Six Weeks Ago

Standing there, on the bridge of the Star Destroyer Tyrant, Bhindi Drayson wondered not for the first time if what she was doing was the right thing. She had not joined the Holy Demosthesian Empire out of any particular love for that organization, nor for the Emperor Seti Ashar.

Rather, she had joined the Empire in order to get revenge upon the New Republic. The New Republic, that had killed her father. The New Republic, that had lost Coruscant to the indomitable might of the New Order.

The New Republic, that had given her birth and that she had given the first twenty-two years of her life to. Then it had all cam crashing down around her. First Endgame, and Coruscant, and the Regent's address from inside the Imperial Palace, what had once been the heart of the Republic.

The heart that had been shattered by the Republic before the Empire ever set foot on the capital. Shattered, when Organa Solo and the government moved to greener pastures - literally - in the Corellian system.

The Empire had stolen Corellia from underneath the nose of the New Republic, and had in doing so destroyed all that Bhindi Drayson had held dear. Her father was recalled to active duty in the New Republic - the same New Republic that had attempted to kill him in that traitorous assault on Eriadu - and had died trying to keep the Republic from splintering.

And what had happened? Organa Solo emerged from her exile, and under her leadership the New Order blanketed the galaxy, covering more than a thousand systems in the blink of an eye, and turning the galaxy upside down.

Then there had been that business with the Wrath Virus, and the utter chaos that ensured as Tilaric Brel declared himself Emperor and brought death and destruction to all fronts, before the Republic and the Empire finally joined forces and stopped him.

And what had happened then? The Republic had died, and its capital on Corellia was taken, along with nearly every other prominent world in the Core, and many otherwise. Were it not for the Coalition of Lightside Factions to hold them in check, however slightly, there was little doubt that the Empire would have steamrolled the galaxy again.

The Coalition, the Holy Demosthesian Empire. The Empire had taken rise from the ashes of the Wrath. There was rumour that since the Wrath Virus Seti Ashar had become cold, almost evil, setting up his Corporation for a wild blow. The Empire had been born, yes, but it did not breath as it should have.

The Republic was gone, but its ahses remained. The New Rebellion, and the Coalition. And Seti Ashar had sat by and watched them as they spun webs within webs to hold their enemies at bay, had retreated after the short-lived war with the Jutraalian Empire, loosing Thyferra in the process.

And now...

"News from Commander Drif." Godridge said, entering the bridge of the Star Destroyer and frowning gravely. Commander Drif was a longstanding and highly respected member of the Imperial Intelligence Service, and he reported directly to Bhindi on matters of urgent attention. That he sent news, rather than using one of the Empire's probe couriers, could mean only one thing.

Something was going down. And whatever it was, it was big.



"Authorization code required." The machine prompted in its artificial machine voice. Bhindi brushed her irritation with the machine aside. It would do her no good to be in a bad mood. Not with what could be a fate-altering report on the wire.

"Drayson-Omega-Six-Roon." She recited the codeword effortlessly, her tone neutral so that the damned machine could get an accurate voice match.

"Authorization confirmed: Fleet Admiral Bhindi Drayson, Godshammer Division." With a sigh, she reached out and hit the playback button, and the hazy blue hologram, one quarter regular size, of Commander Drif appeared.

"Admiral Drayson," he began, "this date today is 601/008/404. I do not know when - or if - this message will reach you, but it is of the utmost importantance. Yesterday, a Scout Ship near the Tango sector picked up debris from a New Republic warship. Datamarkings from the vessel were not concurrent with any former Republic ships in our databases. It can only mean that the Republic has resurfaced, in some form.

"Immediatly upon recieving the news, my ship was ambushed by a Star Destroyer bearing no markings, but with remarkable resemblance to the Razor's Kiss. The ship was captured and destroyed; I managed to escape in the vessel's Skipray Blastboat. I can only conclude that the Holy Demosthesian Empire is, on some level, working with the New Republic to ensure their rise to power.

"Drif out."

The hologram vanished, and Bhindi started at the empty space for a moment.

"Was there anything else?" She asked, after a time.
"Just a list of cooridinants and times. Presumably the locations and time of the scout's discovery and the ambush. I haven't had the techs go over it yet."
"Good. This is... troubling, Commander. If the High Command is working with the New Republic..."

She left the thought unfinished. It was no small secret that Bhindi Drayson held a deep loathing of the Republic. If the Empire had decided to help them, there was no telling whether her loyalty to them or her hatred for the Republic would come first.

"It would seem that we have little choice to do as the High Command wishes. That is the oath we swore." Godridge breathed a small sigh of relief. Still... something was not quite right. Her mind flashed back to the holographic meeting she had had with Trayden Locke only two weeks earlier, how distraced he had seemed. She had had no idea, then, what had been troubling the man, had simply assumed it had something do with Chadd Fearsons and the Jutraalian Empire.

But if the Empire were planning something, it would have made sense to dispatch their most anti-Republican officers on long-term missions, wouldn't it? Get them away from the capital, and, more importantly, away from the major communications lines.

"Commander," she said suddenly into the silence. "Can you pull long-term command assignments and bios for those officers from the datanet? Not through the main channels, but send in a probe?"

Godridge paused before replying, his face pained. It was easy enough to request such information from the datanet on Commenor, but such requests nearly always made it to the Emperor. And if he was right about what Bhindi was thinking, then that could prove unfortunate for her. He nodded slowly.

"I could, Admiral. Given some time. Unless you want them to be able to trace me." Bhindi didn't say anything. It would be quicker if he were able to rip them from the archives, but speed alone would do them no good if the High Command discovered it and took action.

"Do the best job you can, Commander. But I want them on my desk in three days. Give them directly to me. Nobody sees those files. Am I understood?"

He nodded, and Bhindi smiled slightly. If she was right, if the High Command had been meddling in the affairs of the New Republic, there would be trouble ahead. It was best to be prepared for it.

Yes... prepared.



Three Days Later

Bhindi frowned at the report in front of her. Sure enough, the majority of those units with strong Imperial or anti-Republic feelings had been filtered out of the capital over the last six weeks. Those left defending Commenor were units that had been previously stationed on New Republic planets, those who would welcome Republic opperatives.

One name on the lift caught her attention, and she smiled slightly. Captain Logan, and his Star Avenger Vigil, had departed Commenor some days earlier on some high priority mission to Olabria. But listed as passengers in the manifest was a very important man, Yuri Katarn.

Yuri was a genetic researcher, and a very good one at that, who had been stationed on the Folor Moon working on the old Imperial Dark Trooper project, if rumours were to be believed. Godridge had done a very thurough job with his report, and there was a link to both the mission report and the information the database had on Olabria.

If Yuri were not on the capital, even of his own free will, things might be easier than they would have been otherwise. Bhindi had met the scientist only once before, but she knew he had no love for the New Republic. Certainly, High Command would be eager to have them out of their hair. He could be an invaluable asset. She thought. And Captain Logan, according to this, was not a supporter of the Republic other. If it came to a split, and judging by the increased intelligence reports coming in it looked like there might just be one, the Vigil would be invaluable.

Something, though, was still nagging at the back of her neck. Laying on her bunk, stretched out with the datapad in one hand, she closed her eyes. And suddenly, it came to her. Commander Drif's inital report had been dated ten days prior to when she read it. That was unusual in itself, but was easily explained by the ammount of jumping around it had been forced to do to reach the Tyrant near Bilbringi. But he should have reported back to her in person in the last two weeks. And if he hadn't, it could only mean that he was either dead, or had been captured.

Cursing the situation, she flipped the lamp off and stretched out on the bed to sleep. Some things were clearer after a good night's rest.

Bastion

Theren Gevel was a notorious insomniac. More than once, he’d awoken his advisors – most notably his one and only true confidant, Lieutenant Dayvid Tornel – in the middle of the night, calling them into meetings to propose ideas that had struck him as he’d lain awake, trying vainly to sleep.

He’d been prescribed the strongest medication available to knock him out, but Theren tended to prefer insomnia to tranquilization. Doctors from the best Coruscant and Bastion hospitals had analyzed him head to toe, and could find no explanation for his inability to fall asleep. But night after night, he lay there, tossing and turning, but sleep never came. His mind simply would not stop working.

So it wasn’t of great annoyance when, at three hundred hours, Tornel came to wake him. The knock was tentative. “Yeah. Come in,” Theren said.

The quarters were neither grand nor exquisite, especially by the standards of most Imperial politicians and admirals, who typically lived in the lap of luxury. It was a small, modest chamber with a complete lack of ornamentation, and which would have been clean but for the paper, notebooks, and datapads strewn about it. Someone who took the time to read the papers might take Theren for either an idiot or an extremely troubled mind, as the vast majority of them contained nothing but strange, half-conscious musings that made very little sense. Entire notebooks were filled with nothing but line after line of nonsensical, rambling poetry. Some of the paper had crude sketches on it, or reflections on obscure historical or religious data. Very little was coherent.

Tornel, who had taken the time to read much of it, stepped over the mess without looking. The chamber opened with a window and a balcony rather grandly to the metropolis of Bastion that lay below, great towers of civic importance rising majestically, silhouettes upon the bright city lights. “You should probably come see this,” Tornel said.

“What is it?”

“A couple of Conclave Executors captured someone who claims to go by the name of Major Drif. Commander Drif. Something Drif.”

Theren crawled out of bed, and Tornel noted that he was still in his uniform, minus the officer’s jacket, which his superior took from a nearby chair and threw on. “Why do I care about this, again?”

“He’s from the Demosthesians.”

Gevel rolled his eyes, as they walked out of his quarters. “Oh boy,” he muttered.

“Sorry for waking you.”

Theren glanced back, smirking slightly. “You know I wasn’t sleeping.”



Drif sat, by himself, in a small holding chamber in the lower levels of the same building that housed Theren’s private quarters. He was handcuffed, as per policy, and significantly scuffed, his Demosthesian uniform even bloodied, in places. He was visible through a transparisteel window in a small detainment complex. “Sir,” an officer greeted him.

“At ease. What the fuck’s going on here?”

“These two,” the officer gestured at the red-armored Stormtroopers behind him, “legionnaires discovered this man approximately twelve hours ago, on Duro. Apparently, he’d crashed on the world on a barely-functioning Skipray Blastboat, and they tracked his crash site trigonometrically. They escorted him here themselves. Frankly, such a journey is a tad unorthodox, and I must say I disapprove of such actions by Legionnaires –”

Theren waved a hand to cut him off. The two soldiers were, of course, not Legionnaires. The Conclave Executors, as they were affectionately termed, numbered approximately one hundred in all, and while they wore the uniform of a Legionnaire (except for the black shoulder pauldron and barely-noticeable modifications to their helmets), they were very, very different indeed. They were, as a matter of fact, not even human, but genetically modified and cloned Yevethans, with major alterations to their musculoskeletal system to allow them the appearance of humans, once in uniform. In particular, their normally reverse-jointed legs had been altered to resemble a human’s, an enormous task for which the Kaminoan cloners were to be greatly commended. Their wrist slots featured slits to allow their arm claws to be pushed forth and retracted, and the modifications to their helmets accomodated the strange alien creatures' physiology.

Brainwashed, warped, and robbed of personality from birth, the Conclave Executors were unswervingly loyal to the Empire, and the Bastion Conclave. Possessing speed, stealth, strength, and combat skills outdoing any Imperial soldier, they now served as the secret police of the Conclave. The officer, of course, didn’t know this; but for Theren, Tornel, a few Kaminoan cloners, and the Conclave’s Lieutenant-Governors, almost no one did. He’d assumed them to be human, their speech-modifiers contributing to this illusion. “You may go,” Theren said to the two, who, recognizing their supreme authority instantly, did so. “Have you interrogated him, yet?”

“I didn’t want to, until you saw to this personally. I do not want an intergalactic incident on my hands, here.”

Theren nodded. “Then I’d like to speak to the prisoner.” He glanced back at Tornel. “Take care of the Legionnaires,” he added, and the aide nodded wordlessly and left. The Executors needed to be debriefed.

The officer, bewildered, shrugged. “Certainly. We have this file,” he held up a stack of documents, “on the prisoner.”

Theren took the file, which he glanced at for only a minute or two before nodding to the man. Unlocking the door, he led Theren inside, leaving and locking the door behind him. Drif didn’t look up as Theren took a chair, turned it backwards, and sat down. His manner was casual, un-Imperial in the extreme, as he placed the file on the plain metal table. “So. A Demosthesian officer lands on Duro, in a Blastboat, barely alive, is captured by my men, and is brought here. You’ve had quite the trip, Mr. Drif.”

The man looked up slowly, dark circles beneath his eyes. “Yes, I have,” he muttered hoarsely.

“So,” Theren said, opening the file and glancing at the report inside. “You are Commander Drif, an intelligence agent, of some sort. Our file on you is extensive, which means you’ve been at this for quite awhile. Part of the Holy Demosthesian Empire Black Fleet. Which is headed up by that Drayson character, correct?”

The man nodded nonchalantly.

“And you’re looking fairly scuffed, no less,” Theren continued. “I’m going to try to lay this out for you; here’s what I figure happened. You were – doing whatever it is Demosthesian intelligence does, and I won’t speculate on it – when you were ambushed, outside of communications range by an unknown force. You got your ass handed to you, and you got the fuck out of there. Your Skipray’s logs show you sent some sort of transmission hastily before you got out of there, so I figure you shot off some sort of warning to your superiors before jumping – probably largely at random – to hyperspace. You crashed on Duro, and here you are. About right?”

The man hesitated, then nodded. “Yes.”

“Then maybe you should explain to me just what I should say to the Demosthesian government when I inform them that I have one of their intelligence officers – who looks as if he’s been treated to a world-class shit-kicking, no offense intended – in my custody, and that he doesn’t know who attacked him. I am assuming that you’re astute enough to understand what this looks like.”

Drif glowered. “Don’t say anything to them.”

“Excuse me?”

“You got me, I’m a member of Demosthesian Intelligence. I work directly for Bhindi Drayson, who, as you said, commands the Black Fleet. I’ve been working on observing the Republic, or whatever’s left of it. I’m going to throw you a free one, here, and inform you that they are having some sort of post-Bastion resurgence.” Theren nodded, already aware of that, and gestured for him to continue. “One of my scout ships stumbled on some wreckage, three – or four, I don’t know how long it’s been since the crash – days ago that verified this. Then, we were attacked.”

“Thank you,” Theren said. “For repeating what I just told you. Stop stalling. What is going on, here, Commander?”

Drif sneered, and continued. “Before I escaped, I ran the sensor signals through my vessel’s databases. The sensor signature from the Imperial Star Destroyer that attacked us was nearly identical to that of the Razor’s Kiss.”

Theren frowned. “Are you telling me that you were attacked, Mr. Drif, by your own government?”

“Yes, I am. And I think,” he smirked humorlessly, “that you are astute enough to understand why.”

“You saw something you weren’t supposed to see. Dug more deeply than you’re government wanted you to. Are you suggesting, Commander, that the Holy Demosthesian Empire is somehow associating – or planning to associate – with remnants of the Republic?”

“I’m more than suggesting. Admiral Drayson has been looking into this extensively. She has her doubts, but I know it. After what I’ve seen, I know it.”

Theren digested this for a moment, his face betraying nothing. “Thank you, Commander; you have been most helpful.” He stood, turning the chair around and pushing it back in.

“You’re leaving me here?” Drif asked, not pleadingly, just curiously.

“No. You’ve given me what I wanted; since you don’t want to return to your government – and I wouldn’t have let you, anyway -- you’ll enjoy the full hospitality of the Empire, though I’m sure you’ll understand that I’m confining you to this building. I don’t want any intergalactic incidents, here. I don’t have time to deal with that shit.” Theren reached into his pocket, but thought the better of it. “I’d give you the keys for your restraints, but you’re already out of them, aren’t you?”

Drif’s hands came forward. “How did you know?”

Theren shrugged, and chuckled a bit. “You’re now a political refugee of the Empire. I’ll have someone get you a room. And some medical attention. Enjoy.”

Despite his jovial manner, inside Theren’s mind, the wheels were turning. And he knew that that meant he could look forward to another bout with insomnia.

ISD Tyrant
Tango System

The arrowhead shape of the Star Destroyer Tyrant glided listlessly through the inky blackness of space. Out here, so far from any planetary bodies or stars, in the middle of nowhere, it was just the ship, and space. And, not for the first time since the ship had arrived, she wondered what the hell she was thinking.

There had been no word since the initial report from Commander Drif. It was standard policy that an agent who had not been heard from for three weeks be declared dead and removed from memory... but the Admiral could not bring herself to do it. Drif had, for some time, been the most prominent rising star of the Imperial Security Service. His loyalty to the Empire was unwavering, and his knack for surviving undesirable situations even more so.

"Anything, Captain?" She asked, casting a glance to Captain Joda, who stood at his customary spot just ahead of the Admiral's chair.
"Negative, Ma'am. We've picked up some faint readings, but nothing enough to get a confirmation." She nodded. That was to be expected. The battle had taken place nearly a month ago. By all rights, there should be nothing left. But the feeling of being helpless, unable to do anything, was more than she could bare. Besides which, the Tyrant wouldn't be missed for some time, yet.

Shaking her head to clear it, the Admiral looked at the galactic map that was projected onto the rear wall, swivelling her command chair to do so. There was a lot of space out there, and chances of a single Skipray Blastboat being found in all that were nearly zero.

Assuming the Blastboat had made it out of the system. Assuming the hyperdrives, or the navicomputer, or some other piece of neccessary equipment, hadn't given out and sent the ship spiralling into a star, or worse still trapped it in hyperspace. Space was a big place, and there were stories of ships simply... vanishing over the years. Ships that jumped to hyperspace and never reappeared.

"Admiral!" A voice called up from the crew pit. The officer was young, excited, and for once Bhindi did not take the time to chastise him, to berate him for his lack of respect on the bridge. "We've detected a faint radiation burst ten kilometres forward. It's small, and from the looks of the ship must have been damaged for anything to be here for us at all." He paused. "To small to be from a Star Destroyer. It could be a shuttle of some sort."

"Captain?" Bhindi said, acknowledging the ensign with a curt nod. Joda was already on it, swinging the massive ship about the come closer to the invisible spot in space that marked where a ship had made a jump to hyperspace.

"Can you plot me the longest-range possibilities for a Blastboat jumping to hyperspace from here?" The officer nodded, and Bhindi collasped into the chair, a thin smile forming on her face. It was a longshot, and the ship may have broken down somewhere between here and... wherever. But it was, at the moment, the best they had to go on.

"There's a lot of possibilities, Admiral, but best bet is Duro. Intel indicates it recently fell to the Empire - that Theren Gevel character we've heard so much about. They'd be the most likely to be able to repair the Commander's ship."

Bhindi nodded. A long shot. But still, the best they had to go on.

"Set course for Duro, Captain. All possible speed. And see if you can't get a message off to them beforehand, inform them we are entering the system in the company of a Star Destroyer. And see if its possible to secure an audience with Commodore Gevel."

What she didn't add, what she hardly needed to, was that even if there was no sign of Commander Drif on Duro, this Theren Gevel might just know something about the New Republic that she did not. Surely the Empire must be keeping watch on their age-old enemy?



There was a soft tapping on the outer door of the command lounge. With an irritated sigh, Bhindi lifted herself from the chair and, setting the datapad on the table, rose to greet whoever had deemed the time fitting for a visit.

It was, as expected, Commander Godridge, still in complete military dress and holding a datapad.
"I think," he said quietly, "we have something." He was concerned, that much was obvious.
"When did it come in?" She asked, already taking the offered datapad and brushing the old one away.
"With the dump." Godridge replied, shooing the TK101 Serving Droid away. It was standard procedure that upon entry, or exit, from hyperspace, that a Star Destroyer 'dump' all of its outgoing mail, and in the process load whatever inbound mail had been sent since their last dump. Judging by the fact that they had been in the Tango system for only a few hours, it had to have been something high-priority. There was no way anything else would have made it through the neccessary routing and clearence checks before entering the ship's database. Bhindi nodded absently, watching as information scrolled across her screen.

"This is the mission log for the Korolev. She said, glancing over the type. Godridge nodded.
"She's scheduled for mantinence and systems overhaul. Supposed to be in the yards at Sluis Van for three months."
"So what was she doing at Borlaeis?"
"And," Godridge added, "who has the authority to falsify orders like these?"

They sat there in silence for a long moment. A missing Star Destroyer was no small matter. In fact, it was a very large, very disturbing matter. Borlaeis was known as a stepping stone to Coruscant. Close enough to serve as a very able backup outpost to the planet... or as a staging ground for an assault. That the Korolev had been there, while she was supposed to be undergoing repairs, was a very troubling issue.

"Who commands the Korolev?" She asked, taking her eyes from the datapad and looking out the viewports. Most commanders would have had their ports shut during hyperspace travel, citing the irritating effects of the blue vortex. Bhindi, though, found it oddly soothing, and had ordered her viewports kept open for the duration of the voyage.

