The Rebel Faction

*



...the drive with which to make war possible.




It doesn't take much, Zell thought derisively. Just overwhelmingly being kicked on your ass and spit on for good measure!


Then all the reactionary fucks start coming out of the woodwork like jawas to a salvage yard.


Zell stared at the report before him with a sight turn of disgust. "Sometimes, the fucking rumors turn out to be true." he murmured.


Ciscero grinned, overhearing the Regent's remarks, "You'd be surprised just how many intelligence leads one gets by listening to rumors." He sat up, "So, what's is riding your displeasure now, Sire?"


"I'll tell you one thing, Intelligence Man. You are a class act. You have no idea how many times I thought of putting your boss ten feet under and I probably have no idea how many times she could have arranged to have my ass plugged. But, dammit! You have a proper sense of respect!


Something that is sadly lacking in today's military."


The old man sighed, "What ever happened to shutting the fuck up and just following orders? I can probably guarantee you that Grand Admiral Desaria doesn't have this fucking problem!"


Ciscero raised an eyebrow, "Is this about Thorton?"


Zell's eyes darkened, "There used to be a time when I could have ordered an officer like Kach Thorton to gut his wife, behead his child and shoot himself... and the soldier would have done it! Gladly! For the glory of the Empire! Gloria Imperium and all that shit!

Now, today's officer corps have grown up on the milk of peacetime and Imperial invincibility so much so that, if I want to issue an order, I have to tap him on his shoulder and wait for him to finish with his mother's tit and then be burped before I can fucking issue it! Officers now have to give a shit about feelings rather than the fucking situation at hand!"


"I take it something has happened?" the agent replied, briefly distracted by a personal transmission.


Zell did not notice the distraction. "Let me show you something."


The Regent walked to a monitor and called up the last conversation he had with the Admiral/Moff/whatever-the-fuck Thorton in question.


The hologram was scratchy but the Imperial Intelligence agent could make out the features of the Admiral.


“Moff Zell, It’s an honor to hear from you.”


Zell's voice was having none of the politeness and got down to business. “You fucker, I forbade you to reenter the protectorate under pain of death, is that clear? I’ve heard about your fleets little forays in and they need to stop right now. Is that mother fucking clear?”


“Yes, sir, it is."


“Don’t you get pissy with me Thorton. You know we need the fleets…”


“Did you just call me pissy, you son of a bitch? You’ve doomed millions of Imperial citizens with your decision already, and doubtlessly more. Our little forays served to break up major pickets of Reaver ships to prevent them from attacking with maximum effect against our worlds, damn it. You know damn well we can beat them in battle. We could retake the protectorate in a week. Instead they’re in our protectorate doing who knows what. Some sources say they are eating our god-damned citizens. What the fuck do you expect me to do?”

“You little son of a bitch” Zell inevitably replied. A Regent obviously does not back down from a pissy Admiral crying over spilt milk, “You know I could have you shot?”

“Would Kaine have me shot, you fucker? No, because he’d have known what I’m doing was right. I may be an insubordinate bastard, but I’m a damned good insubordinate bastard and I’m your insubordinate bastard.”

"You’re walking a fine line, Thorton. If your ships go back into that protectorate I will have you arrested and tried for treasonous conduct. Is that clear?"

“Yes. It is."

“Good. Then get the fuck off of here. I don’t want to hear anything more about your fleet entering Reaver space without express orders. Is that clear?”

“Yes, it is.”



Ciscero leaned back, "I am surprised you did not have him shot."


Zell shrugged, "And just how the fuck would I do that? If he feels he can talk to his betters that way, then fuck it if he's going to follow orders."


"You think Kaine would have had him shot?"


Zell snorted, "I swear, every fucker thinks Kaine is some magic talisman. At least Kaine had respect for his elders no matter how fucking brilliant he was. But would Kaine have had him shot?"


Zell shook his head. "Probably not. No."


Ciscero was curious, "Why not?"


"Because Kaine is a slippery son of a bitch, that's why! Thorton would never have threatened him because Kaine would have probably let him piss away his fleet against the Reavers."

Before Ciscero could comment, Zell held up a finger, "Only, Kaine would have patted Thorton on the back with one hand and asked for half of his fleet with the other for some other glorious defense of the Empire. Thorton would have been too busy pissing himself with glee at being unleashed against the Reavers that he would not have minded."

The old man snorted at the hypothetical strategy, "If Thorton did get himself and his men killed rushing out against an enemy like he was doing without fucking intelligence, then Kaine would have saved half of the idiot's fleet. If Thorton, by some fucking miracle, ended up succeeding, then Kaine would get credit for ordering him to go and he'll still have fucking half of the fleet to do with as he pleased!"

Zell chuckled to himself, "Kaine probably would have pinned a fucking medal on Thorton which would have, of course, pissed off Desaria since he's the medal-fucking-king. But it would spur the Imperial Guard to double their efforts and out-perform and out-match anything Thorton could ever do."


"Thorton evidently cares about the people in the former Borderland Protectorate," the agent said slowly but the Regent smirked.


"You would think so listening to him preach like a hooker trying to convince a customer she's a virgin."


Ciscero frowned, "But?"


Zell was not listening, lost in his own thoughts, "You would think that if he really cared for those fucking peons like he made himself seem, he would have disobeyed my orders and marched right into the Reaver Space gloriously dying for his precious fucking civilians!"


"But you threatened.."


"You think that would fucking matter? If Thorton managed to pull an ugnaught out of his ass and actually retake the Borderland, you think I could have executed one of (what would have been) my most popular Admirals?

One thing Kaine always said, 'Success forgives all'. And if the fucker died trying to retake Reaver Space, of what difference would my threat make then?"


"So your conclusion.." Ciscero started when the Regent snorted.


"That Admiral Thorton is full of shit!"



"You say that with such honesty," the agent replied dryly.


"Because Thorton is honestly full of shit!" the leader of the Empire shot back.


The old man's narrowed eyes bored into the Imperial Intelligence agent, "I've doomed millions of civilians he says?"

Zell barked out a harsh laugh that called to mind a thousand alien babies being dragged across broken glass, "He cares so much for these fucking civilians, do you know what the dipshit went and did? First, Mr. Thorton shat all over the ship captains of his own fucking fleet, those actually on the spot, labeling their decision to retreat in the face of overwhelming numbers as the stuff of morons."


Zell's voice purred, "But that's ok! Because Kach Thorton fucking loves his Borderland civilians!"


The Regent's voice rose as he stalked the room, gesturing with his fingers, "Then, he sends forays into what is now Reaver Space to handle what? Reaver pickets?! The Reavers don't fucking picket!! According to the data we've got here, the data we actually fucking have! These fucking Reavers are more likely after our starships than fucking planets. They raid planets but they seize ships!"


Then he let loose, "So, the brilliant fucking moron Kach Thorton plans to save planets that are not in danger of being taken over by feeding the Reavers with his fucking fleet!!"


His voice purrs again, "But that's ok."


"Because Kach Thorton loves his Borderland civilians?" Ciscero quietly interjected.


"Because Kach fucking Thorton fucking loves his Borderland civilians. People who would probably welcome the Reaver threat over him any day of the week! He must realize that the planets in the Borderland were threatened, intimidated and just plain beaten into submission by us so if you think those 'Imperial Citizens' fucking love Kach Thorton, you are one hyperdrive short of light-fucking-speed.


We tell our enemies and have INS blast over the holonets that we are loved by our conquered citizens but never do we ever believe our own bullshit. Half of these so-called citizens of the Borderlands hate us but can't find their assholes from the end of a blaster and the other half hate us but are too fucking afraid of our retaliation that they tolerate us.

But make no mistake, they do hate us! The fucking Reavers are welcome to them.

Bandomere would probably blow him the fuck up for just showing up.


But that's ok because Kach Thorton fucking loves his Borderland civilians!"


Azrael Zell picked up the datapad and approached Ciscero. "Kach Thorton loves them so much that he questions my orders. He loves them so much because he is itching...nay! dying to do something for them!


So, after all that, what does he fucking do?"


The Regent tossed the datapad to the Intelligence Agent. "He fucking runs away! He takes his fleet as far from the Borderland Protectorate and the Reavers as possible, half-the-fucking-way across the galaxy to... where?"


"Here," Ciscero answered not bothering to glance at the datapad.


Zell's eyes narrowed. "But you already fucking knew that, didn't you?"


Ciscero grinned a sheepish grin, "There is a reason why Director Isard is no longer on Imperial Center. The protection of the Empire comes first. However, not all see it the same. In fact, there is one organization that has not moved despite the attack, despite the evacuation, despite everything. It has remained in place."

The agent's grin widened, "Curious, no?"


Zell frowned, "What? Coruscant Public Utilities?"


"I mean a more relevant organization. One that operates with or without your decisions. ISB, for example."



If there was a wench to backhand out of sheer frustration, she would have been knocked clear across the room, "What did that robotic-asshole Trachta do now?"



"Messages were intercepted between Kach Thorton's newly arrived forces and the ISB Directorate."


Zell waited but Ciscero fell silent. "Well!? What did they fucking say?"


"Imperial Intelligence, for the most part, is off of Imperial Center. We intercepted a message but it's encrypted. Unfortunately, the equipment and personnel needed to decode it have left. However, it doesn't take a rocket scientist to..."


"To know that their shit stinks!" Zell growled. It wasn't alien invasions and massive death tolls that pissed Zell off, though they would always make for a damned inconvenient day. No, it was the fucking weasels that clawed each other for the privilege of stabbing their betters in the back! And every organization had it's share of weasels.


But the Empire?



Already, Imperial Center's defenders in space were being flittered away to keep the Corridor open and everyone in the Military High Command knew that they could not keep the corridor open indefinitely and that not everyone would be able to be evacuated. It simply was not doable. In fact, there wasn't enough starships in the entire Imperial arsenal to evacuate the Imperial Center on Coruscant if they all happened to be in orbit and had all the time in the world.


It was the hard, cold, bitter truth about math and the population of an ecumenopolis.



It would have been an impossible task during peacetime and with careful organization. And now?


Now, it was a fucking disaster!



A Vice-Admiral walked in with a relieved grin on his face and Zell threw him an inquisitive grunt.


"My Lord, reinforcements have arrived!"


"Which Fleet?"


The Admiral coughed at the Regent's optimistic question. "Uh, Sir... