(Formerly: Nightfire: Damage Control)

<font color=yellow>

They came without warning, striking at the very heart of the NEW REPUBLIC. As the Final Resurgence began, Coruscant, former capital of the Republic and home to more than a trillion life forms, fell to the GALACTIC EMPIRE.

No one within the Republic saw it coming. By the time it had happened, it was to late, and Imperial Centre rested firmly in the hands of now-Regent DAEMON HYFE. The Cheif of State of the New Republic did not even know the world had fallen until Hyfe made his victory speech from within Imperial Palace.

And even as he did so, as Grand Marshall Simon Kaine's master plan, the infamous ENDGAME plot, the Empire launched a devestating and unstoppable wave of attacks upon the New Republic, shattering all who stood in their way.

Worlds fell to the iron fist of the Empire as they fought with the New Republic. Leaderless and broken, the government unravelled a bit more with each setback. On Corellia, capital of the Republic, Fleet Admiral HIRAM DRAYSON declared his intention to take emergency power of the Republic in order to save it.

As Imperial warfleets closed on that sector, Cheif of State LEIA ORGANA SOLO appeared from her exile, claiming dictatorship over the entire Republic. With the aide of the Jedi Assasin, she boarded the Republic flagship, the Super Star Destroyer TWILIGHT, and ordered the self-proclaimed Chancellor to surrender.

When Hiram refused, the Republic fleet splintered as those vessels loyal to the Fleet Admiral departed under his orders. Hiram Drayson has not been heard from since. Imperial ships quickly overran all of the Corellian Systems, save Corellia herself. As the war went on, the galaxy's factions came together in a joint effort to halt the progress of the Empire, and a climatic battle ensured on all fronts.

Then, from the depths of the Empire itself, came a new enemy. TILARIC BRELL and a team of Falleen scientists released the WRATH VIRUS on Imperial Centre. The death toll on that world alone topped one billion before the epidemic was brought to a halt.

The Republic and the Rogue Jedi Order, allied now with the New Order itself, launched a massive offensive against Brell's NEW EMPIRE, and over Bastion the Twilight, Sovereign, and Ebony Vigilance were destroyed. But Brell died, too, and without him the New Empire crumbled.

Now, broken and divided, dozens of factions struggle to regroup and return to the spotlight. Among them, the once-mighty LFX INDUSTRIAL.

With war once more descending on the galaxy, SETI ASHAR has begun the long procress of rebuilding. TRAYDEN LOCKE, Polemarch of the Union Fleet, has set about rebuilding the fleets to defend the Homelands. The galaxy comes to a head, in TOMORROW NEVER DIES.

<font color=orange>Commenor had always been a beautiful world. The towering skyscrapers of white always gave the impression of cleansliness and perfection. It was a utopia, a world untouched by the war and famine that had shattered other worlds since the Dark Ages.

That was before this war, this Dark Age. Commenor had not been the hardest hit of LFX Industrial's worlds. That was Eriadu, Industrial Centre: the headquarters. Eriadu had not been the first to fall, and her taking had cost the enemy far more than it was worth.

But all of that hardly mattered anymore. The war was, for the time being, over. The galaxy had to rebuild, lick her wounds and recouperate for the next round.

Recouperate, or grow stronger. That was exactly what LFX Industrial planned to do. In the past, they had controlled a vast market of goods that put them on top of the Galactic Food Chain. So far as the Stock Market was concerned, anyway. Now, however, they would sieze the formula that would gurantee their continued place far above any other.

The first meeting of the Joint Council was held on Commenor less than a week after the Cease Fire, the Tippata Pact. It was not a model of the usual perfection shown by the compnay. Many executives had been killed in the long war. Others had fled, taking with them portions of the Corporate Fleet. But a small few held on, and they now joined together on Commenor to report on the condition of the Corporation.

They met not in the monolithic headquarters of LFX Industrial; that had been levelled in the conflict, and even so would have been to obvious a target for those that still harboured grudges against the Corporation.

Instead, they met deep underground, in a secret laire that had been construced long ago and code named Nightfire; intended to serve as a last refuge of Fire when the Eternal Night took hold of the galaxy.

That night had seemingly come, and so the leaders of LFX Industrail met at Nightfire.

Last to arrive was Seti Ashar, CEO and Chairman of the Board. What was left of the Board, anyway. He greated them pleasently enough, and they took their places around the great table.