"Last I heard, the Polemarch was utilizing the ship as his personal transport." Godridge caught himself, suddenly realizing the seriousness of his words. It was not accusing the Polemarch of treason... but the implication was there. And Bhindi looked just as concerned.

"I think," she said, as calmly as possible, "that we may have a problem."

Aboard the Reign Class Star Destroyer Galactus...





The holographic projection of the galactic map rotated slowly to Kaine's right as he sat in the conference chair staring absently at a spot on a nearby wall.

The room was nominally lit so as to not cast a glare onto the large plexiglass windows showing a part of space that he knew well.


The Galactus floated at stationkeeping somewhere near the Muunillist Corridor, the largest commercial hyperspace route into "Moneyland".

Occasionally, the active sensors of the ship reached out to scan vessels exiting the threshold of hyperspace as they prepared to enter the system.

The crew was training to get the most from the quick scans made of vessels crossing the hyperspacial threshold mark.

Drills were mercilessly placed upon them by the master of the warship as his standards were firmly impressed upon as many soldiers as he could reach.

His eyes looked down at the intelligence reports that lay on the table, the holographic projection of the galaxy slowly moving over them.

He found himself not so much interested in what they said as much as what they did not say.

The Grand Marshall had an intense curiousity about the things he did not know for "a man who realizes what he doesn't know is a man a step ahead of the rest."

Or so his old friend on Dantooine had once said before dying in that tragic attack by the New Republic.

Already the embers were dying, though there were a few sparks left here and there. With the backbone of their military no more, Kaine turned to the destruction of their ideology.

In a way it was a process made frustrating by the fact that most of the actions remained behind the scenes and subtle. But Kaine was a patient man.

Opportunities always presented themselves.

The trick was remaining ready.

Actually, Simon, the trick is recognizing the opportunity, he thought with no small smirk as he again glanced at the wall.


The doors to the conference room opened and in came a group of Lieutenants with Captain Sveli bringing up the rear.

"Gentlemen... and women," the Grand Marshall started, standing, granting the young a measure of respect due an Imperial Officer.

He saw that the reactions on each person hinted to their personality and began making mental notes as they took their seats.

There were some who's eyes became distracted by the turning holographic projection. There were some who's eyes widened in surprise... as if they didn't actually believe they would meet the Supreme Commander of Imperial Armed Forces. There were those who wouldn't meet his eyes nervous at being in his presence. And there were those who not only met his eyes but actually initiated aquaintanceship with a nod.

Simon smiled on the inside. Or so they think.


When a person makes a position known, there are those that will agree... there are those that will disagree.. and there are those that will remain undecided.

This time his smile did reveal itself.

"What we are discussing today is: Intelligence," he started. "I have before me several reports that I would like for you to read, digest and extrapolate a course of action."

That caught them off guard but their eyes snapped greedily as the reports were passed around.

The door hissed closed to the conference room.

As they took their time reading, Kaine stood and walked over to the windows looking out. Captain Sveli, having already known about the intelligence, stood to join him.

"We have received a signal from the Victory, Sir."

"The Governor?"

"Border world."

The Grand Marshall merely nodded and then turned to the group.


"Well?" he demanded startling the others.

"You?" he pointed to one of them "What course of action do you suggest?"

The young man, who was seated directly on the opposite side of the conference table, answered confidently. "Nothing."

"Why?"

The man now shrugged. "The report is minor and while it may affect minor popularity with another government, it hold's nothing worthy of our attention."

"I see. And you?" he pointed to a woman.

"I think we should send an envoy to these Demosthesians."

"Why?"

"Because they are somewhat powerful. An alliance between them and the Jutraalians could shift the balance of power in many areas." She pointed to a memo about the possibility of Jutraalian-Demosthesian peace talks after the fighting that had taken place.

"And you?" Kaine continued on to a rather portly fellow.

"I think we should attack now!"

Captain Sveli's eyes went up at this. "Why?"

"Because," and he drew out an economic report, "their trade has diminished which indicates to me instability. Wiping them off the map would wrap up any speculation or worry of a Jutraalian-Demosthesian alliance."

Kaine nodded at that. "It would."

He turned to yet another young woman. "And you?"

She shook her head. "There is not enough information to make an informed decision."

"So you're action would be..?"

"To get more intel."

"Prudent." Kaine answered. "And you?" Turning to a yet one more woman.


"I do not care for religionists. Personally, I would have already sent a task force into the middle of their petty war and finished both the Demosthesians and the Jutraalians off."

"Based on?"

She picked up a partial bio report. "Have you seen this little girl leading their fleets?"

"Which leads you to believe?"

"That these Demosthesians are fools! They will surely crumble."


"Surely." Captain Sveli murmured behind the Grand Marshall. Kaine mulled over each response and then walked over to the wall and increased the lighting revealing an exquisite piece of art.


"This is a piece of art from Commenor." and the others instantly knew where Kaine was driving at. Or at the very least, they were familiar with this for they knew the stories.

"If I may ask, Sir. Where did you get this piece?" the portly young man asked.

"This was part of the original collection of artwork found aboard the Star Destroyer Chimera. Grand Admiral Thrawn's flagship."

And everyone sat a little bit straighter.

"We all know that Grand Admiral Thrawn planned his overall strategies based on perceived enemy acts and responses. Perceptions derived from a culture's art."

"But, Sir." a young woman said slightly confused, "Didn't you defeat Thrawn?"

"It was a culmination of several factors nor was the victory totally mine." Kaine answered quickly.


He stared at the younger generation for a minute. "Do you see whether or not your course of action is found within this piece?"

He turned to the first young man he had started with earlier.

He shrugged. "I see nothing there to change my analysis. We do nothing. I dislike art and I do not like that piece. If it is not worthy of my notice then how can they be worthy of the Empire's?"


"The art is sort of ugly isn't it?" Kaine mused.

"And you?" going back down the line he had started earlier.

"I do find it somewhat appealing." she commented. "And though it's not my taste, I do like their blending of colors which leads me to believe that they do have the capacity to blend their culture with another.

An envoy would make them aware of our interest in their capacity."


Kaine nodded at that. "Interesting. And you?"

The portly man grinned. "I think their blood would go well with the hues on the upper corner."

And Captain Sveli chuckled at that.

"They probably would." admitted Kaine. "And you?"

"I would want to know about the artist. The painting tells me nothing except I have no idea what it's called."

"Nothing like knowing that you are ignorant." Kaine mused, almost to himself, causing one to snicker.

"And you?" he asked, turning to the final young lady.

"It looks like a little girl painted it with her fingers. We should cut them off and save our eyes."

"Capital thinking, Lieutenant." Simon responded. "Captain Sveli, come over here and let me know what you think."

Captain Sveli walked over to the wall, a small click being heard. His motion was deliberate. He paused, raised his hand.. and began to speak.

"I think that..."


His voice was drowned out by the sudden discharge of automatic blaster fire behind him.

Kaine's eyes betrayed no emotion as the single Spartan, remaining stationed at the door, moved his weapon too and fro at the young former Lieutenants.

They were so engrossed in what the Grand Marshalll's friend would say that they did not have time to scream out.

The Grand Marshall let out a sigh.

