The night was warm for Imperial Center. It was a night like many others in the middle months of the Coruscanti year, a night when the opening of an office window allowed in a flood of sounds and of colors. An entire Empire was alive, prosperity echoing from every corner of the Regent’s dominion. Ten thousand worlds swore fealty to the cause of Order of Justice, while everywhere those who would defile the righteousness of that aim fled as light eclipsed darkness. The Rebellion had been crushed and those who sat as pretenders on smashed thrones sat cautiously, for all knew they time went on only at the pleasure of the Empire.


Baron Telan Desaria stood on the ledge outside his new officer, his hands pressed down on the stone balcony. Over a hundred levels down the pyramidal side of Imperial High Command, he could make out figures in the duracrete courtyard milling to and fro. Glancing up he could see the spires that made Coruscant so famous, the tallest of them the Sienar Fleet Systems tower. He watched hovercraft and repulsorlift vehicles join and seceded from endless streams of traffic outside the restricted zone, he watched a pair of passing TIE Defenders wiggle their wings at his unfurled flag from the ledge. Now was an excellent time to be an Imperial.


The Baron moved a gloved hand from the stone and to the new insignia stitched onto his black great-coat. He ran his fingers over the gold and silver lacing that gave face to his new rank as one of the most prominent tacticians in the Empire. He was a Grand Admiral, the culmination of his life’s ambition. He remembered seeing the tear-swollen eyes of his father and mother, though both now very old were no less cognizant of all that surrounded them and no less proud.


Indeed it was an excellent time to be an Imperial citizen for the Golden Age of Empire had dawned. Grand Admiral Desaria however, did not feel like he was one of the most powerful naval officers in the galaxy. Turning around, he cast his back to the celebratory atmosphere of Imperial City and sat at his desk. His great coat open, exposing his Imperial Cross and pristine white uniform, he poured over a missive sent from Colonel Albemar, commander of the 20th Regiment of the Guard.


…Grand Admiral, I on behalf of my command do beseech you and those who benevolently rule our Empire to find us a lodging and outlet for the talents we have honed on so many fields. We feel that to sit idly by is to torment and even insult the memory of so many friends whose blood coats so many fields upon which we have trodden. We have fought and bled for the Empire and never asked for any reward, such is the mantle we have assumed to call ourselves Soldiers of the Imperial Guard. But though we are proud to have brought Glory to the People, we cannot help but want for that which has made us proud – Battle. To you our Leader and Commander we implore – let us wage that which we once could with so great an endurance and so hearty a laugh – and if we cannot bring any more Glory to the Altar of the Regent then release us from our Oaths so that we may die with Honour in tact.

- Colonel Tragg Albemar


Desaria let the holo-plast fall to his desk, and he sat back with a furrowed brow. He was the Supreme Command of the Imperial Guard and his men needed him. Morale was plummeting as the men sat useless in billets as exotic as he could make. Even the garrison on Ceti Ali Drell was unhappy, and that was the most beautiful resort world within the borders of the Empire.


The Grand Admiral stood and removed his coat, placing it in a heap atop an antique chair. His gold-braided epaulettes reflected so much light from the emerald-shaded lamp on his desk, and there as he paced he set for himself a goal. He was now one of the highest ranking men in the whole of the Empire and he did not have to want to do something for the benefit of his men and in that, the Greater Glory of the Empire – he could do it.


And do it I shall…

Night passed into day in the skies over Imperial Center. The week-long Reichtaggen had finally subsided leaving an army of droids and work-release prisoners in the streets to clear the wreckage from eight days of constant celebration. Streamers were finally being taken down, the messages scrawled across countless digital billboards taking on their predatory stance once more an all the hapless consumers who would pass.


The sound of fireworks still echoed in the ears of Grand Admiral Desaria, alone in his expansive Palace-office. Memory of the incessant booming made him shiver – he wondered how many poor artillerists were scattered throughout the area now suffering from flashbacks they had not had the day before. Standing, he moved from behind his desk and filled a glass from a nearby stand with an amber fluid he was very fond of – hathis tea. A cooled drink, he had taken the place of countless caf pots he would have consumed otherwise to aide a swift and painless transition from a long night into an unforgiving day.