No one failed to notice a dozen or more spots sitting vacant. No one mentioned it.
"Gentlemen," Seti began, "a great many things have happened." That, of course, was a gross understatement. But if they registered that, they did not show it, and continued to look on as their CEO spoke. "You all know the current state of affairs in the galaxy, so I shall not bore you with them. In short, gentlemen, the Empire has taken the galaxy back. Though they are dormant now on Coruscant, the time will come again when they and the Republic will fight."

He smiled grimly, looking at each executive in turn.

"I propose that we not allow this fight to begin. The Empire and the Republic both require two substances to survive in this galaxy. And moreso to survive against one another. I am proposing, gentlemen, that we break the Bacta Cartel and bring that resource into our little Empire. Without Bacta, the Republic cannot survive. Without Bacta, they cannot fight the Empire. Without Bacta, in short, they cannot win."

There was silence as they pondered this. Then, one rose to speak.

"You speak of cutting off the Republic. Why the Republic? Why not cut off the Empire, support the New Republic instead?"

A cold smile formed on Seti's face, and he shook his head.
"The New Order holds Coruscant. They rule the galaxy. The New Order got ahead the last time, despite great walls set against them. Do you believe they could not do so again this time? That they could not break this galaxy once more? I will support the Empire, because the Empire promises the most stable government, and the most powerful friend."

The other nodded, his question answered. Unlike some, mostly those who had run, he was not a Republicist. He was in favour of whoever could help him attain the most money, and whether that was Daemon Hyfe or Organa Solo he cared not. Though, he would admit, Hyfe did appeal to him. In the Empire, Daemon Hyfe had true power. In her precious Republic, Organa Solo had to go through a Senate and a Congress in order to get anything done.

That, the executive suspected, was why Hiram Drayson had done what he had done. Done it, and unknowingly caused the destruction of the Republic. But there would always be those who would blame him, and there would always be those that blamed Organa Solo for interferring. This executive did not care much, for that was done and in the past. It was the future, his future, that needed to be thought of.

Another man was speaking now, and presently the executive returned to the meeting, shaking his head lightly to clear it.

"...you spoke of resources, sir, that were needed for survival. Yet you only mentioned Bacta. What are the others... and how do we go about securing them...?"

The CEO nodded, a smile forming.
"The others that I spoke of... or rather, the one other, is Tibanna Gas." Tibanna Gas was used in blasters and, more importantly, capital ship turbolasers. Without it, there could be no war, because there would be no guns to fire, save for a few missiles.

There was another silence now, as they contemplated this. Securing Bacta and Tibanna Gas meant occupying three worlds, the three worlds where those substances were found. Considering, it was relitively simple - if things were different, it could have been three thousand worlds they were talking about. But three worlds was no laughing matter, regardless.

"Three worlds, gentlemen. And all must come to us at once, or we risk tipping or hand. If we hold all three, we are untouchable. But if we hold only one or two, there is a gap that a smart enemy may exploit.
"They must come together, and they must come soon, gentlemen. And then we shall own the galaxy."

<span style="font-family:helvetica; color:gray;">"How long?"
"Three months."
"Impossible. It cannot be done."
"Find a way to do it."
"You don't understand. It can not be done. There is no what that we could hope to-"
"I don't care if you have to pull it out of your ass. This has to be done, and it must be done within three months."
"Sir, with all due respect, are you feeling all right?"
"Of course I'm not feeling all right! We've been at war for a year, the galaxy is in chaos, a dozen or more of my executives are dead or missing, or both, and everything we've done was for nothing. Am I supposed to be all right?"
"I'm sorry sir."
"Don't be sorry. Just get it done."
"I will try, sir."
"You better do more than try, Trayden. This is essential for everything. If it is not done, Lord knows that will happen out there."
"I didn't know you were a religious man, sir."
"I'm not. Just get it done."
"Yes, sir."
"Goodbye, Trayden."
"Goodbye, sir."</span>

The new-style shipyards that had come out of the war were truly remarkable, he thought. Nowhere near as large as their predecessors, yards such as Alpha Prime could produce new capital ships as quickly as the old Kuat Facilities, and (in his opinion) these vessels were far finer.

Already there were half a dozen close to completion, less than a month away, in fact. Two Nebulon B Cruisers, light capital ships, but effective. They would serve well until heavier vessels like the Liberty and Messiah were complete. And even then...