Simon Kaine, ignoring the gore, walked back to the table.

"You can get up now." he said softly and a shakey hand came up from under the table and a very nervous young woman pulled herself up.

She was uncontrollably shaking as she stood, not knowing whether to sit or what to do as her eyes tried not to look at her former shipmates glassy eyes staring out at nothingness.

"Look at me." Kaine said, the crisp command of his voice cutting through her fear.

"You would wait for more intelligence would you?"

She looked at him as if he was crazy for a second before nodding, her mind trying to find some sanity in this.

Kaine allowed her to continue to grasp for a bit.

"Here is your new intelligence: A former governor residing on Commenor, known for his support of an Imperial-Demosthesian alliance has been reassigned to a border planet."

He stared at her. "What do you do?"


Her eyes shifted from side to side, the very real presence of the Spartan behind her nearly blinding her mind.

Her eyes lowered in defeat and suddenly the fear drained out of her for there was nothing left...

She'd drawn a blank.

"I.... I don't know, Sir."


Simon Kaine smiled a geniune smile for the first time since the Lieutenants entered and, since then, soiled his conference room.

"That is not a bad thing, Lieutenant." He remarked, her exhale being heard. "There are many things in this galaxy that we do not know... but the moment we start acting as if we do, then the whole foundation of planning becomes flawed and the chance of failure grows exponentially."

He picked up a bloody report. "The economic report from Muunillist. What does this tell you?"

The woman's mind began to fire as she began to realize that she passed some sort of test. "That active trading with the Empire and the Demosthesian Empire has been in decline."

"So, is the Demosthesian Empire in decline as our former friend thought?" he asked gesturing to the dead Lieutenant.

"The report says nothing of Demosthesian trade with other factions so a conclusion cannot be reached about the totality of Demosthesian trade. Only their trade with the Empire."

"Very good."

"The first report is indicating a leader in the Demosthesian Hierarchy was transferred off their capital to a distant world in their empire. What do you make of this?"

"That a powerful supporter of the Empire is no longer a voice in their leadership."

"But no action is warranted?"

"No. Relaxing trade and a supporter of the Empire banished are causes of minor concern but there are too many other reasons for that sort of expulsion."

"Very good." Simon commended. "So the news of the Governor..?"


"Then denotes a trend. An outline of a threat is becoming evident."

"Evident how?"

"The trend indicates that the Demosthesians are withdrawing from Imperial contact. Slowly... but it is happening. One is a concern but another is too much of a coincidence."


"The fact that the Demosthesian is a religious organization.."

"..only goes to show that if they think they are in the right, they will fight the pull of a blackhole to achieve what they want. They will more than likely act in an unpredicable manner.."


"..or irresponsibly. Whichever comes first." Captain Sveli added.

"But make no mistake.." Kaine prompted.

"That the Demosthesians are well equipped."


"So the question becomes then, are the Demosthesians acting alone or is the purpose deeper?"

"I do not know, Sir."


"Point one: The Imperial supporters were not executed outright. They were transferred."

"Which suggests..?" the woman asked.

"That either the Demosthesians may have need of their supporters in the future.. a fear of the Empire perhaps... or that they are being prevented from simply executing them."

Simon smiled. "And the only faction that is that squeemish about executing people who take stands unpopular with current leadership is the .."

"Lightsiders?"

"More pointedly, the New Republic."

"But the New Republic is smashed!"

"Which tends to go against that idea, I agree... but then again religionists are not necessarily known for their rationality."

"So, then.."


Kaine grinned. "We don't know."

And the young woman smiled for the first time.


"But whether the Demosthesians are working on their own or not, the fact remains that they are withdrawing... quietly distancing themselves from the Empire."

"So we have to act.." she said.

"Yes."

"But how? where?"

Simon stared at the young woman and nodded for the Spartan to leave.

"Here." he said, when the soldier was gone, picking up the bio of the Demosthesian Admiral named Drayson. Kaine's eyes went to the young Lieutenant's.

"The fact that this Admiral is young suggests..?"

"She is able."

"For one so young, yes. She is able. But that also works against her. And since we must act, especially before the Demosthesians totally distance themselves from the Empire, our course of action must be to confront her."

"She is the focus point." Captain Sveli commented.

"What do you mean?"

"This woman commands a good part of the Demosthesian military. Confronting her draws her out and if there is a plot agains the Empire she is one that will know. If we do identify a threat then we will destroy her and the Demosthesian Fleet. Her being young then works to our advantage because while she may be willful, even talented, she may not be experienced."

"Their destruction would shatter the backbone of their empire." Captain Sveli said.

"And if she doesn't know?" the Lieutenant asked.

"Then perhaps her government is working outside her knowledge. And if so, then look at who her father is.." Kaine commented, pointing to the report.

The Lieutenant scanned the report once more and breathed out slowly. "Oh my.."

"That would be a very strong reason for keeping her out of the loop."

"And if that is what is happening?"

The Grand Marshall hit some commands and the holographic map changed slightly.

"Then we are in a very good position to do this..."

The Lieutenant stood in awe, mouth agape.


"Lieutenant, the Empire cannot suffer fools." Kaine gestured to the dead. "I will not suffer fools. If you are going to lead you will do so for the benefit of the Empire.

Assuming others are no threats without actual firm data only undermines the Empire. If you are to assume the mantle of Imperial superiority then the least you can do is display action that demonstrates this superiority. As you correctly noted, to perceive fact in something, you must think as the enemy would. Just don't guess based on your own preferences.

Interpret based on knowledge."


The woman breathed in and took a chance. "Then permit me one question sir. How does the artwork support your action?"

Captain Sveli grinned and turned to Kaine. "This one is good."

The Grand Marshall looked like he appreciated the question. "It doesn't."

"Then how can you act on your ..theories? Thrawn acted with what he knew extrapolated from the artwork! That knowledge he put to work for him! He never went against it!

How can you be so sure of success when you are going against it? Against artwork from Thrawn's own flagship?!"

Kaine's eyes glinted with humor. "Simple, Lieutenant. I know something you and Thrawn don't."


"What is that?"

Kaine signalled for a cleanup crew to come to the conference room.


"Well, quite simply...




...the piece is a forgery."



He turned to Sveli as the Lieutenant stared at them.


"Signal the Victory and then get in contact with Arliss Industries. It is time."

Bastion

<font size=1>Grand Marshall Kaine:

A few hours ago, a pair of special forces brought in a captured member of the Demosthesian Empire. I interrogated him minutes ago, and I have come to a conclusion that startles me, but will likely only affirm your own suspicions.

Knowing that you have Imperial Intelligence at your disposal, it is my assumption that you’ve seen the move of a number of prominent pro-Imperial governors away from Commenor – literally and figuratively. Our prisoner is a member of Demosthesian Intelligence, and he has confirmed to me that someone in the upper rungs of power within his government seeks to align themselves with the Republic. He was attacked three days ago during a scouting mission when he discovered wreckage of a New Republic ship, confirming their recent uprising. This attack came at the hands of a Star Destroyer belonging to the Demosthesian government.

