OOC NOTE: Despite appearances, this is not a takeover thread. It is a storyline thread. As such, please do not interfere unless I specifically give you permission to do so. Thank you. Now, on to the story...
Probably the largest alliance block in the galaxy not yet controlled by a major power – larger even than the League of Nations - was the Mutual Defense Alliance of the Maldrood Sector. Of course, naming it after the sector was a misnomer, since only one of the allied planets was actually in the sector. The planets themselves stretched from the Malrood Sector to the newly created Schutzstaffel Sector to the upper reaches of Hutt Space, creating a block that was nearly as powerful as the Confederation itself, except for two factors. The first was that the Alliance had no unified government but rather was a loose confederation of unaligned planets bound together for mutual protection and defense. The second was that this alliance was completely secret.
The planets of the MDA had come together in secret and forged their agreement. Only a few people knew exactly how many planets there were in the Alliance, and it was kept that way for a reason. Should any of these planets be attacked, it would be the bane of the attacker, for planetary forces would be coming out of the woodwork to strike at those responsible. There would be – or could be – potentially hundreds of ships and dozens of planets involved in the conflict before it was over. The best thing about the alliance is that the enemy would never know if it was facing all of the planets of the alliance or only a tithe of them. Uncertainty was their greatest weapon.
The trouble started over what most people thought was an insignificant planet, one that on its own was but a speck in the greater scheme of things. True, Colonel-General Wesley Vos had big plans for the planet. True, it was fairly wealthy. It was on the border of the newly-formed SS sector. But no one – no one – would have guessed that it was in fact part of this secret alliance. And despite the excellence of his intelligence people, particularly in the Kommandos, Wes had no inkling that anything at all was out of the ordinary.
At least, that was until the first raids hit. Initially he had thought it was simply a pirate group, like those with which he had been dealing for the past several months in Hutt Space. Were that the case, the problem would have been dealt with quickly and efficiently. After the attacks on Yuri and Li’eston, certain trade shipments from the SS Sector had been raided. A few ships would appear out of hyperspace, wreck the minimal escorts assigned to the shipment, and take what they wanted.
Of course, Wes immediately marked this up to pirates and increased his patrols. Two cruisers accompanied every shipment now, and the main fleet was prepared to move on a moment’s notice. And that led to the first real confrontation, and the discovery of the MDA.
SS Space
Somewhere between Yuri and Centares
The nature of hyperspace was such that piloting through it was difficult at best and deadly at worst. Often a trip could only be made by making several jumps in the middle of the trip to keep the craft on course. Such was the case with the small convoy of expensive gases being shipped from the refining facilities on Yuri to the newly constructed trade center on Centares. Several old Star Galleons and a few newer transport craft carried the gas, compressed and loaded into containers. Due to the outdated nature of the Star Galleons’ nav computers, this jump was taking longer to compute than normal.
On the bridge of the Curiassier-class cruiser Nebulous, Captain Bradby chafed at the delay. He was anxious to be on his way, especially with the reported increase in pirate activity recently. Of course, his ship was top-of-the-line and part of the SS fleet proper, so he had few worries about pirates. He hadn’t met a group yet that could touch his ship. And to top it off, he had the Druid-class cruiser Thunderer, commanded by Captain Middleton, and several smaller ships under his command. The show of force should intimidate any would-be attackers.
Captain Bradby was a decent officer. His men liked him, though he was not what could be called a popular captain. He wasn’t one to fraternize with the men, though they knew him well enough and were proud to fight under his command. Standing at 1.8 meters, he was well-built, though not overly so. His blonde hair, supposed to be kept short, was contained in a long ponytail that reached nearly the middle of his back. No one was quite sure how he got away with being out of regulation, but somehow he did.
Perhaps it was that the ponytail fit his personality; he was generally laid back, calm and easy even under heavy enemy fire. He never ran from danger, but didn’t needlessly commit himself either. He fought when he had a good chance of winning, and so had never yet lost a fight. The ship’s crew, as crews are apt to do, began to have the superstitious belief that he was untouchable, blessed by something beyond the realms of the known. Bradby, of course, denied any such connection to the other side, but did not work especially hard to discourage the men from believing it. Such beliefs always helped morale.
His cruiser was without doubt the best in the SS fleet. Kept spotless, she ran slightly faster than the other Curiassier, the Xaloc, and her gunnery crew was twice as good. Her officers were some of the best, and Bradby trained his men relentlessly. At the last Navy-SS wargames, the Curiassier had done the best of any cruiser and had even taken out an Aurora and an Eternal Star Destroyer. The captain assumed that this opportunity for an independent command was due to this achievement; Admiral Typton knew that he could handle anything those pirates threw at them. Still, there had been no activity on the last two stopping points, and as the Star Galleons completed their calculations, it didn’t seem there would be any at this one either.
And then it happened. As Bradby stared out the viewport at his small fleet, feeling quite confident and even proud, flashes of light began to appear. A lieutenant called out from behind him, “Sir, incoming vessels, unidentified. They’re not sending any known transponder signals, Sir; they’re certainly not Confederation or Imperial.”
Bradby smiled. “This is it, then.” He turned smartly and flipped on the inter-fleet comm. “All commanders, be advised, we have incoming. Pirates at two o’clock from my position. Form on me – we’ll take these nerf-herders head on.”
The ships moved into position as quickly as possible, the Fire-class frigates taking up the position of skirmishers, with the larger craft – two Stalwart Frigates, the Thunderer, and the Nebulous – taking positions behind. They moved forward quickly, placing themselves between the pirates and the cargo fleet they were charged with protecting.
Bradby glanced over at his tactical command. “Do we have readings on the enemy ships, yet?” he asked, for the ships were not yet close enough to discern shape or type.
The 1st Lieutenant of the Nebulous replied, “Sir, there must be some mistake. These aren’t typical pirate vessels.”
Bradby’s smile faded as he looked at the tactical display screen. A glance out the viewport confirmed his fears. The ‘pirate fleet’ consisted of two ISD-II’s, an MC-90, four Carrack-class Cruisers, and two Assault Frigates. “What in the…” he began, then a chill ran through him. Something was very wrong here. Very wrong.
He glanced at the strategic map and saw the transports still holding their positions. He flipped the comm quickly to their channel and said, “Get out of here as soon as you can! We’ll hold them until you’ve made the jump. Head for Centares. If we don’t get through, tell Admiral Typton that these aren’t pirates. I’m uploading the data from our computers – you should have it by the time you jump. Give it to him. Now go!”
The nav crews on the Star Galleons redoubled their efforts even as Bradby turned his full attention back to the battle. Chin high, he watched as the first turbolaser bolts lit the vast darkness of space. The battle was on.
Centares
The transports dropped out of hyperspace, unescorted, and the commander of the planet’s defense fleet knew something was wrong. He had been told that several ships from the SS fleet proper would be accompanying this shipment, yet there were no warships. Then the comm beeped, and he received the message. The transports had remained at the scene long enough to see the Thunderer beginning to explode and, in a desperate act, ramming itself into one of the Star Destroyers, producing a tremendous explosion that disintegrated both craft.
“It was incredible, brave but tragic at the same time,” he said. “I didn’t know Captain Middleton well, but we had met on a few occasions. He was still a boy, really, only in his twenties, yet he knew his duty. An incredible sacrifice,” he repeated.
The commander of the Centares fleet asked about the other warships, and the man replied, “Well, when we left the Nebulous was still holding her own. Her reputation in the SS fleet was well-earned, certainly. But her shields were beginning to fail, and she had taken some damage. I don’t think she could have made it. A few of the Fire-class frigates might have made it, and I think one of the Stalwarts could hold. But we weren’t around long enough to see the conclusion of the battle.”
The commander, a man by the name of Captain Stapleton, sat back and pondered the situation. Of course, the information had to be sent to Admiral Typton and Colonel-General Vos; they would want to know as soon as possible of the loss. But the fact that this so-called pirate fleet was so large, and had the composition it did, worried him. After a moment’s silence, Stapleton focused on the transport’s captain again. “Did you receive the package from the Nebulous before you jumped?”
“Yes. The entire package was uploaded. We’re still in the process of downloading it onto a mobile unit, and we’re adding our own readings to it.”
Stapleton nodded. “Very good. I’ll expect those readouts as soon as possible. I’ll take care of sending them on. You did well, Captain, and the Imperial Navy thanks you.” With that, the captain was dismissed, and Stapleton went back to his brooding. He, too, had known Captain Middleton; in fact, Middleton had been his 1st Lieutenant when he was commander of the Thunderer, not that long ago. He had been upset when Admiral Typton recommended him for transfer out of the SS fleet into command of the Centares Auxiliary Fleet. His anger had been alleviated somewhat when Typton had explained that, while he would technically be under the command of Moff Zhukov, the fleet was named an auxiliary fleet and not a defense fleet so that, if necessary, Typton and Vos could take command of it. To do so, though, they needed good officers in charge, and Stapleton was one of those officers.
