The Zenith dropped out of hyperspace further into the Coruscant system than craft were normally allowed to, primarily to avoid her enormous girth cutting a swath through the civilian traffic crawling into the system through congested and heavily policed hyperlanes. Under the command of Theren Gevel, she closed in on the primary world of the Coruscant system, the glistening amber orb that was the world of his birth.

Theren didn’t feel the pang in the pit of your stomach that tells you you’re going home; he felt no connection to his homeworld. Coruscant was a planet of assorted ambiguous beginnings; an endless, repetitive metropolis. Take a holograph of any one part of the planet any compare it to another, and they could be right next to one another or half a world away.

Much had been said of the beauty and vastness of Imperial Center; the Emperor and his regime had touted her as the core of humanity. But Coruscant was one huge city and, like most cities, had long ago sold its soul to universal sameness and sterility. It was clean, it was barren, it was climate controlled. With no discernable culture or uniqueness, its only identifying mark was that it was one huge city. Yet you could transplant a section of Coruscant to a hundred other worlds with cities under Imperial jurisdiction, and Theren was much mistaken if anyone would know the difference. From Curamelle on Corulag to the orbital cities of Duro, it all appeared very much the same.

For these reasons and many others, Coruscant was not home, to Theren; it was just a place he had lived. He felt just as ‘at home’ on Bastion, which possessed a massive capital city which had built itself around being an Imperial capital of sorts, once as the capitol of the Empire proper and now of the Bastion Conclave. He had been born here, but moved on.

Now, his home was wherever he damn well pleased. His name commanded a certain degree of respect the galaxy over, the product of the fame garnered by a plethora of successful expansion operations, including the vanquishing and conquest of both the Demosthesian Empire and the Jutraalian Empire remnant in one fell swoop. He was renowned and respected, even if he was not in Imperial Command.

The ruling upper crust of the Imperial military had failed to grant Theren the respect that most of the Empire, and even the rest of the galaxy, had – an unfortunate side effect of a low birth and a failure to ‘pay his dues’, as it were, to High Command (a task which primarily comprised ass-kissing). But the ruling upper crust was and had always been a group which highly overestimated their own power in the Empire. Situated directly below Simon Kaine and the Grand Admirals, High Command was only as powerful as the Grand Marshall allowed them to be, which often enough wasn’t very.

A transmission from the surface crackled through as they approached. “Zenith, you are cleared for geosynchronistic orbit over your target landing area.” Theren opened his mouth to give an order, but was cut off. “Zenith, we are getting peculiar readings from your starboard side, please explain.”

Theren spoke. “This is Commodore Gevel of the Zenith, command. Recheck those readings – there shouldn’t be any reason for them.”

“Acknowledged.” A second later, “Apologies, Commodore. There, uh… must have been a problem with our equipment. It’s gone now. Your personal shuttle has clearance to land.”

Theren tried to look pleased, but failed. In truth, he had been summoned to his homeworld by a member of that aforementioned upper crust; Admiral Kroth, a man who at one point would have qualified as Theren’s superior on the chain of command. However, though his rank had not changed (a rather poignant message from Imperial Command), his political stature had done so infinitely, and though Kroth still fashioned himself as Theren’s superior, he was really in no place to give him orders. Politically, as the Governor of the massive Bastion Conclave, Theren could issue him orders.

This disturbed him. Kroth wouldn’t issue a summons that he knew Theren had no need to obey unless he had some sort of reason for it.

Theren ducked off of the Coruscant catwalk into the entrance to a grand tower, and walked past the guard station, presenting his credentials being no longer necessary. He was a well-recognized face, particularly on Imperial worlds; anyone who watched the news could identify the trademark unshaven stubble, dark unkempt hair and square-framed corrective lenses of Commodore Theren Gevel. At one point, he had been much too poor to afford the surgery to correct his vision. Now, having all the wealth he’d ever need, Theren had gotten the surgery done in ten minutes – but found himself strangely reluctant to do away with the glasses that had became a trademark. The corrective lenses he wore now were nothing more than pieces of glass, with no refractive qualities whatsoever.

The towering offices of Imperial High Command were grand and majestic, every bit befitting a group with as much power as that one wielded. Theren distained them nonetheless; such a gesture was grandiose and pointless, when any other office would have served just as well. Theren continued past the oval entrance hall, Imperial crest emblazoned on the floor. A few uniformed men that Theren had never met saluted him, and a few greeted him. Most of these were probably runners, low-ranking officers. Not anywhere near enough to the top to possess an inbred dislike for him.

Theren had already been noted by High Command as an unpredictable and generally disliked element previous to his promotion to Commodore. A distinct disrespect towards authority and a determination to run his mouth off had not been overshadowed by his tactical abilities, and this had been an immediate black mark against him. But his reputation as a rogue element to be avoided at all costs was solidified over Dantooine, when he’d turned on Commodore Shyle and used his own fleet against him. Shyle had been planning to turn on the Empire in her weakened state, to become yet another rogue warlord. Some had celebrated Theren for his heroic actions, but Commodore Shyle had carried an immense amount of favor with the aristocratic upper crust of Imperial Command. Because of Theren, Shyle was now serving a life sentence on a maximum security prison world that didn’t appear on any Imperial star charts, and this had made him a great deal of enemies. That Shyle was a traitor to the Empire had apparently gone over the heads of those in High Command, who had used their influence to spare Shyle an execution he would have so richly deserved.

The turbolift bell dinged, and the door opened to let Theren step through. He continued down another polished, nondescript white plasteel hallway. At the end of the corridor was another guard’s station, complete with a reception desk to ensure that no one interrupted to vitally important business Kroth (or any of the other admirals with offices on the floor) was attending to at the moment. After the guard station and receptionist’s desk, the hallway branched off into corridors heading to the left and the right.

Suddenly, Theren stopped dead in his tracks. He took off his corrective lenses and began rubbing them furiously with his shirt, before he remembered that they were just pieces of glass. But he was sure he’d seen it. A Rodian, slinking across the hallway, past the guard station where the hallway split off. But it was impossible. A Rodian? In Imperial Command?
At about that point, Theren found himself face to face with a very broadly grinning young man, whose uniform and rank buttons denoted him as a Lieutenant. “Hello, sir,” he said happily. “I must say it’s a pleasure to see you again – I trust you’ll remember me, of course? I served under Commodore Shyle with you, before all that nasty business at Dantooine, Lieutenant Vivisel is the name –”

“Yeah – I remember –” Theren was desperately looking over the man’s shoulder, but the Rodian seemed to have gone. And Lieutenant Vivisel seemed to have no intention of budging.

“It’s really been fantastic seeing someone I know rise to the top, like you have – though I suppose what you did to Shyle must’ve made you more than a few enemies –”

“Excuse me, Lieutenant.” Theren finally said, brushing around the man, who called cheerily over his shoulder at a the retreating commodore, “Good day, then!”

But almost as soon as Theren had reached the guard’s station, yet another familiar face rounded the corner down the hall – this being one that he genuinely recognized. The man’s name was Captain Exeil, and he seemed quite flustered indeed. “What’s going on, Captain?” Theren asked.

He’d scarcely said the words before Exeil had stepped into position to block Theren from getting in. “Can’t get in, I’m afraid. Bad business, back there… area’s cordoned off, Admiral Kroth’s orders.”

“What? Why?” Theren asked suspiciously.

“Really can’t say –”

“Come on, Barthus, you can tell me. We fought at Bastion together, remember?”

The man seemed to consider this, anxiously glancing over his shoulder all the while. “Well, yes, all right then. If you must know, Admiral Elansivek’s been killed.”

Theren rocked back in his chair, staring out the window. On Coruscant, altitude directly related to prosperity. The further up you were when you looked out your window, the richer you were. The quarters Imperial Command had secured him for his time on the planet were – surely not unintentionally – modest, but afforded a much higher perspective than the commodore had ever seen during his childhood.

And in his hand, he held the most poignant reminder of how far he’d come since those days; a datapad containing a message written by Simon Kaine personally, congratulating him and thanking him for his help in the campaign against the Demosthesians and Jutraalians. “I trust you’ll accept that Admiral Kroth’s words were his own, and not mine or the Regent’s,” it said, “for it wouldn’t do to downplay your actions. Admiral Zell concurs with me on this…” Kaine. Zell. Once just names, now bearing true meaning. Strange, how that had happened.

The door at the far end of the room slid open, and Lieutenant Dayvid Tornel entered. Theren quickly stored the datapad.

“I just heard,” he said, taking a seat without being asked. Ironically, Tornel had once been Commodore Shyle’s aide; after he was sentenced to life imprisonment, the younger man was reassigned to duty at Theren’s side. The relationship would have been strained, were it not for the fact that Tornel had assisted the other in the undoing of Shyle. That was one thing Theren had observed about his aide almost immediately; the man had an overwhelming impulse to do what he considered ‘the right thing’. It went beyond morality, to the point of something of a pseudo-chivalry, almost resembling the strict adherence of a Jedi Knight to their twisted code of ethics. “You were there when it happened?”

“Yeah. But I didn’t see anything.” Theren reconsidered. “Well, I saw almost nothing.”

“What do you mean?”

Theren rubbed the stubble on his chin distantly. “A Rodian. I saw a Rodian, at Imperial Command, on Kroth and Elansivek’s floor.”

Tornel raised his eyebrows. “A prisoner? Maybe a low ranking aide?”

Theren shrugged. “It doesn’t matter.”

But Tornel could almost see the wheels continuing to turn in his commander’s mind. That almost glassy-eyed look had come over Theren, indicating that he was lost deeply in thought. And his denial that what he was thinking about mattered only solidified the assumption that an internal dialogue had continued long after the external one had ceased. Theren was a closed book; he kept his thoughts to himself, pondering for hours on end and scribbling thoughts down in his incomprehensible shorthand, or penning rambling diatribes that could span multiple pages before approaching a relevant point. Tornel had learned not to ask questions; when Theren was ready to reveal something, he would.

