The skinny man paled in the shadow of the burly intruder. An atypical city official, given Gash Jiren's close watch over the Rogue Jedi Order's rule of Ossus, Drayil shied to intimidation very easily. It was for that very reason he had been targetted as an instrument of this beautiful and terrible thing which had been set in motion. The proprietors of this horrible plot had scouted out Ossus in such a way that a complete layout of all officials was standard issue for operatives.

As a personal point, the intruder- a man known only as Xex- despised the cloak-and-dagger nature of his orders thus far. As far as he knew, the other members of what had been covertly entitled "Black Fang" had an equally grim disposition toward the sneaking around involved in their missions. But they had been promised combat; and more. Revenge...

Xex spoke in the chillingly icy tone, making Drayil visibly shudder even more than he'd been before.

'We're not pleased with your progress, Officer.'

Drayil's voice took on a shakey stutter, a typical sign of the Officer's gushingly emotional nervousness. He was crumpling under the pressure the Black Fang were putting on him, like a child sobbing after being reprimanded.

'How c-can you expect me t-to acc-complish more? Jiren is wary of officials ttry-ing to take advantage of the current s-'

'Shut up!'

Xex smashed an ungainly large fist into one of the beeping computer consoles occupying the small, back alley facility. Gash Jiren had implimented a system of 'on-the-street' policing- he apparently believed that police corruption was lessened when the security forces actually resided where the crime was. A good policy, but it made it simplistic to intrude on such undercover bunkers and performing such unsavory deeds as the ones Xex would be hard at work implimenting that day.

'I'm ss-orry!' Squealed Drayil, scurring away from the console like a rat from a comrade caught in a mousetrap.

'You had damned well better be. He knows- you know what his mind is like. He keeps track of all of you... and if your progress falls behind one more time...'

A pitiful tear of absolute horror formed in the eye of Drayil.

'Just one more chance... don't let him... come here...'

Gash mumbled something vaguely obscene in the Krick dialect, as another city planner stumbled from his office. Jedi Master or not, it was taking all his patience not to use the Force to fling the various planners, surveyers, and developers straight out his office's 12th-story window.

Since the widely syndicated holonet posting of an invitation to the people and businesses of the galaxy to immigrate to Ossus, various city planners and representatives of massive conglomerates all seemed to have some scam they wanted to pull on Gash. The ruined former-Jedi Capital was in desparate need of a populace to settle it, and create revenue with which the destroyed cityscape could be rebuilt.

A very distant looking secretary dropped off a set of datapads on Gash's desk, and the Jedi sighed again. The expression of exhaustion became a smirk when he noticed the first one was addressed to 'Gash Jiren'. Apparently, the galaxy had come to accept the nickname layed upon him in his days as a Sith. He had accepted the name he once rejected, during his turn to the Light Side, as well; there was no harm in it, as he had come to be at peace with his very checkered past. Several more were also addressed to 'Gash Jiren', only a few bearing his birth name, Searthen.

He glazed over the stack of miniature computers.

Quarterly Security Forces Report- V2981

That caught his eye. Pushing the other datapads aside, he settled down to read the words displayed by the flatpanel screen. One line he glazed over mentioned the recent promotion of one Lieutenant Officer Drayil to Chief Officer...

In the shadows which seemed to permeate the cramped quarters, only the eyes of the man Xireon addressed could be seen. Those infamously large, ominous red orbs, which stared severely at Xireon before moving briefly up and down to signify a nod.

'Yes, yes of course, my friend. I would not think to anger an individual so... powerful, as yourself.'

The young son of Gash Jiren sneered, turning his back on the man. His eyes followed the stars in space, darting from one to the other, forming constellations. He continued to stare out the Star Destroyer's viewport as he spoke.

"Don't take me for a fool, Admiral. The last Force user you dealt with may have been a mad fool, but I assure you, I am not. You will deliver. Don't be so cocky... this ship, your tacticle abilities, are nothing compared to the power of the Dark Side."

'Ah.'

The man clothed by shadow smiled, the malice-filled show turning even Xireon's evil stomach. The Admiral let his smile fade, as he let out a deep breath.

'As you say, Xireon. I assure you, I have no desire to betray you- you are a most important part of my plan for you father's downfall.'

"With all of your supposed genius, you seem to turn toward men like me quite frequently." Xireon cocked his head at his new ally, the Sith's own red eyes mirroring those of the Admiral. "Why?"

He shrugged. 'Bloodlines run strong and deep in the Force.'

"We will see just how deep, won't we?"

'Yes. Yes, indeed...'

Ossus...a beloved world of fine art and history, the previous capital of the Jedi, thought eternally destroyed by the destructive mass of the Sith. It had been rebuilt by the Jedi Master Gash Jiren, and the whole of its beauty. A history of treasure and jewels endeavored by thousands of years of torments on all sides and sorts.

The emperor, though expected to be thought on Despayre to be dealing with the Titanic Wars, or the current grievances he was constantly reported, was taking a small leave that he needed ever so desperately that his Imperial duties usually kept him from.

Stroking the twin-linked lightsaber at his side, he quartered down to one of the great libraries of Ossus, as it reminded him greatly of Obroa-Skai and its mass anomaly of history and important educational values.

The library was enormous, with possibly millions of books, with even hundreds of thousands of data cards labeling important documents and historical knowledge.

He felt a feeling of need...as if he belonged in this library, and the well-dressed emperor was glad to have that feeling. He made his way to one book entitled, "The Chronicles of the Sith War".

Times were not so well for one of the last Royal Imperial Guards.

Two years ago, Tilaric Brel, formerly one of the Emperor's legendary cloned Guards, had been quite literally on top of the figurative world. The President of the Freedom Guard Corporation, the Admiral of the Freedom Guard fleet, the mysterious red-cloaked man had built himself an empire on Fondor.

Ironically, it had been the Empire which took that holding away.

Silently, brutally, they had struck. Unsuspecting, Tilaric and his partner, Donavin Styx, had been struck a death blow from which they had never recovered. Their shipyards destroyed, their facilities burned to the ground, they'd attempted to gather what remained of their employees and flee-

Only to be struck again by another reborn form of the Old Empire.

The legendary Sovereign Protectors, elite even among the elite Royal Guards, Kir Kanos and Kyle Hannad, had put the final nail in the coffin of the Freedom Guard Corp.

What had become of their corporation, foisted out from underneath them, was irrelevant to Tilaric Brel. Donavin Styx was dead, and he'd barely escaped with his life- something Brel was not altogether thankful for. He'd fought for every shred of ground he'd taken, fleeing on fear that had given him wings. Acquiring the Skipray Blastboat flown by Kir Kanos and Kyle Hannad before their Fondor rampage, he'd flown- flown to the only place he had left to run.

Which now loomed, grave and somehow foreboding, on the horizon of his twenty-five meter craft. Tilaric Brel's last resort.

Hapes.

An infamous world, to say the least. One which had played a pivotal role- though not intentionally- during the first Yuuzhan Vong invasion. Slowly, the Royal Guard's craft enroached on the planet, paying no heed to the hails laid by the ground control located there.

Tilaric had run to Hapes, after the death of the Emperor, and had run from it shortly following that of Grand Admiral Thrawn- a time when his Imperial past had come to light, and earned him the brand of a liar and traitor.

They wouldn't welcome him.

Not until he forced them to.

Opening a tight band frequency rimward, on a previously designated channel, Tilaric spoke. He did so almost quietly, in a mock-whisper, as if speaking too loudly would alert the people on the world below of his sinister intentions.

"I am approaching Hapes now. The informant tells me that all is in place."

'Good...' Came the reply, in a voice as sinister as the plans of Tilaric Brel...

<!--EZCODE ITALIC START--> TNA? What the frell are they doing here?<!--EZCODE ITALIC END-->

Julius rolled the information over in his mind, panning the small, hand-held camera round to take in the two Freedom Guard, in their spotless white uniforms and unchallegingly stupid rank plates. The idea that anyone would place their speciality on their chest, equating so obviously to the order of assassination, was beyond Julius.

