reaching at once for his blaster and realizing that it was, with Morrison’s, at the casino security desk. The larger man smiled.

“And I thought you didn’t recognize me.”

“I’d be hard put not to recognize you. You don’t exactly blend in.” That, at least, was true. With his two meter frame and pink ponytail, the man stood out even in a crowd of aliens. “What do you want? I’ll have you know you just cost me a damned sweet Sabacc pot. I could have replaced the Roger with that money.”

“I promise you, Zaltin, what I have to offer is worth a helluva lot more than whatever was in that pot.”

“Do tell.” Zaltin said, sceptical.

“Not here. Come by my suite later tonight. Number eighteen, Diamond Level.”

Turning, Zaltin nodded.

“Damn you, Morrison. I’ll be there… but if this deal isn’t what you say it is, I’ll have your ass. You know that.”






The Wheel was an old gambler stronghold, a huge station that had been allowed to operate under the Empire only because her owner had paid huge sums of money to the local Moff to ignore its presence.

Nearly the size of a moon, the place had docking space enough for half a dozen Star Destroyers, and rooms enough to house their crews in luxury. Diamond Level was the most luxurious of them all, located at the Northern Pole of the station just above the level of the casinos.

Mark Zaltin entered the turbolift, observing himself in the mirrored walls as it rose. He was aging well, his black hair showing only a few signs of grey that gave him a somewhat distinguished look, accentuated by the dark civilian suit that was his trademark.

The lift stopped and a droid greeted him as the doors opened. With a smile, he showed the machine his invitation, which gave him visitor’s access to the jealously restricted level. The cost for a single night in a Diamond Level suite was more than most low-level officers of the Imperial Navy would make in a year.

And somehow, the bookings for a room on this level had to be made months in advance.

Mark stopped before number eighteen, adjusted the tie he wore, and rung the bell. The door slid open almost immediately, another droid identical to the guard answered, greeting him in its metallic tones.

“Master Morrison is very pleased you could come, Mister Zaltin. Please, follow me.”

The size of the suite was impressive, spanning a full two levels joined by a ridiculously large staircase. The droid let him to a dining room, where they found Morrison sitting with another man, clad in the instantly recognizable uniform of the Imperial Navy.

“Morrison-” Zaltin said, before the other man cut him off.

“Ahh, Mr. Zaltin. I am so glad you could make it. This is Commander Deusvult Godridge, of the Black Fleet. He recently arrived from Yaga Minor.”

The man rose carefully, with all the weight of a man with power, and shook Zaltin’s hand.

“Commander Godridge has been telling me about his experience in the war with the terrorists.”

“Fascinating, I’m sure.” Zaltin bit out, nodding curtly at the officer and taking the seat offered to him by the droid. “You’re Admiral Drayson’s secretary.”

“Military Aide, Mr. Zaltin.” He returned, unruffled. “You, on the other hand, are a smuggler and a pirate.”

“Not a pirate, Commander. I steal from the rich and give to the poor.”

“A pirate wrapped in good intentions is still a pirate, Mr. Zaltin. And I have little doubt your intentions are anything but good. By all rights, I should arrest you where you sit.”

Zaltin smiled and, turning to Morrison asked, “What’s all this about then?”

“An offer, brought to my attention by the Commander. Something about working for the Empire.”

“I don’t work for anyone.” Zaltin said, rising. Godridge half smiled, as if this wasn’t unexpected.

“Of course not, Mr. Zaltin. Someone of your stature doesn’t work for anyone else, except when it suits your own interests. But I promise you, if you agree you will become richer than you ever thought possible.”

“I won’t do the Empire’s dirty work, Commander. Sorry to disappoint you.”

He turned to leave, and all of a sudden found himself face to face with a Stormtrooper. This Stormtrooper, however, was not a normal soldier – his armour was the colour of blood, and he held a blaster rifle that Zaltin had never seen before.