It had become somewhat troublesome to Tornel, however, that the man he’d placed his trust in so completely – even to the point of almost being exiled from his family – often shared only the results of these long reveries with him, not the motivation or reasoning behind them. Tornel had gleaned a great deal about his commander; he was an economic liberal, philosophies produced by years spent in the poorest of Coruscants slums. As was common knowledge, Theren had once been a history teacher, and still integrated his intellectual pursuits into his everyday command; while Grand Admiral Thrawn had studied a planet’s art before attacking, Theren would read endless, boring tomes on a world’s history.

Other than this, however, Theren had shared very little about himself with Tornel. “Theren,” the aide set, rousing his commander from his catatonic state.

“Yeah?” He said absently.

“How long has it been since I was assigned to this position? As your aide, I mean.”

Theren seemed caught off guard by the question. “I don’t know. I’ve lost track of time, I guess. I mean, it’s been one crisis after another. Shit, it was Dantooine and Shyle, and then the Senex Sector, and then we dealt with Moraei and the Yevetha, and then Commenor…” He trailed off. “Six months, seven, I guess. Why?”

“Well, I think we’ve become friends, haven’t we?”

“I guess, yeah. Where’s this heading?”

Tornel sighed. “I know nothing about you. You know everything about me – where I’m from, who my parents are. For all I know, you were a vibroaxe murderer before you started working for the Empire.”

Theren chuckled. “A vibroaxe murderer and a history professor. I was a busy man.”

“Seriously.”

“Well,” Theren said, looking his aide in the eye, “I guess I owe you that much. What do you want to know?”

“Start with how you came to teach history.”

Theren scratched his head. “Well, you know I was born in the slums here on Coruscant. My father was shot in the head over some sort of stupid ass swoop racing bet – not the brightest star in the sky – and my mother raised me by herself. We were poor as a granite slugs, so I didn’t have many opportunities. My teachers knew I was a bright kid, but what the fuck could they do, I couldn’t join the Imperial Academy, where would the money come from? Outside of the Academy, there weren’t many opportunities for a poor kid. And I couldn’t get into the Academy on my grades – graduating first in your class at the school I went to means fuck-all.”

Tornel nodded, as if taking notes.

“But, like I said, I was a bright kid. I liked history, so that’s what I studied. I learned about the Empire, the Republic, the galaxy – learned shit even my teachers didn’t know, which isn’t surprising, because most of them were morons themselves. I started to understand how the Republic crumbled, and I guess that got me interested in the argument in favor of the Empire. Stability, fair markets, a strong government to keep order. The Academy was out of reach, like I said, but I kept studying. I started sending essays on the Empire to a couple of mid-range schools on Coruscant, and eventually one of them accepted me on a scholarship – with the condition that I kept up a 95 average.”

“Shit,” Tornel said under his breath. “How’d you do that?”

“Well, mind you, this was the sort of school you probably would have gone to when you were in your teenage years, and I was eighteen, so I was a bit older than the average student. Plus I’d had to fight tooth and nail to get myself there, so I killed the courses – killed them. I was teaching the teachers. Graduated in a year and a half instead of three, with a 97 average. And when you get a 97 average, certain doors start to open.”

“The Academy?”

Theren chuckled. “No, no. At this point, I was almost twenty. I wasn’t eligible for academic scholarships to the Academy anymore – they want young recruits, you understand. If you’re that old and just applying for one, they figure something’s wrong with you. But I got into a leading Imperial College, barely had to pay a cent. I had to study my ass off the whole way through, but by the end of it I had been published six times and I probably should’ve been giving the professors their diplomas. They hired me the year after – one of the youngest history professors in Imperial history.”

Tornel frowned. “But then how did you join the Empire? Did you pay your way in?”

“On a teacher’s salary? Not hardly. That was a matter of luck. I’d bounced around to a few colleges, and at one of them they happened to be administering standardized tests to a class of mine that were all from the Imperial Academy – sort of a cross-over program for promising recruits. I just happened to decide to take one.”

“And?”

“And after I sent them in, two Stormtroopers showed up at my door and hauled me off for questioning. Seems I’d done a little too well – they thought I’d looked up the answers on the Holonet, or some dumb shit idea like that, which is impossible because the questions are all random droid selections. I spent two days in a holding cell while they questioned me. Eventually, they let me take the test again. And then they made me take it again, and again after that. Couldn’t seem to figure out why some teacher from the slums knew the correct action for every scenario.”

“Why did you?”

“Beats the shit out of me. Mind you, I’ve read the transcripts of every important conflict since the Clone Wars, and some of the unimportant ones, so that might’ve had something to do with it. Eventually, they just sent me home – didn’t know what to do with me. A few days later, I got a call from the Academy, and we discussed how they’d be paying for my tuition. Recruiter came around a few days later, and that was the end of it. The rest is in my intelligence file.”

Tornel nodded. “Vikar once mentioned something about a woman. Alara?”

“Yeah. Alara,” Theren said evenly.

“Married?”

“No. I would’ve, though. In a second. But I wasn’t going to half-ass anything. They whisked me away, and after I was done at the Academy I was pulling duty on the Outer Rim eleven months of the year. Made a name for myself as a battle commander, but it didn’t leave room for a family. I think you’ve heard enough, now,” he added, with a finality that left no doubt the discussion was over.

At that point, the desk communicator tone sounded. “Gevel here,” Theren said.

“Sir? This is Doctor Dorial, from the Coruscant Imperial Hospital. You'd better get down here.”

“Why?” Theren asked quizzically. He didn't know anyone who was in the Coruscant Imperial Hospital.

“It's Vice-Admiral Vikar, sir. He's just been flown in, from Bastion -- gone into some sort of pseudo-cardiac arrest because of a lack of brain activity. Bad response to a drug, we think.”

Coruscant Imperial Hospital

Theren rushed down the hall, swearing under his breath the whole way. There were a number of wings in Coruscant Imperial Hospital – so named because of its proximity to a number of important government buildings – and many of them were filled to capacity. This one, however, was not; in fact, the commodore walked past at least two rooms with no one in them at all. This was a strange thing to find on an overpopulated world, and Theren didn’t understand it until it dawned on him with sickening apprehension; no one here lived long enough to fill the place up.

He walked faster. The portly woman at the reception desk had said Vikar’s room was 12.325. 12.329, 12.327… and that was it. It was hard to miss; 12.325 had a plethora of doctors and medical droids milling around outside of it, the humans in the group visibly anxious, the droids apprehensively twitchy. “Ah, Commodore Gevel,” one of them said, a slim, tall doctor with short dark hair graying on the sides. “Thank you for coming, and on such short notice. I do understand that you are a busy man – lucky that you were on Coruscant at all, really – but I think you’ll find that your presence is necessary – apologies, again –”

Theren held up a hand to stop the man, who was running short on breath but apparently not on things to say. “Just what the fuck is going on here? Why is Vikar here?”

“Ah, yes. Ah. Well, you see, we had thought that the Admiral’s condition had stabilized – he has a very rare form of brain damage, as you know, from a combination of concussion and lack of oxygen… luckily only superficial bruising, or there would be permanent, irreparable damage, but this is somewhat akin to an extreme form disease once prominent among humans by the name of multiple sclerosis, but causes comatose symptoms as opposed to lack of proper transmission of mental signals –”

“Doctor.” Theren said, holding up his hand again. He was becoming agitated quickly. Glancing at the closed door. “Tell me what’s happening.”

“There’s been a complication, in Vikar’s condition. His condition has been slowly slipping downhill for the past twelve hours, his heart rate slowing. When it hit half of what it should be, he was placed on a transport here. He’s gone into some sort of advanced cardiac arrest – only the life support system we’ve set up is keeping him alive.”

Theren drank this in and, for the briefest of moments, reeled from the shock of it. “Okay. So why the hell am I here?”

The doctor’s mouth twitched, and he looked down at his shoes. “You may or may not be aware that Vice-Admiral Vikar has no surviving relatives, and no heirs. Given that you have been identified as a close personal friend of Vikar, and that he does spend a great deal of his time on Bastion – enough that he could be considered a citizen – you have been granted rights as his executor.”

“You what to do with him now.”

“Right. He can live indefinitely on life support, but that won’t really be ‘living’, at all, so much as survival. But, it is possible to conduct an experimental surgery on him – involving drilling through the skull, removing dead, excess brain cells and circulating bacta.”

“What’s the chance this will work?”

The doctor suddenly became very interested in the wall, and muttered something.

“What?”

“I said, fifteen percent. There’s a fifteen percent chance that the procedure will succeed.”

“And if it doesn’t?”

“Then he’ll be dead.”

Theren nodded glumly. “All or nothing.”

“Essentially.”

“Okay. Do it. But I’d like to moment to – to say goodbye.”

“Of course.”



Imperial High Command

Commodore Theren Gevel and Lieutenant Dayvid Tornel entered the office of Admiral Kroth with no small amount of trepidation. Theren’s last visit to the high-ranking admiral had ended on unpleasant terms, and the admiral’s last visit to Theren had resulted in a (not altogether unexpected) denial of promotion following the assault on the Holy Demosthesian Empire. Kroth’s office itself, however, was very inviting; stationed near the zenith of one of the many towers of Imperial fleet command, it was filled with orange sunlight and flanked by a window opening onto a landing platform. Tornel’s breath seemed to quicken as they entered; he was nervous.

Admiral Kroth himself sat behind his desk, flanked by a man who seemed to be some sort of an advisor – one of his many aides, most likely – with a rather self-satisfied smile on his youthful face, sitting with perfect posture, as always. Once, there had been a tense truce between Kroth and Theren; when the admiral had come to see the younger man as a true apprentice of Vikar, who himself was greatly disliked by Kroth and his ilk, that truce had been dropped and the venom beneath it had shone through. “Ah, Mr. Gevel, Mr. Tornel. Please, sit.”

Eying the admiral suspiciously, Theren took his seat. His eyes never left Kroth’s.

“I trust that, by now, you have heard of the most unfortunate circumstances surrounding the death of Admiral Elansivek,” Kroth said, his contented smile being replaced by a false look of sorrow. “Truly, his death has hit my fellows here at Imperial Command hard – it was unexpected, and unfortunate.” He sighed theatrically, and his aide began to smirk. The man was tall, with light brown hair and a handsome face. He reminded Theren of someone. “It is with a heavy heart that I have had to accept Admiral Elansivek’s position as Executive Commander of Fleet Organization.”

Theren’s eyes narrowed. “There were thirty different admirals waiting for that position. How did you stumble into it?”

“Ah, ah, ah,” Kroth said contentedly. “All in good time, Commodore. As you know, it is now my duty to directly administrate the structure of the Imperial fleet, with the help of my advisors.” Why was Kroth telling him this, Theren wondered? Just to boast? “And, I have been reviewing your file for the past several hours, and I must say I am not impressed. Not impressed at all.”

“What are you getting at, Kroth? I don’t have all day to sit around and listen to you marvel at the sound of your own fucking voice.”

Kroth clucked his tongue, looking sadly down at a datapad in front of him. “Once again, Commodore Gevel, you display that trademark irreverence that marked your service under Commodore Shyle, and has been present in your recent shunting of the authority of Imperial Command.” Kroth sighed again. “Once again, it is my job to administrate the structure of the Imperial fleet. The fleet is a brotherhood, Commodore; a brotherhood, and a family. There are leaders and followers. You do not seem to understand this; you never have, I must assume. As my first act in my new position, I must, unfortunately, strip you of your rank of commodore. You are hereby demoted to Line Captain.”

Theren was speechless. For a few moments, he stared at Kroth in disbelief; surely, this was some sort of joke. The colossal prick couldn’t possibly demote him – it wasn’t even within his power, anymore, what with the political clout Theren wielded, with the respect he commanded among diplomats and the men of the Imperial Armed Forces.

“Ah, yes, then. There is also the matter of your Protectorate, the ‘Bastion Conclave’, as it were. I am afraid that, as a Line Captain, you are no longer eligible to wield that happy power. It will be stripped from you, and granted to a more… worthy candidate.”

Theren sputtered. He opened his mouth several times, attempting to speak, but stopped. Finally, he got out, “You can’t – you don’t have the goddamn authority – someone will stop you.”

Kroth only smiled all the more broadly at this. He leant forward, looking at Theren even more closely. Despite the smile on his face, the look was one of pure loathing; the pure loathing pent up from the combination of the commodore’s ending of Shyle’s career, his history of disobedience, his low birth and lack of respect, his circumventing of traditional promotion in favor of gaining political power. “Oh, I think you will find that you are very mistaken, indeed. I know all about your correspondence with the Grand Marshall. I don’t care if you’re Simon Kaine’s new favorite boy, Gevel. Your career is finished, and even he can’t save you now. Not,” Kroth added, his smile widening even further and a chuckle escaping his lips, “after I present to him Commodore Gevel, the man whose near-criminal negligence allowed the assassination of Admiral Elansivek to take place.”

Theren blanched. “What?” He said. “What the fuck are you talking about, Kroth?”

Kroth chuckled again. “Oh, yes, yes indeed. You asked how it is I came to occupy this position; it is because I personally made the critical breakthrough in the investigation into Admiral Elansivek’s death. My associate, Charles,” he said, gesturing at the sandy-haired man behind him, “witnessed the whole thing, and helped me to track the intruder to his method of entry and exit.” His eyes turned unexpectedly to Tornel, who, Theren now saw, had blanched himself, and was staring, wild-eyed, at the sandy-haired man. “I believe that you two have met, Lieutenant Tornel.”

“You know him?” Theren asked.

“He’s my brother,” Tornel grunted, still staring at Charles.

“Yes, indeed,” Kroth verified. “Allow me to present Captain Charles Tornel.”

Charles Tornel’s eyes narrowed. “You’ve thrown your hat into the wrong ring for the last time, brother. You had so many chances to get out – why, how many times has father offered you a position here, at Imperial Command? But you were just too stupid to take it, and now, you pay the price.” Charles shook his head. “That always was the problem with you, Dayvid, no ambition, no drive. And now look at where you’ve ended up – in the cesspool with your scum friend –”

“That’s enough, Captain,” Kroth said pleasantly, in a tone that clearly denoted he could hear Theren’s aide insulted all day. “Save the spite for the Coalition. But, I must say, you do make quite a point. After all, who knows where you will be assigned when it is discovered that it was your negligence which allowed that very craft –” Kroth gestured out the window, to a small fighter, “to infiltrate Imperial Center undetected by stowing away on your vessel, and then trailing your shuttle to the service using a cloaking device.”

“That’s impossible.”

“It would seem not. After all, who can refute the damning evidence I have discovered? I believe that you will find the sensor patterns of that fighter to match rather precisely an abnormal reading that a planetary sensory station picked up shortly before you debarked. The perpetrator, a spice smuggler who used to operate around Alsakan, flew to the surface and killed Admiral Elansivek, and was able to do so because of you.”

“That’s impossible,” Theren said again, almost choking on the words. He had worked for months – years, all this time, to reach this point. And it was all being taken away, in seconds, by a spiteful admiral with too much ambition and too little honor. “I have the Zenith scanned with sensors and visually before every jump to hyperspace. You’re full of shit, Kroth. Full of shit.”

“I am afraid,” Kroth said tragically, “you will find that very difficult to prove to an Imperial jury. The perpetrator himself has, most unfortunately, disappeared, and we’ve only the testimony of young Charles to rely on. And, you will find, as both a member of a prominent Imperial family, and a relative of your aide, his testimony will bear a great deal of weight – seeing as how he can vouch for your character. Or lack thereof.”

“You motherfucker,” Theren said numbly, staring at Kroth.

“Careful with that mouth, Gevel. Despite your lack of charm, I am not an unreasonable man; you have done a great deal for the Empire, and I am willing to spare you the indignity of court marshall, in exchange for your co-operation. I suggest you go, now, before you get yourself into any more trouble.”

Theren stood up numbly. “This isn’t over, Kroth,” he said, as the door opened before him.

“Oh, it most certainly is, Gevel.”

Theren stepped out of the office, and Tornel followed. “I don’t believe it,” Tornel said, in the same numb tone Theren had spoken in. “I mean… my own brother. And Kroth…” He sighed. “What now?”

“What do you mean, what now? There’s nothing we can do. We’ve been beaten.”

To Theren, there was nothing left to say. Despite his words, it seemed that it was, in fact, over. A life’s work blown away in the blink of an eye. From behind the two retreating officers, another voice came. “Yes, your own brother, indeed.” Charles Tornel had emerged from Kroth’s office, the door sliding shut behind him with a hiss. “How many times did father warn you, brother? Running around with this ruffian, ruining your name. Do you know how father has been ostracized because of you?”

“The Colonel wouldn’t have been pleased with anything short of three sons in Imperial Command. I told him I wouldn’t do it,” Tornel said through gritted teeth. Theren looked away, hoping the family squabble would resolve itself. If he was lucky, he’d be assigned a small command, maybe three ships, on the Outer Rim. Maybe, after a few years of chasing pirates, he’d be reassigned as a Line Captain in a front line battle group. That was his only hope.

“—and then,” Charles continued, “all the rumors about you flaunting that poor-as-dirt little whore of yours, all up and down your @#%$ little ship. Never seen such a thing in my life – I don’t even know how you can associate with their kind, but you’re seeing the repercussions now, aren’t you?”

Theren ground his teeth together. How much worse could the situation get, after all? With a cry of rage, he turned about, grabbing Charles by the collar and slamming him against the corridor wall. “Don’t you fucking ever talk to him like that again, you hear me –”

“Careful, Gevel,” Charles Tornel said, clearly struggling unsuccessfully against Theren’s grip on him, yet still smiling. “You’re going to be assigned a long way from the safety of Imperial Center. Strange things happen on the Outer Rim – we wouldn’t want you to experience a very tragic accident, now, would we? After all, we’ve already seen how vulnerable we all are to such things, after Admiral Elansivek’s death… wouldn’t want you to meet the same fate, eh?”

Theren, eyes widening, let him go. “Get out of here.”

Smoothing his uniform, and casting one last satisfied smirk towards Tornel, Charles left, striding off down the hallway.

“Well,” Tornel said dismally, “we’d best go pack our bags. Our assignment will probably come in the morning, and we’ll have to leave right away…”

“No,” Theren cut in, setting off down the corridor to the left. “I’ve changed my mind. Come on.”

“Are you sure the crew will be willing?” Charles Tornel asked, glancing at his superior. Admiral Kroth always held himself as rigidly as a board; he was a straight-backed, proud man, the very image of the military man. Not hunched and scowling like Gevel, bespectacled and intellectual, but decisive and commanding. “I’ve heard reports that some of these Zenith crewmembers are doggedly loyal to Gevel – probably brainwashed by all that liberal idealism.”

Kroth chuckled. “I believe that a bit of demonstration will be in order. I trust you’ve heard that I’ve already recalled Captain Patton?”

“Patton?” Charles asked, his brow furrowing. The turbolift began to emit a dinging noise as it approached bridge level.

“Yes, Julius Patton. A rather gifted battle commander – and as doggedly loyal to the Empire as anyone on this ship is to Gevel. I believe that a demonstration is in order,” Kroth added, as the turbolift doors hissed open and the two emerged onto the long bridge of the Reign-Class Star Destroyer Zenith.

The bridge crew turned to watch in silent dismay as the two men made their way down the walk, towards the point at which the captain of the Zenith stood, staring out the viewports, not acknowledging them in word or action. The man’s name was Kellek Shar, and he was diminutive, pale, hunched, and sunken-eyed; not a proud Imperial officer in any sense of the phrase. Yet here he stood, captain of a vessel that had seen more combat in the past few months than many in the fleet had in decades, even centuries of operation.

