Three Azguards waited outside the kitchen's side entrance. One of them lowered his infrared goggles and gave the area a careful look.

Y-7 made a gesture with his hands to Y-4 and Y-5.

Two Mines - doorway block - civilians

Y-5 nodded and moved forwards. He was unseen by any living thing or camera as he did his masterfull work. With the slightest twitch, he de-activated the locking mechanism on the door. He nodded to the other two, who advanced.

Bracing themselves near the door, Y-4 whispered into his helmet-mic.

"We're ready, awaiting further orders."

________________________________________________________________________

Elsewhere, the terrorists had herded those hostages not in the kitchen into a main chamber. They were kept quiet, and huddled together. The terrorists were on edge, muttering amongst themselves.

"Charles and Karl should have come back by now." muttered one, who manned an e-web turret.

"They'll be back." said one in a boistrous, confident voice. Suddenly a knock on the door put them all on edge.

"Who's there?" Asked the nervous e-web-manner.

A coughing grunt came in reply, and someone knocked twice more.

"Don't open it!" Shouted the loud one, who took a step forward.

______________________________________________________________________

Y-2 and Y-3 undid another panel on the wall. There was now only a single panel of thin metal between the corridor they were standing in, and the main dormitory the hostages were trapped in.

"Now we wait." said Y-3, licking dry lips.

They only had to wait a few second before they heard the knocking. There was voices, and then another knocking. Finally, the two agents silently lifted away the last panel as the terrorists were occupied with the door.

_________________________________________________________________________

Y-1 and Y-6 concentrated at their respective scopes. Each had a 488-calibration sniper rifle, set to Ionize. Using their thermal goggles they saw the mines and the men. They would have only one shot to take out the mines before everything went crazy.

"Keep your eyes focused on the mine." Whispered Y-1. "That is your only purpose, to stop the mine."

Y-1 heard over his mic that his three fellow agents were in place. He murmured "Falcon" into his mic and counted down from five. Once he got to one it would begin.

"five... four... three... two..."

_______________________________________________________________________

There were four more agents each assigned to one of the four small groups remaining in the building. Y-9, Y-10, Y-11, and Y-12 each were using their armour-piercing rounds and thermal goggles.

When the command came, each would fire through the door and take out the one-to-three terrorists in each group. Once their captain said Falcon, they would have five seconds. If no one called it off by then it would begin.

Each counted down under their breaths, running out of time...

___________________________________________________________________________

Y-13 finally drew some lead ahead of the speeder. It had stopped in front of a crash which had occured earlier. The road was blocked.

Y-13 thought fast. He didn't have much time, they were going to turn around and he'd lose them.

Bracing himself for a second, he then leapt off the roof, plummeting towards the speeder.

_______________________________________________________________________

"...One."

It began.

Outside the central dormitoru, two high-accuracy full-automatic las-rifles spewed round after round of precision fire into the terrorist's backs. Taking out the heavy-weapons gunners, the small-arms bearers turned to return fire when their mysterious knocker burst through the top of the door, bringing two pistols to bear.

Cut down in a crossfire and terrified by the suddeness of the ambush, the surviving terrorists were mobbed by angry hostages, their guns taken from them and used against them.

In the kitchen, three agents threw their entire strength against the doors, sending the doors and the fridge blocking them skidding along the ground. As the man with the remote detonators realized what was going on, two more agents burst in through the far door, sending a spray of carefully-aimed sniper fire into the mines, overflowing their circuits and burning them out.

The terrorist command prepared to bring their guns to bear, but they weren't fast enough. Well armed as they were, they had time enough only to fire off some pistols which were near useless against the gigantic agents, before the Azguards leapt amongst them, tearing and hacking with their fearsome claws and venemous fangs. Y-6 paused long enough to tell the hostages to "grab their weapons!" before rejoining the fray.

The people obliged, snatching up now-abandoned heavy-blasters and keeping them trained on the terrorists' escape routes, picking off those who would dare escape.

Also, in each of the four small cells, the terrorists were taken completely by surprise. Each was suddenly cut down by armour-piercing heavy round tearing through the door, and Azguard agents burst in, beating them to death and securing the area.

With their assorted direct tasks complete, the agents immeadietly shouted their results across the mic sets and hurried their free hostages towards the central exit and the outside owrld, where they intended to keep them out of harm's way until the building was clear.

___________________________________________________________________________

Y-13 landed with a wallop on the back of the speeder. Twice the size of a man, he almost tipped the vehicle on its back. The two terrorists, wide-eyed in fear, drew their pistols-

-And each recieved three claws shooting through their fore-heads and blasting out their brains. They went limp and died.

Good thing it was night. Y-13 cleaned off his claws and turned the speeder around, taking it safely back to the dormitory center.

__________________________________________________________________________

Y-1 beat the last terrorist over the head with his fists, until he was sure he was dead.

Standing up again, he surveyed the room. His agents were wounded and exhausted, but it looked like they were in the clear.

"Get these hostages moving, now! And excpect an ambush on the way out! I want everyone to gather at the exit in five minutes. Someone call the local authorities and update them on the situation immeadietly. Good job."

(ooc: the following three posts run concurrent to each other)

"...Lurik Enterprises is a successful manufacturer and exporter of low-grade riot gear. This building is their main office, their equipment can be found in many low-budget law-enforcement agencies..."

Commander Michael dBale sat in his ready room, watching the holo on the wall. He guessed a good portion of Anthos' citizens were doing the same thing this moment. With his hands folded and eyes slightly lidded he watched and listened.



The reporter continued to babble, and images flashed before Michael's eyes. He had stopped paying attention several minutes ago, after the dead body had been shown. The thought of How will they react was on his mind now. He knew what he would do, though most people would find that repulsive. He would ...

The channel died suddenly, changing from the image of a pretty human responding to a poll about the 'Lurking Horror at Lurik' to blue-ish snow. Frowning, Michael stood and moved over to try adjusting the set.

"...Lurik Enterprises is a successful manufacturer and exporter of low-grade riot gear. This building is their main office, their equipment can be found in many low-budget law-enforcement agencies..."

Isjhe watched the holo in silence. After a moment he rubbed his eyes and spoke.

"What's our status?"

"Strike teams are already going into position. The CO says his men are ready to go in now."

"We have people talking with the terrorists?"

