“ By the Emperor!”


Those three words had been uttered across the depth and breadth of the Empire when it reigned supreme over all beings in the galaxy as both a cry for help and an oath. As the tides of fate turned against those chosen to bring order to chaos, this phrase began to stand as a silent uttering of pain. Upon the witnessing his task force commander, Grand Admiral Il-Raz, disappear into the Denarii Nova never to return, Commander - Baronet Adrian Desaria spoke them. When the Jutraalian super weapon over Hoth broke apart and brought death and fire to a world of ice, nearly every Imperial at the battle paused to cross his chest in the six-pointed Imperial Crest. It was these three words which silently echoed the Fleet’s corridors that day.


Those words were uttered once again near Carida, penetrating the darkened recesses of the refitted Sentinel-class Shuttle Harbinger. Admiral of the Fleet Baron Telan Desaria averted his eyes from the view before him. He swallowed hard as his gaze first met the ruins of the once - proud Imperial Central Academy system. Fifty years before a rogue Rebel had brought the fate of treasonous Alderaan to the doorstep of the almighty Empire. The innards of the Caridan system had been gutted by the Sun Crusher, a fabled inventor’s final attempt to rid the galaxy of the Rebellion’s taint.


“ Sir, we have arrived.”


The Chief of the Imperial General Staff sniffed and nodded to the shuttle’s copilot who stood at the entrance to the Admiral’s cabin. Fists clenched, Desaria looked out into space. The system had been rebuilt many times to be better than it was before, but the scars of that terrible day could never be erased. One of the system’s outer planets, unaffected by the thankfully defective torpedo, had been therefore and colonized then renamed Carida. From space, indeed it was a match for the prominence that once surrounded the great training academy: system traffic entered and departed regularly, satellites drifted lazily in orbit, five moons sat quietly above.


One glance towards the revitalized star at the system’s center would reveal a completely different scene: devastation. Destroyer-sized chunks of Carida, her moons, and sister worlds swayed at ease amongst the ruins of battle stations, warships, trading platforms, buildings, and cities. Twenty billion citizens had their final resting place amongst the debris field.


“ Very well.” The Admiral regained his composure as the pilot clicked to attention and strode back to the command cabin. Desaria absently brought his right arm to the closed-front collar of his tunic and ran his fingers gently over the fine surface of his Imperial Cross - the Empire’s highest order. Its wreath-surrounded Imperial Crest atop Gothic cross brought all emotion to an end. The decoration reaffirmed the young flag officer’s purpose.


The Empire shall rebuilt. The Rebellion has been crippled by the chaos it loves, and shall soon pay the ultimate price for this and the other horrors they have brought. Those who model themselves after it shall die, as those that aide her. The Empire will be born from the ashes of defeat - theirs. Soon, our Fleet shall be the power it was only a year ago, and then…


The shuttle turned towards the Carida and began its descent to the planet’s surface.


..then we shall return order to all. Gloria Imperium.

Several government had claimed Carida in the half-century since what the Empire referred to simply as the Terror. Since then, Carida had been ominously called ‘the Ghost System.’

None had ever been able to quell the fierce Imperial sentiment of those that survived the first great tragedy, and those citizens which had moved there since. The great Academy had been rebuilt, as had those cities which once towered high into the ‘original’ sky. Now their layouts were different, their buildings taller and streets wider, their surroundings different - the undeniable fact that its people called themselves Caridans could be felt anywhere.


Trelin had been built along a young river, wild and uncontrolled like the youth that played in it. On either bank of the torrent rose towers of commerce and government; around them and amongst them were the homes and offices of the Caridan capital’s populace.


With great care, Admiral Desaria brushed the stray fuzz from his tunic as he prepared for a meeting with the planetary government. As he buttoned his tunic over his collared dress under-shirt, he could hear the pilot’s chattering between themselves. Major Warrin, commander of the Fleet guard detail which accompanied Desaria, sat in a vacant seat and bantered with them.


“ Good to see, eh? We haven’t been dirtside in what? Four months?”


“ Five,” replied the copilot, a young Bastion native barely middle aged.