Desaria strolled over to the double doors and stepped out onto the balcony. The sun thankfully rose on the opposite side of the Palace so his eyes had not to battle with the light Coruscant’s sun now bathed Imperial City in. He looked down to see a lumbering transport from Arakyd Industries unloading a new contingent into the droid-army. He paused to think as he sipped. There was little doubt in his mind that most of those who took part in the concluded festivities had no idea what it is they celebrated. They may call themselves Imperial and live under the blanket of freedom and security provided by the Empire’s military machine, they knew little of the sacrifices made every day to ensure their way of life.


The Grand Admiral placed his cup on a stand near the door and stepped out further, placing his hands on the cold stone of the railing. In a sense, he rationed, ignorance was indeed bliss. To achieve any measure of true peace it had to be weighed against the extreme alternative, that being the most horrific types of battles in a war where honour was a word echoed in reference only to a forgotten past. Desaria remembered too many campaigns where an enemy had forced his hand – they had murdered wounded soldiers, non combatants, civilian medical personnel, and innocents caught in the cross fire. He had reacted in kind, not restraining his men in the vengeance they exacted.


For that I alone shall bear the burden when call to count before the Retribution of the Gods.


“ Grand Admiral.”


Desaria removed himself from the windswept ledge and listened to the sound of a female assigned to be his civilian secretary. He was not totally…pleased…with her as she was firstly a civilian totally unversed in military affairs and secondly seemed chosen by Grand Marshal Kaine based on the beauty of her physique over any inherent ability. The Grand Admiral made a note to return the favor – which was doubtless a friendly joke – by assigning the most physically appealing soldier of his protective Guard detail to the Supreme Commander’s entourage.


“ Sir, Marshal Murat is here to see you.”


“ Send him in…”

“ They did what?!?!?”


The confused tone to the Grand Admiral’s voice was not rehearsed – indeed, he almost wish it was. The news would have been welcome had it only been a report on a drill, or some sort of scenario. Instead, the words spoken by the most plump yet without doubt most friendly of the Marshals of the Empire were fact.


“ The two Destroyers and a frigate from the escort survived but were heavily damaged. We lost thirty-seven transports captured, and another eighteen destroyed. Four more frigates and a light cruiser were lost – about thirty fighters too. I was expecting the supplies at Gyndine – we’re staging for an assault on Saki.”


Desaria shook his head and steepled his fingers. “ So you’re the one plotting the invasion of Hutt Space.”


“ No,” the larger officer said, running a hand through thinning grey hair. “ That would be Marshal Serurier. We all know that when we find the BDE at our battlements we are going to want a better strategic position than we have now. It is ripe for the picking.”


“ Indeed.” Silence passed between the two men for a scant few seconds – Desaria learned forward. “ BlakDrag funded?”


Murat barked a laugh. “ I’m not stupid enough to bet against such a possibility – but no direct BDE presence – at least not that we can tell. If anything, they are deep under cover and running so quiet that most of their senior command wouldn’t know of any deployed ‘advisors.’”


“ Marshal, do you have any room in your plan for an expansion of your assault force?”


“ Always – we are also trying to find a Naval contingent.”


The Grand Admiral stood, a smile on his face. “ You’re not trying anymore, marshal - -you’ve found it. The Guard is at your disposal.”

There was no ceremony as twelve Imperial Star Destroyers of various classes slipped from refueling berths above the capital world. A small flotilla of escorts filled in the ranks around the titan battleships, and some transports slowed to watch the always impressive sight of a war fleet coming into formation. Some civilian craft were quickly moved aside by flights of TIE Defenders on patrol.


The event of a Fleet leaving its port was often a somber event for while propaganda foretold of great glories heaped upon the Empire and its citizenry, it was that very citizenry which knew the truth – not all of the men in the hulls of the battleships would return. Even perfect campaigns suffer from the trials of battle – exploding consoles, lost TIEs, overloaded turbolaser batteries – all carried a price in blood and every man on the roster of the fallen had a mother, a father, and often children.