"We're waiting on a call from them, Sir. Sir, the team CO says that if he moves in now, he guarantees a low death toll. He said that if we wait for them to get entrenched it will be harder, and he'll loose more men."

"Noted. Get some negotiators in place, we'll talk first."

"Sir.."

"We'll talk first."







David lay huddled inside the air duct shivering. The smell of his own urine permeated his nostrils, stinging. He muttered various curses to himself, all the while wishing he had stayed at home. Home, in his nice warm bed with the holo blasting out the latest sitcom.

The sound of a blaster going off made him squeak. He froze for a few seconds, listening. After hearing no other sounds he decided to stick his head up and see.

"SHAV!" he yelped before remembering that he might not be alone. The security guard lay on the ground, most of his head gone. There was a rapidly forming pool of blood around the mass of brains and burned flesh. The blaster he had been pointing at David mere moments before was gripped tight in his fist, at his side. David stared at the mess, mesmerized by its obscenity. The sound of an engine overhead woke him from his revere, and he ducked back into his hollow of safety.







"This is Bilbo b'barTag, reporting from the scene. We're circling overhead here, over the Lurik Enterprises building.."

The high-altitude speeder flashed by buildings and other speeders in an impromptu and slightly illegal left hand turn. The letters ANN were emblazoned on its side, and cameras stuck out of its underbelly like spines from a Moon-Pricker. Bilbo was sitting inside, gazing at one of the many available monitors.

"...Lurik Enterprises is a successful manufacturer and exporter of low-grade riot gear. This building is their main office, their equipment can be found in many low-budged law-enforcement agencies..."

Bilbo babbled on, reading details from his laptop datapad. Data was flashed to him as fast as the researchers back at home base could send it out, and he randomly grabbed stuff that looked interesting, just to fill the air. He liked the sound of his voice.

"...Why Lurik Enterprises was chosen by these terrorists for their diabolical plans, we'll ... Oh my ..."

For once in his life, or at least, his six-year career, Bilbo was without words. The monitor he had been looking at zoomed in on an object on the roof of Lurik Enterprises. It was a mess, blood pooled out everywhere, and there were splatters all over a nearby exhaust tube. The camera stayed on the body for a few seconds before it jumped to the top of the nearby exhaust vent. A head could be seen vanishing. It didn't take a rocket scientist, and Bilbo wasn't qualified to deliver rocket fuel, let alone build rockets, to decipher what had happened.

"Ah... there ..." Bilbo stuttered. "There appear to be casualties." The stream of words, always so dependable, began to build again. "It appears, from where I am now, that the Terrorists have killed a security guard, and have laid his body out on the roof for us to see. A warning, perhaps, that they aren’t playing vector-ball. If you have young ones watching, be warned that these images are very graphic."







David had sat down too hard in his attempt to hide again, and the thin grating that had been holding his body up collapsed. With a slight grunt he began to fall down. He fell down about ten feet inside the duct before he landed at an elbow. Upon impact the ducting collapsed, sheering from its support struts. A large portion of duct, with David inside, separated from its restraints and fell into the false ceiling below it. That too held for only a moment before caving in. False ceiling, ducting and David all came crashing through to the ground nine feet below.

This time David was too scared to sit still. He frantically began to scramble out of the heaping pile of trash, pushing, kicking and clawing his way up.







A recorded voice was being played now, with Bilbo's video footage in the background. A man was reading the demands of the terrorists.

... The withdrawl of any vessels operating outside Anthos space, the immedate resignation of President Isjhe Kaant, the destruction of any heavy ships of 1500 meters...

"Those are the demands the terrorists have put forth. Back to you, Bilbo."

Bilbo immediately began to narrate again, spinning an intricate weave of hot air and fact. It was mostly hot air. More speeders had begun to join his, law enforcement, civilian and news networks. It would take the cops some time to get the illegitimate ones weeded out.







David was clear of the mess now. Standing, he looked about frantically. No one appeared to have heard the noise he had made. Quickly he looked about for an exit. He had fallen into a utility room, a small place filled with pipes and equipment.

He needed to get to a phone, or some sort of com terminal. Moving out of the utility room the frightened David began to slip from room to room, glancing into each before continuing. As he passed an elevator he heard it ding. Quickly ducking into a nearby cubicle he huddled, listening. At the sound of voices he felt his bladder empty again. Squeezing his eyes shut in fear and shame he waited.


"Wrong floor you moron."

"What?"

"Does this look like the roof to you?"


There was a ding, and the voices faded away. David peeked out a minute later, and seeing no one went back to work.

Finally he hit the jackpot, a small security node. There were only six monitors in this node; it was a one-man station. But there was an external com-line, one not attached to the main pipes going out. The theory was that if anyone cut the power to the building, all security nodes would be capable of calling out for help.

"Hello?" said David into the headset. "Anyone there?"

"This is Sathora Security," said a female voice. "What is your emergency?"

"The building is under attack, terrorists have taken over the place, this guy has his brains splattered all over the roof and ..."

David began to rattle off what had happened, from his point of view. He was scared, and his voice told the being on the other end exactly how scared he was. His eyes wandered to the different security cameras as he spoke, gazing idly upon their glass surfaces. Most were dead, and from the two remaining on, only one was flicking from camera to camera like normal. For a brief moment David stared.

"Sir?" asked the voice on the com. "Are you still there?"

"They're going to blow the building," he replied, in a warbling voice. "I can see the explosives on the security camera." David stared at a trio of men as they carried a large crate across the camera's field of view. "Shav," he whispered. "That's a lot of explosives." Then, the display changed to that of the ladies restroom. He stared, the thought of the security guards being voyeurs confusing his mind even more.

"Explosives?" asked the voice on the com. "Could you repea..."

The line went dead, and so did all the electrical equipment in the room.







Aboard Bilbo's speeder the camera's, microphones and holo-link died, as if the shuttle had been shot with an ION cannon at point blank range. To the left a small civilian speeder, a very old and outdated model, suddenly dropped out of the sky like a dead bird.

"What the frell?" Muttered Bilbo.

"Time to reversion," queried Ruskov of the junior duty officer seated to his right, "Ensign?" As always, the Bothan Captain had adopted the attitude that was common of him in battle situations. Standing crisp in the small depression of the bridge command area, he kept his hands clasped neatly behind his back even as the vessel bucked slightly below him.

"Twenty-three point one-five and counting, Sir," replied the twenty-something human, his eyes never straying from the console before him. It was customary aboard-ship to keep all lights dimmed, save for those illuminations indicative of the ships systems.