“ It’s not much to miss.”


“ Get a load of the ground-pounder! You hit the turf once a month at least. We fly over it. Even when we’re droppin’ off the big-wigs, we ‘stay on the ship.’ Posting on a Destroyer ain’t much fun for a shuttle pilot.”


“ I’ve been on that Destroyer since it was built. I haven’t left for eight months. I was stationed on Coruscant before that. I wanted to get away from planets and see the stars. I have no regrets. Does wonders for one’s ego.”


The Admiral could not help but smile. Two Majors and a Senior Lieutenant with the same service life debating the merits of planet-fall. Desaria did not care where he was posted, as long as he could be of use to the Empire. Posting, however, was relative - the brief of the Chief of the General Staff had always been rather broad.



* * *



“ Who is he?”


“ Admiral Telan something. Imperial higher-up. Lots ‘a brass.”


“ Oh. It’s about damned time!”


The chattering troopers came to attention as a grey-uniformed officer bearing a Major General’s plaque on his chest strode by. Two columns of like-uniformed Light Infantry soldiers stood ready to receive the Imperial delegation. By Imperil standards, twenty men was a paltry honour guard. Major General Arnim however, old enough to have baby-sat the men flanking him, knew the arrived persons would appreciate the simplicity of the guard.


Every one of the soldiers came from a platoon of 1st Battalion, 171st Light Infantry Regiment. The first battalion of a like-designated and numbered unit had been under Admiral Desaria’s command when a shuttle crashed during inspection and the Fleet officer had been forced into an Army assignment. The unit had since been the nobleman’s pet formation, always serving aboard his flagship. He had been grief stricken when it was destroyed to a man during the holocaust which brought the Fleet to its knees.


“ Look sharp, men. The Empire has returned,” the General shouted as a delta-winged shuttle came to land.

The descent to the planet surface had been bumpy as Harbinger pierced the atmosphere. Trelin, long-time capital of Carida, grew from a mere dot below to a teeming city spread far and wide on either side of a wild river half a kilometer wide.


“ Wings up.”


Mere meters remained before the Sentinel-class shuttle connected with the ferrocrete pad beneath her extended steel feet. As she touched down, being the first Imperial vessel to arrive in three years, many lookers on cheered; many only looked, decided between disgust, pride, and ambivalence. Exposed tower-tops became filled with swarms of the citizenry trying to get a better glimpse of the day’s goings on.


Striding first down the high landing ramp was a squad of six Imperial Fleet troopers. Their DL-44 blaster rifles were not drawn, instead hung normally in their hip - mounted holsters. The polished plasteel of the troopers’ helmets glistened in the rays of the midday sun. A sea breeze swept over the pad, refreshing and cool. On the face of every Imperial guard was a façade of apathy, none realizing the symbolism around them. Their duty, however, did not include comprehension of high-level strategy. They did know they were proud to be there. To a man, beneath their iron gazes, hearts beat faster and emotions ran wild.


Following behind, hands at the small of his back, was Admiral of the Fleet Baron Telan Desaria. On his chest sat the six - one - six rank plaque befitting a former sector fleet commander. Over his left shoulder were strong four aiguillettes of a fine-woven white cord. With his escort the Kuati noble stood apart in the olive-drab uniform of the Fleet Officer Corps. There was no cap perched atop his black hair to shield him from light unobstructed by clouds or the depth of space. For a moment he stood at the very edge of the landing ramp, allowing his eyes to adjust. When all spots had cleared from his vision, Desaria strode onto Carida.


On the landing platform, two squads of Imperial Fleet troopers stood opposite their Caridan Guard copies. Were it not for a difference in garb, the effect would have no more than that of a mirror.


Between the two grey files of Caridan soldiers stood tall and proud an officer of the line. Though his hair grey and flesh sagging, his vigor and robust aura would stun that of any younger man. He snapped his arm into a salute, one which was returned by the arrived Imperial Admiral.


“ Major General Tomas von Arnim, commander of the Northern Army. Welcome to Carida.”


“ Admiral Telan Desaria, Chief of the Imperial General Staff. A pleasure to be here after so long.”


“ Too long,” the General replied, and extended his hand.


Desaria took the elder man’s hand in his own. “ Too long indeed.”

Before the Senate
- Carida –


“...The Empire cannot apologize for its inability to retake Carida before now. We can in no way make amends for abandoning its loyal people and one of the most staunchly Imperial worlds in the galaxy. We can, however, ask for your acceptance of us again. We ask of you not to look on the past with blinder, but to the future with the Light of the Empire by your side…”


Admiral Desaria reclined in a small but comfortable chair placed by a long window and turned away from the holoscreen mounted on a nearby wall. Instead he chuckled and shook his head before gazing into the forest of towers around his hotel. The Caridan government had been quick to put the Imperial envoy into the penthouse suite of its capital city’s most exclusive and expensive resort. No expense had been spared from the latinum trim of the mirrors and picture frames to the ridiculously rare bottle of Chambriolet atop a small bar by the entrance.


The Empire had certainly not demanded such lavish treatment be afforded its representative nor had he requested it; it had been suggested by the planetary minister of commerce, and the hotel president had most whole heartedly agreed. That the two were one in the same was of little importance for to have an Admiral of Fleet on one’s archived guest scrolls was certainly good marketing. “ Favorite of the General Staff” was already being whispered by the hotel’s advertising staff before the Admiral himself had ever arrived at its door.


A pair of jackboots colliding with a black marble floor echoed through the tall suite and then came to a stop as the Admiral’s guard detail commander halted. He clicked once and then announced the arrival of an “expected guest.”


“ See him in,” Desaria replied placing the digital paper he was scanning on an end table. He himself then stood and adjusted his olive uniform. His Imperial Cross was perfectly straightened at his collar, the final touch of his well-kept appearance. Confident, the Imperial turned about and was greeted by a man of similar build and height.


“ Del Forza.”


The Admiral glanced over the Grand Inquisitor’s blood red tunic, black breeches, and close cropped white hair. On seeing it he remembered a rumor spread among the Fleet’s senior commanders that the Corellian noble had lost a childhood bet which left him forever with white hair and eyebrows. Even Desaria, however, one of the most powerful men in the Imperial Navy, refused to broach the subject with him: the rumors of his personal efficiency had spread as had those of his scalp adornment.


“ Admiral Baron Desaria.” The Viscount del Forza bowed slightly out of genuine deference, his noble station a rank lower than the other’s. Desaria returned the gesture and motioned for the slightly younger man to take a seat across a table from him.


“ Welcome to Carida, Inquisitor. I trust you have found everything you were looking for?”


Del Forza felt ill at ease, and made such feelings known as he gazed around the panes of the windows and over the ornate columns that did more to decorate than support the roof.


The Admiral shook his head and smiled, enjoying the other man’s plight. Such pleasure could not last long and he resigned himself to comfort his peer. “ My Intelligence Officer has already quadruple checked the premises for listening devices. There are none of any kind. Speak freely.”


“ I am sure,” del Forza added, blinking rapidly then allowing his glare to settle on the man opposite him. “ I did. Or shall I say: I did not.”


A grin which had casually perched itself on Desaria’s face scurried away. “ I was following you before you altered your response. Care to elaborate?”


“ Of course. There is no sub culture here, no opposition to an Imperial presence. There is no anti Imperial sentiment and unanimous support for this system’s admittance into the Galactic Empire.”


Desaria was puzzled as the Grand Inquisitor sounded downtrodden. It would appear to another that he was upset by not having infiltrators to hunt or resistance to smash. Relating to an earlier assignment just before the Wrath Virus Wars, Desaria muttered perhaps he would have liked better my assignment, going from one end of the Unknowns to the other trying to conquer mindless alien herds. Then he certainly would not be wanting for work! He would doubtless still be there!!


“ Perfect. Then after the official vote is made today I can send word to the Regent that he has his Central Academy back.”


“ I would not be so hasty.”


“ Why is that?” The Admiral characteristically arched an eyebrow.