“On loan from Commodore Gevel’s command.” Godridge said with a smile. “Please, be seated Mr. Zaltin.”

With a curse, the man resumed his seat, staring hard at the Imperial Commander. Godridge ignored this, and went on.

“You are well aware that the Empire has been expanding at an incredible rate since the Wrath epidemic. We have already grown to a size far larger than we once were – nearly half the galaxy is under our immediate control, and hundreds more worlds have pledged their support to the New Order.”

“No shit… I’ve noticed your little ‘Liberation Fleets’ roaming the galaxy lately.” Zaltin interrupted, smiling.

“Quite… regardless, the Empire has had much experience with organizing fleets and military units. But we have had little control over the more, how shall I say, civilian economics of expansion… certainly, we have managed to fund all of our projects, but the Empire has decided that we could do far better if we formulated a plan to increase the New Order’s trade and production lines.”

“Why me?” Zaltin said at last, his smile fading.

“Simply put, you are the best man available for the job. Seth Vinda has no interest in overseeing the Empire’s trade, his Corporation has been neutral since its inception and he has no desire to change that. And he is already a rich man – he has little to gain from such an alliance.

“The Empire wishes to establish an economic base that we have lacked in the past, Mr. Zaltin. To create for ourselves a fallback, so that should the Empire ever suffer from a Wrath-like attack, we should not be so wholly destroyed as to have to start again from square one.”

Zaltin’s smile was fading, and he now looked thoughtful and agitated.

“It’s the deal of a lifetime, buddy.” Morrison said, himself smiling grandly. “I only wish I knew what you know, so they might give me a chance to do it.”

After a moment, Zaltin finally spoke.

“Where do I start?”






Now

“Bespin.” Godridge said, passing a glass of something clear and alcoholic towards Zaltin.

“We’ve been here before.” He returned, taking the glass and sniffing it gingerly. “As I recall, the Empire’s last attempt to reclaim Bespin did not end terribly well.”

Godridge did not respond. Zaltin had long ago stopped trying to figure out what Godridge was thinking when he went into these long bouts of silence. The mind of an Imperial soldier was no doubt so warped that he could never hope to unravel whatever secrets the man was pondering. Instead, the smuggler-cum-businessman took a sip from his glass.

“Fruity.” He said, frowning at the beverage. That was interesting – he had never figured Bhindi Drayson’s ‘Military Assistant’ as a ginger beer man.

“The Empire has allowed Belgardi to keep their hold on Bespin so long as they did not interfere with the Empire’s own operations. It would be impossible for us to maintain some of our more… subtle endeavours if there was not a reliable independent supplier of Tibanna in the galaxy.”

“So what’s changed?”

Godridge spread his hands.

“Everything, Mr. Zaltin. The galaxy. The Coalition is destroyed, obliterated under the weight of their own outmoded form of government. Kaine has retired. Bhindi Drayson is now Supreme Commander.”

“I take it that’s how you were able to afford this.” Zaltin said, raising his glass.

“The Empire is victorious, Zaltin. We’ve won!”

“Tell that to Dessaria. I hear things are as shitty as ever in the Occupation Zone.”

“It is taking… longer than anticipated the pacify the aliens.” Godridge said with a frown. “But do not underestimate the Grand Admiral. Major combat operations in the IOZ have ended – it will not be long now.”

“Right. So, Bespin? If the Empire wants an independent source of Tibanna, why take Bespin?”

“The Empire values control, Mr. Zaltin. A world as important as Bespin in the hands of someone other than the Empire is not acceptable. The war with the Coalition has distracted the Empire from these smaller nuisances long enough.”

“Right. Why do you need me, then? If it’s a military endeavour, get one of your zealous fleet commanders to invade the place and blast the shit out of it. Mission accomplished.”

Now Godridge smiled.