However, I have spoken to Drif at length multiple times, and it is my opinion that he likely has a personal relationship with Drayson, his commander. In conjunction with what he has told me, in vague allusions only, and the knowledge of her father’s murder at the hands of the Republic, it is safe to conclude that Bhindi Drayson is heavily anti-Republic, possibly to the point of alienation with Demosthesian leadership.

In short, I believe she will come for him – most likely to his last calculable location, Duro.

Clearly, elements have aligned themselves to suggest that there is something on the very horizon of foreseeable events, which will occur when this division within the ranks comes to a head.

On the off chance you require contact with me, I will be on Duro.

Gloria Imperium
Commodore Theren Gevel
Bastion Conclave Governor</font>

It was a strange – and perhaps, in a way, amusing – thing, that Theren had never met any of the officials whom he served, despite his increasing prominence. Grand Marshall Kaine, Regent Hyfe, even lower-ranked members of Imperial High Command were nothing but vague, distant authority figures. Theren was conscious of the fact that the exclusion from the rungs of power was intentional. He was a man of low birth, a former academic who had joined the Imperial navy later in life than most.

He was like a priest who served a god he’d never seen, touched, felt, or heard from. He preferred not to dwell on such things.

Theren sent the message, and looked up, where Tornel stood silently, staring out the window and waiting for his superior to finish. “That’s it,” he said.

Tornel snapped back to attention, blinking a few times. “Sorry. Off to Duro, then?”

“You’re not as stupid as you look, you know.”

“Fuck off.”



Duro

Duro was the most highly advanced world in the Empire, Coruscant included in that remarkable tally. Its surface had long ago been completely abandoned by the Duros, who instead chose to make their homes in vast orbital cities. On the planet’s surface was an endless complex of automated construction facilities and hydroponics farms, environmental concerns long ago abandoned.

It was only for this reason that the crippled craft of Commander Drif had not struck a residential zone, but instead crashed harmlessly onto a field of crops. Theren had ordered the absentee proprietor be paid for his trouble.

He now landed on Centeguard, one of the hundreds of orbital cities, his shuttle setting down on the landing pad of a building that once housed a sovereign planetary government, but that now housed the office of the planet’s Lieutenant-Governor, a member of the Bastion Conclave. A Duros, as always, came to greet him, envoy in tow.

While the Duros may have otherwise despised the Empire, the sheer swift severity of the Conclave assault on the world had cowed them into quiet respect of Theren Gevel. Moreover, the occupation of the world’s cities by the fearsome Legionnaires, whose combat performance every Duros could recall, was a constant presence that never allowed their minds to stray away from unfaltering fealty to the Empire. “Greetings, Governor Gevel,” the Duros said, bowing his head respectfully.

Theren nodded his own greeting, skipping the formalities. Descending from the shuttle with him were a pair of red-armored Conclave Executors. “I trust there has been a message for me?”

“Yes, sir,” the Duros said, turning to lead Theren away from the pad. “From the office of one Ms. Drayson, wishing to secure an audience with you. She states that she is inbound for the Duro system.”

Theren nodded again. “Good.” He turned to the Executors, quietly muttering, “Are the transmission logs prepared?”

“Yes, sir,” the synthesized voice replied.

"Reversion successful, Admiral." The voice rang up from the crew pit. Entirely unncessary, of course. It was, after all, quite difficult to miss the massive orb that was the planet Duro hanging outside the forward viewports, the dozens of orbital cities that the planet's inhabitants lived on... and, of course, the Imperial warships hanging in orbit. That had become a common scene in the galaxy again.

Bhindi acknowledged the report with a nod, settling more comfortably into her command chair and watching the Imperial fleet.

"Status on the task force, Captain?" There was a pause.
"Shields up, weapons off-line, Admiral." Joda reported.
"Very good. Shields up, weapons off-line then."

Joda acknowledged, and the ship began to move forward into an orbital slot just above the equator.
"Any word from the Imperials?" Another pause.
"Affirmitive. They've cleared docking bay sixty-three on one of the cities for you. Landing cooridinants are coming in now."
Rising from her command chair, the Admiral nodded slowly.
"Prepare my shuttle."



The Lambda Shuttle, its matte-black exterior a sharp contrast to the bone-white the Empire seemed to favour, settled with a dull thud and the sound of escaping steam onto the landing pad of the orbital city.

Outside, arrayed in four short lines, were what must have been a squadron of Imperial Stormtroopers.
"They're red." Godridge said, looking out the heavily tinted viewports of the shuttle.
"No shit." But that was, she reflected, not entirely normal. Either this Theren Gevel had more power than any Commodore reasonably should, or the New Order was playing with physological warfare. And that was not an entirely comforting thought, either.

Slowly, the shuttle's landing ramp lowered, allowing the half dozen soldiers to disembark, their matte-black armour absorbinb the harsh light of the overhead lamps, making them a most eerie sight to behold.

A moment later, her Admiral's uniform immaculatly settled over her slender frame, Bhindi Drayson appeared at the top of the ramp, her dark eyes scanning the room, finally coming to rest on the face of a youngish Imperial officer.

Lieutenant Dayvid Tornel, I presume?" She said, reaching the bottom of the ramp and offering a curt nod the man.
"Uh, yes, Ma'am. Commodore Geven recieved your message is very eager to speak with you." He said, turning his head slightly and giving a barely visible nod to two of the crimson stormtroopers, who broke from their ranks and took up positions behind him. "Shall we?"

Bhindi smiled.
"Lead on, Lieutenant."

Five Days Earlier, Mechis III

Trachta sat quietly in his new office. The sound of running water from the waterfalls of the chamber of former Administrator Relquite had an excellent calming effect that Trachta used to his advantage when he read over reports from those below him as well as his superiors in the ISB. But now there was a new report coming in. It was some sort of defection from the Holy Demothesian Empire. The defector seemed to be one of Drayson's closer and more trusted officers.

What worried Trachta was the interrogation report by fellow Commodore Theren Gevel. They showed that there was a chance the the Demothesian High Command was planning on working with what was left of the New Republic. Trachta crumbled the paper up in disgust and threw it into the nearby stream and watched it float away and into the water filters where it would be sliced into a billion little particles. He found that a very effective way of disposing of material that was meant for only him to read since no one, not even a force user, could piece the particles back together. Trachta now sat there in thought as to what to do about this situation. He was one of the few still active ISB members that held enough command position to investigate and monitor the situaiton without much chance of complaints from Imperial High Command.

Trachta was in the middle of his planning when 3D-4X entered the chamber with his usual air of importance. Many times Trachta had considered having the cocky droid scrapped and smelted into something useful like a coffee table, but he hadn't done it yet. The droid kept proving itself to be useful to him ever since he had seized control of Mechis III and disposed of its original Administrator. Trachta was happy with this world, mainly because it manufactured his cybernetic prosthetics and it was much more peaceful than Kuat ever was. Trachta hated that planet and its stupid aristocracy but had taken it because of its manufacturing capabilities.

"Sir, I have the weekly production reports for you as well as our required production quotas to maintain to ensure payment from the facility renters."

"You are a business protocol droid, are you not?" Trachta asked testily at having his thoughts interrupted by that annoying rattletrap.

"Of course sir, I am prgrammed in every form of business possible, as well as management capabilities."