“ The lack of resistance makes this too easy. The citizenry is clinging to its memories of the past. Their support of the Empire needs to be revitalized, galvanized some how.”


Baron Desaria frowned. “ I am afraid I do not understand. I would like to return to Coruscant before my birthday.”


“ Fear not, Admiral, you shall be nestled in Command before week’s end. I will see to it personally.”


With that, the Inquisitor stood, bowed slightly, and departed without waiting for the Guard to part the doors before him. When he was safely gone, Desaria slumped in his seat and wondered whether the departed fanatic would assure his return to High Command so he could plead with the Regent for an active posting or that he would personally oversee some sordid plot to ‘galvanize’ the Caridan populous.


The holoscreen was barely at an echo of its former volume, but the sound of a recorded Imperial politician carried nonetheless.


“…Carida was once considered the Jewel of the Empire. Its people are certainly worthy of such a distinction. Now we ask you to return to our protection and be not just Imperials in spirit: let us make you Imperial in body once more…”

“ Did all go as planned, my Lord?” asked the Grand Inquisitor’s aide as the Corellian aristocrat exited Admiral Desaria’s quarters. The taller man merely glowered, all pretense of cordiality erased from his otherwise expressionless façade.


“ He again proved to be completely ambivalent. I see that I shall have to take things into my own hands.”


“ If I may, sir, why is any reaffirmation necessary. It has been said that these people are more loyal than all of Coruscant.”


The Viscount did not turn about as the pair of Inquisitoriate officers boarded the lift, one operating the floor controls. “ They base this faith and devotion off of a blind premise. The entire Viral episode shattered everything whether it is known or not. Something must be done to solidify this devotion and assure that any fracturing that exists now is quickly sealed.”

En route to the Legislative Palace, Center of Caridan rule
Staff Car of Admiral Desaria


“ Quite a display, sir?”


“ It is indeed.”


Admiral of the Fleet Desaria raised his arm in salute to a Colonel high atop a nearby viewing stand. Save for minor differences in insignia, the uniform codes the Caridan military had adopted mirrored those of their Imperial brethren: their Army stood bedecked in khaki, their defense Fleet and Fighter Corps in olive, their Guard in black, and Intelligence in grey. One glance at a native soldier’s boots would reveal the Imperialistic attitude of the Armed Services for every pair was polished to the immaculate standards of the Galactic Military.


The repulsor limo allocated to deliver Desaria and his small entourage of the Legislative Palace passed into what was considered the center of the capital, the towers and commercial plazas growing in size as well as splendor. Random patterns in glass and design gave way to highly regimented reflective plasteel paneling and silver-plated support beams. Columns of marble or shined igneous rock held canopies in place near-completely covering the main boulevards.


From the rear window of the car could be seen a perfectly in-step quartet of newer-model AT-PT walkers, smaller cousins to the behemoth all-terrain walkers which had struck fear into the Rebellion at such notable locales as Hoth, Breviier, and Kashyyyk. Ahead was a line of well-cleaned Centurion repulsor tanks, mainstay of the Imperial Army’s armored corps. On every corner and along every promenade stood onlookers waving Imperial Banners or wearing clothing sporting the six-pointed circle-enclosed Imperial
Crest.


On seeing such magnificent displays of solidarity, the Admiral felt his heart sink into the deepest recesses of his stomach. He knew that somewhere amidst the teeming masses of indisputably loyal citizens was the Grand Inquisitor either in physical form or plotted essence. Disaster would soon strike, and Chief of the General Staff could not stop hating the man. He was loyal, that was not in doubt; the methods which he used to bolster that of others had caused many a nightmare to plague many an officer.


The Admiral’s adjutant, a humanoid, distinguishable from human only by his colorless black eyes, noticed or sensed his superior’s obvious discomfort. “ What is troubling you, sir?”


Desaria seemed to bluster and turned his gaze from the panorama of onlookers to into the limousine where his aide sat looking at him. “ What makes you think something is amiss?”


“ Sir, you have not taken your cigarra. Before every public event I have ever attended as a member of your staff you have always had one. Today you have not and we are nearly arrived.”


The Admiral wanted seriously to object and dismiss such musings, but he was of course correct. Over the past year Brigadier Touras had grown on him and now his opinion was highly valued. “ Del Forza.”


“ The Grand Inquisitor, sir? The Viscount del Forza? What business could he have here?”


Desaria gave quite an angry chortle then stared his aide in the eyes. “ I do not know. But whatever he has planned, whatever evil he hatched in his rotting mind will unfold before us today.”


“ Why, sir? Carida is an ideal Imperial possession.”


“ Because he believes the Wraith Virus affected every corner of the galaxy in some way, however minute. He believes that these people need something tangible to cling to other than an old tradition.”


“ Tradition is the root of all honour, sir. You said so yourself.”


“ Yes, I did. As an aristocrat, del Forza should believe it too. But he is more Inquisitor now than Imperial. He has taken his personal fanaticism and unleashed it on the whole of the Empire. Innocents will suffer and mark my words they will suffer today.”


“ I pray you are wrong, Admiral.”


“ So do I.”


The Legislative Palace itself was a massive, sprawling structure nearly a small city in and of itself. In sheer width and breadth it rivaled High Command on Coruscant. A towering dome sat over the central lobby, more of a museum of history than a forum for debate and greeting. On either side of two hundred meter hall stood long wings of offices, control, and bureaucracy. Every function controlled by any branch of the government on Carida passed through the complex in some form or another, either as an idea, memorandum, or signed Dictate.


The Admiral watched the structure grow as he looked past his aide and chauffer, his limousine proceeding up a broad avenue lined with trees and people aimed straight for the Palace itself.


Before the first turn was even complete and the Admiral’s courier vehicle even sat completely oriented towards the building, the dome expanded outwards and upwards in a mighty display of raw force. Tongues of red flame briefly shot out of every window and orifice before the half-sphere itself was flung in every direction. Chunks of debris, steel, and human wreckage flew in all vectors, a brilliant orange ball of flame slowly expanding where the impressive form had been. All happened so quickly, but the smoke and flame seemed to expand as if in slow motion. Screams of people and emergency vehicle alike filled the air, shrill whistles indicating TIEs on approach resounding through space.


The repulsor tanks rapidly concealed themselves, previously proud-standing commanders through their cupolas now shielded by thick slabs of durasteel. The walkers behind became the lead and they headed towards a secure area.


Desaria never had a chance to see the fire recede and the smoke clear, but he knew well enough who had been responsible.


The Grand Inquisitor had gone too far.

One week later

Inquisitoriate Command
Imperial City, Coruscant – Five Kilometers from the Palace

“ I’m going to personally keel-haul the sonuvabitch!”

Admiral Desaria smoldered with rage as he pushed open a massive pair of blue-tinted double doors innocently barring his way into the massive Imperial Citadel, home to the unanimously feared and equally loathed Inquisitoriate. The building’s façade sloped away from a tree-lined promenade for over a hundred levels, topped off not with a simple roof but four small towers growing from the center’s corners around a larger one at its heart. Few knew how many people had met a gruesome fate somewhere in the structure’s depths, the brutally efficient Inquisitoriate Registrar doubtless losing track with the thousands it prosecuted daily.

“ Admiral. Can I help you?”

The Baron did not even pay the red tuniced Inquisitoriate Senior Lieutenant the courtesy of a nod among soldiers for the former did not now consider the crimson uniformed heathen warriors of any caste. Instead as the tall yet lanky man approached and moved into the Admiral’s way with hands opened wide in a gesture of friendly greeting, the Chief of the General Staff used his powerful forearms to shove the man several meters so that he was sliding across the beautifully polished and waxed floor.

What few pairs of eyes did not glare at their fallen comrade with looks of complete bemusement reached for pistols and rifles. All of them wore an Imperial uniform but those who swore a sort of morbid oath to the Empire under the Inquisitoriate Banner were forever bound to the legacy of a past Emperor no matter what progress had been made in the decades since his death. The security forces as a whole under the Viscount del Forza simply refused to acclimate themselves to the times, easing and improving with the progression of the universe.