“Allow me to explain the nuances of this project, Mr. Zaltin. I think you will like it…”







Bespin

“This is suicidal.” Zaltin said, pulling back on the levers that would bring the decrepit transport jerkily out of hyperspace.

“The probability of success is approximately zero point zero five, Captain.” 4GT, the equally decrepit protocol droid that was Zaltin’s only companion, monotoned.

“Great.”

Bespin had been one of the hardest hit worlds in the first war with the Galactic Coalition. The official version of events was that alien saboteurs had invaded the lower reaches of Cloud City, planting explosives that brought the entire floating city crashing down, killing thousands of civilians. The Imperial News Service had had a riot with that one, slamming the Coalition and their allies, the Outer Rim Sovereignty, repeatedly for the indiscriminate slaughter of innocents. Cloud City had received more coverage, but when the same events were reported to have unfolded on Taloraan, the Coalition’s credibility had been ruined. The actions of Ralen MeVere days later, bombing the civilian centres of Abregado-Rae, had not helped.

The ship bucked as it slowed to sub-light speeds. Gritting his teeth, Zaltin grabbed hold of the controls and wrestled the ship back into a straight flight path, trying to avoid crashing into one of the many communications satellites that filled Bespin’s skies.

“Do we have a line open yet?” He asked as the ship jerked again. There was a loud bang this time, repeated as whatever had broken off the ship’s exterior bounced against the outside hull.

“Now, Sir.”

“Bespin Port Authority, this is the independent freighter Etherington requesting permission to land. I’m suffering pretty bad main drive failure, I’m not sure if I can hold her together up here.”

Muting the channel, he reclaimed his grip on the controls and continued to fight to keep the ship level as he waited for Bespin’s reply…

Things had changed since Belgardi Universal had taken control of the planet of Bespin. Tibanna gathering was spread throughout hundreds of platforms like before, minus the reliance on a behemoth of a facility like Cloud City. Instead the tibanna gas was shipped into orbit to the Redoubt-class space station in orbit that that Belgardi has gritted their teeth over, forced to buy the station from a Tagge Company sudsidiary. Still they got what they wanted, a defense array that would discourage most considering how profitable the planet was. Belgardi security forces patrolled the area as well which is why they immediately detected the freighter as it leaped out of hyperspace, moving about in such a dangerous manner, weapons were trained on it. Belgardi had become very picky about who got near the planet after the Empire had attempted to seize it from them before. If the ship pressed it luck, it would be vaporized.

Olympus - Redoubt-class Space Station

"Umm, Mister Goth... I hate to disturb you..."

A man in a black suit and tie looked up from his work in a slightly annoyed manner. Sabbas Goth was the Director of Bespin Operations or DBO, which meant he was not only tasked with basically governing the populace of Belgardi employees but also maintaining security. He disliked being interruped while he was looking over his daily reports with his cup of citrus stim tea.

"I'm assuming this is important," Goth said, putting down his datapad, taking a sip of his stim tea, savoring the rich citrus flavor he preferred. His aide, Wilit Napiar, clutched the data report to her stomach as she stood there in a maroon dress suit. She was intelligent but also had a very shapely form which is the sort of thing Sabbas preferred to see when being delivered news or reports.

"Yes sir, an unscheduled freighter has entered the system and is asking for aide."

"How close are they to the planet?"

"Very close, we have a Punisher tailing them, ready to blast the ship to pieces if they attmept entry, like they'd have anywhere to land. Olympus' tractor beams are targetting it as we speak. What are your orders?"

"Bring them in, but not into the station. Send some boarding parties and detain the crew once its parked outside. If they fail to comply, shoot the protestors. This is Belgardi territory, they have no rights here if they're independent," Goth replied cutrly. Independent spacers knew better than to come here without good reason or a Belgardi seal of trade.

"Yes, Mister Goth."

