“The enemy of my enemy is my friend."

Walking through the nearly dead hallways of the Seraph, Pro-Consul Christina Thorn and Commodore Corise Lucerne approached the bridge foyer. A pair of Kashan Shock Troopers stood at attention. While the Kashan officer crisply saluted them, his consort merely stared. Clicking their heels, the troopers returned the gesture with a classical rifle salute. The doors slid open, allowing the couple passage to the observation bridge.

Stars flashed by in brilliant rays of blues in the phenomenon of hyperspace. The measured tread of military boots appeared to be the only sign from the walkway that there were people in the crewpit. And as always, a dim cyan haze bathed the bridge as crewmembers performed their tasks. The two approached the command chair, which Corise offered to the sole woman within the room. He leaned over the chair to watch the final updates from the chair’s holo-projector. It turned out to be very little indeed, basic information on the Skakoans.

“Captain, we’ll be entering Foerost space within five standard minutes.”

“Very good Lieutenant,” replied Corise, his attention still on the hovering images.

“That looks comfortable,” dryly noted the brown-haired woman, referring to the suits that the Skakoans wore.

“At least they don’t have to worry about getting papercuts.”

“Nevermind that; I’m more worried that I won’t be able to pick up on their facial expressions.”

“Yeah, and the suits are going to be hiding some of their more subtle body language as well,” observed the Kashan officer, “It looks like the only thing you’ll be able to go by is their words and maybe their tone of voice, if the latter isn’t affected by the pressurized suit.”

“It’s a good thing that over half of the delegates are human though. We have our work cut out for us.”

Corise winced. The official reason he was going along for the trip was the demand to also see an officer of the Coalition. More interesting to Corise than politics would be their war fleet, which they had been building up for quite some time as a deterrent to their foes. That would be interesting to the Kashan officer, as much of the technology of their fleet would also be based on would be from the Techno Union and the defunct Confederation of Separatist Systems.

“Reverting to realspace in five, four, three, two, one.”

The pair of Seraph cruisers transporting the Coalition delegation dropped into real space, showing massive shipyards and the planet itself: Foerost.

(We'll say four each- 4 Raptors vs. 4 Seraphs.)

And, unfortunitally for Mr. Lucerne, it also showed the Coalition delegates a far more dangerous sight: Four Imperial Raptor-class Assault Cruisers, weapons charged and ready to fight, fresh back from the campaign against the Imperial Traitors Kris Enfield and his older uncle, Griz.

He'd had three days to prepair for this, gathering up his small force as the Colalition vessels winded around, and towards the end of their journey, through the Imperials heavily fortified core worlds.

From hyperenergy readouts, he'd obtained some information on the enemy force as it traveled by Imperial Space. He'd figured that it was made up of Longsword Frigates, since they were the closest in size to the energy outputs he was getting, though these obviously weren't Longswords. THey looked more like lengthened Strike Class Cruisers.

A new ship they had developed? He'd have to recover some remains for Intelligence to investigate and classify if they chose to fight.

"Coalition Ships," he began to transmit. "This is Line Captain Kach Thorton of the Imperial Navys twenty eighth fleet. You are orderd to immeditaly surrender your ships and crew or be destroyed. Repeating, this is..."

Line Captain Kach Thorton. The name was familiar from his Coalition briefings.

“Line Captain, this Commodore Corise Lucerne of the Kashan Defence Fleet. We-”

Corise stopped as flashes of light filled the surrounding space. Rescuscant-class Destroyers, Providence-class Carrier Destroyers, and Munificent-class Star Frigates dropped out of hyperspace between the two fleets. The Kashan man set his jaw; it was the Foerost Defence Fleet. A new holograph shimmered on his console.

“This is Admiral Falrye of the Foerost Defence Fleet. Imperial vessels, you have violated the sovereign space of Foerost, I suggest you remove your vessels from our space. If you do not, I call on all foreign ships present to power down their weapons and to follow the directions that will take your vessels into orbit around Foerost. We will then have some…talks.”

Corise turned to his weapons officer. “Power down all weapon systems in accordance to the FDF.”

“Aye sir.”

The Foerost fleet was massive, doubtless produced in the years of Foerost’s independence and neutrality while the rest of the galaxy was off to war. The shipyards at Foerost were massive and ancient, their founding over hundreds if not thousands of years ago. While their ship design was somewhat lacking compared to the modern vessels of the galactic government of the era, the Foerost fleet seemed more interested in the quantity of ships rather than the quality in a manner similar to the Empire’s design concept behind the original Tie Fighter.

“Open up a channel with the Foerost Admiral. Tell them that we are complying.”

“Yes sir.”

Setting his jaw, Kach looked out the transparisteel window at the newly arrived fleet of Foerost vessels.

"Sir," the captain said, "Do we comply with the transmission?"

For a few more endless moments he looked out.

"Yes," he said grimly, not looking away. "But only for now."

"What?" the Captain asked, puzzled.

"You see, Captain, I'm about to go get on a line with Coruscant and get a battle group out here. The Emperor or Supreme Commander have never liked threats behind us, and I suspect they'll want to have this one removed."

"Ah, so..."

"Captain!" the ships Commander called, heading towards them from across the bridge, not that far, really.

"Sirs, targets identified, and old ones too. The recognition computer didn't spit an answer out for a while, so they're pretty old ones. But here they are, with numbers as well: 14 Rescuscant-class Destroyers, 8 Providence-class Carrier Destroyers, and 12 Munificent-class Star Frigates, all of them really old. Plus, there's approximately 50 Hardcell Class Transports in there. It's all Clone Wars era ships, sir, but there's a lot of them.

The Captain and Commander looked at Kach.

"Clone Wars era? Maybe. But like Mr. Thule said, there's a lot of them. And considering there's only four of us, even if they are Raptor Assault Cruisers, we can't really do much to stop them if they decide to destroy us, other than vape a few of them first.

"A hundred natives with spears can drop a Stormtrooper. We don't have the firepower to deal with them, even if our ships are half a century more advanced. If we wanted to go into combat, all we could do that wouldn't kill us would be to sit outside the battlefield and pummel them with our long range Turbolasers, already considerably modified for long range, and I doubt their weapons have anywhere near the range ours do.

"No, the best way to do this is to just sit it out until the fleet comes out here. Mr. Thule, I want you to get a sensor read of both them and the Coalition ships and send it off to fleet headquarters, requesting reinforcements with it. Captain Agamayer, I want you to comply with their request as I said earlier. However, don't shut down the defensive banks. Warn them no fighters are to approach us, and that ones who get within fifteen kilometers will be vaped."

"Yes sir," both men acknowledged.

Providence-class Destroyer New Hope, Foerost Defence Fleet Flagship, Foerost

“That takes nerves,” growled the Admiral, glaring at the Imperial vessels.

His aide nodded as his superior continued to speak.

“We asked for several Coalition members to arrive about the possibility of joining the Coalition. We gave them specific instructions, and their delegation arrives according to plan. The Kashans have arrived; that Vice-Commodore of the Gestalt Colonies and some officer from the mainstream Coalition Military will be here soon. They're suppose to be here. But the TNO?”

The Admiral let out an exasperated sigh and took a deep breath. “You know what those Imperials did to our people. And now, they're here illegally, a direct violation of our space.”

The aide stood up and made eye contact. “I do. I’ve already alerted the military to be prepared for battle. The LNRs are being powered up as we speak. We won’t let them enslave our planet again. We will first die.”

“I see that the defensive banks on the Imperial vessels are still powered up. That’s a violation of our orders. Because of that, inform the Kashan, and any other Coalition vessels present, that they are allowed to power up their weapons for defensive purposes.”

“Yes sir.”

“Tell the Imperial vessels that anything they do that could remotely be viewed as aggressive will be considered to be an act of war. Preferably, we do not want them here.”

"Sir?"

"Yes?"

"Sir, I've been keeping an eye out on all communication activity from the foreign vessels. I picked up something from the Imperial fleet to Imperial space..."
---------------------------
Seraph Mk II Cruiser Seraph, Kashan Flagship, Foerost

Corise Lucerne stared out of the viewport at the quartet of Imperial warships. So pristine, so deadly. Around them, there was the buffer of Foerost Defence Fleet. He bit his lip. Was this war? As far as he knew, the Coalition and the TNO were not at war. So why did the Line Captain challenge them? Had the Foerostians done something to anger TNO? Tension filled the very air they briefed. Crews nervously stayed at their battle stations. Is this the calm of the storm. He shook his head at the thought. Why would there be a war? There is always the chance that it was just a misunderstanding. Perhaps some vessel that resembled either the Kashan or Foerostian ships had attacked a TNO vessel. But who will that be? He couldn’t answer that question fully. The New Hope's commander hadn't seemed too pleased. Perhaps the matter is between them. After all, any of the vessels present would notice the planetary defences already being activated; turbolasers, fighter squadrons. As if the four Raptors were much of a threat to the massed fleet.