Nodding slightly, Ruskov, a slight ripple running down his hackles, grasped his hands around the bar of his command station, bracing his feet for the reversion to real-space. "All stealth systems stand ready, active in," he glanced at a small chronometer on his right, "Twenty-three point five, no less." Another glance to his right and he barked somewhat more harshly then intended, "Beta Six reversion...Go!"

With a dull thud the vessel dropped abruptly from the quasi-reality of hyperspace into that more commonly known, real space. Shuddering brutally, the crew found themselves jostled gruffly as the sunlight engines came online, pumping hard at full reverse to slow their forward momentum drastically and within the shortest space possible. Even the Captain stumbled some as his ship leapt suddenly fore, before yawing with all her might aft. Inside her belly the inertial compensators were pushed to their limits, straining to keep the crew held firmly in place.

Even before coming to a full stop, Ruskov watched on as a number of small indicator bars leapt suddenly, casting a harsh red glare across his profile. Power systems were pushed, as they had been designed to be, compensators wildly working to keep their systems in functioning order, before suddenly leveling off.

A sudden calm seemed to wash over the bridge, a millisecond of trepidation that held all voices in stay.

It was Ruskov who first broke the silence, "Status, Chief?" Casting the words upon a Duro of indiscernible age standing just aft and starboard of his Captain.

The fellow seemed to pause for an instant before nodding once and answering Ruskov's query. "Full Stop. All stealth and cloak systems running at One-Ten. Our arrival remained within the gravity-shadow of Sathor I," he replied, speaking of Sathora's largest satellite moon, "Beta Six reversion was successful, Comrade."

Despite himself, Ruskov allowed a toothy grin to cross his features. "Excellent work, everyone."

"Helm," started Ruskov, his grin long gone, "bring us about to mark oh-oh-five, one half." Gesturing towards Sathora, its massive profile dominating the bridges' forward screen, the Captain added, "Move us into position over the target. Our counterpart will be arriving shortly and I want their arrival to cover ours."

With a sad little chuckle, he strode out from behind his brass, the ship yawing towards the planet and made his way over to the advanced tactical situation post located further aft of his command pit, "Chief, you have the forward bridge."

The reply of his senior officer was lost by the sudden oppressiveness of the TSP. This was a place designed of a single purpose, and it housed the most hostile components of his ships arsenal, including, but not limited to, her cloak and stealth systems.

"Captain in the TSP," barked an indistinct figure off to the far rear of the center, his race and profile lost in the all consuming darkness in which the officer and his comrades toiled.

"Stand easy Lieutenant," replied the Captain, able to recognize the officer by voice if not location, alone. "Tell me about those firing solutions, and I want positive information on our baby down below."



*



Aboard the Imperator Star-Destroyer - "Avantyne"
Near Sathora Arrival Zone
12.546.0666

The Bridge of an Imperator Star-Destroyer is not often spoken of as the most romantic or intimate of settings, and it will certainly never be said of the bridge aboard the Star-Destroyer Avantyne. It can be said, and quite easily, that the Avantyne has perhaps the ugliest bridge of any ship of the Imperial line. While functional in all aspects, save for the aesthetic, the Imperators bridge had been heavily redesigned to meet the demanding needs of the CTCT. Sectionals had been required, and that alone demanded considerably more space. Space which was taken from the surrounding areas.

As a result, the bridge of the Avantyne had taken on a distinctly beaurocratic appearance. Senior naval staff operated from a raised balcony twined with another from which the CTCT senior body would function, which then loomed out over a massive central command pit that ended up resembling something out of an old holo-vid about pre-hyperspace orbital rockets. It was the kind of place you would expect to hear, "Uhh, Command; we have a problem here."

"Real Space Reversion in T-Minus Sixty Seconds," bellowed a massive monotone computer voice, alerting all hands throughout the almost two kilometer bulk of the Avantyne to brace for hyperspace exit. As one, all hands, fins and, tentacles grasped their positions or clipped into their safety harnesses. Countless droids, whirring this way and that, made their way to their posts. Everyone except for the Captain and his counterpart, Major Fystyng.

"I hope your transmission jockos are ready, Major," quipped the captain proudly as his ship hurtled itself heroically towards their destination. Only now did he wrap fingers about the handrail that ran the length of the forward bridge balcony.

"As I hope your crew are prepared and briefed, Captain," replied the Bith, continuing their quiet rivalry. "We need to get into position as quickly as possible, and commandeer all communications channels. Command is dispatching an interdictor to our aide to control space traffic, but regardless; we are to initiate a Level Three lockdown of Sathora upon arrival. For now, no one gets in, and no one gets out."

"Nor will communications," added the elder human, adjusting the brass of his collar, "my pilots are ready to drop as soon as we do. You will have your lockdown Major, you can trust me on that."

Nodding approvingly, the Fystyng casually adopted a more amicable tone, "As I am sure I can trust you on a great many things." Watching as his comment earned a grin from the Captain, Fystyng went on, "We already have confirmation of all codes. The satellite network is ours on arrival, which will help complete our comprehension of the situation but for now, Captain, you know everything I do."

"Thank you, Major, " said the Captain dismissivly, "But why Lurik Enterprises... they handle low budget commercial stuff, don't they?"

"Reversion in T-Minus 10, 9, 8," counted down the monotone of the computer voice.

Turning towards the Captain while bracing for reversion, the Bith grinned an imperceptible grin at his counter part and replied, "That is what we are about to find out."



*



With a nod, Ruskov removed the headphone from his ear, leaning further over the central TSP desk and the young human woman seated there. "Begin tracking the Avantyne, I want to know if they deviate from the projection by even a kilometer."

In the past few moments Ruskovs' normally collected demeanor had gone from calm to unnerved. Something about what he was about to do, about what he was about to order of his crew. Fighting the thought, Comrade Ruskov forced it down; this was his job, and the job of his crew. It was not his place to question leaders who had never failed their people before.

He checked the chronometers set into the desk before him, checking them against the projections, and nodded positively. "Okay folks, we're on"

A whirr of activity started up around the Bothan, so much that he had to press back his ears to shut out some of the noise. Various machines and systems beeped, blipped or, pinged their readings in the din, their operators then relaying the readings to another, more senior officer who then brought it to a more competent computer and crew, who then analyzed the data and presented it before the Captain and the TSP command.

"Target horizon coming up in fifteen points," chimed a voice in the darkness, spurring the Captain to heft his direct-line mic to his Chief XO on the bridge and order the helm to move into axial obit, bow down, and prepare for synchronized orbit. He could imagine his ship in the blackness of space, shifting her position, orbiting high above the planetary horizon below.

A quick check of the chronometers found that thought snuffed.

"Target in view," reported another, "Full stop in five point five seconds."

Forgoing the nod, the Captain again hefted the mic, passing further orders along to his Executive Officer, "Full stop on my mark, prepare for synchronized orbit over Target Alpha." Pausing for a two count, he then snapped, "Mark!" and imagined he could feel the ship coming slowly into position.

Required to do little more then turn his head, Ruskov nodded at a squat figure seated before yet another monitor. "You are clear to Acquire," he added.

The squat figure confirmed with a nod, his fingers dancing over a myriad of controls before glancing up at his Captain with a proud beaming smile, "Acquired Sir."

A subtle wave of his fingers found the image acquired only moments earlier displayed proudly on one of the projection maps. There, in all its high-resolution glory, was the rooftop of the Lurik Industries building. Off to the edge, Ruskov spotted a single body, laying prone atop the roof, with a blaster at his side. It did not take a rocket scientist, though he was well qualified to be, to tell that the man had eaten his own fate. "Good work. Synchronize with the satellite network please. Projections leave you with thirty-three points until the Avantyne is within range."

The squat figure nodded once before returning to his consoles.

"The Avantyne?" Queried Ruskov of no one in particular.

A voice off to his right replied in a calm female voice, "She is charging her comm-towers and dropping birds. I read two wings, E-wing Comrade. She's broadcasting..."

"Put it up," barked the Bothan.

A static filled computer voice resonated through the TSP, going through the usual warnings of a Planetary Lockdown. It was exactly the sign they were waiting for.

"All systems independent," snapped the Captain in a harsh voice with only moments to spare. Holding his pause for but a second, all seemed well. "Status?"

"All systems read positive," answered the woman who had been seated below the Bothan only moments earlier, now standing and checking another series of readouts. "The Avantyne has commandeered all military channels, and rerouted all outbound transmissions back. Inbound is recieving a Lock Down status alert and being differed back to Anthos Command. Her birds have fanned and grounded two hoppers that we outbound, the only traffic in the past Ten." The woman paused.

"All communications to Lurik Enterprises have been routed to the Avantyne, probably incase anyone tries to call out, but it looks like any open lines were cut in the grab." Another pause before, "The locals have the building secured, have for some time. Confirm evacuation of block-wide radius."

"Good work folks," said the Captain approvingly. "Keep me apprised," he added, returning to the bridge.

Once on the bridge, the mission shifted gears. Displayed on the main screen was almost the same image he had been viewing in the TSP, though now it was enhanced with various filters, tactical information, and a readout of local activity. He was watching in live action, despite clouds and atmosphere, what was transpiring such a vast distance below the nose of his ships' orbit.

Clearing his throat, he turned towards his weapons officer as the call of; Captain on the bridge, suffused behind him. "Weapons, status?"

"We have the solutions Sir, the bird is ready to drop."

Nodding, and without any ceremony of sparring of time, he ordered, "Fire."



*



Who are you, falling silent through the blackness of space towards your target? Who are you, unerring in your flight, so motivated to destroy that you will do so without thought? Who are you?

You are resolution.

You are a specially designed TRU warhead, built to do what no one would ever admit you have done. You have been built to evade notice and to function in secrecy, your exterior painted with technology that makes you invisible to the eye. Only two meters long, your slender body glides easily through the atmosphere, shaking its exterior protection in the heat of re-entry. Once through you find yourself in the sky of some unknown planet, streaming towards the ground at unimaginable vectors. You fall for a time before your internal brain tells you it is time.

With your nose pointed at the ground, a sudden burst of thrust shoves from your aft and launches you forward with crazy speed. Deep inside your body, an advanced computer tracks your target, constantly adjusting your pitch and sway to match the pre-approved vector.

In a flash you rip through the clouds, a slight vapor gathering on your body and then, down below, you see your target. It glows a crazy red in your computer eye, and you know what you will do. You are not merciless; you are simply a machine designed to do but one thing.

Your internal brain calculates, and abruptly the thrust in your aft cuts out, your motivators switching guidance from thrust-vectored to the specially designed flaps and wings spaced across your body.

You are passive in your work, giving no clues that you are there. Tactical information comes from above, somehow routed into your computer brain so that it may make the best calculations for impact. You do the work that no sentient mind could.

Suddenly you find yourself off the mark, straying dangerously wide. Inside you rationalize it as high altitude turbulence, and easily adjust for it with a puff of thrust from your rocket. Back on track, you configure for impact.

It takes only seconds for you to get within visible range of your target and only seconds more before you find yourself racing past it's upper most height and zipping violently down next to a wall of reflective glass. Your computer brain calculates that you have fallen, at the right speed and angle for exactly 3.33 milliseconds, the perfect zone for impact, and in response, fires one last thrust of your rocket.

Your vector changes dramatically, sending you smashing through the wall of glass at midlevel of the Lurik Industries main Headquarters.

Exactly 2.356 millions of a second later, you detonate.

Fifteen seconds after detonation, nothing remains of the Lurik Industries building, save for a twenty meter deep canyon carved out by the blast and a ring of debris that litters the opposing buildings.

No longer do speeders whizz about through the air, those that were within range of detection now lay somewhere below in the piles of rubble.



*



Two, Major Fystyng and the Captain of the Avantyne, as one, scream.

"What the fark was that?!"

But neither receives any answer. For what seems like an eternity, every sentient on the bridge finds themselves locked in stunned silence, watching on as what was once the Lurik Tower is abruptly reduced to so much debris and dust. Displayed on the massive, two-story screen mounted at the far head of the bridge, the explosion plays out in unreal reality, linked up live from a nearby hovering camera.

It seems to start from below; a sudden plume of smoke, flame and, debris shooting from the lower levels of the Lurik Building, pelting the neighboring structures with all. The explosion only grows from there, quickly shooting upwards and outwards to consume the whole of the structure. But it does not stop there. Like some voracious beast it yawns outwards, swallowing up the evacuated buildings which ringed the larger Lurik Tower, smattering that which has not been destroyed by debris with concussive force and explosive flame. A great mushroom cloud expands upwards and outwards, and seconds later, everything is lost in ensuing dust cloud.