Grand Admiral Desaria stood in the bridge of the mighty Suvarov, hands clasped at the small of his back in an all-too practiced maneuver. His form looking forward beyond the cluttered space above Coruscant, he conveyed a paragonal image of clarity and soldierly bearing. What his gallant bridge crew officers could not see was the solitary trail of tears that had let itself free from the confines of his right eye. He knew that men would die and he would never shirk from his responsibility, and as a Grand Admiral he knew he would have to remain even more stoic than ever. And so he would – this, now, on the moment of their departure, was his silent vigil to the men he would never get to thank by name.


Corsucant Control gave the all clear and the First, Second, and Third Squadrons of the Imperial Guard vanished into hyperspace. They would rendezvous with the armada of transports under the command of Marshal Murat somewhere near Gyndine – then the Guard would go into action.


Glory awaits our Banner, death awaits our enemies. Let us make our people proud.



- -


Squadron I – Graf von Toltz
Reign-class Star Destroyer Suvarov
Imperial-class Star Destroyer Majestic
Imperial-class Star Destroyer Indomitable
Victory-class Star Destroyer Conflagration
-x2 Light Cruisers
-x4 Fire-class Light Frigates
-x2 Constrainer-class Interdiction Picket

Squadron II – Petropavlovsk
Reign- class Star Destroyer Anariah
Imperial-class Star Destroyer Victorious
Imperial-class Star Destroyer Night Stalker
Victory-class Star Destroyer Imperium
-x2 HCLC
-x4 FCLF
-x2 Rapier II-class Gunships

Squadron III -
Reign- class Star Destroyer Justice
Imperial-class Star Destroyer Glorious
Imperial-class Star Destroyer Kolatheron
Victory-class Star Destroyer Archduke Vallinn
-x2 HCLC
-x4 FCLF
-x1 Rapier-class Gunship

The clamor of the ceremony filled the halls of the Imperial Palace. A hundred thousand gathered soldiers and civilians, family members and friends, sat stood and leaned, each one trying to see the next man called forth by the Regent himself. Two of the prestigious Imperial Crosses had been awarded already, another one slated to be so later on in the proceeding. Altogether, nearly a hundred officers would be decorated before the commencement and susequent stunt-show by the 1887th Imperial Fighter Squadron.


Walking far below the jubilant families and scheming politicians with fake greetings and accolades on their tongues, strode a man of short stature but thick and firm build. Ferrocrete arches that supported the weight of the masses above seemed far away from his closely trimmed black hair, his amber eyes piercing the distance the arch-mounted glow panels failed to illuminate. He made a right turn and escaped the confines of the indoor stadium, finally at his destination: the vehicle hangar.


Swiping his ID across a reflective plate, a droid hummed to life and presented itself in lighting barely brighter than the hallway. The short man hopped onto the flattened platform at its rear and entered the coordinates nearby which his own speeder was parked. The droid chittered a thanks and rushes away. The man rubbed his ungloved left hand over the bridge of his nose, then started to look down, but his eyes caught his own reflection in the shiny dome of the droid's head. He was not an old man in terms of solar rotations, but his eyes had seen things many other men would not in four times' his own elapses years. The lines of age working themselves from the corners of his eyes and across his forehead looked distinctly out of place - however, when one factored in the man's allegiance, the lines were not so mysterious anymore. On his head was a black forage cap, on his back a black tunic, on his legs, black jodphurs. He was an officer of Imperial Intelligence. The rank plaque on his chest signified a Major.


The droid hummed it way towards a carefully polished Ubikkian GG-9, one of the sleek winged models so popular these days on Chandrilla. Wordlessly, the man abandoned the stopped droid and entered his speeder in a quick motion.


" Welcome back. You have an urgent message," reported the monotone voice of the droid's internal computer. Reminding himself to buy a personality chip, the man keyed up his message and played it.


From the Office of the Personnel


Aldair Meicomp - Report immediately to the Citadel. The Grand Inquisitor awaits you without delay.


Short and far from sweet, the man thought. He had no time to celebrate the new medal that had been awarded him - the Tyrollean Crest - in a very clandestine ceremony in the company of fellow Intelligence operatives. Nor did he honestly expect any. Pressing several buttons, the barely-used engine came to life and he revved it in a clear violation of Palace rules. He smiled, and slipped his speeder from the berth, and headed back to work.

Space was a realm of darkness, an ethereal plane punctuated by the occasional star, solar system, or celestial mass. Taken in by the eye of a humanoid or other sentient creature, they wove an intricate fabric inside the barriers presented by the Galaxy. Viewed together by whatever Beings ruled from Beyond they were insignificant and separated, each one regardless of size a small piece of a much larger puzzle. As his flagship reverted to realspace, Grand Admiral Desaria wondered what the Gods would think looking down on the events that would soon unfold and chastise its participants for being so singularly minded. He smiled for a moment – he was becoming philosophic in his new position.


“ Admiral – all ships have completed reversion and are making final adjustments to the formation. All vessels accounted for.”


“ Excellent. Comm – broadcast the message.


“ Aye sir.”


Attention – Attention. This is System has been annexed by the Galactic Empire. Until such time as deemed by the Sector Moff, Martial Law is in effect. A one-week amnesty will be granted starting immediately during which time all weapons, spice, stim, and other contraband may be turned in without reprisal or question. Until noted by Naval command, no vessel will be permitted to depart the system. Any attempt to do so will be interdicted. Copies of Imperial Law may be obtained at any garrison or military or civilian installation herein.

Civilian authorities currently in place will remain in a position of authority inasmuch as they do not run divergent from Imperial aims. Civilians themselves will be granted Imperial Colonial Citizenship until such time as they see fit to apply for full Citizenship.

Resistance will be met with force and eliminated. Any insurgence against Imperial personnel will be met with the severest of consequences. Gloria Imperium.


Desaria listened to the message play in Basic, though he knew that it was being transmitted in over a thousand languages and countless other dialects. He knew that they would hear the warning, dismiss it, and run. He turned from the viewports and relaxed into his command chair.


“ Captain Vorran – give me a full sensor sweep of the system.”


“ Approximately three hundred ships of all classes, the largest of which is a Siener Fierra-class Tanker: 900-meters and unarmed. No warships as such are in range, though the likeliness that those ships are heavily armed is extreme.”


“ Admiral – we have a group ships moving off on an out-bound course for one of twelve orbital jump-points. Seven freighters and a few small hybrid fighters.”


The first of the defiant dead. “ Squadron II is to dispatch a cruiser to intercept.”


Cylindrical in form with a bulbous drive section and flat triangular bow, the Hammer-class Light Cruiser was the mainstay light cruiser in the Imperial Fleet, having been the latest incarnation to replace the nearly century-old design of the Carrack-class. The Razorback peeled off from the extreme left flank of the broad cone of ships and positioned itself in the path of the fleeing ships. The odd orbital tract of Saki’s six moons allowed for only twelve hyperlanes leading from the world itself, each of those far separated.


“ They are approaching, sir. Admiral – the lead ship had launched six concussion missiles at the Razorback!”


“ Comm: to all ships – return fire authorized. Lieutenant – Razorback is to destroy all of the oncoming ships that do not power down immediately.”


The Hammer received its orders and retransmitted the demand that all vessels power down their engines and prepare to be boarded. As was expected, none replied and none acquiesced all the while the range counter ticked off a hundred meters at a time. The ship’s captain issued the single command to his gunnery officer and the bow defensive-bank opened fire. Consisting of six laser-gatlings, the defensive bank was a decisively potent weapon against fighters and smaller ships, all of which the transgressors were. Darts of red energy pounded into their shields, collapsing them in short order. Armor boiled off and fuel supplies exploded. A disc-shaped Corellian design tore itself as the bow broke off, the drive engines still at full power and stabbing into the heart of the small transport.


“ Four ships destroyed. The two remaining ships are reversing course for the planet. Razorback is requesting permission to pursue.”


“ Denied,” the Grand Admiral replied, turning to his flag-captain. “ There will be plenty of time for that. Captain Vorran - - dismiss the Fleet into Squadrons. We will remain in station and secure a path for the Army. Squadron II will assume a north-polar position and assume command over that sector; Squadron III will cover the southern hemisphere. Send word to Marshal Murat – he may bring his troops into the system. We will make his landing area secure.”


“ Yes sir!” the middle-aged Balmorran replied with a slight hint of euphoria in his words. He may have been a trained Naval officer, but Vorran like the rest of the men in the Guard, from the mess-hall clerks to the turbolaser gunners, longed for action. Now they had it.