Not that he was here to assassinate anyone, though.

But, his mind still dwelled on the pair. They were not his assignment here, he knew, but they still slotted into it partially, although not in any way they would know.

Completely unbeknownst to Julius, though, his and the Guards’ missions were surprisingly similar. Both were intelligence gathering send-outs; although the specific type of information, the way it was to be gathered, and the reasoning behind the assignments were very, very different.

Slowly, the Guards moved away from their transport, the shorter one turning around and motioning to the larger, saying something that Julius could not hear from this distance. The larger-

<!--EZCODE ITALIC START--> A wookie, perhaps?<!--EZCODE ITALIC END-->

-was showing obvious signs of annoyment now, but reluctantly followed his more human-shaped partner.

<!--EZCODE ITALIC START--> As it should be.<!--EZCODE ITALIC END-->

A grin flashed once across his face, quickly leaving as the documentary crew moved their substantially larger camera from his face, and the two Guards moved out of his field of vision, and out of his mind.

That was something he definitely noticed about this planet.

Lots of tourists. Lots of holidaymakers. Lots of film crews, documenting the “rebirth”.

Far too crowded, making his task far too easy.

The crew behind moved on to another part of the city, and Julius himself moved on, too. He was not planning to follow the New Alliance agents. Undoubtedly, they had their own mission here, and he would not risk being discovered here.

No, it would be best to just continue looking, for now. There was no real reason for following, and besides, Julius had an appointment to keep.

One that he dare not miss.

<!--EZCODE BOLD START--> Deepspace.... Rendezvous Point.<!--EZCODE BOLD END-->



General Simon Kaine paced the bridge of the newly reconstructed <!--EZCODE ITALIC START--> Galactus<!--EZCODE ITALIC END-->. He looked about the bridge noting the new officers, replacing those that had died during the Battle of Dantooine.


<!--EZCODE ITALIC START--> Young..<!--EZCODE BOLD START--> too<!--EZCODE BOLD END--> young..<!--EZCODE ITALIC END-->


The fresh, new faces exhibited a large degree of excitement that threatened to smash through their training and consume them totally. Such exuberance was dangerous on a vessel
of war.


He nodded to the Officer of the Watch as he passed and descended the steps to the lower level of the bridge. Walking to the Communication's Officer he ordered, "Raise the
<!--EZCODE ITALIC START--> Victory<!--EZCODE ITALIC END-->."

He stared out a nearby port and noted the familiar Imperial Star Destroyer drifting to their port. The battle damage inflicted by the <!--EZCODE ITALIC START--> Jenova<!--EZCODE ITALIC END--> was substantial forcing
Captain Chandler to drive his crew to speed up repairs to meet the <!--EZCODE ITALIC START--> Galactus'<!--EZCODE ITALIC END--> launch from Repair Dock.

Having been resupplied once more, and with the major dry dock repairs complete, the Captain of the ISD figured his repair crew needed the training anyway and so ordered the repairs to be carried out in transit as well as at the rendezvous point.


The face of Captain Chandler appeared on a monitor, looking slightly disheveled.


"Status Captain?"


"Repairs proceeding on schedule, Sir. Fighter crews are training round the clock."


Simon nodded to the officer to secure the line between the two leaders. The Communications Officer complied and stepped back to a monitoring station.


"Chandler, What is your observation of the Fleet?"


The Captain turned to his side to make sure of the secure connection and sighed.

"Dantooine took alot out of us, Sir. A lot of good officers died in that action."


Kaine's mind seemed to drift back briefly to the battle...



The smell of the sparks... the stench of death all around.... His ship being cut off by both of the New Republic Fleets...

The brilliant moves by Falynn Daine, the Vice Admiral and Captain Tulok... the Sith

Brotherhood's own treachery by turning on the New Republic's forces...


The New Alliance Fleet and the traitorous Rogue Empire Fleets braving the Abolisher fields of the Empire's Sith allies to out flank the Imperial Forces.


Options were running out...and there was no choice...


He had ordered the gravity well generator safeguards removed at precise locations thus causing inversion field to folding back onto itself which created pocket blackholes that
had obliterated the enemy's flanking fleets and shattering their backbone.


The Enemy offensive was broken... and the scattered remains pulled away from the fight.


He had ordered the remaining Imperial ships to tend to their own wounded and damaged comrades rather than wipe out the remaining scraps of enemy ships.


They had been victorious and yet there were no celebrations, no cheers, no triumphant marches.


Just the fires....and the stench of death..


<!--EZCODE ITALIC START--> Then<!--EZCODE ITALIC END--> he had seen it...


Part of Dantooine was burning, part of it was flooding, parts of it became extremely cold; it's atmosphere being bombarded by the conflicting gravitational forces of his maneuver.


Nearly every living being there had died....


and then the black holes collapsed...disappearing.


..and the fires died...



<!--EZCODE ITALIC START--> ..there was no choice..<!--EZCODE ITALIC END-->



Admiral Hyfe had come back to the Empire from his successful assault on Obroa-Skai only to immediately coordinate the relief efforts from the rest of the Empire.




**


<!--EZCODE ITALIC START--> "Combat Economics, young Simon. <!--EZCODE BOLD START--> Always<!--EZCODE BOLD END--> make your enemy pay a higher price than what they are willing to pay for their objective. Nine times out of ten they will not want it that badly."

A young Simon Kaine looked at the aging military officer, then to his instructor.

"Sir, what happens when they <!--EZCODE BOLD START--> will<!--EZCODE BOLD END--> pay the higher price?"

The instructor looked up sharply and the visiting officer grinned slightly. The rest of the students seemed to be taken aback at his impertinence.


"Then you destroy their objective."


"But..but sir, why not allow them to take it and then steal it back?"


"Because, young man, if they take it even <!--EZCODE BOLD START--> one<!--EZCODE BOLD END--> time, then they will have achieved psychological superiority. More often times than not, you will find that psychological superiority can be a powerful (and difficult to counter) weapon. Powerful enough to turn the tide of combat."


Then the old soldier's grin widened, "Besides, young man. How can you steal it back when you've been executed for losing it to the enemy in the first place?"<!--EZCODE ITALIC END-->



**



Kaine looked at Captain Chandler and narrowed his eyes slightly, "It's time for the young to step up to the challenge."


"Yes sir and they have. However, they...<!--EZCODE ITALIC START--> we<!--EZCODE ITALIC END-->, are tired. We haven't had time to recover since Dantooine and have been pushing ourselves and our men hard. It may soon be
time to return to port."


What Chandler was saying was true. Simon had seen the fatigue in his men's eyes as they struggled to get the Sentinel Division back up to standard.


"We will, Captain. We will. Keep me posted when the <!--EZCODE ITALIC START--> Victory<!--EZCODE ITALIC END--> is secured for hyperspace travel."


"Yes sir."


Kaine nodded to the Comm. Officer and stepped back up to the upper level of the bridge.


The repairs were almost finished and the rest of the Division was running battle simulation drills to their starboard.


The space under the <!--EZCODE ITALIC START--> Victory<!--EZCODE ITALIC END--> soon became dotted as TIE fighters were practicing emergency deployment maneuvers.


<!--EZCODE ITALIC START--> Ciscero, where are you?<!--EZCODE ITALIC END-->

Routine patrols were boring work. Something an Admiral, a diplomat, a Jedi and a spokesman for a trillion people galaxy-wide shouldn't have had to partake in. But Gash Jiren had been dragged along on this one, by the captain of the Hapes Nova Battlecruiser, Novallion. He was a younger officer, an early recruit of the Rogue Jedi Order- one brought into their navy before the order had gained any of it's notoriety. He'd commanded a Lancer frigate at the Battle of Dantooine, braved that gruesome fight and come home alive.

Lucky.