"Good, prepare Blitz One for take off. Its destination is Duro. Also I am leaving you in charge of the planetary factories until I say otherwise. Well? What are you waiting for?" Trachta demanded as he stood up and walked around the desk.

3D-4X suddenly jumped and exited the tower top chamber quickly and efficiently as a droid was supposed to and disappeared within seconds. Trachta walked around the massive garden/office for a few moments taking in its usual beauty before he turned away and made his way to the turbolift where he entere the code to take him down to his personal docking bay. As the lift arrived, Trachta found his shuttle, Blitz One, waiting for him and it was ready for takeoff. Trachta quickly boarded and sat down and watched as the shuttle cleared the personal docking bay and flew off to take Trachta to his destination so that the ISB could have presence at the coming events.

Present Time, Duro

Trachta walked down the ramp of the shuttle silently and was greeted by an indignant looking officer. The indignant look on his face quickly disappeared at the site of not only the black uniform Trachta wore, signifying him as a member of the ISB, but also the strange and emotionless cybernetic features of his face.

"Uh, we weren't expecting any inspections from the Imperial Security Bureau, sir."

"I'm not here for grueling loyalty interrogations today, Captain. I'm here for much more important business. Now take me to Commodore Gevel or I'll be in a very bad mode," Trachta said focusing his emotionless features on the officer in a very intimidating way.

The man stuttered for a moment before he gathered his senses again. He was clearly terrified of Trachta's bizarre features as well as his association with one of the Empire's most vicious departments. Trachta was happy with that as he saw fear as an effective tool to get what he required most time of the time.

"I....I'm afraid you can't speak to him right now, sir. He is currently awaiting the arrival of an important guest whose identity I cannot disclose at this time."

"I don't give a damn if he is having tea and crumpets with the ghost of Emperor Palpatine, I am here to oversee this meeting as a member of the Imperial Security Bureau and if you get in my way I'll have you knocked down to garbage disposal duty," Trachta said, his metallic voice and tones only making the threat sound even worse.

"Bu........but I'm a loyal member of the Empire! You can't just knock me down in rank."

Trachta walked up until they were face to face with one another. "Try me."

The officer stammered again for a moment before he finally surrendered to Trachta's demand. He sighed and muttered under his breath for a moment cursing Trachta and the ISB. Trachta didn't mention that his hearing was much more sensitive than the officer thought, he simply followed the man as he turned and led him into the city quickly and quietly. Trachta looked around as he followed the man. He noticed something he had found very interesting when he read the ISB reports of Duro. The red armored Stormtroopers that were called Legionnaires. Trachta watched them quietly and carefully and made notes about them as he moved along. The ISB always had to know about all forces used within the Empire to ensure that they were loyal. Soon they entered a large governmental building and they moved upwards.

All around the building Duros moved about their day to day business of running the city activities and for all Trachta knew they could be running the other space cities also. However that didn't concern Trachta right now. What concerned him was Commodore Gevel and his meeting with the arriving Bhindi Drayson. Trachta intended to sit in on this meeting whether Gevel wanted the ISB Commodore there or not, it wasn't his choice.

Soon they arrived at what appeared to be the governor's office where there weremore red-armored Legionnaires at the door. The officer ordered them aside and permitted Trachta to enter. As he did, Trachta noticed the Legionnaires moving back into position as he walked through the doorway. Trachta now stood in the governor's office, face to face with a fellow Commodore of the New Order.

"Theren Gevel, I presume," Trachta said as he stood there facing a man who was his equal in the area of rank.

Governors Office, COMPNOR Headquarters, Corellia.

Through the various levels of self sustaining beaurocracy the reports filtered, slowly and meticulously towards the desk of the Moff of Corellia. Or at least to the desk of a man who held that position, despite every aspect of his being being contrary to all the grandeur of a Moff. Lupercus held all the falacies of a governor under Palpatine, but few of the benefits. Overbearing arrogence coupled with an intense Xenophobic urge for racial conformity. He had other charactoristics of course, but they had failed to come through in his tenure as Moff, so instead he indulged them in the way that he knew possible.

The number of deaths due to what Lupercus called 'Imperial Honour Duels' had increased tenfold, from zero to well over 100, and all at the petty wishes of one man.

This is the life. The thought had passed through the Princes mind many a time since his posting, but it was the beaurocratic bullshit that now presented itself that was his real bane.

"Lets get this over with..." His voice held the intense displeasure of a spoilt blue blood, which he in fact was.

The aide was one of the many generically boring middle level beauocrats who had served, and would continue to serve out, their lives in Imperial Service. He fidgetted slightly, shifting from left to right as he handed the 'Moff' the top sheif of paper.

"Sir, this report details the capture of one Commander Drif, or some such. It has been forwarded to a number of important figures, including Grand Marshall Kaine."

"And...?" Lupercus' attention was not easily held, despite the dropping of names.

"It details plots and treatcheries in the Holy Demosthien Empire, linking a number of key postings with anti-Imperial Sentiment. Despite its Sith holy origins, or whatever they believe, intelligence reports leaning towards the New Republic."

Lupercus grunted in displeasure. It had been a long time since he had been with the Demothesians in service, their dedication to the Darkside having faltered time and time again, causing Lupercus to storm out, if not leave officially. Their actions had always been correct by Lupercus' beliefs, but they had never maintained any follow through. Picking his teeth idly, Lupercus spoke.

"Keep an eye out, at least. Any more word, of importance and you should notify me. Understood?"

The aide nodded, before continuing with the next report. As the voice droned on slowly, Lupercus zoned out, his thoughts dwelling mostly on what a waste the Demothesians had been.

They had such potential, but that was something Ashar never harnassed...

The man was tall, perhaps above average height. At a glance, Theren figured the man in the black uniform – a member of the Imperial Security Bureau – was just a bit taller than he was, which of course was no accomplishment at all, as Theren was no greater than typical height. What drew his attention were the strange, cybernetic implants he wore; an obvious identification mark that labeled him unequivocally as Commodore Trachta.

Theren, who had entertained himself at times by reading classified Imperial Intelligence files (access to which had been allotted him because of his political standing only) on his fellow servants of the Empire, recognized this instantly. Trachta had been injured near-fatally in a bombing perpetrated by a Sullustan smuggler, while the man had led a criminal organization on Kessel. Roots quite a fair bit more interesting than that of Theren, who had spent almost a decade as a history professor before joining the Imperial Navy.

“Theren Gevel, I presume,” the man said, looking down at where Theren sat, behind his desk. “I am here to observe your meeting with Ms. Drayson. Beside Theren was another man, who bore a peculiar uniform and sported bacta bandages on several parts of his body. Gevel nodded slowly, immediately turning to look at the officer who had led him in.

“You let him in,” Theren said, gesturing towards the cybernetic commodore to the aide’s left. “Why?”

“He – claimed he urgently needed to see you, sir,” the man replied, looking pleadingly at Theren as if to protest that the man’s superior rank had given him no choice.

“My orders,” Theren said, “Were to allow no one in. By that, I didn’t mean to allow no one in unless they really wanted to see me. Yesterday, you let Veerus Maklaw in here without an appointment. Are you hard of hearing, or just a fucking idiot?”