For that, seventeen thousand Caridan citizens lay entombed in a rock-sheathed casement brought to life by the Final Act of an old Empire. Palpatine would have been proud: Admiral Desaria and needless to say his good friend the Imperial Regent was not.

Those that had moved limbs to side arms or began pressing alarms throughout the cavernous lobby of Inquisitoriate Command soon found themselves staring down the barrels of guns and blaster wielded by a scattered mix of Army and Fleet soldiers. The entire complex seemed to have been overrun in a matter of moments.

Another officer, either unaware or arrogantly unconcerned to those troops who now held nearly every one of his fellows under guard approached the Admiral with hand on holster.

“ May I help you, Admiral?”

The look of anger and unbridled rage with had pasted itself to the Admiral’s face refused to subside; in fact it seemed to grow the deeper into the building he advanced. The single white shoulder cord he wore jostled with his motion as he briskly strode unabashed through the lobby towards several forcefully vacated lifts.

“ No you may not,” Desaria growled as he turned to face into the lobby and give each and every one of the Inquisitorate officers his most disgusted look before the lift doors slammed shut in front of him.

The lift rushed itself up the central spine of the building above the superstructure to the tallest of the five towers. Somewhere near its peak was the Grand Inquisitor’s office, idealistically located to convey some sort of power feeling. The Admiral could not bare to think of it, for every mention of that man’s name, every reminder tangible and not so plunged his heart more towards hatred. Desaria hated the New Republic and the Rebellion which preceded it, but the feelings within him were dangerously close to if not past those.

The entire two hundredth floor was in fact devoted to the work space of the Grand Inquisitor. Every transparisteel panel was shaded a dark blue to admit as little light as possible. Even the few plants which miraculously survived in the room’s dark expanse possessed an ominous air to them.

Behind a wooden desk sat the tall yet lanky Corellian aristocrat who took great pride and joy in lording over every single internal security apparatus the Empire wished to wield. His white hair stuck painfully out in the darkness, his red eyes burning bright despite the surroundings. The Grand Inquisitor’s tunic was immaculate and done up, his own shoulder bearing a cord as well, however black. He did not rise to greet his guest and the six Fleet guards who accompanied him, only placed a cryshac next to a datapad he had been toiling at.

“ Shift rotations for my staff officers in the Outer Rim. What mundane work. Do come in, Admiral.”

Desaria found his head tilted ever so slightly towards the floor to make the glimmer from his eyes the all the more wrathful. With a powerful gait he marched to the Inquisitor’s desk and slammed two clenched fists on its shined surface.

“ What the @#%$ do you think you are doing?” the Admiral asked, unable to control his rage to any degree.

The man whom he had come to see stood also though he remained eerily calm. “ Shift rotations, as I said. Would you like to look? I know how with your current posting you are so adept at paperwork.”

If the Admiral’s eyes could have grown any redder or wider, they did then. “ You are the most disgusting creature on which I have ever had the displeasure of laying my eyes on.”

With one fist unclenched the Admiral swung his hand to the Inquisitor’s chest and swiped the red-on-blank rank plaque he wore into his palm. Shortly thereafter it went flying into the chamber’s emptiness. “ You dare call yourself an Imperial officer? It is no wonder you can only be found lurking in the shadows of real warriors. You find it necessary to kill innocent civilians to give me unwanted help on an assignment I had all but completed? Did you no have enough death at Jileeak?”

The Viscount del Forza perceptibly cringed at the memory of the two-year past eighth Battle of Hoth, this time between forces of the then-powerful Jutraalian Empire and the Imperial Fleet. The Grand Inquisitor had then held both that rank as well as a naval commission as commander of the Jutraalian Navy and oversaw its withdrawal after Emperor Fearson’s superweapon destroyed itself while priming to fire. Desaria had been there as well, but the two men did not know each other, only of each other from Intelligence briefings. Neither suspected that barely any time later they would be serving the same masters.

A wave of anger flashed over the Inquisitor before he bit out,” Don’t tread too closely, Desaria. What was it you said in your Doctrinal Revision? Ah, yes. In times of war there are no civilians, and there are no innocents.”

“ That was meant in a state of real war. On the battlefield, and it certainly did not apply to our own people!”

The Grand Inquisitor regained his haughty composure and took a quick sip from a small jade glass resting visually atop some flimsiplast sheets. “ Duty is a perception of purpose, Admiral. You have yours, and I have mine. We both have the same ultimate goal: the complete restoration of the Empire. It is your destiny to expand its borders and see that all real enemies are tossed aside. Mine is to fight not a war against fleets or armies but against those who would one day be swayed away from our cause. I did what I had to do to ensure that every man woman and child living in that system bears a deep-seated hatred for anything that is not the Empire.”

“ They were the Empire! Carida! It has been the home of the central Academy for a century! I cannot think of a planet whose population I trust in more! And yet you see a need to reinforce the staunchest citizens we have as opposed to some who I would not trust within a dozen meters of me?”

Del Forza pursed his lips. “ Before they were the most loyal, yes. As I told you, they are not of a generation or era faced with threat from which we must rescue them. Loyalty is not given, it is earned. And now we have earned it. Their fear of the outside enemies which you fight has forged in every one of them a passion for the Empire they only nurtured as due course.”

Admiral Desaria smoldered, the view of the exploding palace complex burned forever into his mind’s eye. The screams of terror from around his limousine, the cries of grief stricken lookers-on who feared a relative or friend caught within would continue to echo through the Admiral’s head for many sleepless nights to come. Despite those images of horror and pure unadulterated evil that would forever play on his conscience, he could not help but acknowledge the Inquisitor’s cruelly calculating logic. He had stiffened resolve. What was a casual allegiance would now be fiery sermons from political pulpits, towering Imperial recruiting posters, and red and black banners flying high into the sky. Del Forza had done well in planting information that the blast was the work of Rebel-allied sympathizers: Carida’s population from aging monarch to lowly plebe fell for the ruse completely.

Try as he might, stray thoughts wound their way through the Chief of the General Staff’s mind. For the first time in his distinguished military career, the Kuati nobleman was at a loss for concise thought. The Grand Inquisitor had done his duty, of that there could be no question. The price at which he had purchased that very success was however too high for the Admiral of the Fleet to stomach. There were other ways to galvanize a population to war, to rally its citizenry into action against a hated foe and it was the Grand Inquisitor’s mandate to do so. His was also to ensure the general security of the Imperial populace, an aim he had curtailed to ensure their loyalty.

No man, no officer, can choose what orders to follow and which to disobey. There cannot be dissected operations lest we all fall prey to ill-prepared initiative.

Desaria took in a deep breath and stabbed a finger across the room’s darkened expanse at the young fanatic. “ This,” he bellowed, his voice low and ominous and dripping with reverberating hatred. “ Is not over.”

With that, the Admiral turned and marched from the building. Most of his men accompanied him, while many more remained at the Inquisitoriate Command to ensure the complete cooperation of their comrades with any orders passed down the rank and file. Only the Viscount Ierin del Forza knew of the Admiral’s animosity, and thus he was the only one to fear the days of his autonomy were numbered.

" You are to be congratulated, Admiral."

Desaria muttered something bitting under his breath then shoved the finely rolled cigarra he had been unconscioully rolling between thumb and forefinger between his lips. He would now have an excuse not to respond to the Imperil diplomat who irratatingly strove to maintain contact with a member of the General Staff. Unfortunately for the Baron, Ambassador Kell had chosen the staff's chief.

" I cannot take any thanks on this matter. Thousands are dead. Yes, a world is now staunchly in our hands, but I don't like how."

The older man continued their stroll on a high balcony wrapping around the elder's flat high above Coruscant's paved surface.

" Congratulations, nonetheless. Now you must plan I am sure how to best use Carida in our overall military strategy."

Desaria gritted his teeth and silently nodded, images of that horrible day in the Craidan capital playing infront of his mind's eye.

" Good. Now I will plan how to use it in mine."

The only thought in Desaria's mind was one repeated curse: damned politicians.