The numerous high altitude speeders that seconds earlier dominated the air are now no where to be seen. Those close enough to get a hint of the blast finding themselves scattered like the wind while those with a true visual had found a much more grim fate.

Moments earlier the area surrounding the Lurik Tower had been rich with information, but now lay a devastated and radiation saturated wasteland.

"Get me visual," commanded Fystyng, outraged beyond reason. "Sithspawn, Captain, what in the void...?"

"I don't know, Major," whispered the Captain, handling the shock in his own, more subtle manner. "But I do know we need to get people down there, and fast. Suggest we move to Full Lock Down, and acquire all audio, visual and, other signals that may still be leaking."

WIth nothing but a nod, the Bith turned and started away from the bridge balcony, "I trust you can handle that, Captain. I must contact Command."

Two Days Later

Undisclosed Location

The holoscreen was on, its bright colors flashing and reflecting off the spartan interior of the office. The chronometer sat silently on the desk, its numerals displaying the time when the in-depth portion of the news program would begin. Like so many things in this galaxy, the in-depth coverage started at the same time, every day, no matter what the subject, or amount of news. It seemed as if the executives lived and died by putting out a rigid non-flexible format, no matter what the cost to other breaking coverage was. Such regularity though, was quite benefical to Brutus Nogoth, who could flick on the program at the time he wanted, and get exactly what he wanted. He wished things were as easy in all phases of his life, but the current state of the galaxy did not allow for such accessibility.

He was working on that.

As the volume kicked in, Brutus took note of the topic. A large headline, with a picture of a balding man with glasses. The headline read:

Professor Proposes Radical Theory Involving Sathora Tragedy.

Brutus's interest picked up. It had been two days since the total failure of the second phase of his operation, known as Upheaval, had failed miserably in an under and odd set of circumstances. An elite strike team of aliens from the unknown regions had helped the Outer Rim Soverignty neutralize his operatives and their 'Liberty Sect' allies on Ison; while a mysterious explosion on the Anthos Republic world of Sathora had vaporized the building his men had seized. Brutus had not been happy about the failures,but had accepted the loss as only a minor set back in the his struggle to rid the galaxy of the overriding powers who moved around sentient beings like so many peices on a dejarik board.

The failure on Ison could have been averted, and Brutus would ensure the next time a similar operation was attempted, that the neccessary measures would be taken to prevent a similar defeat from occuring. A few of the operatives who had managed to escape were already being debriefed and new protocols were being established, and soon new training would begin. In fact, the failure at Ison could prove to be more beneficial then harmful. The situation on Sathora however, was another story indeed.

Brutus had been assured over and over by his lieutenants, as well as his cheif advisor and strategist, Hilter Afdol, that the explosion had not been initiated by GLF personal. They had not been equiped with explosives capable of creating such a large blast, nor had they been given any orders to use an explosion of any serious magnitude during the operation. Brutus knew that explosions could be effective tools, when used appropratly, but blowing up a building filled with your own operatives was not what Brutus considered appropriate. Thus the newscast was something that perked his interest.

A reporter was standing near the sight of the explosion, talking about the death toll, and the current theory of how the GLF had destroyed the building. Brutus had sent a holo-tape absolving his organization of any relation to the explosion, and the reporter made a reference in passing as such, but it was obvious she didn't believe one word Brutus had to say.

However, in stark contradicion of her earlier tone, she began citing research of a certain Dr. Laneq Konner, a professor of pyschology at the Garqi Agricultural University. Despite it's name, Garqi Agricultural College was actually an esteemed institution of higher learning, most noted for being a hot bed of anti-Imperial sentiments during the first galactic civil war. Brutus himself had attended the university, and had a degree in political science from that very institution. Still, he hadn't ever heard of Laneq Konner, nor had him as a teacher. However as he heard what Dr. Konner had to say, he wished he had him as a professor.

The screen had switched to a shoulder up view of Laneq, who was talking to a holonet reporter in a taped interview. Sinipets were being shown, interspaced by commentary from the first reporter. Laneq made some interesting statments, and had what appeared to be almost intuitive knowledge of what had transpired.

"It just didn't make sense to me..... why would anyone go through all the trouble of inserting a large team of heavily armed terrorists into a building, then suddenly atomize that very structure? It perplexed me.. especially after I saw that body on the roof. It was obvious that the terrorists were ready to stick out and wait for a long drawn out situation... why waste all the planning and resources that must have been used to put together that attack?"

Brutus taped a button on the screen, and began recording Dr. Konner, while making a note to have the entire summary of his comments obtained.

"For example, lets compare the first attacks with these latest two. In the orginal plots, the attacks were done without forwarning, primarily against military targets... the bank on Aargau being the notable exception, though I can see a reasoning behind that paticular attack. Anyway, those attacks were desgined to be shokcing, to let the galaxy know just what they were dealing with. The next 2 were drastically different."

The interviewing reporter spoke up.

"Different in what respect?"

"Well mainly in the fact, that theses next two attacks had demands- specific demands placed upon them. The terrorists, feeling as if they had the attention of the galaxy, now wanted to achieve a goal. The listed some specific things, and put up the hostages as collateral. They weren't out just to cuase fear and raise awarness of themselves like the first set.... they wanted something."

"But those demands were outrageous. How could they possibly expect to have them met?"

The reporter seemed quite sure that no rational being would make such a demand.

"Well, its quite possible these terrorist have a mental complex that becuase they had done some bullying, the galaxy would give in. Many people like these terrorists... the leaders mind you, not the minions, feel they are in control of everything, like real life is a gameboard and they are moving peices around. Not all of them, but many. On the other hand, the demands may have been superficial. They could gain other things then those which they set out concretly?"

The reporter, not really grasping what the professor was saying tried to get back onto the subject of his peice.

"So, you don't think the Galactic Liberation Front blew up the Lurik Enterprise building on Sathora."

Dr. Konner spoke instantly.

"No."

His mouth began to form another sentence, but the interview was cut off, heading back to the first reporter, who began talking about other theories and the offical lines from some minor Anthos Officals. Whatever reasoning Dr. Konner had was lost, for now anyway.

Brutus was intruiged however. Muting the holonet channel, he jotted down a note in a datapad, reminding him to have someone obtain a full copy of Dr. Konner's interview. It was put into a small file of other notes Brutus had, most of them regarding what had happened, and what was soon to happen in Upheaval . Hilter would be preparing a peliminary plan to discuss with Brutus soon; though it would hardly be the final draft. The last stage of the operation, in whatever form it took had to be just as spectacular as the begginning. Brutus would allow nothing less, especially after the failure of the second phase. Nothing would stop him from acheiving his goals- nothing.

It would only be a matter of time, untill the hands of the chronometer inexorably ticked toward zero, again.

"Bloody hell." It was all he could say. "Bloody, bloody hell. Why would they do this?" There was no answer, for no one had one.

Ground Zero was a crater hundreds of yards wide, and almost a full hundred deep. Debris lay everywhere. The bodies had been recovered already, at least, all the bodies from the surface. More were buried below, chances were good that the presidential party were standing upon the remains of some sad, hapless worker., though no one wanted to admit it.

"The President wants you to know that you have full access to anything needed to resolve this tragedy," said Karlov. "Just let us know."

With that Presidential Advisor Karlov and his men left ground zero, on Sathora.


*


"Sir!", "Sir!", "Mr. Chu!"

"You, in the blue."

"Sir, are there any indications as to what, exactly caused the blast?"

"None at this time. You, in the green shirt."

"It has been theorized that the heavy jamming that ensued directly before the blast may have triggered it, any comments?"

"Perhaps it could have, I don't know. You, in the red."

"What's the current death toll?"

"We have a grand tally of six thousand, five hundred and seven thus far. Unfortunately, we believe this list to grow only longer as time goes by. You in the black tux."

"Yes, if the blast was intentional, are there any ideas as to why the terrorists would make demands, and then blow the building almost immediately?"

"Your guess is as good as mine. Look, folks, I don't know anything about the blast, its cause, the reasons, and etcetera. I'm in charge of the rescue. Could we keep our questions to that subject? You, in the green."

"What type of explosive do you ..."


*


"The planet is completely locked down, all traffic to and from the city has been terminated. Only approved and inspected vessles are allowed in or out. The best of evertying has been given the relief workers, the investigators, everyone. Sir, we're doing the best we can.

President Kaant didn't appear to take much heart in the advice of his Advisor.

"I know Karlov, I know."

"Don't second guess yourself Mr. President, don't ever second guess. Diplomacy should always be the first option."

Isjhe looked across to Karlov, a look of vagueness in his eyes.

"But if we had struck, as whats-his-name-said, this never would have happened."

"DON"T!" barked Karlov, making Kaant jump. "Never, EVER think those words, 'what if'. They will drive a man to this." With that Karlov picked up the dummy-sidearm Isjhe kept on his desk, and shoved it into his throat. He paused, glaring at Isjhe. He, in turn, nodded back.

"You are correct."


*


The rescue operation wore on into the night, but there was little hope of finding survivors. The specialists swarming the scene had already determined that the explosives had liquidated a large area around the blast, before subsequently creating a shockwave that had plucked speeders out of the sky like a child playing with toy fighters.

Few reporters were allowed onto ground zero, at most they were permitted to film from a very long distance away. Even that was restricted.

And the work went on.

Edit: Urrghh. Wrong account! Oh well.

Undisclosed Location

It was time.

Brutus Nogoth was one of the few men in the galaxy that knew that as these thoughts turned in his mind plans were in motion, deadly plans. Plans which were designed by Brutus to promote his own agenda, and the agenda of his organization. He knew where, when and how such plans would be carried out, and what their intended purpose was. Such knowledge was quite, quite empowering. Brutus deep down felt a certain power that he gained from having this unique, special knowledge. The feeling was quite.... pleasurable.

Unusually happy, Brutus turned on his holoscreen, waiting to see the effects of his plans on the news.

Galactic Empire: Bastion Conclave
Courlag

It was a day to remember; an occassion that easily warranted coverage from the local INS affiliate. Scores of men had packed the courtyard in front of a large building. The building was the former satellite campus of the Imperial Academy, once a proud facility it had fallen into disreapir after due to serve neglect fron Lexicon Industries, the former power on the world. After the company had been nationalized by the Empire, and its executives driven from both Courlag and other worlds, the Empire had begun a campaign of restoring Imperial glory. Lexicon had spent a great deal of time, energy and money demonizing the Empire to ensure its control over the world. The return to prestige of the Imperial Academy's satellite campus was a step to restoring the populaces faith in Imperial might.

The campus was packed- the Empire was holding a cerimonious recruitment drive for the Stormtrooper Corps. The Empire had all the soldiers it could use and then some, but it would never turn away willing participants from its armed services, even after the stunning victories over the Galactic Coalition and the rash of surrenders by the Outer Rim Soveringty. True, the purpose of the drive was more for propaganda purposes than military neccesity, but with its size continuing to expand exponentially, the Empire could use every man it could get.

Bastion Legionnaires, stormtroopers, and Imperial officers were mixed around and among the crowd, which seemed quite jovial- just the image the INS wished to show. The people of Courlag were happy to have returned to the fold of the Empire, and their mass showing for this drive, and there happy faces reinforced the point. It was the making of a perfect propganda peice... untill the attack happened.

Three Speeders zoomed in from different directions, serving amongst the light traffic around the academy. Each was unenclosed, and packed with small groups of armed men. The three speeders also had repeating blasters attached in swivel mounts on the back of the speeder. Before anyone could react, the speeders, both the men and the repeating blasters opened fire.

The carnage was horrible, as dozens of recruits and a few stormtroopers were felled in the first barrage. The armed men jumped out, spraying their blasters unaimed- it was impossible to miss with such a throng ahead of them. Chaos and confusing reigned as the wholesale slaughter raged as the armed terrorists, about 20 or 30 men, and their escorting speeders continued fire wildly, as well as engaging the Imperial troops in the area...


Anthos Republic: Independent Planets
Oogura

The warehouse was silent, like all of the warehouses in the complex. Ilo Pour was happy he hadn't heard anything. He had accepted this job when he heard about the credits involved.... and he had thought about what he was actually doing afterward. Messing with government property wasn;t exactly the safest thing a person could do- not if you wanted to live at the facility of your choosing for the next decade. Still, the job had been simple enough- go to the large government funded warehouse complex, and burn it down. A little arson- that was all. Of course, everything seemed easy in theory, the actual doing was a bit harder.