Bespin Orbit

The Punisher Pocket cruiser tailed the freighter, its weaponry armed and ready to blow the ship to bits on the order. This constituted trespassing very much so even if they seemed in trouble. Belgardi Universal was not a humanitarian organization, it was out for money. Anything that threatened that woudl be removed from the equation and PR people could spin it better later. Even so, they hailed the ship once they'd recieved orders.

"Freighter Etherington, you will dock at Olympus. There is no landing on Bespin. Attempt to enter the atmosphere and you'll be vaporized."

The large space station swelled into view as the freighter dodged a comm satellite and its powerful tractor beams locked onto the freighter, yanking it off its flight path towards itself. It drew it in slowly and the freighter was buzzed by fighter patrols, sweeping it with their scanners to make sure it wasn't armed in any unexpected manner.

"Your crew is to be detained. Resistance will not be tolerated. Cooperate and assistance will be provided to fix your vessel and send you on your way."

Olympus

Sabbas Goth glared out at the freigther darkly from an observation deck as he fixed his black tie and smoothed his short hair a little. He didn't like anything unexpected and he was severely paranoid, which was why he was in charge of Bespin. This world reaped huge profits selling its Tibanna with the Belgardi name attached to it and Rico Belgardi wanted someone who wasn't going to screw around.

"We have them, Mister Goth. Boarding parties will be dispatched soon," Wilit replied as she stood to his back right holding her ever present datapad.

"Good, bring me their Captain and offer the detained crew food, drink, and medical attention if they need any. No one is allowed to leave detainment though. If they try, shoot them," Sabbas gave a small smile.

"That's a bit severe, isn't it?" Wilit raised her eyebrow some.

"Fine, stun them. If they fail a second time, then shoot them."

"Yes sir, we'll be holding them in Bay 6 since nothing is scheduled to arrive there for a bit," Wilit stated as she made notes on her datapad.

"And we can space the whole lot of them if this turns into a fiasco, especially if their crew are hotheaded," Sabbas replied, demonstrating a bit of his underhanded savy in public relations. There were no reporters out here that weren't part of Belgardi's internal communications for its own employees, things could be dealt with very easily without spin coverage.

"Once the captain is with me and his crew detained, sweep the ship thoroughly. If they're smugglers we'll turn them over to the Dragons or Empire, whoevers territory they were heading to."

Wilit nodded and issued the orders. It was all up to the freighter crew as to how this would end as Belgardi security forces continued their patrols, several Immolater-class Battlercruisers cruising lazily along their routes with Puniser pocket cruisers moving along. Pirates had long ago given up on the system ever since the company had arranged its defenses to repel an attack by a government funded military.

The Etherington made another violent jolt as a tractor beam locked onto it, sending Zaltin crashing against his crash restrains. An echoing boom from the cargo hold told him that the loading bay doors had opened: whether a short in the ship’s electrics or forcefully he could not tell. Debris began to trail from the stern of the ship: hydrospanners, other tools, and larger items, cargo boxes and pieces of machinery that had not been properly secured, creating a trail of metallic junk that confused the sensors of the Punisher and caused the tractor beam to jump, the computer trying to find the ship again as it locked onto one of the larger pieces of debris by mistake.

For a heartbeat the Etherington’s course was reversed, her straining engines pushing her back the way she had been going before the tractor beam had gotten hold of her. Then with another lurch the tractor was back, reeling the stricken freighter towards the cruiser. Zaltin could hear the hull beginning to buckle as the ancient freighter was forced in two different direction, her engines still pushing at full thrust away from the other ship.

There was a horrendous roar, followed by the rushing of air, and then silence, as the ship’s engines died, taking a piece of the ship’s exterior hull with them. Red lights began to flash across the dash, and the doorway to the rear of the ship slammed shut.

“Position?” He asked 4GT, grabbing his oxygen tank and unhooking his crash harness.

“Calculating.” The droid responded without emotion. Zaltin wondered for a moment whether the machine knew it was about to die, then shrugged away the thought. The droid’s death wouldn’t mean much – his, on the other hand…

“Right. Broadcast that on the emergency channel.”

With one last look at the droid who had been his companion for the last two years, Zaltin overrode the sealed door and, fighting to retain his footing against the rush of escaping air, made his way towards the rear of the ship.

From the viewpoint of the Punisher cruiser, the Etherington’s explosion was not very spectacular. There was a series of explosions along her underside, blasting the hull wide open. The debris scrambled the tractor beam of the ship, and the metallic junk expanded rapidly like some perverse blossoming flower.

Within days most of the debris would be sucked into Bespin’s swirling vortex of gasses and obliterated.






General Hert did not like this ship. The flowing lines and gentle curves had been described by some as artwork, but to the veteran soldier, it was far too… ungainly. He would much rather prefer the precision engineering of a proper KDY ship, not this Mon Calamari monstrosity. But such was the turn of fate, and he was left to work with what resources he had.

The crew, at least, seemed competent enough. Despite the rapid assembly of the force, they had proved quite apt at working together, and they seemed to know the ship well enough. The New Republic had commissioned the MC-90 cruiser to be their answer to the Imperator class of Star Destroyer, and despite his misgivings, Hert was beginning to see that in the right hands, the thing might just be a challenger to the ISD.

Admitting that the Rebels had got something right was almost as painful as being aboard one of their ships, though.

“General?” The voice came from somewhere ahead of him, causing Hert another pang. On a Star Destroyer he would know in an instant who had spoken: there were dozens of variants of the traditional design, but the bridge layout was the same on every one of them. Here, though… the rebels had so many different aliens serving them it was impossible for a standardized design to work, and the result was a mishmash of design philosophies that no one had quite figured out.

“Yes, Lieutenant?” He asked, finding the source of the voice and moving to stand behind the station.

“We’re getting a message on the emergency channel. Bespin.”

Hert nodded.

“Right. Inform the rest of the group. Pilots to their stations – I don’t know what we’re going to be dealing with, but I want us ready for it.”

There was a series of acknowledgements, and then the ship was accelerating faster than the speed of light, making the jump to hyperspace, a scattering of rebel ships in its wake.





Bespin

“Hyperspace terminus, General.” The helsman reported. Hert contemplated the scene in front of them: Bespin was a massive planet, a yellow-orange glob of vaporous gasses and storms that made it appear to swirl. Dotted above the world were dozens or hundreds of platforms, most of them relatively small, that housed the mining apparatuses responsible for extracting the precious Tibanna gas from the planet’s atmosphere.

And, much more imposing, a massive space station hovering some distance from the planet, blotting out the sun.

“Sound the general alert.” Hert ordered. “Shields up, weapons armed. Helm, take us forward. But keep us out of range of that station… I don’t like the looks of it.”

The helsman nodded his acknowledgement (and agreement), and the ship began to glide forward. The rest of the group formed up in its wake, a pair of older Carrack Cruisers, and an equally descript-looking Victory Star Destroyer. Also present were several Corellian Corvettes and a handful of their smaller Gunship cousins, as well as an Endurance Fleet Carrier that was now launching it load, a mix of Cloakshape fighters, TIE variants, and a few ungainly ships referred to be the crew as ‘Uglies’. The rest of the fleet was also launching its fighters, the same mix of commercially available, stolen, or rebuilt ships. There were even some civilian TIE Interceptors that had been fitted with laser cannons.

The fleet itself was painted in the crimson and orange of a local pirate gang, and transponders had been altered to agree with these designations. All that was missing was the flag, but General Hert had a much more convincing show of their intentions in mind.

“Guns, target anything you can find and open fire. Let’s let them know we’re home.”

There was a pause, and then the cruiser’s forward guns lashed out, reducing one of Bespin’s many communications satellites to slag.

“Knock knock.”

Etherington Explosion

Sabbas Goth watched quietly his cup of stim tea halfway to his lips as the Etherington started to break up. His hand paused and he watched the explosions even as the tractor beam cut out because it was no use anymore. Small explosions. Ones that wouldn't come from a ship like that even if it were breaking up. All the engine power for freighters was in the back, there was absolutely no reason for those sort of explosions since the engine was already gone. Sure the ship might wrench itself apart and the normal low scale pyrotechnics went off but the explosion along the bottom was severely unusual since it happened before the rest. He triggered his command comlink, keying it to security control.

"Fire on the debris, scatter pattern."

"Sir?!" Wilit looked at her superior in surprise.

The weapons of the Olympus blazed, scouring the area where the ship had been as well as the general area around it as the Punisher Pocket Cruiser opened fire as well. If there was something there, weapons fire would hit it. That was the point really, Sabbas had a terrible sinking feeling something had been inside the freighter, something unseen. It all just made sense to someone paranoid like him, knowing how badly certain elements wanted Bespin. No freelance freighters came to the system, ever. Belgardi shipped Tibanna out on its own ships and maintained acceptable prices, especially to those who deals were struck with. Freelancers knew better than to come here. It was all too coincidental. The firing would confirm it soon enough, if the ship hadn't moved. If there was a ship...

"Why are you doing this?" Wilit still looked surprised.

"Because I fear this is only the beginning of something worse," Sabbas replied, finishing his tea now with a deep sip.

"Worse?"

Sabbas just tossed his tea cup to the server droid and went to his office, hoping very much so that he was wrong.

Incoming "Pirates"

The Pirates were noticed and their intentions made obvious as they obliterated one of Bespin's many comm satellites. What they failed to grasp was that doing that triggered the Knocker System in the entire array.

The linked satellites all over the system spun to life in an almost commical manner like when a number of rodents start paying attention to a chunk of food. But what came next was a shrill blast, a wail even as every last comm sat in the system blared a distress signal out on all wavelengths in all directions. Every civilized system close by would know Bespin was under attack, especially since this was meant specifically to be heard by Belgardi Universal and the Black Dragon Empire.

Sabbas Goth's Office, Olympus

SMASH!

A priceless vase shattered as a datapad smacked into it. Sabbas Goth, still poised from just having thrown it readjust his tie and politely cleared his throat. He looked at his large display screen at the pirates.

Pirates... sure...

The colors matched those of local Crimson Sun pirates. They hard tried to raid Bespin once, but had been smashed due to the new security measures. Since then the pirates had kept their distance, knowing to stay away since Belgardi minded its own business, running its Tibanna operations. They knew better than to break the peace when Belgardi ignored their piracy against others. But now it seemed that had changed, or something more strange was going on.

"Activate Hades."

Close by Bespin the second Redoubt-class space station came to full operation. Hades was Olympus' sister station, both built at the same time for a huge sum of money to defend the two main entries into the Bespin system. Hades' presence was generally hidden due to its positioning since Olympus took on all freighter traffic. That didn't stop it from being a fully manned defense station. Bespin Security forces were forming up to prepare to intercept the pirates even as the Knocker system wailed. It blasted out on so many channels no one could jam it but it interrupted all comm traffic in system for a moment.

As of now ten fully armed Immolators formed battle lines with their Punisher Pocket Cruiser picket ships. Rapier gunships moving about them as A-9 Vigilance fighter crews prepped for launch. Whether reinforcements came or not, the system had a very strong defense force combined with a number of hidden surprises like the 50,000 space Mn/T3 mines floating about, waiting to be activated and the planetary defenses. These intruders were not welcome.

Sabbas Goth commed the groups commander, Enforcer Videl Qin.

"Sir?" Replied a young strongly built man with brown hair and blue eyes. He wore a Belgardi Security uniform.

"Give no quater, Enforcer."

"With pleasure, Mister Goth," Enforcer Qin replied with a cool smile.

No one knew what was to come, but the local forces would happily meet the pirates in battle.