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Posted On:
Nov 9 2004 6:55pm
<CENTER>
</CENTER>
<I>Story will revolve on the takovers of Gand, Toong I, Pakuuni, Toola, Cholganna, Quermia, Vaynai and Rhen Var.</i>
The Gand Homeworld.
The proton bombs fell on the Gand capital city, their shockwaves sending out ghostly rings of tortured air. Deathgliders streaked overhead, black crescents against a red sky, bloody with the smoke and dust of three weeks of unending battle.
The ground was pocked with craters, the huge footprints of forty-ton All Terrain Battle Transports and lined with tracks recording armored battles decided days before. In the near distance, wrecked Riant tanks smoldered, trailing black smoke. Crushed Gands in battle-armor lay scattered on the raw earth like broken eggshells, black jelly that might once have been their alien bodies oozing through the cracked metal.
Thankfully, Commander Kix Davin could not smell the ammonia atmosphere in the filtered air of his cockpit. Only the stink of his own sweat, the ozone smell of overheated circuitry, and the tang of hot metal reaching his nostrils.
This, reflected Kix, was the terrible beauty of war. The unspeakable wonder, the sights that could never be forgotten, burned into the brain to emerge in the nightmares of old men and women-- those who were foolish enough, or unlucky enough, to live that long.
Such was the loss of perspective that came from thirty-three days spent primarily in the cockpit of an AT-BT, striding high above the battlefield. It came from watching lesser combatants scrambling ahead, from forgetting your humanity, and simply becoming a walking ten-meter-tall machine of destruction, facing more targets than you can shoot-- more targets than you have time to chase down or ammo to kill. Small targets that shoot back, sometimes with enough force to sting even a mighty Dragon.
A movement caught Kix's eye, and he ordered the pilot to pivot the AT-BT, gyros whining. The weakened left leg, damaged in a brawl with a Gand spider tank three days earlier, caused his humanoid transport to limp slightly. In the distance, the upright insect form of a green and red spider tank strode from behind a hill-- a shaft of sunlight glancing off its bubble cockpit, carbon scoring streaking its body. The Gand tank moved rapidly to Davin's right, perhaps not seeing him. The AT-BT's gunner zoomed in with his optics, placed his targeting reticles over the exposed flank and squeezed off a laser burst.
There was a flash, and a jagged streak of molten armor appeared across the tank's right shoulder above its leg. A hiss of disappointment escaped Davin's lips. The gunner aimed for the damaged lower belly, hoping for a hit on the engine. A week earlier his gunner might not have missed, but such subtleties of battle were for fresher pilots and fresher gunners. At this range, he knew he should have been glad to get a hit at all.
The spider tank whirled and began running backward, laser cannons flashing with return fire-- a clean miss-- the Gand pilot perhaps rattled by the unexpected attack. The tank spun again and sprinted away from Davin. The broad wings sprouting from the tank's shoulders presented a tempting target, but Davin knew where the machine's critical systems were hidden-- knew the distinction between an easy shot and a victorious one.
He considered following up with a concussion missle before remembering that his tubes were empty. He'd been leading his formation back to the command DragonClaw for resupply, repair, and perhaps a warm meal and a few minutes of fitful sleep. That would have to wait now.
So would the kill shot. The Gand was fast. He had to slow it down if he hoped to do more significant damage. His gunner thumbed back to his heavy lasers, targeted, fired another shot. A flash against the spider tank's lower right leg left glowing traces but did only superficial damage. The tank fired its jump jets, staggering into the air from amid a cloud of plasma-blasted debris. It managed to make it to the top of the nearest hill before the jets flickered and died, dropping it heavily to the ground. The tank's spidery legs stumbled, and for a moment Kix thought it would fall. Then it got its footing and vanished over the hill. He instinctively ordered his pilot to shove the throttle forward and give chase.
"Commander."
The tank was fast, but given its damage, and possibly disabled jump jets, he should be able to overtake it.
"Commander."
After weeks of hard-pressed fighting, the military forces of the Gand were on the run. In the far distance, a dark sphere rose over the horizon, trailing a column of almost blindingly brilliant fire. It was another Gand transport fleeing its homeworld. Targets, once lined up from horizon to horizon, were now hard to find. This might be his last chance to take down a target before--
"Davin!"
He blinked and ran his tongue across his dry and cracked lips, feeling the edge of the day-old stubble growing above them. He blinked again, rewinding the last few moments in his brain, finally recognizing the comm officer facing him from his forward position in the cockpit.
"Lieutanant?"
"Begging pardon, sir, we're ranging awfully far forward of the formation. Our Dragons can't offer much cover for us back there."
"Cover?"
"Yes, sir. The patrol is spread out pretty far, and they can't watch our six and protect our armor at the same time. We need to give them a few minutes to close up." The comm officer tapped at his earpiece and listened for new updates.
"Formation." Kix took a deep breath, shook off the tunnel vision that had locked his entire being on the fleeing Gand. "Sure, Lt. Hake. The Gand's too badly damaged to be worth the chase. Besides, he's doubtless forming up with some friends. We're out of concussion missles and too hot for that kind of skirmish."
"Yes, sir. Here come the bikes and the Drhazi."
A pair of Zephyr-G speeder bikes flashed by on either side, curving in front of them to pass each other and begin counterrotating orbits around his position. They were ungainly-looking things, but fast and hard to hit, capable of lightning in-and-out harassment attacks on an enemy.
One of the riders flashed a quick salute as he zoomed in front of Davin's AT-BT...
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Posted On:
Nov 11 2004 6:42pm
A moment later they were joined by two squads of Drhazi Dameun in their battle armor arching in gracefully on jump jets. They settled in front of him like a flight of black-and-red wasps, leaving just enough of a gap in their formation so he could move past them, if necessary, without trampling them under his AT-BT's thundering feet.
The Riant tanks would be farther back, he knew, still scrambling to catch up, another squad of Drhazi guarding their flanks. He looked at the hill where he'd last seen the spider tank and sighed.
His pilot checked the heading back to the DragonClaw, and started a wide turn that the formation would find easier to follow. A row of blaster fire worked their way up the side of his transport, from waist to shoulders, the last making a loud report against the clear plasteel canopy next to his head.
Small-arms fire. Nothing to trouble a battle transport, but close enough to be worth his attention. The squad was too close to the grounded DragonClaw, and he didn't like to see this level of enemy activity. Kix thumbed his comlink to address the whole formation. "I'm picking up some blaster fire, from south-southeast I think. Drhazi, watch yourselves. Let's get a Riant out there for a look. I'll watch your six. The rest of you group up and hug cover."