That had left the young Lt. Middleton in charge of the Thunderer. He was a good officer, quickly promoted to captain. And he had been a friend. Now he was dead. The shock hit him hard then, and Stapleton slouched back in his chair. They’ll pay for this, he thought. They’re gonna wish they’d never been born.
In’chion
For a recently captured planet, thought Colonel-General Wesley Vos, In’chion has certainly made vast strides. The planet had been captured only a month before by Commander Jarred Smith, one of Selere’s Kommandos. Selere – and, by extension, Wes – was beginning to rely on the young Commander more and more. He had the makings of a fine leader, though something under the surface scared Wes. There was something dark there, something hidden, and Wes didn’t like that. Still, the man could lead his squads with authority, and he did whatever was asked of him. That, Wes liked.
“Well, Commander,” he said to Jarred, who stood beside him on the bridge of the Tyrant, you did an excellent job here. Better than even I expected.”
The Commander’s face remained stoic as he replied, “Thank you, Sir. I was just carrying out my orders.”
Wes shook his head slightly. He was positive that the Imperials these days trained young officers not to take credit for their actions, even when they deserved to have loads of praise heaped upon their heads. “Commander, you entered this planetary system – which is a feat in itself, I must say – with only two divisions and your Commandos, bypassed the enemy fleet, captured the planet, captured the government intact, received the surrender of the entire fleet, and you call that simply your duty? That, Mr. Smith, is excellence.”
Jarred simply stood there, silently and stoically receiving praise, so Wes moved to another subject. “How are the improvements coming along?” he asked.
“Sir, the improvements are coming along nicely,” came the reply. “The shipyards are under construction now, though it took us a short time to get the materials in here. The planetary defenses are being upgraded, and a planetary shield is being installed. The larger asteroids and moons are being turned into fighter bases, and the smaller ones are having turbolasers, warhead launchers, and other such weaponry installed. In short, Sir, this place is becoming a fortress world. I’m not sure the entire Confederation fleet could force their way in here, so long as we have ships and men to defend it.”
Vos’s eyes lit up at the last sentence, for such was exactly what he had wanted. A world safe from a Confederation attack, a world that could withstand a determined assault or a siege, a world where his operations could be conducted in secret. Luckily, the Confederation knew nothing about this world, or its importance. Everything had been done in secret. The shipments had come at different times from different places, making use of every available route and method to throw off pursuit or even beacons. Somehow the Confederation was always able to predict where the SS was. Not this time. This was the best-kept secret in the area, if not in the Empire. Well, not in the Empire, for surely there were things more secret than this. But in Oversector Outer, no one knew about In’chion but those who were supposed to know.
“Good,” came Wes’s reply. “Let’s continue on that route, then, shall we?”
He was interrupted by Admiral Typton before he could continue. Typton had been in the dual role of captain of the Tyrant and commander of the SS fleet until recently. Wes had recommended him for promotion, a request that was quickly granted, and within a week Typton’s commission as a Rear Admiral had come through. He now only had the responsibility of the fleet, and had turned over command of the Tyrant to his former 1st Lieutenant, now Captain Pullings.
“Sir,” said Typton, “I just received a report from Centares. We have a problem.”
Centares
Having sent his report off to Admiral Typton at In’chion, Captain Stapleton returned to his brooding. Middleton’s loss was a tragedy. Of course, he would get some posthumous medal for his actions, perhaps even the Imperial Cross. But was it worth the loss of such a promising officer? Such a young life, snuffed out in its most promising years. All for the glory of the Empire. Gloria Imperium. He shook his head. It wasn’t good to be thinking like this – it wasn’t good at all.
If Middleton’s loss was bad, the loss of Captain Bradby was even worse. No one could deny that the thirty-one-year-old captain was the best in the fleet, ponytail and all. His grasp of tactics and strategy were incredible, and his ability to enter a fight in which he was vastly outnumbered and still pull out a victory was almost legendary. His first such feat had been as a lieutenant in command of a corvette; he’d taken on two enemy frigates and somehow still come out nearly unscathed. His commanders had seen that, of course, and had recommended him for a distinguished service medal – unlike Admiral Desaria, Bradby was not well-known enough to receive the Imperial Cross. Still, his exploits were legendary among the SS. That Curiassier, the Nebulous, had been with the SS fleet since its inception at Bothuwai, and had fought in every SS engagement since. It made the fact that it had been destroyed while on escort duty that much more ironic…and tragic.