He tore his eyes from the nearly-completed warships and surveyed the horizon. Alpha Prime was just passing around the curve of Commenor, and so light was just beginning to strike her face as she emerged. On the surface, the time was just after six in the morning.

Of course, Alpha Prime ran on Union Standard, and so the time (if you were to ask this man standing here) was 10:14 AM. It was he thought, this feeling, this freedom, that these warships were being built to protect. The freedom that the people of Commenor had had for so long, and that had been brutally taken away in the War.

That was why those warships out there were neccessary. That was why he was neccessary.
"Polemarch." The voice came from behind him. He did not turn, did not need to, to recognize the voice of Strategos Devop. The titles, Polemarch and Strategos, were new, developed as the Union of Free Worlds rose, and put in place to command the fleets. The Polemarch of the Fleet, the Strategos of the Military; two of the most powerful men in the galaxy.

In theory, anyway.

"Not much of a fleet to be Polemarch of," he replied. The other, Devop, had made it to the rail now and followed the Polemarch's gaze to the sun, now in plain view.

"There will be, sir. And the fleet that you did command-"
"I know, Saroun. It was a 'masterpiece of military engineering'. I know what was written across the holoboards when the war was going on. I'm not that old that I have no idea what's going on outside my bubble."

The other smiled and nodded.
"Of course, sir."

There was a long silence as the two regarded the planet below, before the Polemarch spoke again.
"Do you regret it, Saroun? That you've been doing it so long?" The Strategos knew immediatly what he meant. It was only natural. Saroun Devop had joined the Galactic Defence Initiative as soon as he had turned eighteen, and enlifsted in the navy. By age thirty, Captain Devop had a nice command and a made life. He worked his way through the ranks, and as war dawned on the galaxy, during the time that the New Order and the Rogue Empire fought, he was the Executive Officer of the GDI flagship, the Eclipse Star Destroyer Korolev. It was less than two years ago, he realized suddenly, that he had given his joint authorization with Supreme Commander Dxun Isstal, to arm that ship's most devestating weapon for use against the Rogue Empire.

Three years... not even that. The Korolev was gone, of course. Destroyed along with the rest of the fleet in the long war. It would be missed by some, but Saroun Devop would not shed tears for it. Such a weapon was not good news, no matter who held the keys.

He was much happier seeing the SSD, all of those SSDs, destroyed. But in the months following that battle, he had served as a Major-General, leading the Korolev, which would later become the Destiny, and finally the Sentinel.

He shook his head. "I don't regret it. How could I? I've served to defend my galaxy since I was a boy, Polemarch. It is the noblest of professions, and I am proud to be able to tell people that I fought to keep them safe."

"But war has its downsides. You never feel trapped, unable to move away from the fleets and the battles?"

"Occasionally. But I get over it, because it is something that must be done. Without us, Polemarch, there would be no fleet. And without the fleet, we would all be dead. Or nearly there."

The older man nodded his approval.

"You are a good man, Strategos. They could not have made a better choice for your office."

<font size=1>
//Nebula Database... Acess Pending...

//Acess Granted... you have one new message.

//Memo

//From: Wraith (009.247.249.357)

//To: Hideaway (756.548.545.371)

//Subject: Operations

//Message Body Follows...

>Polemarch to move fleet elements out as soon as possible.
>Target Thyferra, Bespin, Taloraan.
>Defensive measures undertaken for the protection of capital.
>Recomend immediate action.
>Attatched: manifest

//End Message
</font>

It didn't escape the notice of a team of officers, military men trained to detect illegal usage of the computers, and communications systems, that someone had entered the system and send a somewhat damning message to some outside the Corporation.

It took them several minutes to hack into the system and find the message within the server. And only just in time - almost before they copied it the file was deleted. But the evidence was there. It was only a matter of when to move, not if.

They alerted the CEO and the Polemarch and Strategos, and the three met the team in one of the secure underground wings of LFX Industrial's headquarters.
"What have you found?" Seti Ashar asked, immediatly, scanning the faces of the soldiers.
"An informant, sir. Working within the Coporation and feeding information to an unidentified source. He was identified only as 'Hideaway'."
"And you know who the mole is?"
"Yes, sir. We tracked the message to his terminal, and double-checked the security tapes. He was at his terminal at the time the message was sent, and when it was deleted from our server." The CEO nodded, turning and pondering for a moment.
"If we leave him be, and continue to feed him information, what is likely to happen?" One of the other men who had not spoken yet answered, "Most likely, sir, we'll lose him. He will feed this 'Hideaway' false information, but since we do not know who or what Hideaway is, it would do us little good. Eventually, the informant would realize this and stop sending, and perhaps even make a break for it."
"Better to move now, then."
"Yes, sir."
"You'd better tell me what was in the message, Major."

<font color=gray>"I think they're on to me. This meeting, in a public place! It is to dangerous. What am I doing here?"
"Will you shut up? I've made sure that we're safe - you haven't been followed, nor have I. Everything will be all right. Now, what did you find out?"
"Find out about what?"
"Don't play stupid with me, Jon. I don't have time for it. Now please, tell me, what did you find out?"
"I want an increase in my funds. I'm not being paid nearly enough for this! Risking my life-"
"You're being paid more than enough. More than you're worth, in fact."
"Really? Maybe I should quit, then. Save you guys some cash."
"Jon, will you stop @#%$ around? Now, just tell me what you found."
"Stop @#%$ around, eh? I think I'm going to go. Right now."
"Sit down, Jon. I'll get you an extra... five percent, okay? Five percent more."
"Fifteen. Fifteen percent, or I'm walking out the door."
"Damnit Jon, fine. Fifteen percent. Now sit down and tell me what you found out."
"About Righteous Destiny?"
"About Righteous Destiny."
"They're moving out, and soon. They've got agents in place on the ground, from what I've been able to determine. They're not taking any chances, either. Only a couple dozen of the top officials know what Righteous Destiny is, less than three hundred have even heard of it."
"Good. When will the fleet be deployed?"
"I have no idea. They don't publish everything. But the time frame is three months. So soon."
"Thanks, Jon. You've been very useful. I'll see you get your just reward."

<font color=orange>"That's him. The one in the blue suit." Three men, intelligence operatives all, watched the exchange in silence. A wire had been slipped into the traitor's glasses, a very difficult move by the intel department, but worthwhile as the device was nearly impossible to detect. Now they watched as the traitor left hurridly. He looked worried, yet strangely content. The intel operatives didn't know how much he was getting, but it seemed to be at least six digits. And now he was getting a little bonus, it seemed.
"Do we take him now, or later?" The inquiry came from a dark-haired man in a black leather jacket that hung to his knees.
"Later, I think." The leader replied, casting another glance to the enemy, who was now calmly reading data from the flash-up news scroll available at that Cafe. "Less witnesses. And we might find out something worthwhile."

The team had been tracking the informat for a week and two days, taking note of when, where, and how his transactions with the traitor were done. The meeting had been unusual, but the conversation didn't allude to whether or not they'd done it before. The agreement among the three Intel officers was that it was not the first time.

"Boss? He's making a break for it."

The man had, indeed, risen, and was now calmly walking away from the Cafe in the direction of the residential district. The Intelligence team had already penetrated his hotel room, and more officers were stationed on either side in the other rooms.

"Do we move?"

The first of the three agents, and the youngest, moved away from the others to puruse the informat. His formal gray suite and attache case gave the appearence of a laywer on his lunch break. No one else would know that the case carried a high powered blaster, three stun grenades, and a variety of intelligence devices that might become neccessary to aprehend - or, if neccessary, eliminate - the subject.

"Not yet. Wait until he's moved out the traffic flow. The Nost Walkway should be pretty well abandoned this time of day. We'll take him when he reaches there."

The second agent nodded, and the two split to head off the walkway. It was only a matter of time, now...

(Delete this)

<font color=yellow>

HDCS DEFIANCE - DEEP SPACE RENDEVOUS

THE SHIP SHUDDERED AS ANOTHER SALVO OF TURBOLASER FIRE POURED INTO HER HULL. THE AGING WARSHIP - SHE HAD BEEN AROUND SINCE THE DAYS OF THE GALACTIC DEFENCE INITIATIVE - GAVE A LOUD GROAN AS THE SHOTS MADE IT PAST HER DEFLECTOR SHIELDS AND TORE CHUNKS OF HULL PLATING AWAY, SENDING THEM REELING INTO DEEP SPACE.