"Yes, sir."
He recognized the voice as Dllas, pilot of the formation's Riant Tank. The unit moved past him on the right, repulsorlift skirts flapping as it turned, sun glinting off the black metal skin of its turret. The AT-BT's pilot throttled up to follow, taking a slightly different path to cover more ground and to give the gunner a clear shot at any threat.
The low misty hills offered ample cover for enemies, allowing for attack from almost any direction. The flat expanses between had once been swampland, before the Gand drained most of the planet's major continents through a vast network of trenches, dams, and artificial waterways. Small streams were everywhere, and many of the lowlands still flooded in the ammonia rains.
The planet of Gand was no stranger to war. Agriculture and the ecosystem itself had only just recovered from the damage done by the Imperial Galactic Empire decades earlier before the Rebellion defeated them.
Now war was here again. It was unclear if it had come to stay. Davin hoped these aliens would see the futility in their resistance and just succumb to a new era of peace under the Black Dragon Empire. They should learn from the blessings the Noghri had received when their planet, Honoghr, was restored from prior ecological disaster to stability by means of Dameun restructure and technology.
The All Terrain Battle Transport's limp was more pronounced at this speed, making the cockpit lurch with every second step. He could hear the frayed fibers of durosteel cable in the bad leg twang, like an amateur plucking randomly at some huge basilet. The heat indicator, which had been falling since the gunner's last laser shot, now began to slowly climb again. That shouldn't be happening. Clearly there was damage somewhere that wasn't showing up on his diagnostics.
His eyes scanned ahead, looking for the hidden Gand nest that was the likely source of fire. A stand of trees, most smashed and broken off to stumps by earlier action, offered an excellent potential hiding place, but a gully to his right and some rocks uphill beyond the trees were also possibilities.
Kix heard the chatter of a light blaster rifle in his helmet's link, and blaster fire danced across the turret of the Riant. "There they are!" yelled Dllas, "in the rocks."
"I'm on it," said the AT-BT's pilot, turning the two-legged transport to wade through the stand of fallen trees. The gunner put his crosshairs on the rocks, but could see no obvious target. "Get me some death infantry support here, and get the Riants in position to pound those rocks," ordered Davin.
There was a whistle as the Riant disappeared in an explosion of earth and shattered metal. Just that fast, Dllas was gone. "Artillery!" Davin shouted. The AT-BT pilot swung the humanoid vehicle's torso looking for a target, but the artillery was likely out of sight behind one of the nearby hills. "Drhazi, get out there and find those guns!"
"Incoming!" Lt. Hake's voice broke in. "Incoming!"
Kix pulled up a rear holocam, and saw explosions around and among the armor. "Damn! Damn! Spread out! Make them work for it!"
The column began to scatter, but it was too late for a Riant Tank that was nearly swallowed in an explosion. When the dust began to clear, he could see one front repulsorlift unit flopping loose, the other unit on the other side apparently destroyed. The Tank spun helplessly in a circle and crashed, the still functional turret restlessly searching for a target.
A movement above alerted Kix to a more immediate threat. From the tall trees, Gands and findsmen in battle armor swarmed among the branches. While several Gand trapped his crew in a circle of blaster fire, two others leapt from the high branches to land onto his battle vehicle. His pilot managed to lash out with the AT-BT's right arm, smashing one out of the air with a satisfying bang, but the other landed on the vehicle's right shoulder, too high for the pilot to easily reach. Kix lost sight of the Gand. Then there was a loud hammering at the hatch behind him.
They're trying to take my transport!
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Posted On:
Nov 15 2004 8:28pm
Helplessly, Kix looked around. The AT-BT's weapons nor its arms could reach his Gand tormentor. Then he had an inspiration.
He ordered his pilot to throttle the transport and it began to run, breaking free of the circle, heading directly for the rocks that had been his original target. If the blaster rifles opened fire on them, all the better. They'd be more of a threat to the Gand soldier than to him. If not, he'd overrun them.
But that wasn't his primary intent. Kix ordered his pilot to stop fighting the limp and lean into it, which would cause the AT-BT to lurch and stagger sickeningly with each step. He then ordered the other pilot to flail the machine's massive arms, twisting the torso, swinging it forward and back. His stomach lurched at the chaotic motion of the cockpit. How much worse must it be for his "passenger"?
They couldn't reach the Gand on his AT-BT's neck, but he could order them to slam the arms wildly against the transport itself, making the entire structure ring like a massive bell. He cringed as the sound stabbed into his ears, overwhelming the noise-canceling effect of the comlink's earpiece. He could feel it in his chest, in his bones.
The pilot dug the AT-BT's heels in, simultaneously whipping the torso from side to side, slamming into the stops at either extreme. Then he swung the transport forward at the waist, almost toppling it. Above his canopy, Kix heard a scrambling noise, followed by a thud, as the Gand, its hold loosened by the movement and noise, flipped over the AT-BT's cockpit. The alien tried to attempt another regrip, but it was too late. It landed at an angle and crashed hard into the ground.
The Gand struggled weakly to rise, but the AT-BT was moving again. It was only a second before it's pilot dropped its right foot on the struggling alien and pressed down. The humaniod machine's foot settled onto the rocky ground.
Davin turned. The other Gands were fleeing as fast as their stubby legs would take them. The artillery fire had stopped, and he heard one of the Drhazi calling in a bearing on their location over the comm static.
In the confusion, they were moving right toward Davin's formation, and Kix would quickly be within range of their guns, helpless. While not as satisfying as taking out an entire legion, Kix would be happy to settle for taking out what must be several units of the Gand's artillery. To his right, he could see the crew of the crippled Riant transferring to an armored personnel carrier, as the rest of the column charged after the artillery. He commed in a recovery unit for the Riant. He then ordered his pilot to throttle forward, allowing the AT-BT to take point. All this moment, Kix Davin wanted to kill something. He wanted to kill a lot of somethings.
<CENTER>***</CENTER>
Jytin Sirtek, senior officer of the watch, looked up from his console. "Commander Aragon, you asked to be informed when Commander Davin's unit returned. They've just entered the Deimos's bays, and Commander Davin is stationing his AT-BT."
Sim Aragon nodded and stood. "Very good, SubCommander. I'll be going down to debrief him. You have the watch for the moment. I'll have my comlink on in case you need to consult me."