Stapleton had barely know Bradby – they had only met in formal conditions or at officer’s meetings – but nevertheless he, like everyone else in the fleet, had heard of the Captain’s exploits. It was a shame to see such a commander go down while on escort duty. To have survived conflict with the Bothans, the Coalition, the Confederation, the Combined Fleet of Yuri/Li’eston, only to die on escort duty. It was a noble death, and a brave one, but the man was still dead. It didn’t make sense.
In’chion
Wes sat back in his command chair, stunned by the news. “Is there any pirate fleet that large?” he asked.
Typton pursed his lips. “Well, some of the larger organizations might be able to field such a fleet, but then that would have had to have been everything they could put out. The fleet that hit Echtabahn was slightly larger than that.”
Wes shook his head. “No, from what the prisoners from that fight tell us, there was something else going on there. They didn’t know what it was, but that was not just one group. Someone hired those ships to attack. If I had to guess, that was the work of the Confederation. This, though…this is something else.”
He stood and walked to the viewport, where he gazed out over In’chion. “No, this is no pirate fleet we’re dealing with. There was something, or someone, behind this attack, someone who doesn’t want to be known or discovered. Something smells, and I intend to find out what it is.” He stopped, staring at the planet recently conquered by his Kommandos, then spun on his heel. “Lieutenant Babbington. Send word to Commanders Thrahrn and Nayng, have them meet me on the bridge as soon as possible. We’re gonna find out who those ships belong to.”
Ajo Duodecimus
The crippled ISD-II hung above the planet, suspended there as though it were clinging to space. Repair crews in zero-G pressurized suits moved over her hull, directing repair vehicles and making fine-detail repairs where necessary. Surrounding the ship were several Carrack-class Cruisers and two Assault Frigates, as well as a few smaller corvettes and frigates. It appeared as though a large battle had taken place nearby, but all was calm now…at least on the outside.
On the inside, though, things were a bit tenser. A storm had been brewing for the past month or more, and it was about to explode in this little room. General Morath, standing at head of the conference table, sighed. Such is the nature of this pact, he thought to himself. For all the men and women gathered, each representing a planet, there were really three sides to this controversy. One side, led by Governor Walford, screamed for the immediate destruction of the Imperial SS and any other Imperial units that came near. Of course, he’d been screaming such threats for months now, and few people paid him mind anymore.
On the other side was Queen Pegasus – an interesting name, Morath had always thought. She held that the Mutual Defense Agreement should not be invoked as very little had been destroyed at Li’eston and Yuri and less at In’chion. The planets had been taken with their resources and fleets intact. Certainly, they were under Imperial control, but the planets were better off for it. Needless to say, the displaced representatives from Li’eston, Yuri, and In’chion did not side with her.
The third position was held by Morath, and so far it was the one they had followed. Raids designed to hurt their enemy had been organized, raids that would hide the identity of the planets involved. This most recent raid, though, had been a problem. The raiders had been met with greater force than usual, and these ships were much better. If Morath was guessing correctly, the SS had finally gotten serious and sent some of its own ships as escorts. It hadn’t been enough, but they had damaged the MDA fleet. What was worse, they might have been identified.
Now Walford was screaming for blood once again, and people were starting to listen. If he didn’t say something immediately, the argument would be lost. Clearing his throat, he slammed his fist down on the table, causing Walford to stop mid-sentence and stare at him. Eyes burning, Morath said, “Enough. You saw what just happened to one of our fleets when they went head-to-head with the SS. While we in the pact certainly outnumber them, they are much better fighters than we are. This was done by a cruiser and some frigates; imagine what their Imperators could do?”
Walford, silenced, sat down. He was the fire of the group, the man who had brought the planets of the MDA together in the first place. But his rhetoric was as stupid and idiotic as it was passionate. Morath, on the other hand, had become the voice of reason. People listened to him. So far, he had been able to keep the pact united, though nothing in the agreement required it. Each planet acted of his or her own free will, whether to fight, remain isolated, or to fight cautiously. But each knew that without the others they would swiftly be caught in the net of either the Empire or the Confederation, neither of which they were particularly happy with.