“Sir, I have received word that reinforcements are on their way.

Corise nodded, wiping a bead of sweat from his tanned skin.

“Thank you Sub-Lieutenant. Deploy all starfighters around our ships as starfighter screens.”

“Aye sir.”

In the Seraph’s hangars, squadrons of S9 Deathsabers began to launch. Because part of the reason to visit had been to show what the Coalition had to offer the Foerost people, one of the squadron of Deathsabers had been replaced by two flights of the impressive A3 Nemesis-class on both of the Seraphs present thus far. He turned and stared out of the viewport as a pair of Deathsabers made a quick pass over the Kashan cruisers. Space never ceased to amaze him.

Gestalt I, high orbit, yesterday…

In formation, moving in groups of two and three, the various starfighter squadrons assigned to the Provincial, filed in to land. The carrier, namesake of the line, scooped them up in its gargantuan flight decks while plowing ever forward through the black nothing, the void.

Not alone in this formation, a handful of vessels of Colonial design and designation filled out the line, further accompanied by a tandem pair of Kashan built Seraph-class Cruisers. Their connubial positions though juxtaposed against one another spoke of a certain level of cooperation which, in turn, was indicative of a combined task force.

A flock of S9 Deathsabers commingled with the Arrows and Avengers of the Colonial forces. These, the standard deployment for Seraphs, flew in close formation with their Gestalt counterparts; there would be no quisling here. Indeed the pilots there in flew with a level of cohesion, a unity that bespoke of a relationship, though burgeoning, that would blossom into an unbreakable unity.

Looking on from the well removed bridge of the Krakana, his eyes locked on the far off glimmer of the swarm, Lance Shipwright imagined a future in which he and his people shared an unparalleled level of connectivity with yet another humanistic faction within the Coalition. As Vice Commodore of the Gestalt Colonies, a ceremonial title that served him as, though he would be woe to admit, supreme commander of the collective assets there-of, it was his duty to see, nay to envision a glorious, bright future for his people. And that future was looking particularly prosperous thanks in part to a man by the name of Corise Lucerne, Commodore of the Kashan Defense Fleet and a man with considerable political clout.

The two had been fast friends from their first meeting aboard Starwind Station, a peace summit for the various less incumbent members of the Coalition. That meeting solidified their instant rapport and established between them a plain understanding of their various roles in the Galaxy. Tested in combat, they had come out on top of the opposition and embarked upon a campaign to help further unite their two nations.

Truly, Vice Commodore Shipwright was looking forward to their rendezvous at Foerost.

“The Task Force is reporting,” relayed the ships Commander, a lean man of about forty years and enamored of his own long, waxed handle-bar moustache which he would frequently stroke. “Parade Squadron is away.”

Barely visible and in fact only perceived with a trained eye, a minute and far-off flash of light signaled their FTL jump. In the blink of an eye, less then the blink of an eye, the apotheosis, Parade Squadron, leapt away.

Lance Shipwright turned away from the view screen; his MC-170 command cruiser did not feature any external, extraneous observation bridges. “I will be in my quarters.”

He had no inclination to remain on the bridge, the crowded and massive bridge. It had been designed and built by Mon Calamari workers, a tricky contract conducted aboard the Uniform over a year prior. And though they had operated with strict human supervision, as strict as he could legally manage, and though they knew the ship would be crewed by humans they had utterly failed to understand and recreate the sort of ambiance typical of most starships… particularly the Post-Imperial designs most commonly used and constructed by the Colonies. The chairs were uncomfortable and the terminals were not to his liking, though most of the crew had since adapted and now claimed to prefer the odd alien design.

He stepped into the lift. The doors whooshed and shut audibly. Lance cursed them.

… and reflected that, under any other circumstance he would have been similarly cursing Commodore Lucerne.

Foerost held no interest for Lance Shipwright and if it was of no value to him then it could not be of much value to his people either. More over and more importantly he despised the political arena. Whatever natural ability he had developed, weather social or philosophical, was just that; natural ability and he had not ever, nor had he now the interest to hone those skills. In truth his two encounters with Viryn Quell had soured him on the notion.

Special exceptions would always have to be made, however; and as Corise had asked directly for Lance to be involved, he had little recourse, reason or desire to decline. The two Seraph-class cruisers assigned to the joint task force were a testament to trust they had placed in one another and, that being the case, Lance Shipwright could not bring himself to wrong his new friend.

The facts were simple; since meeting Corise Lucerne he had been too busy to truly obsess. Without obsession she had fallen silent, mostly.