Gash sighed long and deep, glancing around the dark grey inner hull of the Novallion. At a few points, minor indentations or patchworks noted repairs from previous combat encounters. The recent settling of Ossus had brought all that civilization entailed- good and bad. Piracy included.

In the padded captain's chair, given up by Captain Tellien in favour of his surperior officer, surveying the entirity of the majestic bridge was somewhat enjoyable for Gash's keen eye for art. The finely crafted consoles bore a semblance to some of the galaxy's finest artistic works, curves accenting every edge. Three levels, separated by two steps each, marked the large bridge, and massive transparisteel viewports surrounded the command decks on all sides, stretching from below the lowest floor to above the highest.

A fine ship. Oddly enough, the three Hapes Nova Battlecruisers which had been commisioned into the Rogue Jedi Order navy were some of the smallest ships in the fleet. The staggering size of this particular vessel, coupled with the realisation that even it's magnificent size did not rival that of the Tachyon, the R.J.O. flagship.

"Is there a reason you've brought me out here, commander, or am I just seeing the sights? I've been through the system before, you know. It's actually much more staggering from the cockpit of a fighter."

Tellien twitched nervously, replying in an unnervingly solemn tone. 'There is a reason, sir... very much so...'

Gash's eyes narrowed curiously, surveying the captain's mood. He was generally a calm, controlled officer... what had shaken him so? The Novallion passed the second planet outward of Ossus, the system's sun growing more faint in the distance. With it, faded Gash's hope that this had been some kind of joke, or routine maintenance check.

The Hapes Nova Battlecruiser began to round that world, several million kilometers from Ossus, and a small piece of drifting metal came into view. Sensors immediately identified it as a derelict vessel, in a decaying orbit.

"Captain... why are we here?" Gash pressed, tension mounting. With an even more frightening epiphany, Gash realized that his sense in the Force was what had caused this sense of dread to build within him. "Why?!"

'Bring up that c-contact on screen, sensors officer...' Captain Tellien stuttered, his order conveying no confidence or leadership power.

The piece of metal flashed on screen, it's hull charred and ravaged, but recognizable. Very recognizable... painfully so. Three curved limbs flowed from a central cockpit, the adjustable claws looking like the talons of Gash's prosthetic hand. The design was famous, infamous, and had been played on holonets everywhere at one time or another- but always in grainy, static-filled holovid. No one got close to these fighters. Those who did, never lived to tell the tale.

"I know that design... every Admiral does. No one from Coruscant to Bastion knows how to make those ships..."

Captain Tellien sat in his command chair, knuckles white as he grasped the chair's arms. The color had drained from his once-youthfully exhuberent face, matching his light-blond hair. 'Y-yes...'

"God... that's... that's a Clawcraft. Only the Chiss can make those..."

Tellien nodded stiffly, more color draining from his already-pale face. 'It was destroyed by an E-Wing patrol three hours ago. I'll have it tractor-beamed in, sir...'

Gash barely acknowledged the man. Why Ossus? Why would the Chiss come here?

"I have a bad feeling about this..."

*Claire crouched down, her left knee brushing against the bare earth beneath her feet, while her right knee remained close to her chest. As her gaze raised to the small cityscape within the horizon, her arms wrapped around her knee slowly. Behind her were the desolate ruins of what once was a great capital world for the former Jedi Order, destroyed too long ago to even think about. Thinking of it brought up too many deep thoughts, like what happened in between then and now? Not just what had been recorded, but to each individual that thrived on the planet? Surely, there had to be those amongst the separate tribes that had planted the few and far apart plants that were in the dry dead dirt all around. What went through their minds when they did this?*

*She shook her head, breathing inwardly as she closed her eyes. Too much thinking would bring her into her own little world and cause her to sit there for hours pondering. Her head bowed slightly as she washed the thoughts from her mind, remaining there for a short and silent moment. As she stood, her head did not move, neither did her eyes open. Only when she had fully stood to her entire height, proud and tall would she open her eyes and raise her gaze to the small life growing in the horizon.*

<!--EZCODE ITALIC START--> How that man has managed to bring life back to this dying world has got to be the most wonderful thing I have heard of. I wouldn't have the strength to pull through with it. <!--EZCODE ITALIC END--> She thought.

*She looked up to the skies above the land itself, her mind going blank for once as she tried to figure out more than she could. How, and why? The intentions, and if they truly were for the better good. And would history simply repeat itself. She hoped not.*

The military had come.

From the duracrete surface of the Rogue Jedi Order capital, the massive triangular hull of the Allegiance Star Destroyer, the Tachyon, was visible. Obscured slightly by the atmosphere of Ossus, the graceful warship was nonetheless awe-inspiring- especially when coupled with the other patrolling vessels which flashed in and out of visibility.

While freedom still reigned on-planet, a state of militant law had begun it's reign in the space surrounding Ossus. The entire system was under constant patrol by both the capital ships and the Skipray Blastboat squadrons of the Rogue Jedi Order, scanning the dark sky for any sign of the Chiss vessels. The single clawcraft which had been recovered, and was in the process of repain and information recovery. The pilots of the twelve E-Wings that had shot the ship down.

Or, the eight remaining.



'Authorities report that one Chiss craft was intercepted, and destroyed five of our fighters. One pilot has survived by going extra-vehicular. No other statements have been released at this time, but an undisclosed member of the Ossus Parliament, which holds jurisdiction over the planets within Rogue Jedi space, has issued the following statement.'

The holonet broadcast blurred, and the screen was replaced by a flimsyplast sheet, stamped with the official Ossus Parliament symbol. The screen scrolled as the short text message was read aloud by the attractive female newscaster.

'While all of the members of the Ossus Parliament, as those represented by our New Republic senators, support the will of Admiral Searthen Jiren, we must now question the validity of judgement. The utterings of the Force, from which Admiral Jiren claims his assumptions come, are highly vague and misunderstood. To mobilize the entire Rogue Order Navy is a folly action brought about by excessively prompt and impulsive decision making.'

The screen returned to the blonde, blue eyed newscaster, a woman Gash knew to be Virona Ty. A beautiful human, even when measured against the absurd standards of such far-flung worlds as Hapes, Gash had personally overseen her appointment to Ossus' first holonet station, RogueNet.

Something he'd done for her general distrust of the Jedi. She, above anyone, was likely to be objective. Now, sitting in the Ossus Parliament Hill head office, the Jedi Master was beginning to regret it.

'The three senators of the New Republic deny all knowledge of the origin of this statement, and disavow the content within. Only time will tell if Gash Jiren's actions in recalling the Rogue Order Navy in an effort to police the space around Ossus and her sun were justified, or necessary. But for now, we can only wonder if the burden of command has begun to effect his judgement.

For RogueNet, I'm Virona Ty. Good Coruscant night.'

"Damnit."

Gash shut off the holonet broadcast before the nightly RogueNet profile programming- another show which would surely have been a painful rehash of Gash's life. That night: The life and times of Recon Klain.

Gash turned his chair toward the viewport, the yellow star tinted orange in it's evening death throes. He tapped his comm gently, selecting a specific comm channel and speaking with a soft tone. Gash hoped to catch her before she left the RogueNet broad ast studio.

"Ms. Ty. Your evening broadcast was... deplorably misguided and disgustingly vile."

'Why, thank you, Gash. I hate your living guts, you know.'

Gash chuckled softly, and smiled at the hologram of the beautiful woman mirroring the gesture. She began removing the light makeup she wore on air.

"You know you're wrong. And reading statements on the air like that could be dangerous to my control over the navy. I settled this planet, you know... I'd rather control of it wasn't wrest from me."

'Hey, you were the one who wanted objectivity.'

"I was inexperienced... I'll never make that mistake again."

Virona smiled wrly. 'Why did you call, Gash? A girl can never get too many calls from a rich New Republic Admiral, but I was hoping to go home...'

"I have matters to discuss. Could you meet me at the... usual spot?"

Virona sighed. 'Alright. This better not be another ploy to have dinner with me...'

"Funny. I'll meet you in one standard Coruscant hour."

<font color=red>Drip...drip...drip were the only sounds coming from the deep chamber of one of Yavin IV's many temples. Many hours he'd sat, pondering in the dark. Of the Rogue Empire, of the New Republic, of the Hapan Civil War. He had recently ben acquainted with a lovely part-Chiss Terolyn Lethan, whom he tragically found himself attracted to, yet tried to ignore it. It was no fatal attract or keen lust, nor love at first sight. Yet the emperor had found himself quite interested in her, more out of fascination.

Yavin IV had a remarkable history behind it, and thus he found himself enthralled in both its beauty and relations to the Rogue Jedi Order. He regretted not assisting in the defense of Master Jiren's home world, Asthentia, but a turn of events with Bespin kept him pre-occupied. He ammended that with the several administrative and political defenses he'd set up around the now defeated Inner Sanctum of the Sit, and to ward off would be politicians wanting nothng more than to manipulate the Rogue Jedi Order.

But with the whisper of Master Jiren dealing with the Dark Lord of the Sith, discontent flustered through to Fearsons. If his master preached how Sith were the ultimate evil, then the Dark Lord was no doubt hell-incarnate. And then this Dark Lord was his master's brother...his assistant...and coert.

Was everything he taught a lie? Were the Rogue Jedi, really just subordinating lackies to the Sith? Attempting to barter a deal of survival? Where as the pride in that?

Doubtful he thought. But nonetheless, there was something truly wrong with Master Jiren, that the emperor could not condone.

Several Rogue Jedi had inquired why a council had yet to be formed, and it now began to make sense, Gash Jiren was afraid of a Rogue Jedi Council, similarly to how he was afraid of Fearson's moving on his own.

With the power of the soverignty of the galaxy, he had feared the emperor's potential upbringing of hatred, succumbing to the Dark Side. However, as was proven in the first Yuuzhan Vong invasion, the Jedi had focused too much on understanding, letting the vermin that were void to the Force run rampant throughout the galaxy. Was aggression truly evil or of the Dark Side if it were for a just cause? Was then the Dark Side truly dark, or was it the speculation of old Jedi Masters? Finally Fearsons was left to wonder, who decided what was good, and what was evil?

He fingered the long, double-bladed lightsaber at his side, which he acknowledged as a weapon first and foremost. The lightsaber, as even Obi-Wan Kenobi admitted it, was a weapon of the Jedi Knights...weapon. And it had seldom been used by the emperor, which he was thankful for.

Casting his glowing, crimson eyes on the source of a sound of running water outside the old Massassi Temple, he saw a minature, natural waterfall had been made. It was of a small flowing stream trickling down a leaf, catching itself with a delightful splash toward the bottom, sending more of the water out excitedly. The serenity of it all grasped the Jedi Knight with an admirable smile.

However, his small brink of admirable concentration was broken by dialogue.</font> "Sir, they have been assembled my lord,"<font color=red> came a helm-muffled voice. Spinning on his heels, the emperor recognized Commander Telebuthe, captain of the Mobile PeFauna Division.</font>

"I see,"<font color=red> Fearsons responded as he peered at teh several awards on his chest and arms. Normally in a fully armored division, the Rogue Imperial Guardsman were quite the sight to see, and were just as deadly as they were beautiful. Rather today he was adorned in his dress uniform.</font> "Tell them I shall be there soon, I just have to wrap up a few things here."

"Yes sir,"<font color=red> the PeFauna said, and briskly exitted.

And thus Fearsons was left alone once again. Alone to ponder the inquiries of the Force, specifically as an emperor's entailment with the Force...and a jedi's. Again he thumbed his lightsaber, smiling toward its elegance. The Rogue Jedi Order seemed only to be a masquerade now.

Marching down the twisting, turning corridors of the Massassi Temples of Yavin IV, the emperor stopping only to admire the architecture and te hyroglyphics on the stoen walls. But alas he was forced to reel toward the great council chambers, where an exceedingly important speech was to be made.

He peered out at those around him, watching and listening to the Jedi there.</font>