He didn't really understand why anyone would want to destroy these paticular warehouses. The were filled to the briim with cloth- cloth for god's sake. Oogura was a major exporter of textiles and other fabric related products, but that didn't mean this stuff was valuable or anything. Still, the pay was good, and Ilo didn't really care about the why's of the operation.

That was of course, unless it was Why he wopuld be serving a term in a Anthos prision. He worried like this after all his jobs, but he hadn't been caught yet. He knew he always blew stuff like this out of proportion, but he couldn't help it. This job really wasn't hard. All he had to do was set the detonite charges at a few random locales and set them off- the explosions would set the cloth a flame, and Ilo could hit the road. He had looked for any anti-flame systems, but hadn't found any- if they exsisted they were well concealed. Not that he cared- he had half the cash already, and if even one warehouse caught flame he would demand the rest of the cash.

Placing the charges was simple. He went through several of the warehouses without any problem, seting the timed charges. Checking his wrist chronometer he saw it was time to run if he wanted to get away, and he began making his getaway, just a minute before the first charge was about to go off...

Galactic Empire: Empire Proper
Muunilist

Muunilist.

The financial capital of the galaxy.

Stronghold of the Empire.

Birthplace of the Imperial Navy's kilometer and a half long flagship, Ebony Vigiliance II .

Target of the Galactic Liberation Front.

Worlds devoted to finanace and money were one of Brutus Nogoth's pet peeves. Despite his affinity for math and numbers, his ideology of freedom for the masses of the people did not allow for greedy bank executives and professional loan sharks to rip money from the hands of the people, manipulate money markets for their own gain, and generally screw people over for their own benefit. Banks, on the whole, were not a problem to Brutus. Worlds, like Aargau, dedicated to finance and often controlled by government entities or greedy corporations were fair game. Muunilist was no exception.

When the attack would be analyized, it would draw surprising comparisions to the attack on Aargau- if they ever discovered the source of that explosion. A man, with the look of a stock broker, came into a large bank on Muunilist, droid in tow. After several minutes of waiting he left, and second later a huge baradium inspired explosion consumed the massive lobby, causing tremendous damage to the building. Floors tumbled in upon each other, and a billowing cloud of smoke rose from a gaping hole in the front of the building.

The GLF had struck again.

Galactic Empire: Mid-Rim Protectorate
Isht

Vice Admiral Kraken, a rising star in the Imperial navy, had recently dispatched of the Ishori navy in a hardfought skirmish that had won the Empire control of the planet of Isht. The Ishori people had been gracious, at least some of them had, at the liberation from what was considered an opressive regime. Still, it is impossible to please everyone. There was still a good portion of the population who supported the military and resented the Imperial control of the world. The same could be said for almost any planet in any government, but on those worlds, the populace was not a vivndictive easily agitated alien intent on proving his or hers position to be the correct one.

It started out peacefully enough. A crowd of Ishori had gathered outside an Imperial barracks, with signs and pickets and was protesting the Imperial 'occupation' of the world. The crowd was pretty good sized, probably several hundred or so strong, all chanting and shouting at the top of their lungs. Surprisingly in the middle of the crowd were pair of bothans, a species few Ishori held in high regard. Still, the crowd seemed happy enough to have them here today- it was clear they were agitators who were building the protestors rage up into a frenzy.

The Imperial commander was beggining to grow a bit nervous as the crowd continued to swell outside his barracks. He Decidied that in the intrest of safety, he would send out a detachment of troops to disperese the threatening mass. The troops donned their plastoid armor, and blaster set to stun, ventured out of their facility, using large megaphone to demand the crowd disperse.

The bothans in the crowd began playing on the Imperial's actions, telling the crowd that the Empire was hampering their freedom of expression. Then, all off a sudden, a blaster shot range out, and felled an Ishori. The crowd became enraged. In the same instant an explosion rocked the permiter of the barracks complex, opening a gaping hole in its boundry. With a tremendous wave the crowd launched itself toward the detachment of troops, and toward the hole in the barracks. Meanwhile among the confusion the Bothans began to slip away...

Galactic Coalition
Nkllon

The dark side of Nkllon is hot enough for even the most tolerant of creatures to feel warm on.

The light side is hot enough to melt the toughest metal produced in the galaxy.

Of course, Nkllon isn't just about heat- in fact it's mainly about radaition, but that isn't the point. The point is getting stuck on the sunny side of Nkllon is a sentence of unavoidable death. A horrid, painful death, one which desecrates the body of its victim and even removes the chance for a meaningful service of the deceased. In other words, a fate to which no one should be destined, not even the most henious of criminals.

Of course, thats what normal people think anyways.

It was a random choice, a large ore hauler, that just happened to be picked for the purposes of the GLF. Fully loaded with precious minerals, it was flying away from Nkllon, the protection of a sheild ship awaiting its exit from the planets atmosphere. Saftey and monotonous routine of hyperspace was only minutes away. However such saftey was not ment to be. There was an explosion near the engine of the vessel, and it was forced to divert its course. Unable to attain enough velocity to exit the atmosphere, the huge hualer made a controlled crash landing on the surface of the planet. With most of its crew safe, the captain of the vessel became horrified to discover his ship was only 15 minutes from being baked alive, as the planets rotation and the rising sun would soon put him under the intense heat of Nkllon's primary star...

Outer Rim
Garqi

The target had been chosen carefully. The key to this final phase of the operation was apperance as oppsed to real damage. Still, it had to appear like a huge amount of damage had occured, and it would. But compared to what could have been wrought, the scale would pale in comparison.

It was night. The clear black sky was uninhibited by any obstruction and appeared to go on forever and ever and ever. Tsreching out below the stars were huges expanses of rolling plains, composed of a rich fertile soil, put neatly into gargantuan square patches. The fields of Garqi seemed large enough to be an ocena of crops, streching out far beyond the horizion. In all likleyhood the statistical makeup of all the farms on Garqi probably equalled the area of a small ocean on any other planet, and probably even greater. The planet was blessed with rich fertile soil and an abundance of flat terrain suitable for growing crops of every make and description. The arable weather and moderate season made for several growing seasons and an almost continuous production of crops. Garqi to a force user would have been alive like the swamps of Dagobah, teeming with life energy and the force.