The DragonClaw's Commander slipped into the turbolift and watched the blast doors slide closed in front of him. His stomach fluttered slightly as the lift abruptly dropped toward the deck of the hangar bay below. He had a rare moment of privacy, and despite his best efforts, he felt the pressure of his situation bearing down on him. He leaned back against the railing, feeling its cool durosteel under his palms. He squeezed tightly, as though he could crush the metal with his bare hands, trying to drive his doubts and emotions back into the dark recess where he kept them hidden. So much depended on this battle, the decisions he would make, and the ones to which he had long ago committed.
The door slid open, and the sights, sounds, and especially the smells of the hangar bay washed over him. He sniffed the odor of hot hydraulic fluid and lubricants, burned metal, repulsorlift exhaust, ozone, sweat and a slight stink of death. It mixed with the smells of the Gand homeworld: crushed vegetation, stagnant water, a hint of ammonia from a nearby marsh.
Once again, the eyes of others were upon him, and Sim realized he needed to project the proper authority due his rank. He straightened, back stiff, shoulders squared, chin high, doubts forgotten. He stepped through the doors, hearing the chatter of hydrospanners, loudspeakers droning orders, warning buzzers, the whir of power converters, and the occasional thunderous footsteps of an AT-BT moving across the deck.
Through the open doors and its protecting energy field, he could hear the distant chatter of blaster fire and muffled explosions. DragonClaws were normally kept far behind the front lines, but the current rapid enemy movement had caused Sim to cut that margin somewhat. The line was moving again, and soon it would again be time for the Deimos to leapfrog its contingent of troops, Deathgliders, Riant Tanks, and AT-BT's in one five-minute hop.
Despite the powerful equipment moving all around him, Commander Aragon moved through the hangar bay with the confidence and assurance that comes only from experience. Even old techs were known to cower a bit when a fifty-ton All Terrain Battle Transport passed a little too close to them on the bay floor, but the Commander had confidence that, battle weary as they were, his pilots would stay within the painted walkways-- the lines beyond which men and lesser machines were always subject to trampling. These were, after all, members of the elite Death Commandos, who saw themselves as being among the best-trained and best-equipped soldiers and pilots in the Black Dragon Empire, perhaps even exceeding the stormtroopers of the Galactic Empire. They prided themselves on their courage, professionalism, discipline and, above all, precision.
Thus, he found himself sighing as he looked at Davin's AT-BT-- its heat dispensers still giving off shimmering columns of hot air-- which stood in the support structure in front of him...
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Posted On:
Nov 18 2004 6:32pm
Commander Davin gave directional guidance as his pilots carefully stepped the AT-BT backwards, hearing the clunks and scrapes as various hard-points and support umbilicals lined up on his transport. A final clunk caused the cockpit to lurch, and he heard footsteps scrambling on his hull. His pilots pulled a release and the hatch hissed.
In a moment it swung open, a blast of cool air entered the sauna-hot cockpit from a duct deliberately positioned above. Kix saw parts of a tech's green coveralls and black leather gloves reaching in and patting him on his helmet. In response, Kix ordered his pilots to relax the AT-BT just enough to lock it into the support structure, then shut the power converters down.
He pulled off the helmet, flipped the quick-release on his harness, and slumped in the seat, basking in the blast of chilled air from overhead. He looked up at the tech, a pretty woman with a few curls of honey-colored hair peeking from under her cap and ear protectors. She smiled and gave him a thumbs up.
He smiled back weakly. That was the good thing about techs: as long as their machines were brought back more-or-less in one piece, they didn't judge. It had not been one of his better days in the battlefield.
He released the harness that held him in the ejection seat, squeezed past it in the narrow confines of the cramped cockpit, and climbed out the narrow hatch in the back of the canopy. He stepped out onto the metal grid of the catwalk, then turned back to inspect his battle transport, as the rest of his crew exited from the same hatch. Kix ran his finger along a series of new dents in the hatch's lock housing, dents that would fit the fist belonging to a Gand in battle armor. He grunted and continued to the end of the catwalk.
From there, he could look down across the AT-BT's broad shoulder structure and its massive arms, bristling with its heavy lasers on both ends. Though he couldn't see it from where he stood, he knew the concussion missle racks mounted on both sides of the transport were now empty.
As he watched, Dragon techs swarmed over the two-legged biped machine like lime-green ants, throwing open access ports, refilling ammo bays, patching damaged and missing armor. The AT-BT would be, if not good as new, at least fully battle-ready again within an hour. It would likely take its crew a bit longer to recuperate.
A sharp movement on the bay floor ten meters below caught his eye: a group of techs flashing a salute. It took another moment to identify the reasons for that salute: Commander Sim Aragon, striding purposefully toward the AT-BT. Kix Davin let a little grunt of exasperation slip from his lips.
Short of climbing back in his AT-BT and marching half-loaded back onto the battlefield, there was no avoiding this encounter. Kix ran his fingers through his sweat-soaked hair, feeling the stubble that told him it was past time to shave the sides of his head, then checked the top-knot-- a style that he shared with his Death Commandos and a tradition for all Dragon military. Straightening the black combat suit, he squared his shoulders and stepped onto the lift platform. It started with a slight lurch, then dropped smoothly to the floor of the hangar bay, decelerating only at the last second, so that he had to bend his knees to absorb the shock.
He stepped onto the painted metal of the bay floor just as Sim arrived at the lift. Deciding this was no time for family informality, Kix flashed a quick salute.
It was not returned. Instead, the Commander just stood there, his eyes locked on Kix's, a slight frown of disapproval on his square, unconventionally handsome features. Commander Aragon was a large man, just short of two meters tall, big boned, muscular, broad shouldered. Kix was by no means a small man himself, but he found Aragon physically intimidating.
Most maddening about dealing with his cousin was Kix's difficulty holding his perceptions in the present. On his own, Kix was a BDE Death Commando, elite and respected even on his worst day. When he was in Sim Aragon's presence, he felt like a child: unworthy, insecure, small.
It was a curious relationship. Though Sim was his cousin, Kix had always addressed him as Commander instead. To acknowledge him as his cousin implied that they were contemporaries, and though there was not a huge span in their ages, that had never been the case. When Kix had joined the Black Dragon Empire as a tall but still gawky teen, Sim was already well into his missle-quick rise to power and command. Kix had been in awe of Sim's confidence, poise, and sophistication-- elusive qualities that Kix strongly desired to emulate and still often struggled to find in himself.