"HOW DID THEY TRACK US?" THE CAPTAIN, A MIDDLE-AGED WOMAN NAMED SARA SCREAMED. "THIS ISN'T FAIR-" SHE WAS CUT OFF AS ANOTHER BLAST ROCKED THE SHIP, THIS ONE EVEN MORE VIOLENT. THE DEFIANCE WAS TAKING DAMAGE, AND IT WAS EVIDENT THAT SHE COULDN'T TAKE MUCH MORE. NOT AT THIS RATE.

THE OPPOSING FORCE - IF IT COULD BE CALLED A 'FORCE' - WAS CLOSING IN. A TRIO OF ANCIENT KOLOTH BATTLECRUISERS HEADED THE ATTACK, ALONG WITH A VAST COMPLIMENT OF STARFIGHTERS, MOSTLY 'UGLIES' - SHIPS ASSEMBLED FROM THE SPARE PARTS OF OTHER, USELESS CRAFT. THERE WAS ALSO A NUMBER OF UNIDENTIFIED VESSELS, NONE LARGER THAN ONE HUNDRED METERS, AND IT WAS THOSE THAT WERE CAUSING THE MON CALAMARI CRUISER THE MOST PAIN.

TWO HAD BEEN CONFIRMED DESTROYED, AND FIRES BURNED ON THE HULLS OF ANOTHER THREE, BUT SENSORS WERE HAVING TROUBLE DETECTING THEM, AND THEY SEEMED TO BE FAR MORE ADAPT AT ABSORBING DAMAGE THAN A SHIP OF THEIR SIZE OUGHT TO BE ABLE TO.

"CAPTAIN! PORT-SIDE DEFLECTORS ARE DOWN! WE CAN'T HOLD OUT MUCH LONGER!" EVEN AS THE REPORT WAS SHOUTED, ANOTHER TREMOUR ROCKED THE SHIP AND A HALF A DOZEN NEW ALARMS JOINED THE MIX. HULL BREACHES ON EIGHT DECKS, THE SECONDARY PORT-SIDE HANGER BAY WAS COMPLETELY GONE...

"CAPTAIN." THE VOICE WAS SMALL, ALMOST INNOTICABLE AMONG THE SCREAMING ON THE BRIDGE.
"SHUT THOSE DAMN ALARMS OFF!" SARA HAD TO YELL TO BE HEARD. SHE TURNED TO THE VOICE, AND NODDED.
"WHAT?"
"IT IS TIME TO ABANDON SHIP, CAPTAIN. WE CANNOT HOLD ON ANY LONGER. THE HOME DEFENCE COPRS IS STRETCHED TO THIN TO OFFER ANY HELP, AND EVEN IF THEY COULD... WHAT HELP WOULD THEY BE? THESE... THINGS HAVE DESTROYED ONE OF THE MOST POWERFUL LINESHIPS IN THE FLEET WITH LITTLE APPARENT LOSS. PLEASE, CAPTAIN, ISSUE THE ORDER." SHE DIDN'T KNOW WHO HE WAS IN THE CONFUSION, BUT SHE REALIZED THAT HE WAS RIGHT.

THE BRIDGE WAS SILENT, AND AS SARA TURNED TO TAKE IN THE OUTSIDE, HER EYE CAUGHT THE MAIN DIAGNOSTIC SCREEN. EVERY PORTION OF THE SHIP SHCEMATIC WAS RED. AND RED MEANT BAD. SOME PARTS WERE EVEN BLACK, SUCH WAS THE EXTENT OF THE DAMAGE.

"RIGHT." SHE SAID. "ISSUE THE ORDER. ABANDON SHIP."</FONT>

<hr>

Historical Note:

As soon as the last of the crew escaoed from the Defiance, the ship was destroyed by the concentrated enemy force. Only minutes after the destruction, the cruiser Divine Secret, one of the largest remaining ships in the Corporate Fleet, arrived in response to the distress call. Most experts agree that if the Defiance had held out for another ten minutes, the vessel could have been saved. The man who encouraged Captain Sara to issue the order to abandon the Defiance was never identified, and did not arrive in port with the Divine Secret. It was later discovered that a small, hyperspace-equipped shuttle was missing from the flight deck. It had been reported destroyed in the ship registry.

<font color=gray>"What is it?"
"I'm not sure. Something strange."
"Strange-interesting or strange-uh-oh?"
"It's not the good kind of strange, Saroun. You remember that report from the Divine Secret regarding the Defiance Ambush?"
"Of course. It was one of the greatest losses in the fleet... a cruiser wiped out by a band of pirates?"
"Precisely. I think this may cast some light on our 'pirate' friends."
"You're telling me they're not pirates?"
"Not at all. I'm sure they were pirates. But I'm equally certain there is more to them than meets the eye."
"Meaning?"
"That we might have a problem. A very, very, serious problem."</font>

The speaker was an tall man, dark of face and with eyes that betrayed far to much death and loss. He stood in front of a small group, the commanders of the New Union Fleet and their respective seconds, and a variety of other intelligence officers and the Strategos of the Fleet, Saroun Devop. Trayden Locke, Polemarch of the Union Fleet, called once for silence as he studied the assembled officers.

"Gentlemen, Ladies," he began. "We have a very serious problem before us. You all, of course, recall the Second Civil War and the losses sustained by LFX Industrial during that conflict."

There was a chorus of agreement. Who could forget?

"I am transmitting to you the final report from the cruiser Defiance, and the report on that cruiser's destruction as catolouged by the cruiser Divine Secret. Please read it carefully, as it pertains to the purpose of this meeting.

<tt>Report: Logged
HDCS -Divine Secret-
88.54.34

//Ship responded to distress call by cruiser by cruiser
-Defiance- in undisclosed system. Hyperspace time
approximately fifty-four minutes at flank. Upon arrival,
system scan revealed excess of debris. No record of
-Defiance- yet found. Sensor readings indicated large mass - later identified as -Defiance- wreckage.

//Survivours brought onboard - reports of -Defiance- abandon ship order issued. No sign of enemy vessels detected. Survivours report blasts destroying any remaining ships before enemy retreated to hyperspace.

//No more data.

End Report</tt>

There was silence as the last of those present finished reading, and the Polemarch returned to speaking.

"Less than a week ago, our intelligence service caught two opposing intelligence operatives - one a man from another fation, one a traitor within our organization. Under questioning, the informat revealed the existance of a dozen moles within the Corporation. All have now been neutralized. One of these, however, attempted to trade his freedom for infomation regarding the Defiance.

"New information reveals the presence of a traitor onboard the cruiser, who apparently was able to convince Captain Sara that her ship was in much more dire a circumstance than indeed it was. This resulted in the loss of the Defiance and several thousand crew members who were unable to get off the ship.

"The mole also revealed that the pirates who attacked the Defiance had help, but claims that he does not know who, or which organization, was responsible for this assistance. He also admitted that a post-war invasion of our territory by these 'opposers' is not unlikely.

"I have therefor ordered that the fleet be put on High Alert, and it has been for the second day running. I want you all prepared for a battle over Commenor... and for immediate retaliation should a war ensure. Myself, the Strategos, and the CEO, will be speaking with several friends and allies to guarantee the continuation of LFX Industrial."

There was a long silence before a voice rose up from the assembled officers.

"What about the project we have underway?"
"You refer, of course, to Operation Rightous Destiny. The Operation is entering its second phase, and will continue as planned. However, several elements involving the fleet will be rotated to guarantee the safety of our citizens and our world."

"So the Nightfire won't be going to Thyferra?" The Polemarch shook his head.
"It is doubtful, Captain. Our resources are stretched thin, so we have to be very careful about what we decide to deploy, and where. The Deception may be visiting Thyferra in the future, but I think that Nightfire will be staying at home for some time."

There was a pause.

"Anything else?"

There was not.

Bespin – Station 1550

“Looks like a storm’s moving in.” The voice was old and grizzled, one that had seen many years of life in Bespin’s Tibanna-rich atmosphere, and belonged to an old gas prospector who was equally grizzled. He was, at the moment, alone on the tiny analysis station that was worth only a number – Station 1550. From somewhere behind the station, the faint drone of a Skyhopper engine could be heard above the growing crackling of lightning and thunder. Within moments, the craft – a wedge-shaped sub-orbital vehicle that was ideally suited to Bespin’s unpredictable and often dangerous atmosphere – was visible, and growing quickly in size as it neared the platform. By the time the old gas prospector had hobbled up to the tiny landing platform – one already largely occupied by the ancient, twin-pod Cloud Car that had been around during, and long before, the Galactic Civil War – the Skyhopper was settling awkwardly into the remaining space. The pilot, a middle-aged man in a strange all-black jumpsuit vaguely reminiscent of those worn by Imperial TIE fighter pilots, was stepping down onto the landing pad when the gas prospector appeared.
“Damnit, Nathan. Did you have to chose such a damned cold meeting place?” The old man shrugged and gave the other a toothy grin.
“Aint no bother t’me, Andy. I’m used t’it.”
“Whatever. You got the stuff?”
“Them old parts an’ things? Why sure, Andy, I gots ‘em. Jus’ like ya asked.”
“No, damnit. Information, Nathan. My boss is paying top dollar for information, not useless old parts.” The prospector gave another of his toothy grins and nodded.
“Ya, I gots that, too. Jus’ come on downstairs, Andy. I gots it. No worries, eh? I gots it.”