In his quarters, close to the keel and near enough the core to hear the dull thrum of the engines even through the superstructure, Lance checked the chronometer. Half a second later the Krakana leapt into hyper-space. Their trip would take a day, a day to traverse the developing corridors between Kashan and Gestalt before leaping off midway through and diverting towards Foerost.

Lance settled down behind his desk and began the arduous task of reviewing his dossiers pertaining to the situation at hand.

Aboard the Provincial were five starfighter squadrons; two Arrow and three Avenger. Named for their respective tactical deployment aboard the carrier, these were largely from the first batch of students to graduate the Colonial Naval Academy, Camp Mar-Veil. Under the command of the very same, Admiral Ruben Mar-Veil, were the fighters, the ship and in fact the rest of the task force.

Task Force MOM, Mission of Mercy, consisted of six capital scale starships.

The Colonial, naturally under the command of Captain d’Foose, was a public relations grab. It was the first destroyer of her line constructed and with d’Foose at the helm it had seen multiple diplomatic missions carried out without a hitch. For the occasion, and to impress the natives with their gregarious nature, the hull of the Colonial had been done up in the bold white, red and blue of the Gestalt Colonies, a flag painted in massive scale on her port side.

Furthering their non-hostile intentions and in turn falling back on their own histrionic military nature, Parade Squadron would be flying point just off of the Colonials bow. Twelve starfighters, an equal mix of CF-105 Arrows and GF-111 Avengers, the squadron recruited only the most elite pilots.

Acting in support of the destroyer and the Colonial similarly escorting the carrier, the Commonwealth had also been included in the banner fleet. It too was the premier of its line, the namesake for all Gestalt designed frigates to follow. An able multi-role patrol vessel with a squadron of its own fighters, Commonwealth Squadron, its commander was a stern man who, like Mar-Veil, had once served under Matko Kovic in the old, ironically, New Republic.

Similarly, the squadron of starfighters dispatched to the Colonial had derived their name from that of their host vessel and so called themselves Colonial Squadron.

It had all become rather mundane to Lance as he had, of late, delegated much of his previous military responsibility to Admiral Mar-Veil, to Ruben. What had interested him recently were the next two entries on his computer.

Gestalt Honor and Queen of the Colonies flashed on his screen. These were the names of the two Seraph-class cruisers assigned to the joint Kashan/Gestalt task force. For some time now they had been running exercises with one another, benefiting from the skills and talents of one another and formulating a deeper sense of camaraderie then initially suspected. Lance, in his role as Vice Commodore, had become quite attached to them, the few serving on board with whom he had become acquainted. Even more shining were the reports from d’Foose and Mar-Veil alike, touting the merits of their new Kashan allies.

Half way across the stars and making their way to the same location were two Colonial-class destroyers which had been in active deployment with the Kashan Defense Fleet while their Seraph counterparts worked within the Colonies. Unfortunately, according Lances information, their arrival time had been altered. More unfortunate still it did not say one way or the other if they would be early or late and if so, how early or late?

And then there was his ship, the MC-170 Krakana.

As something of a joke and a surprise for Commodore Lucerne Lance Shipwright had opted to bring along the stealth cruiser despite the political implications. He reasoned that since following Foerost the Kashan and Gestalt fleets had been scheduled to engage in maneuvers it would be an optimal time to reveal the existence of such a ship to his comrade.

With a grin he switched off his monitor and reclined in his chair. It reached up to him, adapting to his body. Fingers crossed behind his head, elbows in the air, Lance Shipwright laughed while imagining the look of Corise’s face when he’d reveal the Krakana.

Not long to wait, he reminded himself, just a day or so…





Foerost, today... the far side of...


Immediately, as Parade Squadron shot out of hyperspace, they knew there was something wrong.

In the cockpit of the lead fighter, painted in bright hues of red and blue, the lead pilot struggled to identify all the targets that filled his Head Up Display. Her astromech wined. Hardwired into the impressive electronics of the CF-105 Arrow it struggled to identify the myriad of ships.

Most came back blank or unknown. A handful of signals, two large blips at the center of a dozen others crowding about, came back positive. Half a second later, as the Colonial was reverting to real space, the pilot relayed her information to command.

Captain d’Foose, on the observation bridge of the Colonial, was surprised to say the least.

Both Captain and pilot, baffled, did absolutely nothing. As if they had not noticed the amassed forces the Colonial and Parade Squadron continued with their dramatic entrance; arranged for the sake of the Foerost natives and their Ambassadorial detach.