Kix sensed that this day wasn't going to be any different.
The Commander's left eyebrow rose quizzically. "I understand you nearly lost your formation and your AT-BT today..."
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Posted On:
Nov 25 2004 6:31pm
Kix tried to hide his reaction, but he could feel his face redden. Months earlier, as the result of Gand spies, Kix had lost a battle, most of the forces under his command, an AT-BT, and a complement of Riant Tanks. Forgiveness had been a long time coming, and annoyingly, though Sim seemed to be over the rest of it, he never let Kix forget the loss of his formation. Still, the memory of the incident filled Kix with shame.
"There was a capture attempt, yes. We repelled it quite easily. My AT-BT was never in any real danger."
"There were losses," said the Commander. "You let yourself be led into a trap."
Kix wondered how Commander Aragon already knew the details of the encounter. Had the battle been observed by a scout, or did he have a spy in Kix's patrol, reporting back on some secret communication channel? It would be typical of his cousin, who, though he trusted Kix more than almost anyone, didn't trust him very much at all.
"I would have thought," Kix replied dryly, "that you'd have better things to do than keep tabs on my every move, cous. I've heard there's a war on."
The corner of Sim's mouth twitched upward for just a moment, a tiny flinch that anyone else would likely have missed. Even Kix couldn't be sure if the suppressed smile was one of amusement or annoyance.
"Walk with me," Aragon said, spinning on the ball of his foot and heading back toward the turbolift to the crew decks. Kix double-timed until he was walking at his cousin's side. "Yours wasn't the only AT-BT they tried to take today, or the only guerilla-style ambush set. There were half a dozen similar incidents."
Kix's eyebrows rose. Damn you, Sim-- why didn't you say that to start with? "That's not good," he finally said aloud.
Commander Aragon stopped in front of the lift doors and tapped the panel. He turned to look at Davin. "On the contrary, it's encouraging news. I believe that if the Gand were sending reinforcements for a counteroffensive, they wouldn't be taking such reckless chances to shore up their forces. I hate to be an optimist about such things, but I think we finally have them. The Gand homeworld will be ours, with most of her military and production assets intact."
Despite his mood, Commander Davin smiled. The turbolift opened and they stepped in. "That's excellent then. We were due for our victory."
But Aragon's face remained grim. "Unfortunately, our entire offensive at this point is mainly bluff and bluster. While Captain Adaala's forces won't hinder us in the takeover, we can't count on them for assistance either. The High Regent has pulled them back to begin their offensive toward Toong I and a few nearby worlds."
He sighed. "As of now, we have no reinforcements to continue onto Toong. Parts, fuel, and supplies are low and our troops are exhausted. If the damned Gand managed to push back at all, we wouldn't last a week. Fortunately, they don't seem to know that General Grevious's forces are arriving to finish the job." He tapped the panel again that would take them to the officer's level. The turbolift started up with a gentle whoosh of air.
The Commander turned back to Kix. "That's why I'm leaving."
"Leaving? When? To where?"
"Immediately. Admiral Vaako's fleet is in orbit, and a shuttle is arriving within the hour to take me there. There's a waiting Tion Star Destroyer charging its hyperdrive right now, so I'll be able to jump almost as soon as we link up. I'm going to Toong I, to talk with that fool Sebhat. He's convinced his governors that they can avoid conflict by ceding trade routes. It's idiocy. You don't hold a Dragon at bay by feeding it your fingers. If I could convince the Toong of that, and make a mutual pact with the Black Dragon Empire, it could avoid another conflict."
Kix had met Sebhat, Prefect of Toong I, several months before at a Dragon summit. At the time, Kix had thought of the stout alien as fainthearted to hold a post of such military importance. Now his instincts were being verified.
"Frankly," continued Commander Aragon, "Toong's control over their space isn't much better than here. I'm not even entirely sure they're worth the bother. But if I can at least sway their forces to our cause, that will be something."
The doors of the turbolift opened, and they stepped out into the officer's level, where Davin and Aragon were both quartered. In the hallway beyond, an ensign was cleaning a bulkhead, the smell of disinfectant strong in the air. Sim flashed him a silent look that told him he wasn't wanted there. The ensign saluted, even as he scurried for the turbolift, slipping through the doors before they closed.
"Eventually, the Imperium will establish a coalition of outposts under our banner. I'm starting with Gand and Toong in hopes that we can bring many worlds into our fold without conflict-- but if that fails, there are many among Vaako's fleet that might answer our call."
They entered Aragon's quarters. His personal valet, Deena Onan, greeted them at the door, taking Sim's officer's jacket and handing him the tailored black tunic that he preferred.
Kix watched as she disappeared into the adjacent bedroom with the jacket. The quarters were tiny and rather plain by the Commander's usual standards, even though they were considered large for a DragonClaw Strike Cruiser. The fortunate part about their relatively small size was that Deena would have to either work very hard to stay out of sight, leave outright, or simply go about her business where Kix could watch her. He sighed inwardly. Deena was a lovely woman: tall, athletic yet shapely, with waves of auburn hair that cascaded loosely over her shoulders. Despite his long-standing interest, she seemed oblivious to all Kix's overtures toward her. Still, he could look and dream.
Commander Aragon settled into a couch bolted into the corner of the little sitting room. There were two other chairs just like it in the room, and a small folding chair in front of an office desk; Kix wasn't invited to sit down, and therefore remained standing.
Deena passed through the room, giving Kix a whiff of her musky perfume. She placed a datapad on the desk before vanishing again. The documents within the datapad were likely journal entries from the Commander's extensive military campaign on Gand.
"I'm leaving you in charge," Sim Aragon said. "Hopefully, all you're looking at is mopping up, making sure that the local government-- and their allegiance to us-- is solid, then preparing our forces for the next offensive on Toong. The forces of General Grevious will arrive to provide assistance on Gand."
Sim looked at Kix, something obviously unsaid.
Deena appeared in the bedroom doorway again. She glanced at Commander Aragon, but he did nothing to indicate she should leave. She was one of the few people on his staff who had his absolute trust in matters of security.
Sim took a deep breath and continued. "If I'm right about the Gand, if there is no sign of a counterattack, you're to withdraw our forces immediately when General Grevious arrives. Minimize our casualties and losses at all cost."