Very few other commanders would have promoted Shar, but Theren Gevel had, and for that Shar had always been grateful. His gratitude had shone through in his command, which had always been unfalteringly attentive, every detail analyzed so that the Commodore could concentrate on the grander scheme of things, without being required to micromanage.

Even as Kroth and Tornel approached, Shar still did not turn around. Despite being possessed of a somewhat less than commanding presence, he was extremely intelligent, and extremely perceptive. Theren, he recalled, had once said of him that he possessed an uncanny ability to predict what the enemy would do next, allowing him to think ten or twelve steps ahead. He’d never been able to do that until Theren had shown such confidence in him; that confidence had allowed him to be freed from his insecurities.

Kroth cleared his throat, and Kellek Shar still did not turn around. He continued to stare placidly out the viewports of the Zenith’s bridge. He wasn’t nervous, anymore. His whole life, Kellek Shar had been a nervous individual; he’d failed so many times because of it. Always second-guessing himself, to the point of distraction. That chronic indecision had ceased almost entirely since Theren had seen something in him – he had no idea what, but something.

Now, it was completely gone. He was very perceptive, and he knew why Kroth was there. And he had thought a step ahead. He knew exactly what he would do, and for the first time in his life, there wasn’t a trace of doubt in his mind. Admiral Kroth cleared his throat again, before Charles Tornel finally spoke up on his behalf. “You will turn and address the admiral, Captain Shar!” He commanded.

A slow, sad smile slid across Kellek Shar’s face. “So,” Shar said. “He’s gone.”

“Excuse me?” Kroth said, finally speaking.

Kellek Shar turned around, his dark eyes meeting Kroth’s directly. This was somewhat unexpected; the files on Shar had reported a supremely unconfident, mousy little man who would be intimidated by the very presence of the great Admiral Kroth. That was not this man, whose smile seemed to hint at a superiority Kroth would never understand. “Theren. He’s gone. You’ve… done away with him.”

Kroth smirked icily. “Line Captain Gevel has been transferred to a different post, and is no longer your commander. I trust that you know who I am?”

Kellek Shar looked him up and down, slowly, taking his time. He didn’t reply in a hurry; he had nothing to rush to. “You’re Dedalus Kroth. The son of Alkar Kroth, the celebrated military commander.”

“Admiral Kroth, Captain. Do not forget your superiors.”

“I think that it is you who has forgotten something. Forgotten where you are. This is Theren Gevel’s ship.” The smile had now left Kellek’s face, and was replaced by a kind of sad resignation. He spoke as if these events held no interest to him.

“Line Captain Gevel is no longer in command of the Zenith, the Bastion Conclave, or the fleet this vessel spearheads. You would,” Kroth added, looking behind him as a pair of Stormtroopers arrived just on time, “do well to remember this.”

“Whose are they?”

“Excuse me?” Kroth asked again.

“To whom do the Zenith fleet and the Conclave belong, if not Theren Gevel?”

Kroth’s conceited smirk became a toothy grin. “They are mine, Captain. I am now Governor of the Bastion Conclave.”

“No,” Kellek Shar said, shaking his head a little and smiling again. “No, I think you will find you’re mistaken in that respect. None of this will ever be truly yours.”

“We shall see,” Kroth said, his eyes narrowing. “However, Captain, this is irrelevant. You are now under my direct command, and I order you to salute your commander and pledge your loyalty to him, on behalf of the men on board this vessel.”

Without a change in expression, Kellek Shar turned towards the viewport, looking down on Coruscant, and performed a firm, flawless, but most of all inexplicably proud Imperial salute. As he turned back towards a puzzled Kroth and Tornel, his smile widened. “I salute and pledge my allegiance to Theren Gevel, once and forever commander of the Zenith. I’ll see you in hell before I salute you, Kroth.”

With one last sadistic look at Shar, Admiral Kroth turned to the Stormtroopers behind him. “That is… rather unfortunate, Captain. Please, dispose of this… riff-raff,” he ordered.

One of the Stormtroopers stepped forward and pointed his rifle squarely at Kellek Shar’s head. Death was oblivion, and he knew this. But without blinking, the smile never leaving his face, Kellek Shar met his fate for something he now felt for the first time in his life. Pride.

As his body hit the ground, Admrial Kroth ordered, “Ensure that Captain Patton reports to the Zenith as soon as he arrives in-system.”

"Captain Patton…Captain Patton!" the voice over the comm link said for the fifth time.

Shooting straight up in his bed-no, the cot he had slept on for the duration of the trip, Julius put on a rather comical face that showed just how tired he really was. The Captain hadn't slept for a long time, and these precious few hours were suddenly broken by that box. No, it wasn’t a box, he remembered. It was the comm link to his quarters. That only meant one thing. They had finally arrived at Coruscant. Stumbling on his bed, he pulled his uniform on, mumbling half responsed to the repeating of his voice.

"Captain Patton, are you awake?" The voice came again, with a calm, but this time strained voice.

"Yeah…yeah I’m awake." He replied through multiple yawns and groans.

"Please report to the bridge, Captain Patton," The voice replied, the strain gone, "We’ve arrived at Coruscant, and we’re moving to dock with the Zenith now.’

"I’m on my way."

Julius had hitched a ride on a Carrack-Class Light Cruiser that was headed for Bastion. He had nearly fainted when he had found out that he would be replacing the Captain of the Zenith for reasons he wasn’t told. The Captain hadn’t waited for a transport to come pick him up, instead opting to hitchhike his way there. The Carrack-Class Light Cruiser Imperial Honor had been on some business in the direction of Coruscant, and they had agreed to drop him off at the planet.

As he traveled the unfamiliar paths of the Cruiser, he was quickly lost. Following an all-too familiar sound, he soon found his way to the small shooting range that the Cruiser had on board. Longing to grip an E-11 in the tension of the moment, Julius shrugged the enticing thoughts away, reminding himself that it was time for him to leave. Having been lost before, and making his way to the shooting range, he now knew exactly where he was and had no trouble getting to the bridge.

"Ah, Captain Patton. So nice of you to join us," Captain Klesav’s voice dripped with sarcasm, "We’re docked with the Zenith, and she’s ready to take you on board. So if you don’t mind, we do have a schedule to keep up with."

Julius nodded, and, following a guide provided by him, was escorted to where he would transfer over to the Reign Star Destroyer. The trip was in relative silence until Patton passed a viewport that showed the entirety of the Zenith. The Captain stopped suddenly, his mouth held slightly agape, and his muscles temporarily suspended. He found that he could not move if he had wanted to tear himself from the awe that was the Conclave’s flagship. The escort noticed, and walking back, giving him a stare. The man traced Julius’s line of sight to the Star Destroyer, and grinned.

"Well, what did you expect?" He asked, his voice giving away how he felt about the situation.

"I expected…something bigger…" Julius finally replied, with not hint of sarcasm in his voice. Just awe. The escort gave him a weird look, until he spotted the Captain’s grin, "Nah. Its just…been a while…"

"Old officer pulled out of retirement, eh?" the man concluded.

"No. Old marine transferred over," Julius replied, grinning at the man’s confusion, "They all just seemed so…smaller as a soldier."

"Well, from the ground I bet they would be…" the escort said, his stare unrelenting, "If I may ask, sir. How the hell did you become a naval officer?"

"Huh? Oh." Julius snapped out of his trance, "Got into a rivalry with a superior officer. He’d always punish me, but I’d always find a legit way to get back at him. Finally he did the most unspeakable act of horror one could pull upon another marine…"

"What?" The escort asked, fully entranced with the story.

"He transferred me….to the Navy…" Julius replied, grinning, "Made up some story about me being a genious tactitian. Coincidentally, he was right. The High Command was apparently impressed with some of my work, so they promoted me to Captain. I wonder what I did to piss them off…putting me under Gevel…"

"Actually, your wrong there." The escort proclaimed, drawing a stare from Patton, "Gevel's been demoted to Line Captain, and stripped of Governership. Kroth is in charge now."

"God save me…" Julius muttered, "Still, I suppose he’s better than that prick Gevel…"

"Yeah, that @#%$ teacher…" the escort agreed.

"What the @#%$ is wrong with being a teacher?" Julius asked.

"Not just a teacher, all those poor types." The escort replied, "Just a waste, if you ask me. They’ll never advance in life."

"Theren Gevel is a genius, and still a Captain," Julius almost yelled out, "You’re a @#%$ Ensign. No, Therens not a prick because he used to be poor. Theren's a prick because he parades it around in spite of the High Command like an idiot. Now shut up and take me to the Zenith."

"Yes, sir." The escort grumbled, shooting icy glares at Julius whenever his back was turned.

They finally reached the point where he would transfer, and with not even a nod, the Ensign that had escorted him headed back to his post. In minutes, Julius had transferred over to the Zenith, and there he was met by a man who claimed himself to be one of Kroth's aides. They exchanged formalities, and soon they were off.

"I expect you'll be wanting to get aquainted with the ship?" the aide asked. With Julius's nod, he continued, "Where shall we begin the tour?"

"Lets start at the shooting range..." Julius replied, a grin spreading across his face.

"Actually, there's a live fire combat simulation scheduled in a couple minutes." the aide said, eyebrows raised at the choice, "Would you care to view?"

"Actually, I have a better idea." A grin spread over the Captain's face.

EDIT: Just changing "Bastion" to "Coruscant".

EDIT #2: You missed a few.

Theren Gevel stepped into the dimly lit room in the Imperial Command tower, illuminated only by the dull glow of a holoterminal. A small sound of surprise was elicited from his mouth; while he’d expected to find a slightly overweight man asleep at the terminal, but instead found a lean, but somewhat muscled man asleep at the terminal. One thing he could always count on about Tarey was that he’d have fallen asleep after working for days straight; that had allowed himself and Tornel to override the lock on his door without the slicer taking notice.

Life aboard a space vessel never had been best for Tarey Knorel; Theren had known this since Tarey had served under him aboard the Zenith, before his ascent to power when the name ‘Zenith’ referred to a small combat cruiser. The odd schedule, lack of day-night cycle, and strange sensation of movement despite gravitational compensation had always set the man at ill ease, and he’d fallen grossly out of shape. Obviously, life on Coruscant agreed with him. “Tarey,” Theren said quietly. The man stirred, but did not wake. “Tarey!” He said louder, still with no effect. Theren smacked him upside the head, and finally, the man awoke with a start.

“Who? Wha – ah. Hi, Commodore Gevel. Lieutenant,” he added, nodding to Tornel. Tarey’s face was considerably less round than it had been when last they’d seen him, and it suited him; he was a fairly handsome young man when not carrying twenty extra pounds.

“Tarey,” Theren said, nodding a greeting to him.

“Say, Theren, I heard some nasty rumors about you. Something about how Admiral Kroth got a carbonite icicle up his ass and demoted you to –”

“Line Captain,” Theren confirmed. “Yeah, he did.”

“Rough luck,” Tarey said, shaking his head. He stopped mid-shake, his brows furrowing. “Say… hold on a minute. If you’re not a Commodore anymore, you don’t have clearance to be here –”

“Keep it down, keep it down,” Theren said. “We know that. But we need your help, again, Tarey.”

“I don’t know…” Tarey said slowly. “I almost lost my job for helping you, last time. If you hadn’t been right about Shyle, I’d be in prison with the slimeball.”

“Tarey,” Tornel said, stepping forward. “We were right about Shyle. Won’t you trust us again?”

The man’s brows continued to furrow. Tarey Knorel was one of the best slicers in the Imperial Navy, and now that his work wasn’t being interrupted by his hatred of spaceflight, he had gained quite a great deal of renown on Coruscant.

“If you hadn’t helped us with Shyle, he might have gotten away with enough men and vessels to cripple the Empire – permanently. Wrath was barely dead at the time, remember? Shit, we might be saluting Emperor Shyle right now if it weren’t for you.” Tarey smirked slightly. “Besides, I got you this post, didn’t I? You owe me at least this.”

Tarey’s look of concentration ceased, and he nodded, his mind seemingly made up. “Yeah, all right. I don’t know what I was thinking. Of course I’ll help you.” He turned to the holoterminal behind him, hitting a few buttons on the operation panel.

“All right. Do you have access to the surveillance holos for this building?” Theren asked.

“No, but I can get it.” Another of Tarey’s looks of concentration crossed his face. “They don’t keep security holos of Admiral Elansivek’s quarters, if that’s what you’re looking for.”

“No, it’s not. I need the security holo for Elansivek’s floor, main north hallway, about fifteen minutes after he was murdered.”

Tarey nodded, setting away at the keys of the holoterminal. His hands flew across the buttons in a blur, occasionally reaching out and tapping parts of the holographic display. This all passed far too quickly for laymen like Theren and Tornel to understand what was occurring, but when Tarey finally turned to face them, it was with a broad smile. “Okay, here we are,” he said, tapping a button. Within the blue haze of the hologram appeared the same hallway Theren had seen the Rodian cross the day of Elansivek’s death.

The footage rolled past, seemingly nothing happening. An aide crept down the hallway, nervously hitting the call button next to one of the office doors and stepping inside as it slid open. Then, the display went blank, the holographic haze becoming nothing but a vaguely blue fog. “What the hell?” Theren said.

Tarey began frantically hitting keys. “I don’t know, I don’t know… it looks like someone’s deleted these files. But that shouldn’t be… well, unless… no, it shouldn’t be possible…”

“Why?” Tornel asked.

“Well, only members of the admiralty have access to this level of classified information. And deleting it wouldn’t have been easy. The person would have needed to be well-acquainted with the system, because deletion of security data isn’t an option they exactly put up on the main screen.” Tarey glanced up at Theren. “I expect you would’ve had access to this, until you were demoted.”

Theren grunted evenly. “Can you get the files back?”

Tarey thought for a moment. “We’ll see. Give me a second.”

After a few more minutes of furious typing, Tarey, looking satisfied, nodded. “Whoever did this was more concerned about getting it done than doing it right. When you delete information from the Imperial Command Databanks, the system makes a shadow-file system dump into unorganized memory, and places a record in system activity subsystems.”

Theren blinked. “In Basic, Tarey.”

“It dumps the files somewhere so cluttered you’ll only be able to retrieve them if you access the log, and know where to look. Luckily, I do.” Tarey hit one last button. “It looks like about two and a half minutes of data was deleted. Here it is.”

Once again, they were looking at the same nondescript hall. For about a minute, nothing happened, and disappointment began to creep into the pit of Theren’s stomach. Then, stepping around a corner and onto the scene as if he were just another officer wandering the halls, a mousy, ugly alien came into view. “That’s him,” Theren said.

“Who?”

“The Rodian I saw. Tarey, stop the feed.”

The image froze. “Zoom in on his waist… the pistol. There. Yeah.” The view blurrily zoomed up on a nondescript blaster that now seemed to appear in the form of a very shoddily made mosaic. “Can you refine that?”

“Sure,” Tarey said. After tapping a few more buttons, the picture became infinitely clearer; a blaster pistol resting in a holster.

“The symbol, on the butt,” Theren said. “Can you isolate that?”

“Yep.”

A few button presses later, a strange symbol had appeared in the main of the screen; a pair of talons, parallel and curved, crossed at the curve by another talon, turned in the opposite direction. “Put that on a datapad for me, will you?”

“Sure, Theren. Is that all?”

“Yeah, Tarey,” Theren said. “That’s all.”



The Tenacity had once been commanded by Commodore Shyle himself, when it had been part of the now disbanded Solemnity fleet group. While some might have considered it a matter of courtesy to be placed aboard a ship he had a history with, Theren knew that it was more or less an insult; a way of reminding him that he was only a few steps above where he’d put Commodore Shyle. While the crew was somewhat altered, the ex-commodore received a few looks when he strode onto the bridge that told him clearly their givers had not forgotten what he’d done to Shyle.

Some of these men had been right in Shyle’s inner circle; others simply considered him a saint among men. They would have been just as happy serving an empire ruled by Shyle – even if that empire was a fiefdom on the outer rim. Instead, they were serving an outcast commodore they’d hated to begin with, and the tension was palpable.

Theren’s first assignment had been to Kalla, a world on the Outer Rim, in the Corporate Sector. It was basic patrol duty; make a stop in the system, clean out a few pirates that had been nesting on the outlying worlds. Kalla itself was considering joining the Empire, and Kroth had informed Theren that he was very interested in establishing himself a presence in the Corporate Sector.

When Theren had pointed out that the Corporate Sector was typically thought of as Vinda Corp territory, Kroth had only smiled slightly. “Indeed it is,” he’d said. “What better way to gain such an ally than to take one of their own worlds, and relinquish it?”

“You want to play ball with Vinda Corp?”

“Ah, well, you know, Gevel. I want to retire an… independent man.”

That he was doing Kroth’s dirty work in establishing contacts in Vinda Corp only added insult to injury.



Kalla

Theren, officer’s jacket unbuttoned and with a cigarra hanging from the side of his mouth, entered the bank, and slammed the door loudly. The main lobby was scarcely larger than the bridge of an Imperial Star Destroyer, but nowhere near as well kept; this bank appeared to pander to the lowest common denomination among life forms on Kalla. The scum, the criminals, the vagrants, all of whom needed somewhere to stash their haul. It was no-questions-asked banking.

Pushing past a small line that had formed in front of a tired-looking Duros, Theren smacked loudly on the Kashyyykan wood desk. “I’m here to see Wallan Kornos.”

The Duros looked up at Theren slowly, his eyes moving ponderously from his face, with a day’s stubble on it, to the cigarra hanging from his mouth, to the uniform flung haphazardly across his shoulders. He then returned to dealing with the nearest customer to him, a scruffy-looking human in full combat armor.

Theren leant a little closer to the Duros. “There’s a squad of Stormtroopers outside this building. If you test my patience, I will make this bank look like a fucking turbolaser hit it. Now, go and tell Wallan Kornos that an old friend from the Battle of Duro is here to see him.”

The Duros sighed resignedly, and muttered an affirmative in its language. A door slid open behind the desk, and the blue-skinned, red-eyed alien stepped into the dark room behind. The door slid closed. The ruffian at the front of the line eyed Theren contemptuously. “I’ve been waitin’ half a goddamn hour,” he snarled, stepping forward to tower over the much-thinner, much-shorter officer. “And it wasn’t to have some Imperial waltz in here and demand to see Mr. Kornholos. You watch yerself, there –”

Theren sighed slightly, looking up at the burly man. “Someone needs to teach you fucking idiots Imperial manners,” he said, sneering. “Unfortunately, that won’t be me.” Reaching to his belt, Theren grabbed not a blaster, but a small commlink, muttering something quietly into it, and gesturing to the human in front of him.

“Say, what the hell –”

Without warning, a Stormtrooper stepped in the bank’s door and, aiming his rifle precisely, fired a single bolt the moderate length of the room into the thug’s chest, killing him instantly. Theren nodded his thanks and waved him away. “I hope you’ll all understand the moral of this story,” he said to the line of assorted miscreants, most of whom now appeared fairly terrified.

The door slid open again, and the Duros came back out. “Officer,” it rasped in its language, which Theren had a cursory understanding of. “Mr. Kornos will see you now.” The alien stepped forward, looking curiously at the new occupant of the space in front of his desk. “Where did – ah,” the being said, glancing over the desk to see the crumpled body of the man.