Bespin – Nimbus I (Cloud City)

The lower regions of Bespin’s old Cloud City, since renamed by the new administration to Nimbus I (Nimbus, of course, being for the Nimbus clouds that made up a large part of Bespin’s atmosphere), had been abandoned for some time. It had been years since anyone had set foot on the lowest levels – those below the garbage chutes and recycling facilities. Even those were some way up, around the fifth and sixth levels. The first proper level – above the massive repulsorlift generators that gave the city the ability to float above Bespin’s turbulent atmosphere – was dark and dingy. A half a century of abandonment had left all but a few of the glow rods dead, and those that still gave light did so at random, and whatever light was given was flickering constantly and unreliable under the best of circumstances. It was certainly no place for anyone to live, even the poorest of Nimbus I’s inhabitants avoided the lower levels. There had been, at some point, a vivid fascination for teenager offspring of the city dwellers above to come down and explore the ‘dungeons’, as they became known (most of the explorers were convinced that prisoners were hauled down to these levels and left to die). But several decades back, all but a few of the turbolifts had been modified so that they could not reach those levels, and concrete slabs were put in place to present a descent to the lowest regions of what was, at that time, Cloud City.

The lower levels of Nimbus I were hardly a place where one would expect to find anything worth finding, much less some of the most sophisticated and expensive machinery in the galaxy. Yet that was exactly what was now erected on Level Zero – the first level of Nimbus I, and what was once considered ‘Death Row’ by the same teens who called these levels the dungeons.

The first move made by LFX Industrial and the Union of Free Worlds when a peaceful expansion was called for was to set up a base of operations on the three worlds of choice, code named Nimbus, Cloud Nine, and Rainforest, respectively. Operation Nimbus, the ‘establishment of a base of operations on the world of Bespin’ for the ‘continued support of Operation Righteous Destiny’, had begun without trouble. The planetary authorities were happy to have someone pay rent to inhabit the lower levels – perhaps even clean them up a bit.

Following the removal of massive amounts of waste – most was dumped without remorse into the atmosphere, where it was soon consumed by the raging gas storms of the world’s surface – several freighters arrived, loaded with tonnes of gear intended for the new base centre. This was hauled down through recently repaired – and some recently installed – turbolifts, until the renovated section of Level Zero stretched around the entire ring of Nimbus I, and several hundred meters inward. More then two hundred agents had been given housing, and now occupied the lowest levels, establishing an Operations Centre below Nimbus I. Most of the city’s residents were not even aware of the existence of the underground network that had sprung up, mostly, overnight. The presence of half a dozen freighters had been spread over as many landing pads, and brought in in the early morning hours when they would not be noticed. The presence of the Operations Centre, now known as The Monitor by those who worked and lived there, was largely a secret on Nimbus I and across the galaxy.

The Monitor, thought going undetected, did not remain idol. Already, in less then a month of operation, a number of crimes within the city had been prevented, and the Bespin Police Corps were, they thought, quite thankful to their unknown assistant. Though they were probably convinced it was their own “cracking down” on crime that had brought the dramatic decrease in crime rate.