The men out in the feild now however would have never guesed that- had no clue. They were not in touch with that mystical life energy, and certainly wouldn't have been preforming this menial job if they were. Still, the power of life they had would be immense.

They spread out among a large swath of land, and dropped their incednieries: torches, grenades, liquid fuel- a variety of things. The spread it in multiple locations to ensure a fire would catch and spread, then left quickly, their simple tasks done.

Within minutes the skies over the fields became obscured byt the smoke of a dozen fires raging across the huge, fertile fields...

Arliss Towers - Muunilist



"Jenice, I've no idea what you are talking about. The Benite Account.."

"Should have been left alone, Viceroy." Jenice Arliss' lips pressed together in displeasure. "You've no charter in that district."

"Don't talk to me of charter's child!" snapped the man on the other end of the holocom. "You think you have first place because you sleep with the Empire?!" His voice dripped venom, "I don't need a charter! I go where I want and when I want!"

"Is that a threat?" Jenice asked calmly, her emotions anything but calm.

"You think your precious 'towers' is invincible? I've just made a deal that will keep you out of our hair for good."

"You deal at your own risk."

The man laughed, "I might remind you girl, that when your father was building the Towers, I was screwing you back in the shanty town he left you in." The man leaned forward, "And do you know what? I didn't even enjoy myself."

Jenice's eyes went cold, "Then my father's plan obviously worked. I've wasted enough time with you, Viceroy. You want to feel my power, then you shall."

"Threats....little girl. Merely threats. Your father ---"

And the transmission failed.

"Gill!" Jenice snapped, "What happened to the communications?"

"Ma'am, all communications are down in that area. Preliminary reports on the net suggest an explosion of somekind. Official organizations enroute."

"Location?"

"Viceroy's Bank."


Jenice suddenly smirked. "Get copies of our transmission and send them to his corporate allies. Let them know that no one survives the Towers."

"Yes Ma'am."




*


"Jenice, did we destroy the Viceroy's Bank?"

The young woman watched quietly as her father's image shifted into clarity. She searched in vain for any hint of displeasure.

The news was a few hours old and analyst took to the airwaves trying to make sense.

So far, the only possible explanation was...

"No, we think it was this 'Galactic Liberation Front'. We just took advantage of their little exercise."

"Brutos Nogoth" Seamus rolled the name around his mouth as if he were tasting a new dish for the first time.

"I've heard that name before.."

"During the first set of explosions. Change is Coming? Muunilist just happened to be the 'm' in his little puzzle."

"No.. No.. before this GLF nonsense."

"Really? You know him?" Jenice leaned forward in curiosity.

"It has been a very long time. I wouldn't say I 'know' him or I would remember much more than I do.. but the name does sound familiar. My feeling doesn't associate the name with this misguided zealotry though. There must be something more at work here."

"Well, they did change their modus operandi with the kidnappings but when that didn't work, they went back to blowing things up."

"Evidently, this GLF feels that blowing things up is a change or the galaxy. Morons." Jenice heard Mr. Conrad's voice in the background but could not see him.

"In any event, I just wanted to know if the rumors were true or not. It seemed like a page out of my book..." he grinned.

"An explosion was too clean for the Viceroy. I wanted to skin him alive."

Seamus grinned. "There will be others, Jenice, there will be others. Now, about the EMR's being set up..."


And their conversation turned towards other things.

"Sir!"

"What?"

"Disaster at Nkllon!"

The captain looked out of the viewport, and swore loudly.

The members of the Coalition's TARGET Patrol Ship, a civil-government transport, saw as the ship impacted on the planet's surface. Leaping from hiding in the shadow of the moon, the little ship zipped down to the planet's surface, counting the minutes as the sun rose.

On the surface, the crew looked in trepedition as the first rays of light peeked over the horizon. People shielded their eyes, as the temperature began to climb rapidly.

Hauling on the throttle, the TARGET ship landed with a dull thump next to them. The crew were dazed, as the door was kicked open.

"Hurry!" Shouted a crew-member, and the crashed crew threw themselves aboard as fast as possible, as their rescuers began to take off again.

Braced inside the ship and closing the door, the captain turned and looked back at the rapidly rising sun. The rays were already beginning to melt the paint, and he engaged maximum speed towards the atmosphere. Below them, the crashed ship melted away as their downed shield provided no protection.

Teeth gritted in concentration, he kept his eyes fixed on the atmosphere above. Screams from the people behind him met his ears, as loud warning lights proclamied the shields were failing and the temperature leapt up by leaps and bounds.

Finally, the captain gritted his teeth, as the cut through the thin atmosphere, and into the coolness of space. The warning lights ceased, the shields stopped screaming warnings, and the compartment went silent with relief.

"Mission accomplished" sighed the captain, who looked back at the planet. The damned sun had melted the crashed ship, and any clue as to what had just happened had melted with it...

They had seen this coming.

What else could you do on Garqi besides burn crops? The instant the black smoke was visible, the agents closed in. There were no hostages in this situation, so their objective was simple: Bring one back alive.

As the men spread away from the burning wheat, they paused behind the cover of trees to catch their breath. It had been half an hour, and anyone who had responded to the fire had gone to put it out. They had regrouped outside a small camp they had set up around their small ship, and were now resting, awaiting further orders.

Sitting around a blazing fire, they laughed, and chatted about the days' events. It had all worked out in the end, and they were relieved. One of them went over to the ship, to fetch the food they had stored for a little after-mission snack.

He opened the door, and standing there was a towering monster, bedecked in black robes and staring with terrifying dark eyes. The man stumbled back, and gawped at the giant. The laughter went silent, as each of the conspirators turned to face him. He slowly advanced from the doorway, and a second one stepped out from within the ship.

The first conspirator to regain his senses drew his pistol. "Shoot them, quick!-" But he was silenced. Falling from a tree above, a third creature grabbed him by the neck and hurled him to the ground. In a rush of panicked mouvment, the conspirators fled in all directions. Azguard agents dropped from trees and leapt from bushes, grabbing the conspirators and hurling them to the ground. It was over in a moment, and they had honestly little hope of resisting. This wasn't a combat mission, they hadn't expected this.

"Please" rasped one, as he struggled beneath the iron grip of one of the agents. "Don't kill us!"

An Azguard transfixed him with a piercing glare. "Take them aboard.

Taken prisoner aboard their own ship, the conspirators were silently taken off-world. The GLF must be unmasked, and these terrorists would talk.