Theren had already walked past him, around the edge of the desk and into the back room. It was a dimly-lit office, as untidy as the lobby. In it, behind a cluttered desk, sat another Duros, this one’s skin significantly darker and more wrinkled than the other, but with the same blazing red eyes. His eyes blazed all the brighter as Theren Gevel entered the room, the door sliding shut behind him. “Ah… you,” Wallan Kornos said, looking at Theren as if he were a decomposing wampa carcass. He spoke in slightly-warbled but understandable Basic. “I did not think I would be seeing the great Theren Gevel again. But I hear that you are no longer so ‘great’, these days. Life under Kroth has not been kind?” He asked, in a falsely concerned voice.

“Hello, Wallan,” Theren said, utterly ignoring the Duros’ words. “How’s business?”

“Business is utterly terrible, you human slime,” the Duros said. “How can I be expected to make a living on a backwater mudhole like this? Full of your sniveling kind, running amok, always causing trouble…”

“Well, I see you’ve at least made yourself a niche among those of my kind closest to yours,” Theren said flippantly. “Really, the crowd you’re running with these days, Wallan. What a fucking rut you’re in.”

“A ‘fucking rut’ that is entirely fault, you sac of festering waste,” Wallan replied. “Or have you forgotten how you threw me off of Centeguard? I had a successful business spanning the entire city, even across multiple cities. Until you and your useless empire came a long. Useless, useless, useless… I cannot even fathom why you show your face here today.”

“Ah, Wallan, you always were a charmer,” Theren said. “But I suppose that you’ve forgotten that throwing you off Duro was the least of the many things I could’ve done to you. Believe me, I still have the files on you. What was it, Wallan? Three, four billion credits in illicit deals with assassin cartels?”

Wallan Kornos’ blue skin seemed to pale ever so slightly. “You wouldn’t dare. Your forces hijacked at least six shipments. If you ever… I mean, if you brought it to light… the retaliation… an investigation by the Empire would let them know…”

“Oh, but you said it yourself, Wallan. I’m not the ‘great Theren Gevel’ anymore. Just a washed-up Line Captain. I’ve got nothing to lose.” Theren sighed, and started to get to his feet. “But, if you really feel that way, I suppose I can go and send the files to the Grand Marshall. He should be very interested.”

“No, no, no, no no no no.” Wallan said, nervously twiddling his fingers. “Sit down. What is it that you want?”

Theren pulled a datapad from his pocket, placing it on the desk. As he pressed a button, a hologram of the three-clawed symbol appeared above it. Wallan Kornos stared at it for several minutes, before finally getting clumsily to his feet and walking to the door, and ensuring that it was locked. If possible, he now seemed more nervous. “Do you recognize this symbol?”

Wallan didn’t say anything for some time. “Come on, Wallan,” Theren said. “I know you’ve got lots of buddies in low places. None of your friends have been sporting these on their jackets lately?”

“How did – how did you find – where did this come from?” He asked, his Basic now more broken and garbled than ever. “How could a… but you’ve been… no… dear, dear… no…” Wallan got to his feet, stumbling to a second door, on the opposite side of the room from the entrance. He quickly ducked out of it, muttering, “I’ll be back shortly… yes, shortly. I just need to… ah…”

The door slid shut. Theren got to his feet, staring wildly at where Wallan had stood only seconds before. Suddenly, and with a resounding crash, the transparisteel window to his right shattered, a datapad landing on Wallan Kornos’ desk with a dull thud. He picked it up, reading the words on its flat screen.

The Genoharadan kindly suggests you leave, immediately. Follow Kornos.

Without thinking, Theren rushed for the door Wallan had gone through, finding himself in an alleyway as it slid open. Rushing around to the front of the building with all of his speed, Theren found the speeder with the Stormtrooper escort surrounding it. Two of the soldiers rushed towards Theren. “Sir, what are you doing –?”

The trooper’s words were cut off by a resounding explosion behind Theren, throwing them all to the street. As he looked back, he saw Wallan Kornos’ bank, reduced to flames.

The news reports the next day would read that a fuel reactor, kept improperly by the proprietor of the seedy establishment, had malfunctioned and exploded.

The business itself with the pirates took less than a full hour; a quick fly-by of their base on one of the inhospitable and barren outlying terrestrial worlds of the Kalla system had the effect of driving the scum into a frenzy, their craft rushing from the base hurriedly and in no particular order. From there, it was a simple enough matter to pick them off, one by one. Their force was composed primarily of outdated, cobbled-together starfighters and freighters that seemed to have been built out of a number of smaller freighters, haphazardly welded together.

The automation and ease of targeting the Assault Frigate made destroying these a fairly simple task. The Tenacity itself had originally been captured from the New Republic, and converted for Imperial use, but Theren had begun production of them while serving as Governor of the Bastion Conclave. Whereas the Dreadnaughts favored by many Imperial commanders were ungainly, outdated, and requiring of a small army to operate, the Assault Frigates were lean, updated, and automated. The things were originally manufactured by Rendili Drive Yards, and many had seen Theren’s ready acceptance of them as some small treason; Theren saw it as a quiet admission that the rebellion had gotten a few things right.

The last of the freighters combusted spectacularly, and Theren ordered the crew to prepare for a jump to a system that happened to be on the other side of the galaxy; Duro. “Shall I make the communication to Imperial Command and the planetary government?” One of the bridge crew asked.

Theren’s eyes narrowed. “No. I’ll do it.”



Kalla

“A vessel of almost a kilometer does not simply vanish into thin air!” Admiral Kroth bellowed as Captain Charles Tornel opened the door for him, and the irate command strode into the chambers of the Kallan Minister of Security. “He must have said something. He must have forwarded his next known co-ordinates. Imperial vessels don’t just jump to hyperspace!”

Tornel flanked his commander as he strode the length of the room, towering over the bald, but physically-fit man sitting behind the desk. “Well?” Kroth demanded, his eyes bulging rather insanely. “Where is he?”

The Kallan Minister of Security’s name was Teenan Otaf, and he was renowned for being of a quiet and amiable sort, despite his surprising stature and musculature built from years in the army. Something about the death many men see in the armed forces had mellowed him. “I do not know, Admiral,” Otaf said, very quietly, not meeting Kroth’s eyes.

A vein was now visible in Kroth’s forehead. “It is absolutely essential that I locate this man, do you understand me? This is the last obstacle in my path!”

“I am sorry,” Otaf said. “I cannot help you.”

Kroth shook with a towering rage. “You’re lying!” He shouted. “This is a conspiracy. I know that that son of a bitch has contacts! I know it! And if you will not talk, someone will! I will turn this planet upside down, I will search every last one of your records, and if I have to I will haul in every last human being on this filthy, scum-ridden world in for interrogation!”

The Minister stood up, no longer so quiet. “I cannot allow you to do that,” he began, but Kroth cut him off.

“You are no longer in a position to allow or disallow anything!” Kroth shouted. “I am dissolving this planet’s government! Kalla is now under Imperial control, and Legionnaires will land within the hour. Anyone who disputes this will be eliminated!”

And with this, and a curt, satisfied nod from Charles Tornel, the two Imperial officers strode from the office.



Centeguard,
Duro

There had been a great deal of suspicion aboard the Tenacity surrounding the Assault Frigate’s landing on an outlying planet in the Duro system, and the stealthy way they had crept into the system to begin with. Within a day of discussion amongst the officers onboard, there was a general consensus that Theren was now operating outside of Imperial jurisdiction. While many of them had been ready to go rogue at the drop of a hat for Commodore Shyle, they were less enthusiastic about having done so for Theren.

Theren didn’t care. He hadn’t spoken to any member of the crew but to give orders in several days – nor had he slept or shaved. He sat awake, tirelessly scribbling in his notebooks, exhausted beyond belief but his mind racing too quickly to allow sleep. He knew what Kroth had done – he knew that the Genoharadan, whatever they or it was, were somehow related to it.

It was all that mattered, all he thought about. When Tornel asked him to share his thoughts, Theren waved him away nonchalantly. Every second of every day, his mind raced with thoughts of turning the tables on Kroth. The answers were so close. He had worked since he was a child to reach the point he had in the Empire, and wouldn’t let it slip away – not now, and not like this.

The symbol, he knew, was related too to the Genoharadan. The minute Wallan Kornos had seen it, he looked as if he’d seen a ghost; seconds later, a message from this Genoharadan arrived. And if that was true, it was this Genoharadan that had killed Admiral Elansivek. Theren had been right. He was not at fault. He would prove it, he would earn back his title and clear his name.

He had to.

The stubble on his face and cigarra still anxiously being smoked gave him the appearance of a rather insane individual as he strode into the First Durosian Planetary Traffic Control center, on Centeguard. Very politely, he requested traffic sensor logs for the past few days from one of the secretaries. He presented all the proper credentials, and, within minutes, had a datapad with the information he needed in hand.

Theren knew that the use of his name to acquire it would set off alarm bells within Imperial systems, and more than likely bring Kroth (who had promised to keep Theren on a tight leash) or one of his lackeys running, but there was no choice. His last known location had been Kalla; he hoped he could count on Kroth’s eagerness to have him court marshaled to have immediately spurred the admiral to leap to where his vessel had last been seen before he’d stopped relaying his destinations to Imperial Command. Kalla was far away enough to give him almost a day, possibly more.

Tornel, who had been waiting outside, looked over Theren’s shoulder as they scanned the list of traffic. It was extensive. “What are we looking for?” He asked.

“When Wallan had been on the run, he’d always used an alias. ‘Sonrok Vall’.” He hit a few buttons, prompting a search in the datapad. In a matter of seconds, the recent activity of the YT-1215 freighter of Sonrok Vall appeared on the datapad.

“He arrived yesterday,” Tornel said. “On Centeguard. Commercial district. You recognize the address of that spaceport?”

“Yeah,” Theren said. “It’s near one of his old weapons stashes.”

Catching a transport speeder and once again using Theren’s name to feed credits from an Imperial line to pay, the two headed for Centeguard’s commercial district. When they reached their destination – a ratty-looking warehouse that was dwarfed on either side by taller ratty-looking warehouses – Theren ordered the droid driver to stay where he was, and told Tornel to do the same.