The man looked at the ground. “I’m sorry, sir,” he said.

“Get out.”

The commodore pressed a small button on his desk impatiently, calmly muttering into it, “Escort our friend down to the shuttle bay, and have someone fly him back to Coruscant. I’ll be sending a transfer order there, shortly; you should inform him that his new duties should be quite an honor. Janitorial duty in the Imperial Palace.”

Theren turned back to Trachta, who stood in waiting, having silently observed the discourse between the officer and the commodore. “And you,” he said, glaring up at the man. “Whatever weight you may think you have because of your allegiance to the Imperial Security Bureau means nothing, here, and I don’t appreciate you man-handling my officers.” Gevel rubbed his hands over his face, whispering ‘fuck’ under his breath. “This is getting more complicated, and I didn’t want anyone else involved. But, you’re here; you might as well sit in.”

He gestured to the man next to him. “This is Commander Drif. You’ve heard of him, I assume. Our guest will be here in a moment; listen, and don’t speak.”

"So it's confirmed." Admiral Chandler of the Victory commented from the holographic communication.

"It appears so." Simon agreed from his recently cleaned conference table, the Lieutenant sent to her quarters before the real testing begins.

"Damn, this Theren Gevel is the man of the hour it seems." Captain Quinn of the Tarra Kasar said.

"I've read some of his exploits and the man seems very capable."

"He was a history teacher.."

"Which means if he was any good he's nobody's fool."

"He crushed the New Empire..." commented Captain Sveli, also sitting in.

"Then he can more than handle himself in front of this girl of an Admiral. I swear, they are getting younger and younger. How old was she?"

"Some reports say 24ish?" shrugged Captain Quinn.

"Therefore with Theren taking care of what is going on at Duro, we need to put into action several options. Here.."

Kaine tapped on some buttons and a tactical layout of the space making up the Demosthesian Empire came into view.

"Objective 1 is to isolate the Demosthesian Fleet. Theren Gevel will be able to gauge the waters of the military as opposed to the Demosthesian political party."

Admiral Chandler sat straighter, "If a separation cannot be made?"

An area near Centerpoint was identified on the holographic map simply as "Staging Area 1".

"This is a list of assets we are committing for that eventuality." Simon said. "Should a separation not be possible, Theren will destroy Admiral Drayson and her flag at Duro."

"With the head of the Fleet removed, the dissemination of the Demosthesian Fleet will take place here, here and here."

"Protracted fighting." Captain Sveli commented. "The military units alone to hold the objectives.."

"..will not concern us as much as the destruction of the enemy fleet. Once we've destroyed their military infrastructure, operations on the planets themselves can take place at our leisure."


"Ideally, though, Commodore Gevel can effect a separation."

"Civil war."

"Exactly. If so, Admiral Drayson should swing a good portion of the fleet her way, reinforcing whatever Theren has at his disposal."

"If that happens, Staging Area 1 then shoots for the heart of the Demosthesian Military Complex."

The map changed.

"Sort of a quick strike isn't it? Admiral Drayson might be able to swing some planets to her... our .. cause."


"Too long. The war with the Jutraalians just ended but I wouldn't bet they will sit by while the Empire overthrows the only buffer between us and them."

"Jutraalian interference can be expected."

"Which is why Staging Area 2," another area lit up listing several ships, "is being set up."

"Defending the Demosthesian flank might allow Ashar's people to outflank us."

"Defend nothing... The fleet moves here, here...and there."

Captain Quinn laughed out loud. "Holy @#%$."

"That is what I am hoping they all say. We strike fast, leave as much devestation as possible, and allow Theren to work unencumbered by ..irritations."

"And the New Republic? Will they stand by while we take their ally apart?"

"They are welcome to show themselves.." Kaine commented. "So, to summarize..

Objective #1 is the separation of Demosthesian armed forces with their politically naive leadership.

Objective #2 is the destruction of the Demosthesian Military Complex.

Objective #3 is the routing of any who would interfere.

Objective #4 is the assimilation of Bhindi Drayson or death if she is untrustworthy."


"Assimilation?"


"Of course. She is an asset. A misguided one but one that can be brought back to the correct coarse."

"Her father was killed by the Republic so she's got no love of them."


"That does not necessarily mean she loves us."

"True. There is a report that her father was rebelling against the New Republic but that doesn't mean he was embracing the New Order. He may have resented the loss of Republican ideals and apathy that was present as we were defeating them."

"But she is young. She can be molded. She can be reasoned with... She can be handled, encouraged and used to work for not only her benefit but the Empire's as well."

"She may want respect."

"It's earned, Captain. Not handed out with a silver spoon."

"I've met Commodore Gevel at a function years ago. To be honest, I don't think he will care much." Captain Quinn commented.

"You've met him?"

"Well, in passing only. I think his words in this instance would be, "What the @#%$ do I care?""


"Good." Kaine nodded approvingly. "Less distraction to achieve his goals."


He stood. "Let's get to work, gentlemen."




Commodore Theren Gevel, Cmdr Bastion Protectorate:


Your message is the confirmation of reports Imperial Intelligence has presented showing breakdown in Imperial/Demosthesian relations. Therefore, it falls upon us to motive them to see the light.


To that effect, you are directed to use any and all resources at your command to effect the separation of Bhindi Drayson from her government. Your report suggests a civil war is developing behind the scenes so her separation may be a given (especially in light of the fact of her relationship with this person in your custody).

Exploitation of father's death may be advantageous though it is advised to confirm reason Republic put him to death and whether his goals agreed with the Empire's.

Should your attempt fail, Centerpoint Station is the site of Staging Area 1, vessels appropriated for this action to either aid in combat against the Demosthesians or to destroy a certain Bhindi Drayson should she prove problematic. If this becomes a reality, I leave disposition of the Demosthesian Officer to your discretion.

I have left Muunillist and will not arrive in time to be of any assitance. Therefore, my destination is Staging Area 2 (coordinates given). Commodore, I have no doubt that you can handle a young, ambitious, independent girl. However, given that she is young, ambitious, independant and a woman, I am sure history provides certain examples of successful manipulations and/or assimilations that you may wish to take advantage of.


I do not want her broken. She is to be considered an asset.
Program her if necessary but her potential is too great to not take advantage of.

This girl is the fulcrum of war between the Empire and the Demosthesians. Either she will lead us to the backbone of Demosthesian Military Complex or her death will mark our invasion.

Either way, operations are to remain strong and mobile. Destruction of military organization to be prime objective.

Do not commit to taking planetary objectives until Demosthesian military is considered neutralized.

I leave targets to your descretion.

Staging Area 2 will be primed to prevent third party interference.

Command of Staging Area 1 will fall to you unless you feel you have necessary resources for intended goals. The fleet has standing orders to strike at Commenor if you do not avail yourself of them. I have not been notified of the ships/assets accompanying you to Duro and while I believe you will have sufficient forces for your needs, I try not to leave such things to chance.

Attached is the relay coordinates if you need to reach me on the Galactus.


Gloria Imperium
Grand Marshall Simon Kaine
Supreme Commander Imperial Armed Forces