“Anything new today, Lyra?” The young blonde women whose name the man had just called shook her head.
“You kidding? This place is as dead as a Mon Cal cat fish on Tatooine.” She tore her eyes from the screen to look at the black-clad man and smiled slightly.
“What are you up to, then?” The man spread his hands wide and smiled broadly.
“What do you mean ‘What are you up to’? I’m not ‘up to’ anything. Sorry to disappoint you, though.” Lyra’s smile widened and she hit him playfully in the arm, having to stretch away from the desk to reach.
“I know that look, Andy. What’s going on?” Andy’s smile vanished, and in its place there was now a disappointed – and obviously forced – frown.
“I have a problem.” He admitted in all seriousness.
“Uh-oh. You’re not going to blubbering over the desks again, are you? Last time we had to dry half a dozen very important documents. You wouldn’t believe how much @#%$ I got in because of that…” Andy smiled and shrugged.
“Sorry about that, Lyra. But you see, there’s this women. And I think she’s very beautiful, and smart, and funny, and, damnit, Lyra, I think I’ve gone and fallen in love with her.” The women gave him a hard stare and smiled only slightly.
“Uh-huh. And what would this women’s name be?” Andy shrugged sheepishly and looked at her.
“Well, uh, her name is Lyra, and she works for the Monitor.”
“And what are you going to do about her?”
“Do you think she’d be interested in maybe going to dinner with me some time?”
“Why don’t you ask her?”
“I’m afraid she’ll say no, Lyra.”
“Well… you’ll never find out unless you ask, will you Andy?”
“You’re right, of course.”
“Of course.”
“Fine. Lyra, would you like to go out to dinner with me, sometime?” She flashed him a smile and turned back to her monitor.
“I’d love to, Andy.”

<font color=gray>"Do you know the story of the Beast and the Boy?"
"The what?"
"The Beast and the Boy. It's an old Alderaani story."
"I'm afraid I've never heard of it. How does it go?"
"They say that a long time ago, there was a terrible beast on Corellia, and a small boy. The boy had angered the beast, and so the beast decided to take revenge on the boy."
"And what happened after that?"
"There are two differing paths. One says that the beast devoured the boy. The other says that the boy and his friends surprised the beast and slaughtered him."
"And what does this have to do with us?"
"I don't know. Something just reminded me of it, that's all."</font>

Hyperpsace

Ensign H. Johnson lay back in his small bunk, eyes shut to block out the bright florescent light that shone down from above.
“Ron,” he muttered exasperated, “will you shut that damn light off already?” A head popped over the edge of the upper bunk and looked down at the ensign, who was still trying to sleep.
“I’m almost done here, Jons. Just give me another couple o’ minutes.” The man opened his eyes and propped himself up on his elbows to look at his friend and roommate.
“Come on, Ron. You can finish writing to your girlfriend in the morning. It’s not like we’re short on time or anything.”
“You’re right. And she’s not my girlfriend. She’s my fiancée.” The ensign laughed and shrugged.
“Whatever you say, Ron. Just shut that damn light out.”
“I’ll just be another couple o’ minutes.” The head vanished, and Ensign Johnson fell back onto the bunk and closed his eyes again. The mission had been carried out in the utmost secrecy, as per orders from the captain. As a lowly ensign, Johnson didn’t have the faintest idea why they were going to Thyferra, or what they would be expected to do once they arrived. But, according to the Captain, the orders had come directly from the Polemarch of the Fleet, and so they must be important. Maybe even vital to the Corporation’s interests. He smiled as he thought about that, and slowly drifted off to sleep.

The warning klaxon indicating an impenitent hyperspace transition woke Ensign Johnson from his sleep. He wondered briefly if he was supposed to be on the bridge, but a quick check of the notice pinned up beside his bunk told him that Ensign Hicks, and not he, was on bridge duty for this shift. He sighed and, being awake anyway, trotted down the hall to the shower. As he waited for a stall to empty, he stole a look out the viewport. The swirling blue vortex of hyperspace was diminishing, replaced for an instant by long streaks that were stars, and then finally by the tiny pinpricks of distant stars, hundreds of light years distant. Though he could not see the planet from his angle, the Ensign knew immediately that they were over the planet of Thhyferra, home to the infamous Bacta Cartel.

Almost immediately on the bridge the sensor and communications boards would be lighting up with information. Johnson was glad that he wasn’t on bridge duty – sorting through more than a hundred messages to identify those of importance, block advertisements, and properly deliver private messages, was not hard work, but it was a lengthy and mostly boring process. As soon as the ship would exit hyperspace, close to sixty different advertisements from the surface were blocked from the system immediately. And that was on a slow world – places like Imperial Centre more than two thousand adds would be received and blocked instantaneously.

When Johnson emerged from the shower stall some time later, the mostly-green ball of Thyferra was visible below.
“Beautiful.” He muttered, walking back to his cabin to prepare for his shift.