Theren approached the door of the warehouse’s front hall, pressing the call button. A viewport, wide enough only for the eyes, slid open to reveal the wild-looking red orbs of Wallan Kornos. Calmly, the Imperial officer pointed a blaster at them. “Hello, Wallan.”

“You… but… well, come in quickly, move, you corpulent pus bag…” Wallan muttered nervously, the door sliding open and Theren stepping into the dank room beyond. For several moments after he entered, Wallan continued to stare out of the viewport, and, after finally concluding there was no one there, slowly moved away and began to wring his hands.

He had, perhaps, been expecting Theren to put away his blaster once he’d gained entrance; instead, Theren pointed it at his head. “Now, tell me about the Genoharadan.”

That remarkable and inexplicable paling of Wallan’s blue skin occurred once again, as he eyed the blaster. “You… how did you survive? And find me, no less…”

“That’s not important. Answer the fucking question.”

“But… the Genoharadan… I don’t even… how could you…?” Wallan let the malformed question trail off. He continued looking over his shoulder and scanning the dark entrance hall. It seemed as though he was expected to be shot dead any second.

Theren’s patience was wearing thin. Grabbing Wallan by the collar and placing the blaster directly against his temple, he said through gritted teeth, “This is my life, don’t you understand that? Kroth has stolen my life from me, and my only hope of getting it back is in this fucking little head of yours!” He was fully aware that Wallan had little idea who Kroth was, but he shook the alien violently anyway. “Tell me! What is the Genoharadan!?”

Finally breaking free, Wallan stepped back, shaking his head. “It is you who doesn’t understand, human slimeball! The Genoharadan are everywhere… they watch everything. They kill as they wish with no remorse, and they won’t brook your interference in their affairs! They… won’t even brook your knowledge of their existence…”

Theren’s eyes blazed madly, and he re-aimed his blaster. “What is the Genoharadan?” He repeated, ignoring Wallan’s words.

As Wallan began to open his mouth, the door – not the one leading to the street, but the one leading to the warehouse proper – slid open. A dark figure standing in the doorway raised a rifle, and fired a single shot into the Duro’s chest. Without so much as looking at Theren, he moved away, the door sliding shut and locking with a beep.

Theren leapt upon Wallan’s crumpled form, from which the sounds of labored breath continued to come. “Tell me!” He shouted. “Where can I find them!?”

Wallan chuckled, wheezing with the effort. “You have no idea what… you’re getting into… heh, heh… no idea…”

“Tell me!”

“Go to… Dorthal… in the Anthos region… Dor… thal…”

And with that, the Duros died.



“Why Dorthal?” Tornel asked, after Theren repeated the events to him on the shuttle ride back towards the edge of the Duro system.

“I don’t know. Wallan died before he could tell me.”

“So… what are the Genoharadan?”

Theren shrugged. “I don’t know. A guild of assassins, is what it looks like – if they killed Elansivek, and I think we can assume that they did. We’re coming up on the tenth planet; scan for the Tenacity’s location.”

Tornel obliged, hitting several buttons on the Sentinel-class shuttle’s controls. After a moment, he began to look perturbed. “Uh…”

“What?” Theren snapped.

“They don’t seem to be there.”

Theren buried his face in his hands. “Great. Just fucking great.”



The Zenith,
Kalla System

“And you are absolutely sure?” Kroth asked, eying the young officer.

“Yes, sir,” the man said confidently. “The hyperspace route we observed Gevel taking is a one-jump trip.”

Kroth nodded. “Excellent work, Lieutenant. Or should I say, Captain.”

The young man smiled. “Thank you, sir.”

“Continue your command of the Tenacity, then. I believe that most of the crew is behind you in your departure from Gevel’s command?”

“Almost all of it, sir.”

“Good.” Kroth turned to Tornel. “Order all vessels to set a course for Dorthal, Captain Tornel.”

Dorthal

Dorthal, it turned out, was not altogether unlike Coruscant. It was a prosperous, city world, complete with various levels and catwalks on the higher ones. Which the street level was still reachable on Dorthal, unlike on Imperial Center, generally speaking only the poor bothered to go there. From space, however, Dorthal appeared very much unlike it’s core-bound twin; it seemed a dull, gray-and blue orb punctuated by spots of lighter-gray light.

The Sentinel-Class shuttle set down in a small spaceport in the Capitol District. There was enough traffic heading into Dorthal that day to avoid being singled out by customs or immigration – though, being loosely associated with the Anthos Republic, it was doubtful that anyone would have cared to note that there was a contract out in Imperial space for the shuttle Tydirium (which Theren had named out of satire).

The officer and his aide stepped down the hissing landing platform of the transport craft, and Tornel had almost opened his mouth to ask where they would go next when a tall, green-skinned Twi’lek approached them, somehow having eluded the autocannons of the small hangar bay and entered though the main gate. “Greetings, sirs,” he rasped in Basic.

Theren’s eyes narrowed. “Hello.” The Twi’lek had something clutched in his hand.

“You will forgive me, I hope, but during your landing I observed this datapad falling out of your cargo hold,” the Twi’lek said, offering Theren the datapad. “Luckily they are so well built, these days, and no damage was sustained. The information contained in it may be important.”

Tornel eyed the datapad. “I checked before liftoff. The cargo hold was secured. Nothing fell out.”

“Oh, no,” the Twi’lek said, shaking his head vigorously. “I assure you, this is your datapad.”

Theren took it, and the Twi’lek walked away. He hit the button on the small device, bringing up the flat-panel display. Several words were written on it.

11015, Plinth Street, Level Nine, Capitol District. Come alone, or not at all.

“Well,” Tornel said. “That answers my question.”



The door guard of the drab, nondescript apartment building nestled in the side of one of Dorthal’s grand towers bowed respectfully as Theren approached. “Ah, Mr. Gevel. You are expected. The Genoharadan is pleased –” The Twi’lek suddenly stopped speaking, eying Tornel and looking as if he would be sick. “Ah… I mean…”

“He already knows,” Theren said.

“But this is most unusual, most unusual indeed. The Genoharadan –”

“I tell my first officer everything,” Theren said, rather more forcefully. “Anything you tell me in here, he would have found out anyway.”

“Ah, yes, I see. Well, I suppose, exceptions can be made. These are rather exceptional circumstances… certainly, and I suppose the Genoharadan owes… yes, well, if you’ll come with me.”

The Twi’lek led them off of the catwalk, into the small, but very neat building. Its gray durasteel walls were completely undecorated, and, past the hallway, there was no furniture at all except for an equally drab table, complete with for metal chairs. In one of them, flanked by a pair of burly aliens of a species Theren didn’t recognize, sat a diminutive, thin, dark-green skinned Rodian. “Theren Gevel and Dayvid Tornel. Welcome,” it said.

Theren was taken aback. Not because the creature knew their names – nothing of the sort could surprise him now – but because the Rodian spoke in clear, fluent Basic. Theren had never met a Rodian who could speak the language at all (though surely a few did exist), never mind speak it so clearly. The Rodian vocal system simply wasn’t set up to allow it.

“This is Xerill Noort,” whispered the Twi’lek, ushering them into their seats.

“I am the leader of the Genoharadan,” Xerill said, eying the two men.

“You can speak Basic,” Theren observed questioningly.

“Some years ago I had my innate speech apparatus augmented with a microchip system that regulates muscle movement to allow me to form the correct patterns necessary for clear speech in the human language, and a number of others,” Xerill replied calmly. “However. I am very pleased that you have come, though apologetic for the circumstances.”

“You’re not easy to find.”

“Indeed,” the Rodian replied, nodding, “and so I must congratulate you for doing so. Precious few have had the resources and ability to discover the Genoharadan without our consent. But, I trust that, after coming all of this way, some amount of exposition would be appreciated.”

“It couldn’t hurt.”

Xerill’s small, elongated mouth widened, in what Theren believed to be the Rodian approximation of a smile. “Yes. You wish to know what the Genoharadan is?” Theren nodded. “The Genoharadan is an ancient society of assassins, bounty hunters, and spies. We have existed for nearly 25,000 years.”

“25,000 years!” Theren exclaimed. “You’re older than the Old Republic.”

“We are indeed,” Xerill replied. “And we have remained while empires have risen and fallen through the secrecy which made it so difficult for you to discover us. We survive by supporting whichever government currently holds the most political power – be it Sith, Imperial, Republic, or otherwise. Over the millennia, our society has learned to shape and bend the forces of politics to our will, allowing our continued survival and prosperity. Only an elite few know of our existence; those in positions of great power and influence. Your Regent knows of us, as did the Emperor before him, as did Leia Organa Solo, though she was loath to use our might. Even your Grand Marshall, I believe, may have some knowledge of us, though he should not; he is far too perceptive.”

“And you killed Elansivek.”

The Rodian let out a watery sigh. “Yes, indeed we did. We take only the most difficult jobs – assignments all but impossible for all others, assignments which need to be carried out in secret, some of such a devious nature that their coming to light could herald the unraveling of entire governments. Assassinations appear to be accidents; a governor is tragically killed by a shuttle crash, a fleet commander by a malfunctioning turbolaser turret.”

Theren’s eyes narrowed. “You didn’t make it look like an accident with Elansivek.”

“Elansivek’s assassination was a… special case. I told you that very few have, in our twenty-five millennia of existence, cut through our veil of secrecy and discovered our existence. Typically, our records do not contain evidence of such shameful failures, but before me, my father was the leader of the Genoharadan, and during the time of both our reigns, there have been only two. Yourself, and Admiral Kroth.”

“Kroth.” Theren nodded. “I knew it.”

“It should have been fairly obvious. Kroth is extremely ambitious, and, while not as gifted mentally as yourself, possesses a certain self-serving cunning that the Genoharadan has found to be beneficial among those who serve governments. Because we were so impressed by this, we took the job he offered us; the elimination of Admiral Tieth Elansivek.”

“I thought you said you support the government in power?”

Xerill nodded. “We do. Typically, we do not take jobs involving the elimination of members of that government. But, as I said, Kroth was extremely ambitious, while Elansivek was becoming aged, and tiring of the responsibilities of his post yet not of the privileges. He had become a blockage in the arteries of power, as it were, and we thought that by eliminating him and allowing Kroth to rise to power we would be assisting the Empire.” The Rodian sighed again.

“And then he demoted me and took my post. All part of your plan?”

“No, that was never part of our plan, and I would remind you Mr. Gevel that we have elected – very kindly – to meet with you, and you would do well to remember this. Perhaps it is our distance from the Empire, or the many years we have existed, but we seem to have grown out of touch with the subtleties of politics. We should have seen his first action in his new post would be your ruin, but we did not. Kroth assured us that he would see to the diverting of the blame Elansivek’s assassination from us, but we did not know it would find its way to you. Once again, we apologize; while the removal of Elansivek was beneficial to the Empire, your removal was not.”

“So this was all just a big fucking misunderstanding.”

Xerill shrugged. “To some degree. Kroth tracked us down also through Wallan Kornos, though he did so without alerting the fool, using his superior resources. This was so impressive to us that we acted without full consideration of the consequences.”

“He used Kornos, too,” Theren said, thinking. “That’s why you were watching him?”

Xerill nodded. “Yes. We have eyes and ears in all places that possess information regarding our existence, and while you were very nearly killed in the attempted elimination of Kornos, there are a number of fail safes in place to prevent knowledge of the Genoharadan from leaking out that even we cannot stop. We only barely reached you in time.”

“But you didn’t finish Kornos. Why?”

“At this point, with Kornos on the run and easily tracked, not likely to come close to revealing our secret out of fear, it was decided to see if you would be able to pursue him. You were followed, of course, and once you had found him he was killed. Wallan Kornos was a cowardly being, and it was unwise for us to have allowed him to sell us arms, but we did require them.”

Theren frowned. “How did you know he’d be able to tell me? He might’ve died, and that would have been it.”

“That,” Xerill said, chuckling, “is a mystery for another day. Suffice to say, Genoharadan marksmen are unmatched. Now that you have found us, however, I believe that you desired something more than an explanation.”

“Like?”

“When we learned of your demotion, we were most displeased, yet believed we were resigned to our fate. You certainly have passed every test we have set before you, which suggested to us you were qualified to know of our existence – which in itself presented an interesting opportunity. We wish to rectify our mistake, and assume that you wish to do the same. Am I correct?”

“If by ‘rectify your mistake’, you mean fix this mess, yeah, you’re right. Kroth is commanding my ship, my fleet, and my protectorate, right now.”

“Excellent. The Genoharadan’s abilities extend beyond assassination; it should not be overly difficult to place you in a position that you will be able to take Kroth’s life yourself, and thus clear your name with whatever evidence he may possess. Unless you would not wish to dirty your hands in such a way?”

Theren dismissed the question with a wave of his hand.

“Most excellent. Now, we will insert you on his ship – your ship, the Zenith – at a known weakness on the Reign-class Star Destroyers above the ‘neck’, as it were, connecting the bridge and the main body of the ship. There is the matter of getting past the guards, which we must assume to be elite Legionnaires, and while difficult, this will not be –”

“You don’t have to worry about the guards,” Theren said. “I think Kroth will find that they aren’t as loyal to him as they would have thought.”

Xerill blinked his large, dark eyes, and then nodded curtly. “As you wish. The insertion, then, will be easily accomplished. However, I have one thing to ask of you, Mr. Gevel.”

“Anything.”

“When you reclaim your position as Governor of the Bastion Conclave, we have decided that it is time we of the Genoharadan moved closer to the core of the Empire – though not too close. We never move to a world on which we do not have a close association with the government. We have a number of allies on Byblos; if you would do us the favor of bringing this world into the fold of the Empire, ostensibly because they are an old Imperial world, I would be indebted.”

“I owe you that.”

Xerill nodded. “Good. I assume you are ready now?”

“Wait,” Theren said. “We can’t use my shuttle – Kroth already has a warrant out for it. And we need something with a hyperdrive –”

Xerill chuckled again. “No, I believe you will find that you will find that Kroth is already quite within reach.”

The Zenith
Dorthal

“Yes,” Admiral Kroth said, smiling. “That is precisely what I mean.”

The man before him looked flustered, even enshrouded in the blue haze of holograms. “You cannot do this! The Bastion Conclave even has a history of not conquering like this – you cannot simply park your fleet over a world like Dorthal and – and – take control!”

“Yet, that is precisely what I have done, Governor. I assure you, Gevel is somewhere on your world, and I will find him. If your forces stand in my way, they will be obliterated – I assure you, my Legionnaires are more than capable of handling them.”

The Governor’s eyes narrowed. “I’m sure they are.”



Theren stalked down the corridor, his footsteps echoing down the length of the hall. It seemed like the reverberating sound could have been heard a thousand miles away, but it didn’t matter now. It was too late. Too late to stop him, too late to stop himself. He had a blaster clenched in his hand, and was determinedly making his way towards the command office that had once been his.

That was still his. Kroth had taken away in seconds what Theren had worked for for years, in an act of cowardly assassination. It was like a child’s game of snakes and ladders; you roll the dice, and bide your time, but every so often, you hit a snake and found yourself a few rows down.

What Kroth seemed to have forgotten, was that what could be taken away in a minute could be taken back equally quickly. There were always ladders.

As Theren turned the corner, the door of the command office came into view, guarded by a pair of what appeared to be Legionnaires wearing black shoulder pauldrons, but which were really Conclave Executors. Elite, specially trained, genetically modified Yevetha – all of this, Kroth likely knew. They still had a few surprises in them, however.

Instead of attacking him or blocking his path, the Conclave Executors nodded in greeting to Theren as he passed them, opening the manual doors – the only such doors on the ship. It was a moment before Kroth noticed him. “Yes, move as many as you can into the Capitol Sector, that’s where – ah, excuse me, Captain. I seem to have… located our quarry.” Kroth pressed a button severing the connection before whomever he was speaking to could respond.

The two rivals locked eyes for a moment, both smiling confidently. “I do not know how it is that you managed to get here, Gevel,” Kroth said, “but it was a mistake.” The game was on; a battle of wits, as Kroth might have put it, and both of them knew it. One of them would leave the room alive, and it wouldn’t be decided by the fastest shooter.

Theren raised his blaster, pointing it at Kroth’s head. “I don’t think so.”

“Ah, Gevel, Gevel. Come now, you surprise me. If you fire that weapon, you will be killed, inevitably. Or worse. And I assure you, there is worse. And, if you do so, there’s only a chance you will hit me. I assume that you know what those guards are. You created them, after all. Somewhat disdainful, really, that you had to resort to aliens, but they are effective, doubtless. Let’s call them, shall we? Guards?”

“Yeah, I think that sounds like a great idea,” Theren said, and Kroth’s confidant smile faltered for only a second. Then, it was back, as the two Executors arrived in the room, stepping forward and unsheathing their claws.

“Now, please, take care of Mr. Gevel.”

The Executors started forward, but Theren, without turning, said, “Stay there, boys.”

Immediately, the two red-armored soldiers stopped. Kroth, staring at them madly, shouted, “Kill him! Do it now!” This time, the Executors did not move a muscle.

“As you can see, Admiral,” Theren said, “Not everyone can be brainwashed. You couldn’t order these two to pick up a fucking credit chip from the floor, now that I’ve given them orders.”

Kroth’s eyebrow twitched, and the two made eye contact for another tense moment. “I’ll hit this alarm, I swear it, Gevel. I can do it before you fire, if you don’t surrender.”

Theren smirked. “There’s no alarm on that desk, Kroth. The only alarms I need are the Executors.”

Kroth’s eyes blazed. “Well, then, it is a shootout. Perhaps you’ll be able to kill me. But if I get my hand on my holdout blaster before you hit me, it’ll be a toss up.”

“Don’t kid yourself, Kroth. I don’t keep weapons in this office – I’m a liberal. And there are no drawers in that desk – it’s solid Kashyyyk wood, so that it can be used as cover.”

“I could have installed a holdout blaster,” Kroth said, the smile gone.

“I doubt it. You’ve been too busy chasing me.”

Now, Kroth had definitely gone pale. “How do you know I don’t have a blaster at my belt?”

“You?” Theren chuckled. “You were born with a silver spoon in your mouth, Kroth. I would be surprised if you know how to shoot. Besides which, if you kill me, I assure you, these guards will kill you. If you reach for your communicator, they will kill you. And who, in this equation, has more to lose?”

Kroth took a deep breath, eying Theren contemptuously. “Checkmate, then. You’ve got me, Gevel; you win the game.” He exhaled, staring at the desk. Theren was surprised at how well he was handling it; Kroth seemed to be made of stronger stuff than he’d thought. “Allow me to ask one question, before you kill me.”

“Go ahead. Make it quick,” Theren added.

“What drives you, Gevel? How is it that a hundred times, you should have died or been left forgotten by history, yet you emerge victorious? You shouldn’t be in this office at all. It’s not ambition; you are one of the least ambitious officers I have ever had the misfortune of meeting.”

Theren snorted. “What drives me, Kroth, is that it’s not a game, and it’s never been a game. Making a difference – making a mark on history – is the only thing I have, the only thing I’ve ever had to hope for. It’s the only thing that matters to a man like me. To a… history teacher. A game only lasts for today, Kroth. But I’ve never thought about only the present.”

“I should have known.” Kroth chuckled, looking down sadly at his hands. “That is why you and I are so different, Gevel. But I always knew that it would come to this. The files that will exonerate you are in this computer. Full details of my association with the Genoharadan.”

Theren nodded. And then he killed him.