Space was the pefect place to hide.

Stretching from one edge of the known galaxy to the other, and filling everything in between.

Space was infinite.

Such was the ammount of space within the borders of the galaxy that no small portion of it remained uncharted. Only a small faction of planets were even listed in the archives, and only a portion of those actually had anything written about it.

Many of these planets were located off the main spaceways, or hidden in small nebulas and gas clouds. They were, in all likelihood, unimportant.

But then, perhaps they were not.

"How does it feel to be stuck on a mapping expidition with a war going on out there?" The XO of the War Cry asked loftily, entering the Cruiser's bridge and looking around at the stars visible beyond the viewports.

"It's bullshit, that's what it is." The Captain returned, frustrated. "Why they chose us..."

He sighed. It was to late, and he had his orders. Mapping was as important to the Empire as fighting the war against the terrorists (apparently).

"Are we in position?" He asked tiredly. Six weeks, they had been out here. Since before the war. Before a lot of things...

"We are, Captain. All probes are ready for launch."

He nodded.

"Very well, Commander. Commence operations."

The Cruiser launched its probes, each recieving instructions for the ship before making the jump to hyperspace.

Hundreds of probes.

Thousands.

Tens of thousands.

The Empire
Months Prior

"Contigency plans must be established. The New Order has not existed for this long because it is unprepared for the worst."

The speaker was Moff Zell. One of the oldest (and perhaps smartest) Moffs still serving within the Empire. The room itself was large and brightly lit, the glass ceiling looking out on the mountains around them.

"Plans are in the works." Simon Kaine - Grand Marshall of the Empire - replied. "The Empire will not be caught off guard again."

Present still in all their minds was the fiasco of the New Empire, and the epidemic of the Wrath Virus.

"The Empire will not suffer another Tilaric Brell. We will not allow some insurgents like these... terrorists... to undermine the authority of the Regent!

We will not let the New Order crumble around us!"

The Grand Marshall paused, his short tired winding down.

"Contigency plans will be established." He tapped a key, and the lights dimmed. A holographic representation of the galaxy appeared in the midst of the table. "Here."

A single spot lit up in a yellowish tint.

"Yaga Minor." Zell breathed.

Simon Kaine nodded.

"Yaga Minor. Moff Drayson's Protectorate."

"Do you... think it wise, Grand Marshall, to place the future of the Empire in the hands of one so young?" One of the Moff's asked.

"What other choice do we have? Commodore Gevel? He's to unprediticble, to likely to take this out of our hands. Lupercus Darksword? He's a Sith Lord. His powers lie along a different path.

No. Drayson will be eager to please... eager to prove her worth to the High Command. She will listen."

And with that, the meeting came to an end.



The Empire
Now

Contigency plans.

Right.

The cruiser War Cry hung listlessly in space. The last of the probes had launched long ago, on a hundred and more different vectors.

"Tracking communications signal." One of the officers reported lazily, keying it onto the main screen.

The images flashed by to fast to be dechiphered. A planet, a moon, a coment, a shipyard.

"Stop there!" The Captain half-shouted. "Reverse images."

The computer scrolled backward, coming to rest on the construct of metal and steel floating over a distant planet.

"ID on the probe?"

"Assigned from Command." The officer said. "A hundred were sent to a system with 'likely terrorist links'. Looks like they may have found what they were looking for."

"Contact Command. Get them the information."

It was only a matter of time, now...


Contigency plans.

Yaga Minor
Now

"The latest reports are in from Corellia, Captain." The orderly said, placing the datapad on the table with exagerated care and standing akwardly behind the chair.

The Valhalla was hovering at station-keeping over Yaga Minor, the pride of the Ubiqtorate fleet a clear symbol to all would-be terrorists that the capital of the Protectorate was not one to be trampled on.

Officially, the Valhalla had no Captain. The ship had yet to see combat, other than the performance evaluations and simultions runs almost constantly by her acting-Captain.

None the less, when the time came the ship would be amonsgt the best fighting in the Empire. The Ubiqtorate spared no expense in the creation of its warships, or the training of those responsible for them.

Defending truth and righteousness came at a price, indeed.

"Thank you." Trinity said, offering a slight nod to the orderly. If the man had had any hope of being invited to stay and discuss the matter with the Captain, he was to be sorely disapointed. "You're dismissed."

The orderly left, leaving Trinity alone in the half-light.

The report was short. Ton Karlos and his team had secured two of the enemy flagvessels and were nearing the approach to hyperspace.

It was to be their final transmission before making the jump. They hoped everything went well.

The com blinked on the table, and Trinity pressed the button to activate the room's holorpojector, only to be met with a request for authorization.

She supplied it, and in the middle of the table appeared a list of figures. Direct, from the Ubiqtorate Monitoring Station.

The figures stunned her, for a moment.

Nothing. No mines... no planet-based networks detected... no ships!

It was amazing.

But, checking again the numbers from Corellia (pulling up that report alongside), it made sense.

The Coalition had thrown everything they had into an all-or-nothing assault on the Corellian system!

She hit a key, and the orderly reentered.

"Contact Coruscant." Trinity ordered. "Urgent."

The War Cry was abuzz with activity. The cruiser had been deployed to deploy probes - and now those probes were reporting back.

"Contact in Sector Seven-A, Captain!" A report came. "The probes aren't finding much of anything."

The Captain nodded. That was normal, expected.

On the computer screen in front of him, another sector changed from light blue (unknown) to green (minimal threat).

"Have you ever played Battleship, Ensign?" He asked a man who was rushing past.

The ensign, surprised, stopped and looked at him.

"Sir?"

"Battlehip. It's an ancient game, really. Both players place their ships, and then take turns reading out cooridants. Their opponent then responds 'hit' or 'miss'."

The officer began to understand.

"Rather like what we're doing now."

"Precisely. Left to chance, this board is just like a game of Battleship."

He indicated the sectors of the map that were coloured in a darker blue, where the reports had placed the approximate locations of the enemy's construction facilities.

"And like Battleship, the noose gets smaller and smaller."

One sector lit up red (threat).

"Until there is no room for retreat."

He smiled.

"Signal Command. Phase III is underway."

The planet was small, very small, the size of a moon to some worlds.

And it hung there, being spyed upon by probes, hundreds of probes constantly flashing by.

The small planetary system did not know anything of the Empire. Or its wars, or anything of the like.

It was just a small sovereignty with a pair of large shipyards it used to produce a meager defense fleet.