Captain d’Foose shrugged. “Play the music and on with the fireworks.”

The sound of the Gestalt Colonial Anthem piped out across the radio waves.

Oh Colonial Pride

We emblazon thee

Oh Colonial Pride

We emblazon thee

Accompanied by a display of non-lethal fireworks launched from port and starboard of the Colonial, an impressive explosion of lights arranged to compliment the colors of the Gestalt Colonial Flag and blasting in the hues of the united Foerost navy (at least, according to their most recent information).

A moment later, a moment measured in fractions of a second, the Commonwealth and Provincial shot out of hyperspace and into position behind the Colonial. The information train reached them upon arrival even as it was still boarding…

And aboard the Krakana, it’s arrival masked by the fireworks and almost impossible to discern from the multiple FTL flashes, Vice Commodore Shipwright quickly collected, tabulated and assessed the available information. Brilliant men process swiftly.

“Patch me through to Commodore Lucerne, route it through the Provincial.”

The Captain and his Executive Officer complied, shouting commands at the appropriate personnel and their harder to intimidate duty stations. It was unnecessary of course; protocol demanded that course of action as implemented by Vice Commodore Shipwright himself. Neither man bothered to mention this, however.

“Commodore Lucerne of the Kashan Task Force, this is Vice-Commodore Shipwright of the Gestalt Colonies. Please update situation reports as soon as possible please,” Lance toyed with his microphone. The bridge buzzed around him much as the bridges of the other Colonial vessels must have been buzzing. “Is this a hostile or non-hostile action?”

His militaristic, removed approach had its reasons. Even with supposedly secure communications you could never be absolutely certain of a direct, uncorrupted line. He hung up the microphone.

On the various tactical displays a number of the targets began to populate identification information. Corise Lucerne, a similarly brilliant man, had not bothered with verbal confirmation. A plethora of tactical information was being uploaded from the already present Kashan ships… another bonus of their past joint operations.

“Remind me to thank Corise for that,” he muttered to himself before rounding on the captain.

“Signal the fleet to move into standard Delta formation with the line,” this would put the Colonial, Gestalt Honor and Queen of the Colonies in a line with the Seraph and Steadfast already in position. Forming a rough ‘continued W’ line in such a fashion would then enable the Provincial to take up a rear-relative position well off aft of the front line and leave the Commonwealth in a pure-support position between the line and the carrier. “Send a request to the Foerost fleet. Ask for tactical suggestions and get Admiral Mar-Veil on the line.”

Before the Provincials commander could reply another update rushed in from the Kashans. Lance reviewed it.

“The locals have authorized Defenses Free, signal the MOM accordingly.”

“Aye sir,” called the Executive Officer even as the Captain moved to offer Lance the direct line to Admiral Mar-Veil. “The Admiral is on the line.”

“Go ahead,” called the older navy man on the other end.

“The court is yours Admiral. I cannot help you from here. The Krakana will maintain Ultra Low Profile for the duration. Suggest you stand by all fighters.”

The Krakana would remain well behind the friendly line and away from the combat, hopefully. It fortunate for the entirety of Task Force MOM that their arrival had brought them into the vicinity of the planet but on the far side of the unknown formation, which Lance was increasingly assuming as Imperial.

As a last note, before abdicating the scene to his military counterpart, Vice Commodore motioned towards the doors, "Activate the HoloCom, I'm going to update the Coalition... I'm sure this will interest someone... "

He left the bridge, moments later the call went out.

On board the Provincial (shifting scenes) Admiral Mar-Veil nodded to his flight commodore. “All pilots stand by fighters.”

“Order the Colonial and Commonwealth to stand ready for attack and have Parade Squadron form up on point, well in front of the general line.” He smirked, eyes locked on the real time battlefield representation. “If the ships,” he pointed at the hostiles, “are not supposed to be here, then they are not here. Order Parade Squadron to continue their orbit.”

“Umm, sir… That will send them right through the enemy formation.”

Quirking a bushy eyebrow above the frame of his glasses the Admiral fixed the man with a curious gaze. “What enemy formation?”

“Their missiles haven’t been coded active,” added the officer, obviously missing the point. “They can’t stand and fight.”

Again, the Admiral looked perplexed.

“Fight what? Dear me lad, you need to calm down. There’s no reason for our fighters to go weapons free, nor is there any reason for me to suggest they should be on the defensive. This is a diplomatic mission and we were invited and unless the guest card has been updated…”

The officer seemed to understand. He beat a hasty retreat to the commodore and reported, “Parade Squadron is to continue their parade route… unaltered. They are, by all means, to remain non-hostile. No weapons, no shields.”

Here, and quite clearly, the flight commodore, better versed in the tactics of old, understood.

He relayed those orders to the fighters.





*

Aboard the Foerost flagship…



“Where is that communication coming from?” The Admiral snapped at his subordinates who, in turn, busied themselves finding out.

“Umm, we’re not sure Sir. It looks like it’s coming from somewhere behind the newly arrived… fleet,” the Feorostian menial sneered the word. Clearly, compared to his own forces, he did not consider these new arrivals worth of the term; fleet. “No, scratch that. It’s coming from their lead ship, the big one. They are broadcasting IFF codes…”

“Well…” He asked impatiently, “who are they?”

A moment later the officer replied. “Sir, it’s the Gestalt Colonies envoy. They are requesting permission to join up with the line and…” Pressing his head seat into an ear, he continued. “They’re opening communications with Commodore Lucerne aboard the Seraph. Sir, they’re asking for tactical commands.”

“Hmm,” the Admiral scratched his chin. “It appears that the ball is in our hands as they say. Let’s see if they want to get hit with it.”

“Tell the Colonials that they are welcome and their addition to our gathering is welcomed by all means. Forward the appropriate communication codes to put them in touch with the Ambassadors Office.”

“Now, I suppose the stage is almost set…”

He gazed out upon the assembled Imperial type craft.

“… and they are still here.”

Captain Ion burst through the water, which glistened off his coat like diamonds. With a flick of his nose he was back in the water again, gracefully maneauvering around the pool.

Finally, he leapt from the pool and landed on his towel, shaking off water and rubbing down his fine Tynnian fur. Nearby, a creature that would have seemed right at home in the works of H.P. Lovecraft - if it weren't for the bikini - opened her eyes and tilted her tentacled head to Ion. "Finished yet?"

Smirking, Ion leaned down towards captain Eisle. "Not yet," and planted a kiss somewhere in the twisting mass that concealed her mouth.

Eisle chuckled, and said "You're in high spirits today, what's the occasion?"

"You remember that time Pro Moon went to that place... what was it, Kashan?"

"I think so," said Eisle, as she got up and began getting into her uniform. "You told me about the delegates, and you putting on your best 'diplomatic' face, which I would have loved to see."

"Yeah, those guys. Anyways they invited us on a diplomatic trip as advisors and observers, looks like they're itchin' to do a little converting of their own after Pro Moon was such a hit with them, or something."

"Oh is that why we're going to Foerost?" said Eisle, who zipped up her jacket. "Funny, I didn't think you could be very diplomatic with a Western Battlegroup."

"Claymores are very diplomatic, Eisle, they pack a lot of clout." Ion finished tying up his boots, and lead his fellow captain out of the ship's pool. "They're packing, at least."

"Still, it seems a lot to bring with us on a diplomatic meeting. Be honest, what's with all the ships?"

"Honestly?" the two of them were now in the hallways of the Claymore, striding side by side towards the bridge. "The people of Kashan respect strength above all else. Pro Moon showed them the velvet glove, now we're here for the iron fist. Just to show 'em what we're made of, first impressions and all that. Besides, Foerost is well defended and could turn hostile."

"You can just say it if you want to, Ion - you'd miss me too much." The Quarren captain managed quite an odd grin that set her tentacles curling.

Ion laughed, as the two of them reached the bridge that swirled in the light of hyperspace. "As usual you can read me like a book. Ensign, what's our status?"

A junior Tynnian officer rose from his station, and snapped "Thirty seconds until reentry, sir!"

Ion smiled, and sidled into his captain's chair. "Hey, easy there fella. Your first day? Relax, or you'll have grey hairs before you have bullet holes."

A little disconcerted by the image, the ensign sat slowly back down again.

"You always did have a flair for choosing the right words," said Eisle. "I better be getting to the hangar, if I want to catch a shuttle back to my ship."

"Always a pleasure, captain!" boomed Ion after her. "Stop by any time, we'll have lunch or something."

The hyperspace lines receded, and even for the easygoing captain it didn't take long to notice something was wrong. He propelled himself to his feet. "Belay that, Eisle, something's not right."

Confused, Eisle turned back on to the bridge. "What is it?"

Ion's snout wrinkled and eyes narrowed in the direction of the Imperial fleet, his unease growing a sensors bleeped and whizzed their reports in to the bridge. Within moments, a bridge officer had confirmed his fears. "Imperial vessels detected in orbit over Foerost. Your orders, captain?"