"I could--"
Commander Aragon held up a finger immediately to silence him. "You will do nothing until Grevious arrives and assigns a Lord to govern this new outpost of the Imperium. We won't lose one of our soldiers or Drhazi unneccessarily. We can't afford to. We need every force available if negotiations fail. I am trusting you, Kix, to follow my orders without hesitation. Understood?"
Kix clentched his jaw, but nodded.
"Very good, then. Get down to the command bridge and assist SubCommander Sirtak in preparing the Deimos to jump forward with the lines as soon as my shuttle is away." He looked at Kix for a moment. "Go."
Without another word, Kix slipped past Deena and out into the hallway. He heard the security door lock behind him. He stood there for a moment, his stomach in knots.
He's trusting me?
He quickly left-- as he heard the sound of a Drhazi super soldier stepping in to guard the doorway behind him...
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Posted On:
Nov 30 2004 8:50pm
BLACK DRAGON EMPIRE SEEKS PACT WITH OUTER RIM PLANET-- Argai. Even as his troops mop up after a stunning victory against Gand insurgents, Commander Sim Aragon, under command by General Grevious, has announced that he will proceed to Toong I and seek a pact for the mutual alliance of Toong's territories near the Tion Cluster, including Toong I itself, against the incusion of pirates to their trading routes.
Responding to critics who state that the Imperium is "out of their jurisdiction" in bringing their forces deep into the Outer Rim, General Grevious has made the following statement: "Neither I nor the leaders of our Imperium can ignore the chaos just across our borders from the Galactic Coalition. The rising influence by these pirate gangs near our territories cannot be ignored, nor can we allow outmoded notions of their savagery or protocol to determine how, and especially where, we choose to act."
-- HoloNews Network of the Imperial Dragon
Governor's Palace
Toong I
One week later.
Commander Sim Aragon sat quietly in the soft leather of the meeting room chair, his fingers wrapped around the polished Ithorian wood of the chair's arms, their ivory inlays cool against his skin. The table was carved from the same wood as well, the top inset with thick slabs of green-tinted glass. At the far end of the table sat Sebhat, Prefect of Toong I, the focus of the Commander's attention and his quiet ire.
Sebhat was a Toong alien, stout and round with a tinge of green to his skin, his head pointed under a wide cap. He wore a green woolen uniform that matched the cap, lushly decorated with gold buttons and cording, his chest layered with enough unearned ribbons and medals to stop a concussion missle. A shiny-plated blaster pistol was holstered at his side-- a decorative touch. Despite superficial appearances, Sebhat was a peacetime general, more politician than warrior-- a figure who preferred to settle disputes with talk, or treachery, rather than battle.
In that, Aragon could not fault him, as it mirrored his own preferred methods. But unlike Aragon, Sebhat had never backed up his words with weapons. He lacked the skills of a true warrior. For someone who wore any uniform, must less the theatrical spectacle Sebhat wore, Aragon found that unforgivable.
Still, for over a week, since his arrival on Toong, Sim had treated Sebhat with the utmost respect and decorum, even as their negotiations dragged on, producing no real results. Everyday, Sim left the guest quarters in the palace's north wing and met Sebhat at the wood-covered blast doors that protected the conference room. And everyday they sat across the table and exchanged empty proposals that never quite meshed.
It had become torture. Commander Aragon knew every line of Sebhat's alien face, the grating and obviously false smile he often wore, the way his left eye twitched when he was bored, which in Sim's presence seemed to be often.
Aragon also knew every detail of the room. He had memorized the geometric pattern woven into the deep carpeting, studied each of the paintings that surrounded the room: the formal portraits of past Toong Prefects and the large impressionistic potrait of their hero, Ben Quadinaros, that hung behind Sebhat's chair-- done in dark blue, black, orange, and gold-- featuring the pilot standing next to his pod racer. In any case, no progress was being made on the negotiations, and the precious time Aragon needed to build his coalition of outposts was slipping away.
Every morning had been the same.
Except this one.
Aragon's stomach knotted slightly, as he realized this day would be much different.
It was the little things that made the Dragon Commander uneasy. The expected silver caffa and tea service was absent, as was the tray of colorful yet bland sweet-cakes normally set out on the sideboard under a great mirror. The Rodian secretary, who usually sat at a small table in the corner taking notes into a datapad, was also missing, replaced by two ceremonial guards who stood at attention behind Sebhat, ivory-colored blaster rifles clenched in their white-gloved hands.
But the thing that was most disturbing of all, the thing that had placed the knot in his stomach, was the little self-satisfied smirk on Sebhat's face. It was a smirk he'd only seen hinted at before-- a small, private expression quickly quelled, but now openly and brazenly displayed. Sebhat no longer cared what the Black Dragon Empire thought of him-- there would be no more pretense of talk.
Commander Aragon regretted allowing himself to be convinced that the palace security would protect him, that his usual full retinue was neither necessary nor welcome. It was a chip played in the cause of diplomacy, and obviously a misstep on his part.
Aragon sensed a movement behind him, as someone stepped close to the right of his chair. He glanced up to see the large, mechanical figure of a Drhazi Dameun, his personal bodyguard and chief of security-- at least Sim had insisted that the Dameun be permitted to stay as a representative. Aragon drew some comfort in his presence. The modified Dameun soldier was very good at what he did, and Sim wondered if he might have use of his skills very soon.
"There will be no talks today," announced Sebhat, unable to hide the glee in his voice. "There will be no talks at all..."
-
Posted On:
Dec 1 2004 7:35pm
Like a skilled actor, Commander Sim Aragon kept absolute control of his public self-- every gesture, every expression. He leaned back, giving the appearance of being calm, and placed the fingertips of both hands together in front of him. He waited. Sebhat smiled. Obviously, Aragon was expected to make the next move.
"May I ask why?"
"We will not be joining your coalition of outposts, if indeed any such entity will come to pass, as Golan of the Cavrilhu Pirate Gang has just signed a nonaggression pact with us."
The Toong seemed startled when Aragon began to laugh. Not a polite chuckle, but an honest belly laugh that had him slapping his thigh. A minute or more passed before the laughter faded, and Sim wiped a bit of moisture from his right eye. "A nonaggression pact? And what concessions did you make in order to secure this valuable piece of paper?"
Sebhat's smile was gone. He looked down his flat nose at Commander Aragon, seeming, if anything, slightly offended. "There were no concessions."
The Dragon Commander laughed again, but in a more controlled manner this time. "The Cavrilhu agreed to bypass your fat, juicy, under-defended little trade route out of the goodness of their hearts? I don't believe for a second they'd even pretend to make such an agreement without some major tribute thrown their way.
"What was it? Sanctuary on Toong from the BDE? Maybe"-- he grinned in a manner calculated to provoke-- "the Governor's virgin daughter?"
"That's enough." Sebhat was close to shouting as he stood, pushing his heavy chair back so that it almost toppled over. His alien hands flared out at his sides, like a fictional frontiersman reaching for his pistols. Sim wondered if the shiny-plated monstrosity of a blaster in his holster was even charged, and if Sebhat could hit the broad side of a DragonClaw if it was.
"I was just asking," said Aragon, his voice even.
Sebhat's eye twitched. He let out a deep breath, air whistling through his nose. "If you must know, the Governor has gifted the Cavrilhu Pirate Gang with spaceport priveleges on Try and Yunnah, a small concession to avoid any more incursion on our trade routes."
Aragon snorted. "If you met a rancor, Sebhat, would you try to placate him by hacking off pieces of your own flesh? You're only delaying the inevitable, and saving Golan the trouble of crushing your inferior forces before rolling past and claiming more of your convoys. They'll be back, and you will be licking Golan's boots by the next season."
"You're a fine one to talk, Commander. The Black Dragon Empire has won battle after battle, world after world. You expect us to rally round the banner of the Imperium, after your brutal, merciless victory on Gand and join you?"
Sim maintained his best sabacc face when Sebhat actually had the gall to show opposition, but he was surprised.
Sebhat sneered. "You're a fool, Commander Aragon, if you think the Toong will bow before your Imperium in order to secure our territories against our enemies. Your talks offer us nothing." He drew himself up to his full stout height, tugging at his uniform coat to straighten it. "You have one hour's safe passage to have your shuttle clear of Toong's airspace. After that time, you will be considered an unwelcome hostile and held for collection by the Cavrilhu."
It was Sim Aragon's turn to look indignant. He stood and leaned forward on the table with both hands, feeling a slight slick of sweat between his palms and the cool glass. "Take care, Prefect. We Dragons are easily provoked to strike when treated with discourtesy. If you do not reconsider, we will be forced to take other methods to see to the Imperium's protection of this system-- with or without your help."
"One hour. This is more courtesy than you deserve. Your shuttle has already been notified to make ready for takeoff upon your arrival."
The Dragon Commander felt the Drhazi's powerful mechanized hand on his shoulder. "Commander, we should leave."
Sim turned and nodded to his bodyguard, then glanced back at Sebhat. "You're at the Dragon's mercy now, Sebhat. I hope the Cavrilhu Pirate Gang at least defend your homeworld."
The Drhazi's hand tightened slightly, giving the distinct impression that its full force could break bones. "Commander."
"The chrono is ticking, Commander Aragon."
Sim allowed the Drhazi to push him toward the door. He noticed that the Dameun shielded him with his large body from behind, then at the moment they reached the door, brushed past him to move through first. Suddenly clarity returned, and he remembered why he requested a Drhazi Dameun, and why he dreaded the thought of losing such a skilled protector.
They rushed down the palace's corridors, Aragon close to the wall, the Drhazi looming over him like an umbrella, whispering instructions into a comlink in his helmet, watching every doorway and potential hiding place with professional suspicion.
Sim felt himself relax, becoming no more than a parcel in the Dameun's capable care. Whatever happened next, it was out of his hands. That realization freed part of his mind to review those last moments in the meeting room.
He cursed his own weakness. He'd allowed emotion to get the best of him, lost control in his desire to get the last word. It was beneath him to covet such a meaningless gesture. Sebhat's day would come very soon, he knew. He'd make sure of it...
-
Posted On:
Dec 3 2004 8:25pm
They turned a corner, and Deena Onan fell in with them, a small leather overnight bag clutched in her hands. Doubtless she had scooped up a few of his personal belongings from the palace guest suite, those items with some sentimental or historic value that could not easily be replaced. To Sim Aragon's recollection, he had arrived at the palace with two trunks, four suitcases, and probably a half-dozen smaller cases and portable items, not counting Deena's or the Dameun's personal luggage. He added those items to the mental ledger sheet that he was tallying against Toong I. No matter, he would get them back when the invading force landed and raided the palace.
The Drhazi pushed him firmly through the two-story lobby attached to the side entrance. An exquisite airspeeder waited outside. The super soldier pushed Aragon against a door pillar before stepping outside briefly to assess the situation. Then he pulled them out into the open air. Sim could smell blossoms and hear air traffic beyond the palace walls. The sky was a cloudless blue-green, and Toong I's largest moon was a ghostly crescent just above the gates.
The Drhazi Dameun put his mechanized hand on Aragon's head, pushing him down into the airspeeder. The Drhazi was next, holding Deena's hand as he pulled her in after him. She slipped into the seat next to Sim, and the Dameun lighted-- he wasn't settled enough to call it sitting-- on the seat across from Aragon. He half-turned and tapped on the clear plasteel that seperated them from the driver. The airspeeder lurched out of the portico with a blast of repulsorlifts, whipped up the curved drive, and rushed through the gates while they were still opening.
The airspeeder merged into heavy morning air traffic, moving rapidly, but boxed in on all sides. The Drhazi glanced at his chrono within his helmet, then gestured at the seat belts. "Fasten yourselves in. This could get exciting."
"Do tell," said Commander Aragon. "I'm sure Admiral Vaako has received word by now and has given the go on the assault on Toong and the Cavirlhu pirates. I just hope we don't get caught in turbolaser fire when it begins to rain down from the Tions and the DragonClaws."
"Accelerate speed to the landing platform, driver," ordered the Drhazi. It wasn't a request.
Airbrakes flared as they cut off a metrospeeder getting on the air expressway. There was a crunch and the sound of breaking glass behind them as a swerving airtaxi struck another in the next lane. Their airspeeder smoothly accelerated away from the accident.
Toong Spaceport.
The airspeeder spent five agonizing minutes at the spaceport gate, while a pair of scowling, black uniformed security guards with blaster rifles scrutinized their clearances. Crosstown air traffic had been heavy, as expected, and time was short. It galled Commander Aragon to run like a scared womprat, but he'd be a fool to put himself in danger over false pride. He sensed the Admiral and General Grevious were about to begin their offensive, and Sim didn't want to give those intentions even a hint of legitimacy by overstaying his welcome.