Coruscant



The Imperial Citadel had been designed by some of the most prolific architects in the employ of the Inquisitoriate. With the goal of conveying awe, sheer power, and intimidation, they set to work. In under four months they had designed and six months later they had built a structure second on Coruscant only to the Palace in size. A mighty pentagon with sloped sides it was, a quintet of towers rising from each corner of the top. At their center was a single tower much thicker than the others, this one rising taller than the base – indeed, the tower alone was taller than any other structure within a hundred kilometers. To the eyes of some it appeared as if a spear had been shoved through a mailed fist: regardless of the perception, it was a titanic construct. Nothing less would have suited the combined lust of the Inquisitoriate, Imperial Intelligence, ISB, and COMPNOR.


Many a man had fallen prey to its intimidating façade and had he not approached it a thousand times over, Major Meicomp might have as well. Since he had, he calmly took in hand a copy of the morning news on his pad and waited while the shuttle completed its flight. If I had simply taken my ‘lift, I would be here by now. But I the last thing I want is more ridicule on my color selection. He laughed to himself, wondering silently if he had chosen such an odd scheme simply to annoy his peers…


The shuttle did eventually land and through the Citadel he strode. A central spine of lift-tubes ran through the building from the far reaching sublevels to the primary spire and, as was usual with that time of day, Meicomp had to wait while more senior officers took individual lifts to their destination instead of crowding in with a dozen comrades. Eventually he did arrive at the office of the High Inquisitor himself as summoned. One glance at the chrono on a nearby desk informed him of his luck that day for he still had three minutes to spare.


“ You may enter.”


Meicomp ignored the male adjutant and stepped into the chambers of one of the most powerful men in the Empire – and declaredly one of the most ruthless, efficient, and lethal. “ Your Grace, I am Major Aldair Meicomp. You summoned me.”

“ Indeed I did,” replied the seated figure of the head of the Inquisitoriate-Proper as he rotated to face fully the arrived officer. The man stood. “ You have lived a privileged life, Meicomp: the Gods have been kind. You have survived more field operations than all but a handful of agents in Imperial history. You are highly decorated and as all your superiors agree remarkably successful.”


“ I am honoured you have noticed, Your Grace.”


The Viscount Ierin del Forza stood a tinge of light reflecting from the copious quantity of gel used in his short but styled black hair. Emerald eyes burned into whatever fell into their path. He was a man of moderate height with the look that a rug-ball player’s strong body lay underneath his crimson and black uniform.


“ I am sure you are.” The High Inquisitor wasted no time, handing a pad to the standing officer. “ Do you know this man?”


Meicomp regarded the still-holo, the returned it to the High Inquisitor. “ Grand Admiral Telan Desaria, commander of the Guard. Distinguished record, a favorite of Kaine and the Emperor. I’ve never met him.”


“ Do you know where he is now?”


“ I do not.”


“ Excellent.” The Inquisitor moved around his desk and strolled over to the inward-slanted windows that ran from the floor to the ceiling. A bluish tint coloured all the transparisteel used in building the Citadel for three sides of it were faced with a very bright rise of the Coruscanti-sun; it cast the room in a dark glow even when the system’s star blistered nearby.


“ Desaria is engaging in a campaign to secure us a buffer zone against the Black Dragon Empire should they choose to attack. He is stirring a very large bee-hive in Hutt Space and they will sting him. We are going to see that those that would interfere with our annexation are dealt with.”


“ Of course sir.”


“ As of this moment, you are detached from Intelligence and you will be employed under my direct supervision. You will answer only to me.”


“ I understand, Your Grace.”


The High Inquisitor barked a laugh without even turning from his stare into the cityspace. “ No, you don’t – it is only important that you obey. You depart in two hours for Saki.”

A coolness had taken to the air being circulated through the corridors and rooms of the Suvarov. The man seated at the aft end of the crew pit enjoyed it, the lack of humidity and lower temperature an excellent environment to work in. His men would sweat less, be more prone to intelligent action – and the reactor could run at .089 percent under where it stood at station keeping. Station-keeping however, was for ships at anchor. With guns blazing, the ship’s power source was running at almost ninety percent.


The Reign-class Star Destroyer shook almost imperceptibly as a sheet of neon energy was cast from the port side of her angular hull. Closing his eyes, Grand Admiral Desaria pictured the planetary turbolaser emplacement toward which the salvo hurled. He knew that the massive barrel would be pointing into space, firing its lethal charge into the formation of his ships far above: he knew that in a matter of seconds, nearly forty individual turbolaser blasts would turn the armored structure into so much scrap and give birth to such a conflagration that none of the crew would survive.


“ CommScan reports the target is destroyed, sir.” His mind’s eye proven correct, Desaria returned to the business at hand.


“ CommScan – any other planetary defenses on the scopes?”


A short Lieutenant turned his head to meet the stare of his commander, revealing a muscled neck doubtless from many a shockball game: the Grand Admiral remembered them fondly, himself a champion of it at the Academy. “ Negative, sir. Any transports descending to the surface will have to deal with an extensive anti-aerial network, but nothing that threatens capital ships.”


Desaria nodded. One gloved finger activated a communit and a six digit code sent it to Major-General Antonius Brusilov. “ General, are your men ready?”


“ Yes sir – I have the entire division embarked and awaiting orders.”


“ Excellent. Your men will land twenty kilometers west of Drummond, the primary city on the north-eastern continent. Take it by storm and we will have secured the entire region for Marshal Murat’s landing. I am sending a flight of gunboats and two Defender Squadrons to eradicate the fortifications leading up to the city. Drive on it when you have reconnoitered the ground and take the city. A siege at this stage is unacceptable.”


“ Of course Your Excellency. Gloria Imperium.”


Captain Vorran stood nearby and had already issued the appropriate orders for the escort: one need barely strain the eyes to watch the winged gunboats and the two dozen TIE Defender Mark IIIs rush away from their ventral launch bays towards their targets. Like hawks upon prey they would fall, claws of laser and missile strangling any resistance that dared show itself. A moment passed before the first three Sentinel’s formed up and began a lazy descent through the atmosphere. Landing barges followed, their boxy hulls made far from the realm of aesthetics or travel – they weighed heavily in human cargo and the weapons they would need to wage war. Taken individually, the crate-like craft were innocuous, only when one considered their purpose could any fear be insighted.


Were I on the world below, fear is what I would embody. They know the Guard comes for them. These men have been without battle for six months. They have been bred for war and they now go to their calling. May mercy greet these criminals in what lies Beyond…

Having already changed into suitable civilian attire, Major Meicomp looked distinctly out of place as he moved to the shuttle bay. Had he not worn an identification badge around his neck, he had little doubt that the Inquisitoriate officers throughout the ship would have pounced on him the moment he departed the quiet confines of his quarters. He easily understand their confusion: he had boarded the ship a dignified looking Intelligence officer bearing sealed orders from the High Inquisitor himself, he was departing it appearing as a common criminal.


They have not half the training we of Intelligence have. As long as my heart remains the same, it matters not what adorns my flesh. I serve the Empire. The Major smiled to himself and entered the landing bay of the small Fire-class Light Frigate. There was waiting for him an Incom T-98, a tri-winged craft not far removed from the Lamnda-class Shuttle though the beast in the bay was painted black and scored with carbon burn marks and looked to a cursory glance to be barely operable. Such is how it needed to appear for a Lambda would not slip easily into the criminal underworld without drawing eyes of all kinds upon it.


Boarding it, he could not help but feel slightly…confused…about his orders. That he was commanded to eliminate the governor of a provincial city in the path of an Imperial assault did not bother him in the slightest as many officials had been his targets before; then his orders had come through standard channels, such operations never drawing the attention of anyone in the Intelligence Directorate. That the Viscount del Forza had issued the orders personally alerted him to something not quite beyond reproach with this mission.


’Tis not mine to reason why… Meicomp quoted to himself the old maxim of the Stormtroopers. While they were indoctrinated to be soulless and near-brainless automatons and he was an officer – the meaning held true regardless. The engines of the shuttle powered up and upon launch confirmation, he left the red-coloured Inquisitoriate ship with complete abandon. Setting a nav-computer course for one of the three jumpoints into the Saki system, Meicomp decided on some rest.