"They're not firing..." murmured Ion, who turned back towards his chair. "Although that doesn't mean they won't soon. Eisle, it isn't safe yet to shuttle you back to your ship, grab a comm station and give orders from there. Communications? Hook me up to the local channel."

Picking up his comm, Ion cleared his throat and said "This is captain Ion of the Coalition, here to meet and escort representatives of Kashan as planned to a meeting with the people of Foerost, what's your situation? Over."

Fireworks. Vice Admiral Messhir chuckled to himself. A veteran of almost thirty years in the olive uniform of the Imperial Navy, a participant in more battles than were hairs left on his head, and still the diminutive old man enjoyed a show of brilliant explosions against the dull backdrop of space. Were it not for the throng of officers and crewmen moving about the bridge of a Reign-class Star Destroyer, he might even have confused himself for an elderly spectator at the Empire-day celebrations on Coruscant.


But the throng was there.


“ Admiral, the Fiery and the Termagant have completed their battery drills.”


“ Excellent,” Messhir replied, turning towards the innards of the sprawling command deck. “ That’s the last of the Destroyers. Move on to the next target.”


“ Aye sir.” The yeoman disappeared, allowing Messhir to glance once more at the field of tiny rocks that had once been a field of larger rocks, courtesy of the Imperial Navy.


Twenty-five minutes later…


“ Admiral, we have completed reversion to real space. The 25th has signaled its readiness to begin the speed-firing trials.”


Messhir cleared his throat and nodded, quietly cursing the thin slice of maava bread that had almost been his doom a few moments before. To be a soldier of so many years and to die in hyperspace with bread stuck in my throat - the Gods are merciful. Forward he stared from his slightly raised seat of command as the lighter escort ships of Task Force XLIV moved from their picket positions towards targets one through fifteen of the Hopss Asteroid Field, one of the finest locales for target practice in the Empire.


“ Captain?”


“ Yes Lieutenant, what is it?” Messhir tuned out his flag officer and again thanked the Gods. The taller man, a young-looked Balmorran, had the detestable habit of sneaking up on the Admiral and giving off a loud greeting of the day with the booming voice that had made him lead baritone on the Fleet choir. Were he not an excellent officer, Messhir might have ordered him transferred to some Customs Frigate where his height would be comically negated by thin corridors and unforgivably low ceilings.


“ Sir!” the baritone barked as the Admiral was lost in his reverie. Unpleasantly startled, Messhir clenched his fists and turned, wishing his eyes could spit flame and light at the dashing black-haired monster.


“ What is it, Captain?”


“ Sir, long range scans have detected four Imperial frigates in the Foroest System.”


“ Foroest is neutral by permission of the Emperor. Are our ships supposed to be there?”


“ Not according to the bi-hourly sector roster.”


Messhir growled. “ Stand down from the drill ; re-form and make an immediate jump in-system.”


“ Aye sir. Navigator…”


Twelve-minutes later…


Task Force XLIVarrived in the Foroest System without any presage that it was coming. The usual sensor probes and picket that heralded the arrival of an Imperial formation had been neglected for time’s sake. Imperial warships off course was a grave matter and typically meant they had run afoul of something - thus their large brothers made best speed to investigate. It was doubtless a sight to see - three Imperial Destroyer Squadrons with fifteen of their namesakes between them supported by a flotilla of light cruisers arrayed in a not-so-friendly picket line.


“ Sir, we’re receiving telemetry on the system. Our warships have headed into orbit and appear surrounded by a small fleet - many of the match the description of registered planetary defenses vessels. A half dozen are flying neutral flags and a few more unknown registries.”


“ Threat assessment?” Messhir demanded.


“ A dozen of the defense force ships are the equal of heavy cruisers but the rest are smaller. Some appear to be retrofitted tankers; there are a few line ships scattered around, but all are light cruiser-rated and below.”


“ Very good. Transmit to our ships: This is Vice Admiral Messhir, authentication codes attached. You have left your assigned patrol routes and put in at a port of call that is not on the permissible list. Have you suffered casualties or been damaged in any way?”


A few moments passed with silence as the flag officer’s only reply.


“ Admrial, we’re receiving a text-only transmission. They may be under a comm-blanket. Response as follows sir - negative casualties and damage. All systems operational. Followed suspected Coalition vessel into vicinity. Kach Thorton, commanding.”


Messhir took a moment to mull. A rash young officer had decided to attempt to engage a ship that may have been a Coalition vessel and had then done so into neutral space that boasted its own defenses. The Admiral let out a growl that thankfully no one overheard. “ Captain, order those ships to power-up engines immediately and depart the system using our exit vector. They will report directly to sector command. No excuses.”


The transmission was sent with Captain Oxtrum adding no doubt a much stronger tone to what the Admiral knew would be an intercepted message. Momemtns later, four Imperial warships made a slow and unthreatening journey through the native and neutral armada and hastened their pace to their larger brother’s protective umbrella. There, under the glares of more experienced officers, they made final approach to a hyperspace jump point and then vanished from all scopes.


“ All channels, if you please Captain.”


“Done, sir.”


“ This is Vice Admiral Messhir of the Imperial Navy. To the native defenses of Foroest I apologize for the intrusion of Imperial ships into your space. Our protocol requires we intercept all possible privateers and an officer became….zealous…in the execution of his duties. We will deal with this. However, the neutrality granted to you by His Majesty the Emperor does not permit the harboring of enemies of the Empire or any force which might threaten His Majesty’s Realm. Due to the…mistake…made only moments hence, any ship bearing a hostile flag and registry has amnesty to make leave elsewhere with best speed. To those ships with business here, enjoy your stay. My force will remain to see this order confirmed, and then will depart accordingly. End transmission.”

Vice Commodore Shipwright swallowed.

Occasions in which he had the opportunity to contemplate genuine fear were all too few and far between. This was one of those times and, as the saying went; today was not a good day to die.

The bridge of the Krakana buzzed, radiated tension. Every man and woman at his or her post waited in anticipation, waited with baited breath. This was not good, generally speaking. Tactically the odds had shifted against the collective Gestalt, Kashan, Coalition and Foerost forces.

Two of the Imperial destroyers had been assigned their own monitors. Their wedge shaped hulls, pale white like bones long bleached, loomed ominously in the distance. Even with the full line between the Krakana and the newly arrived destroyer squadron Lance found himself contemplating their options for a tactical withdrawal.

“Play back that last transmission,” commanded Shipwright. He wrapped his knuckles into tight balls. “What was that about our presence being unwelcome here?”

Again, amplified and cleaned up, the voice of the Imperial commander reverberated across the bridge. It only served to redouble the anxiousness pervading the place.

“Communications, I want you to uplink with the Ambassadorial department on the service. Confirm any treaty status between the Empire and the neutral planet of Foerost. And do it five minutes ago.”

It would take some time for his people to interface with the local authorities and try to establish the validity of the Imperials claim. Honestly and without any doubt, he hoped to discover something that would excuse them a political exit. If the natives had indeed signed a charter with the Empire, no matter how flimsy, it would give them a chance to avoid a bloody conflict that, counting the odds, would go very badly for the… good guys.

He laughed. “Put me through to the Commodore.”

“Corise, it’s Lance…” he spoke into the microphone.

The first information was already coming through. “I think we may have a problem. Were you informed of a Treaty of… Qlanreiderhill?”

“No Neutral Planet as recognized by his Majesty the Emperor,” he was reading the information as it came through. “… including harboring, communicating or negotiating with hostile regiemes…”

“And they signed this shit.”

Lance could not imagine himself dying for this. He could not imagine his own people throwing their lives away for nothing, less then nothing. The deception of it nagged at him while the reality of it, the Imperial ships vastly outnumbering their own, caused him only concern and doubt.

This was not a fight for the Colonies, though they would follow their Kashan brothers unto the breech, Lance hoped to reach a political resolution. Foerost could always wait. Someone would always be watching.

Corise nodded as the text stream came through the console.

“I wasn’t. It seems a little sketchy to me, and there are some loopholes, but it’s definitely not worth fighting that Imperial battle fleet over there.”

The wedges of the other fleet jutted out in the awe and grandeur that seemed to epitomize the Imperials. As he viewed it, Corise briefly wondering what would have happened if Kashan became an Imperial planet. He shook his head at the thought as the mrumr of the bridge increased. He brought his com-link closer to his lips.

“I’m suggesting a general withdrawal to the rest of the Coalition ships. Our helmsmen says that we will be out of here in a few minutes at the most…”

The Seraph-class cruisers present were already beginning to turn around to exit the area. And with their x0.6 hyperdrives, they would not be in Imperial space for long if not at all. Using their previous course, the ships would jump and travel in an odd course that circumlated the various lanes and regions claimed by the Empire.

“We have some maneuvers to do, do we not, Lance?”