For now, they held together. How much longer such an alliance could last, well, that depended on the mental strength and willpower of the real leader, General Morath. And he was fighting a losing battle.
Probably the largest alliance block in the galaxy not yet controlled by a major power – larger even than the League of Nations - was the Mutual Defense Alliance of the Maldrood Sector. Of course, naming it after the sector was a misnomer, since only one of the allied planets was actually in the sector. The planets themselves stretched from the Malrood Sector to the newly created Schutzstaffel Sector to the upper reaches of Hutt Space, creating a block that was nearly as powerful as the Confederation itself, except for two factors. The first was that the Alliance had no unified government but rather was a loose confederation of unaligned planets bound together for mutual protection and defense. The second was that this alliance was completely secret.
The planets of the MDA had come together in secret and forged their agreement. Only a few people knew exactly how many planets there were in the Alliance, and it was kept that way for a reason. Should any of these planets be attacked, it would be the bane of the attacker, for planetary forces would be coming out of the woodwork to strike at those responsible. There would be – or could be – potentially hundreds of ships and dozens of planets involved in the conflict before it was over. The best thing about the alliance is that the enemy would never know if it was facing all of the planets of the alliance or only a tithe of them. Uncertainty was their greatest weapon.
The trouble started over what most people thought was an insignificant planet, one that on its own was but a speck in the greater scheme of things. True, Colonel-General Wesley Vos had big plans for the planet. True, it was fairly wealthy. It was on the border of the newly-formed SS sector. But no one – no one – would have guessed that it was in fact part of this secret alliance. And despite the excellence of his intelligence people, particularly in the Kommandos, Wes had no inkling that anything at all was out of the ordinary.
At least, that was until the first raids hit. Initially he had thought it was simply a pirate group, like those with which he had been dealing for the past several months in Hutt Space. Were that the case, the problem would have been dealt with quickly and efficiently. After the attacks on Yuri and Li’eston, certain trade shipments from the SS Sector had been raided. A few ships would appear out of hyperspace, wreck the minimal escorts assigned to the shipment, and take what they wanted.
Of course, Wes immediately marked this up to pirates and increased his patrols. Two cruisers accompanied every shipment now, and the main fleet was prepared to move on a moment’s notice. And that led to the first real confrontation, and the discovery of the MDA.
SS Space
Somewhere between Yuri and Centares
The nature of hyperspace was such that piloting through it was difficult at best and deadly at worst. Often a trip could only be made by making several jumps in the middle of the trip to keep the craft on course. Such was the case with the small convoy of expensive gases being shipped from the refining facilities on Yuri to the newly constructed trade center on Centares. Several old Star Galleons and a few newer transport craft carried the gas, compressed and loaded into containers. Due to the outdated nature of the Star Galleons’ nav computers, this jump was taking longer to compute than normal.
On the bridge of the Curiassier-class cruiser Nebulous, Captain Bradby chafed at the delay. He was anxious to be on his way, especially with the reported increase in pirate activity recently. Of course, his ship was top-of-the-line and part of the SS fleet proper, so he had few worries about pirates. He hadn’t met a group yet that could touch his ship. And to top it off, he had the Druid-class cruiser Thunderer, commanded by Captain Middleton, and several smaller ships under his command. The show of force should intimidate any would-be attackers.
Captain Bradby was a decent officer. His men liked him, though he was not what could be called a popular captain. He wasn’t one to fraternize with the men, though they knew him well enough and were proud to fight under his command. Standing at 1.8 meters, he was well-built, though not overly so. His blonde hair, supposed to be kept short, was contained in a long ponytail that reached nearly the middle of his back. No one was quite sure how he got away with being out of regulation, but somehow he did.
Perhaps it was that the ponytail fit his personality; he was generally laid back, calm and easy even under heavy enemy fire. He never ran from danger, but didn’t needlessly commit himself either. He fought when he had a good chance of winning, and so had never yet lost a fight. The ship’s crew, as crews are apt to do, began to have the superstitious belief that he was untouchable, blessed by something beyond the realms of the known. Bradby, of course, denied any such connection to the other side, but did not work especially hard to discourage the men from believing it. Such beliefs always helped morale.
His cruiser was without doubt the best in the SS fleet. Kept spotless, she ran slightly faster than the other Curiassier, the Xaloc, and her gunnery crew was twice as good. Her officers were some of the best, and Bradby trained his men relentlessly. At the last Navy-SS wargames, the Curiassier had done the best of any cruiser and had even taken out an Aurora and an Eternal Star Destroyer. The captain assumed that this opportunity for an independent command was due to this achievement; Admiral Typton knew that he could handle anything those pirates threw at them. Still, there had been no activity on the last two stopping points, and as the Star Galleons completed their calculations, it didn’t seem there would be any at this one either.
And then it happened. As Bradby stared out the viewport at his small fleet, feeling quite confident and even proud, flashes of light began to appear. A lieutenant called out from behind him, “Sir, incoming vessels, unidentified. They’re not sending any known transponder signals, Sir; they’re certainly not Confederation or Imperial.”
Bradby smiled. “This is it, then.” He turned smartly and flipped on the inter-fleet comm. “All commanders, be advised, we have incoming. Pirates at two o’clock from my position. Form on me – we’ll take these nerf-herders head on.”
The ships moved into position as quickly as possible, the Fire-class frigates taking up the position of skirmishers, with the larger craft – two Stalwart Frigates, the Thunderer, and the Nebulous – taking positions behind. They moved forward quickly, placing themselves between the pirates and the cargo fleet they were charged with protecting.
Bradby glanced over at his tactical command. “Do we have readings on the enemy ships, yet?” he asked, for the ships were not yet close enough to discern shape or type.
The 1st Lieutenant of the Nebulous replied, “Sir, there must be some mistake. These aren’t typical pirate vessels.”
Bradby’s smile faded as he looked at the tactical display screen. A glance out the viewport confirmed his fears. The ‘pirate fleet’ consisted of two ISD-II’s, an MC-90, four Carrack-class Cruisers, and two Assault Frigates. “What in the…” he began, then a chill ran through him. Something was very wrong here. Very wrong.
He glanced at the strategic map and saw the transports still holding their positions. He flipped the comm quickly to their channel and said, “Get out of here as soon as you can! We’ll hold them until you’ve made the jump. Head for Centares. If we don’t get through, tell Admiral Typton that these aren’t pirates. I’m uploading the data from our computers – you should have it by the time you jump. Give it to him. Now go!”
The nav crews on the Star Galleons redoubled their efforts even as Bradby turned his full attention back to the battle. Chin high, he watched as the first turbolaser bolts lit the vast darkness of space. The battle was on.
Centares
The transports dropped out of hyperspace, unescorted, and the commander of the planet’s defense fleet knew something was wrong. He had been told that several ships from the SS fleet proper would be accompanying this shipment, yet there were no warships. Then the comm beeped, and he received the message. The transports had remained at the scene long enough to see the Thunderer beginning to explode and, in a desperate act, ramming itself into one of the Star Destroyers, producing a tremendous explosion that disintegrated both craft.
“It was incredible, brave but tragic at the same time,” he said. “I didn’t know Captain Middleton well, but we had met on a few occasions. He was still a boy, really, only in his twenties, yet he knew his duty. An incredible sacrifice,” he repeated.
The commander of the Centares fleet asked about the other warships, and the man replied, “Well, when we left the Nebulous was still holding her own. Her reputation in the SS fleet was well-earned, certainly. But her shields were beginning to fail, and she had taken some damage. I don’t think she could have made it. A few of the Fire-class frigates might have made it, and I think one of the Stalwarts could hold. But we weren’t around long enough to see the conclusion of the battle.”
The commander, a man by the name of Captain Stapleton, sat back and pondered the situation. Of course, the information had to be sent to Admiral Typton and Colonel-General Vos; they would want to know as soon as possible of the loss. But the fact that this so-called pirate fleet was so large, and had the composition it did, worried him. After a moment’s silence, Stapleton focused on the transport’s captain again. “Did you receive the package from the Nebulous before you jumped?”
“Yes. The entire package was uploaded. We’re still in the process of downloading it onto a mobile unit, and we’re adding our own readings to it.”
Stapleton nodded. “Very good. I’ll expect those readouts as soon as possible. I’ll take care of sending them on. You did well, Captain, and the Imperial Navy thanks you.” With that, the captain was dismissed, and Stapleton went back to his brooding. He, too, had known Captain Middleton; in fact, Middleton had been his 1st Lieutenant when he was commander of the Thunderer, not that long ago. He had been upset when Admiral Typton recommended him for transfer out of the SS fleet into command of the Centares Auxiliary Fleet. His anger had been alleviated somewhat when Typton had explained that, while he would technically be under the command of Moff Zhukov, the fleet was named an auxiliary fleet and not a defense fleet so that, if necessary, Typton and Vos could take command of it. To do so, though, they needed good officers in charge, and Stapleton was one of those officers.
That had left the young Lt. Middleton in charge of the Thunderer. He was a good officer, quickly promoted to captain. And he had been a friend. Now he was dead. The shock hit him hard then, and Stapleton slouched back in his chair. They’ll pay for this, he thought. They’re gonna wish they’d never been born.
In’chion
For a recently captured planet, thought Colonel-General Wesley Vos, In’chion has certainly made vast strides. The planet had been captured only a month before by Commander Jarred Smith, one of Selere’s Kommandos. Selere – and, by extension, Wes – was beginning to rely on the young Commander more and more. He had the makings of a fine leader, though something under the surface scared Wes. There was something dark there, something hidden, and Wes didn’t like that. Still, the man could lead his squads with authority, and he did whatever was asked of him. That, Wes liked.
“Well, Commander,” he said to Jarred, who stood beside him on the bridge of the Tyrant, you did an excellent job here. Better than even I expected.”
The Commander’s face remained stoic as he replied, “Thank you, Sir. I was just carrying out my orders.”
Wes shook his head slightly. He was positive that the Imperials these days trained young officers not to take credit for their actions, even when they deserved to have loads of praise heaped upon their heads. “Commander, you entered this planetary system – which is a feat in itself, I must say – with only two divisions and your Commandos, bypassed the enemy fleet, captured the planet, captured the government intact, received the surrender of the entire fleet, and you call that simply your duty? That, Mr. Smith, is excellence.”
Jarred simply stood there, silently and stoically receiving praise, so Wes moved to another subject. “How are the improvements coming along?” he asked.
“Sir, the improvements are coming along nicely,” came the reply. “The shipyards are under construction now, though it took us a short time to get the materials in here. The planetary defenses are being upgraded, and a planetary shield is being installed. The larger asteroids and moons are being turned into fighter bases, and the smaller ones are having turbolasers, warhead launchers, and other such weaponry installed. In short, Sir, this place is becoming a fortress world. I’m not sure the entire Confederation fleet could force their way in here, so long as we have ships and men to defend it.”
Vos’s eyes lit up at the last sentence, for such was exactly what he had wanted. A world safe from a Confederation attack, a world that could withstand a determined assault or a siege, a world where his operations could be conducted in secret. Luckily, the Confederation knew nothing about this world, or its importance. Everything had been done in secret. The shipments had come at different times from different places, making use of every available route and method to throw off pursuit or even beacons. Somehow the Confederation was always able to predict where the SS was. Not this time. This was the best-kept secret in the area, if not in the Empire. Well, not in the Empire, for surely there were things more secret than this. But in Oversector Outer, no one knew about In’chion but those who were supposed to know.
“Good,” came Wes’s reply. “Let’s continue on that route, then, shall we?”
He was interrupted by Admiral Typton before he could continue. Typton had been in the dual role of captain of the Tyrant and commander of the SS fleet until recently. Wes had recommended him for promotion, a request that was quickly granted, and within a week Typton’s commission as a Rear Admiral had come through. He now only had the responsibility of the fleet, and had turned over command of the Tyrant to his former 1st Lieutenant, now Captain Pullings.
“Sir,” said Typton, “I just received a report from Centares. We have a problem.”
Centares
Having sent his report off to Admiral Typton at In’chion, Captain Stapleton returned to his brooding. Middleton’s loss was a tragedy. Of course, he would get some posthumous medal for his actions, perhaps even the Imperial Cross. But was it worth the loss of such a promising officer? Such a young life, snuffed out in its most promising years. All for the glory of the Empire. Gloria Imperium. He shook his head. It wasn’t good to be thinking like this – it wasn’t good at all.
If Middleton’s loss was bad, the loss of Captain Bradby was even worse. No one could deny that the thirty-one-year-old captain was the best in the fleet, ponytail and all. His grasp of tactics and strategy were incredible, and his ability to enter a fight in which he was vastly outnumbered and still pull out a victory was almost legendary. His first such feat had been as a lieutenant in command of a corvette; he’d taken on two enemy frigates and somehow still come out nearly unscathed. His commanders had seen that, of course, and had recommended him for a distinguished service medal – unlike Admiral Desaria, Bradby was not well-known enough to receive the Imperial Cross. Still, his exploits were legendary among the SS. That Curiassier, the Nebulous, had been with the SS fleet since its inception at Bothuwai, and had fought in every SS engagement since. It made the fact that it had been destroyed while on escort duty that much more ironic…and tragic.
Stapleton had barely know Bradby – they had only met in formal conditions or at officer’s meetings – but nevertheless he, like everyone else in the fleet, had heard of the Captain’s exploits. It was a shame to see such a commander go down while on escort duty. To have survived conflict with the Bothans, the Coalition, the Confederation, the Combined Fleet of Yuri/Li’eston, only to die on escort duty. It was a noble death, and a brave one, but the man was still dead. It didn’t make sense.
In’chion
Wes sat back in his command chair, stunned by the news. “Is there any pirate fleet that large?” he asked.
Typton pursed his lips. “Well, some of the larger organizations might be able to field such a fleet, but then that would have had to have been everything they could put out. The fleet that hit Echtabahn was slightly larger than that.”
Wes shook his head. “No, from what the prisoners from that fight tell us, there was something else going on there. They didn’t know what it was, but that was not just one group. Someone hired those ships to attack. If I had to guess, that was the work of the Confederation. This, though…this is something else.”
He stood and walked to the viewport, where he gazed out over In’chion. “No, this is no pirate fleet we’re dealing with. There was something, or someone, behind this attack, someone who doesn’t want to be known or discovered. Something smells, and I intend to find out what it is.” He stopped, staring at the planet recently conquered by his Kommandos, then spun on his heel. “Lieutenant Babbington. Send word to Commanders Thrahrn and Nayng, have them meet me on the bridge as soon as possible. We’re gonna find out who those ships belong to.”
Ajo Duodecimus
The crippled ISD-II hung above the planet, suspended there as though it were clinging to space. Repair crews in zero-G pressurized suits moved over her hull, directing repair vehicles and making fine-detail repairs where necessary. Surrounding the ship were several Carrack-class Cruisers and two Assault Frigates, as well as a few smaller corvettes and frigates. It appeared as though a large battle had taken place nearby, but all was calm now…at least on the outside.
On the inside, though, things were a bit tenser. A storm had been brewing for the past month or more, and it was about to explode in this little room. General Morath, standing at head of the conference table, sighed. Such is the nature of this pact, he thought to himself. For all the men and women gathered, each representing a planet, there were really three sides to this controversy. One side, led by Governor Walford, screamed for the immediate destruction of the Imperial SS and any other Imperial units that came near. Of course, he’d been screaming such threats for months now, and few people paid him mind anymore.
On the other side was Queen Pegasus – an interesting name, Morath had always thought. She held that the Mutual Defense Agreement should not be invoked as very little had been destroyed at Li’eston and Yuri and less at In’chion. The planets had been taken with their resources and fleets intact. Certainly, they were under Imperial control, but the planets were better off for it. Needless to say, the displaced representatives from Li’eston, Yuri, and In’chion did not side with her.
The third position was held by Morath, and so far it was the one they had followed. Raids designed to hurt their enemy had been organized, raids that would hide the identity of the planets involved. This most recent raid, though, had been a problem. The raiders had been met with greater force than usual, and these ships were much better. If Morath was guessing correctly, the SS had finally gotten serious and sent some of its own ships as escorts. It hadn’t been enough, but they had damaged the MDA fleet. What was worse, they might have been identified.
Now Walford was screaming for blood once again, and people were starting to listen. If he didn’t say something immediately, the argument would be lost. Clearing his throat, he slammed his fist down on the table, causing Walford to stop mid-sentence and stare at him. Eyes burning, Morath said, “Enough. You saw what just happened to one of our fleets when they went head-to-head with the SS. While we in the pact certainly outnumber them, they are much better fighters than we are. This was done by a cruiser and some frigates; imagine what their Imperators could do?”
Walford, silenced, sat down. He was the fire of the group, the man who had brought the planets of the MDA together in the first place. But his rhetoric was as stupid and idiotic as it was passionate. Morath, on the other hand, had become the voice of reason. People listened to him. So far, he had been able to keep the pact united, though nothing in the agreement required it. Each planet acted of his or her own free will, whether to fight, remain isolated, or to fight cautiously. But each knew that without the others they would swiftly be caught in the net of either the Empire or the Confederation, neither of which they were particularly happy with.
For now, they held together. How much longer such an alliance could last, well, that depended on the mental strength and willpower of the real leader, General Morath. And he was fighting a losing battle.