The Drhazi was listening to his comlink channel. He turned to Aragon and spoke through his filtered voice. "They just had a tech do a last-second swap-out of a balky guidance module, but they're fueled, preflighted, and ready to lift off as soon as we're aboard."
One of the alien guards finally passed back their clearances. "This looks to be in order. Have a nice trip."
The Drhazi Dameun nearly growled as he snatched the datapad back and signaled the driver to move on. The repulsorlifts flared again as they headed across the apron toward their waiting shuttle. It was a Tion-class, an fifty-meter-plus transport shuttle sitting on four large landing legs. She wasn't a luxury craft like the Galactic Empire's Lambda-- her quarters were small and unpleasant for such an important passenger-- but her hull was heavily armored, and weapons bristled from turrents around her fuselage and on her nose. Huge sliding doors covered two loaded supply bays, including a commando squad complement, and a third bay that could hold a pair of speeder bikes.
Once aboard, they would be well protected, which was why the last kilometer seemed to take forever. At the base of the ship, a squad of Death Commandos in black battle armor covered their approach. The airspeeder hovered to a stop, and the troops surrounded the door. The Drhazi pushed Sim Aragon and Deena out of the transport and into the protective circle, then onto the boarding ramp that took them into the belly of the shuttle.
The driver of the airspeeder, one of Aragon's men, followed, climbing onto the ramp with them. The airspeeder was abandoned on the vast durocrete blast-deflector beneath the ship's immense repulsorlift thrusters. That made Commander Aragon grin. The airspeeder had been provided for them by the Toong government. Knowing it would be blasted into wreckage didn't do much to balance the scales, but it made him feel better.
He lost sight of the vehicle as the ramp ascended into the ship, then made his way into a nearby seat. The Drhazi didn't seat himself. He simply locked his legs, feet apart, and held onto an overhead support with one mechanized arm. He lifted his other arm and barked into his wristlink. "The Commander is secure."
The pilot's answering voice came from an overhead speaker, as well as the Drhazi's earpiece. "Death Commandos are aboard and secure. Hatches sealed. Preflight sequence is complete. Ready for departure."
"Engage," said the Commander.
The deck under their feet shuddered and began to vibrate. There was a whine of repulsorlift engines spooling up, followed by a rumble, like a vast waterfall, then a clap of thunder as the sublight engines ignited, and the craft began to move upward and away.
Sim wondered about the airspeeder. Did it melt? Was it vaporized? Pulverized? Or just tossed away like a leaf in a gale? He wished he could have seen it.
Acceleration pushed them gently into their seats as the shuttle lifted off. The Drhazi's armored knees flexed slightly with the G-forces, and he seemed intently focused on the sounds of the launch.
The sublights dulled to a roar as they gained altitude, the sound no longer echoing back from the ground to pound against their armored hull. After a few seconds, the deck groaned again, then shuddered as the landing legs retracted into the shuttle's lower skirt.
<CENTER>**</CENTER>
Far above in orbit, a timer began, its settings based on the typical launch sequence of several squads of Deathgliders and the designated departure pattern of DragonClaw Strike Cruisers from the mother fleet of Tion Star Destroyers.
The Dragons were far enough. They were high enough.
A sole command rang out over the channel wide net.
"Begin..."
-
Posted On:
Dec 6 2004 8:56pm
Northern Continent.
Toong I.
Three weeks after Dragon occupation.
The glacial lake was breathtakingly beautiful, surrounded by towering walls of striated rock as raw and jagged as though they had been thrown out of the ground only yesterday. The water was still and dark-- a mirror that reflected the cloudless sky, making the building-sized icebergs look as if they were floating in air.
Kix Davin was not here to sightsee. Recon patrols had found fresh AT-AT tracks in the high mountain valley below here. There was reason to believe a few isolated Cavrilhu units, separated from their column during the previous day's fighting in the pass a thousand feet below them, had retreated into this frigid wasteland.
Davin would have loved to appreciate the lake for its own sake, and perhaps someday he'd return here for just that reason. But today he saw the lake only in strategic terms: a place where he could plant his All Terrain Battle Transport and empty his weapons with no fear of overheating.
Out in front of him, a patrol of Drhazi Dameuns trotted, black armor glinting in the sun, jump jets occasionally flaring just long enough for them to bounce over a stream or crevasse. To his right and left, slightly behind him, a pair of Lichs, Dameun-developed assault vehicles, paced his AT-BT. In his rear view, he could see his companion, another AT-BT, trudging over the caramel-colored rocks, its pair of shoulder-mounted concussion missle canisters ready to back them up with ranged fire.
Though final victory had been slow in coming, the last stronghold of the Cavilhu Pirate Gang on Toong I had been broken. All that was left were scattered pockets of resistance, isolated forces that had to be eliminated before Kix's forces could move on. He knew that was the real strategy here: a delaying action. It had worked for a while, but they were almost done.
"Commander Davin! Picking up heat signature out of the trees!"
The voice in his commset was Anga Cehl of Fire Company, commander of the AT-BT behind him.
He raised his eyes to find himself looking right down the laser barrels of a seventy-five ton All Terrain Armored Transport, painted in the dark colors of the Cavilhu Pirates. He shouted an order.
His pilots staggered the AT-BT to the side so rapidly that it nearly toppled into the lake, the gyros whining as the mechanical biped struggled to stay upright. The walker fired its laser cannons with a thunderous report, almost within point-blank range. The pilots backpedaled as Kix's mind ran fast as a computer to assess the situation. It was apparent the pirates had powered down their walker until they were in range for an ambush.
It hadn't worked. What, Kix wondered, was plan B for them?
He smiled grimly. There was no plan B. It was an act of desperation by an outgunned pirate band. Though the AT-AT's original Imperial-designed weapons had no minimum range, Kix knew that in many of that model, if not most, those weapons had been replaced for lack of parts in this part of the Outer Rim. Assuming this was the case, Davin was now inside his enemy's minimum firing range. It was a calculated risk, but a good one.
Kix ordered the pilot to spin the AT-BT's torso, bringing his gunner to bear the AT-BT's arm-mounted heavy laser cannons. Even at this range, it wouldn't do much against the heavily armored AT-AT except keep him off balance.
That was the point. The two Lichs moved in from either side, their fusion beam cannons charging up. They fired into the walker in showers of light; their beams firing again and again, disintergrating chunks of armor throughout its body. Kix stepped in close to join the fray. The gunner fired the heavy lasers into the AT-AT's already partially disintergrated front left leg. It ripped off with a shriek and tumbled into a snow bank, trailing sparks.
Past the AT-AT, Kix could see Anga's AT-BT in the distance, lining up for a shot. He shouted into the comm, "Clear!"
All three of the Dragons stepped back at once, and for a moment the Cavrilhu AT-AT stood alone. Then a shower of thirty concussion missles from Anga's AT-BT ripped into its back, as fusion beams from the Lichs raked across its front armor and cockpit. There was a flash of detonation and the entire walker exploded.
The pilot instinctively turned the cockpit away as pieces of the shattered walker slammed into the AT-BT's right-side armor. Kix heard Anga's victory whoop over his comlink channel as her AT-BT trotted in front of him, her fist held high inside her cockpit, shreds of armor still dangling from its body. "Look at that baby burn!"
He turned back to see the shattered hulk of the defeated AT-AT, engulfed in flames.
"One down," she said, "and none to go..."
-
Posted On:
Dec 7 2004 7:33pm
Kix nodded to himself. They hadn't seen any other tracks in hours. "That's a good day's work, Dragons. Let's get back to base." His pilot eased the throttle to cruising speed and set a way point for the waiting DragonClaw, settling back to enjoy the ride. Davin surveyed his damage display. The explosion had cost him some armor, and he'd damaged his AT-BT's left leg slightly avoiding the walker's attack, but nothing more serious.
Anga's AT-BT fell in at his left shoulder, while the Lichs took point. "Well fought, Commander. It took courage to go toe-to-toe with the walker the way you did. Or to time my cue to fire as you did."
"It was nothing really."
"You take risks, Commander Davin. Not that you're foolhardy-- far from it. But you have a Dragon's heart, and you don't lead from the rear. I appreciate it. The troops who serve under you appreciate it. I wanted you to know that."
"Thank you, Anga. That means a lot, perhaps coming from you more than one of the Dragon's elite." Kix liked Anga. Her Fire Company was full of tenacious fighters whose loyalty to the Imperium was far more deeper than the Dragon Legion Kix more often fought alongside.
Those of Fire Company said what was on their minds, Anga most of all. Kix found it refreshing. "Anga, go to a private channel." He switched channels and activated a tight-beamed scrambler to keep their conversation private.
"What is it, Commander?"
"This is Dragon to Dragon. Call me Kix."
"Kix, then. What is it?"
He took a deep breath, held it for a moment while he thought, then let it out slowly through his nose. "What do you think of my cousin?"
"Commander Aragon? That's a very loaded question, you know. You could get a girl in a lot of trouble."
"This is just between us. Officer to officer-- what do you think?"
She chuckled. "I'm not sure how well I know him. My direct contact with Sim Aragon has been brief and rather-- intense."
Something about the way she said that made Kix wonder if he'd put his trust in the wrong person, but she quickly allayed that fear.
"In some ways, I don't think I know him at all, and yet, I probably know him much better than you realized." She chuckled again. "You don't have to worry, Commander; I said this was between us, and no matter what might happen in the future, it will remain that way.
"Actually, he's like a fine diamond, different from every angle, in every light. It's a quality he shares with other members of the Dragon elite."
"What do you mean?"
"I hope this isn't too impertinent, Commander, but you aren't at your best around him, and he seems to be at his worst around you. You're a warrior, a leader, a man of many talents, yet Aragon fails to treat you with the respect that you deserve. The troops speak of it in whispers.
"Don't get me wrong. They're loyal to the Imperium and Commander Aragon, of course. He's a dynamic leader, and he treats us well. But those who have served with you are loyal to you, too. When they see Aragon dressing you down like a Dragon recruit, it distresses them. It's as though he's belittling them personally."
Then it isn't just me. Nor is it just a personal matter. It's hurting troop morale. Yet still Kix felt the need to apologize for his cousin. "The Commander holds me to very high standards."
"He holds everybody to high standards, but most people under his command get the prime. You just get the shaft. My opinion."
"I'm not just somebody under his command. I'm a Death Commando, an elite soldier."
"That's exactly the problem, Commander. You both have the same background, and your conflict is a family conflict. But it's spilled over into your professional conduct. If you had a junior officer whose family problems intruded into their battlefield performance, would you allow it to continue?"
"No, of course not. I'd insist that they resolve it, keep it outside their duty hours, or I'd reassign them."
"Well, there you go."
"It's not that simple."
"It never is."
"I can't 'reassign' my cousin, and I can't resolve this problem, either."
"But you reassign yourself every chance you get."
He considered. It was true, he'd long welcomed assignments that took him out of his cousin's direct sphere of influence, spending as much time away from the capitol on Argai as possible. He'd been avoiding confrontation with his cousin. And when he couldn't avoid it--
"I've allowed this to go on, haven't I?"
"As I said, you're not at your best around him, either." She laughed. "Look-- Admirals, Captains, Commanders, Lords, are big players-- credits, power, rank in the Imperium, ties to the United Dameun Church and all that. But family loyalty doesn't seem to be a strong suit. Seems like your family spend more time fighting each other than they do fighting our enemies. And it seems to me that he shouldn't expect your loyalty just because you have the same blood."
"But I am loyal. He's done a lot for me over the years."
"From what I can see, you've done a lot for him, too. Family is irrelevant to that. You deserve respect for your accomplishments. Hell, Kix, you're not just an officer or a noble, you're a Dragon. We sit in the high seat. People should give us respect. Even governors. Even family."
She was silent for a minute. Finally she said, "Why do you even care what he thinks, Kix? What is he to you?"
Davin licked his lips. "I don't know. He practically raised me, or more exactly, I was raised in his circle. He helped earn my citizenship in the Imperium, taught me to be a man, how to carry myself like a Dragon. I even graduated with high honors at the academy on Raxus."
"So you owe him? Fair enough, but what about you? What do you want? Power? Fame? Glory? A Tion Star Destroyer to call your own?"
Kix sighed. "All of that, and none of it. What I really want... I want to be my own man. I want to steer my own destiny, unlike what the Jedi preach. That's all, really."
Anga chuckled. "I'll drink to that."
Kix brought himself back to the now. "I'll buy the first round when we reach the Deimos. We're done here. The Cavrilhu pirates seem to have finally got the hint. Toong is ours."
"Copy that," Anga chimed, adjusting her course. "I'm sure Commander Aragon will expect you at the Governor's Palace when we arrive."
"I don't doubt it..."
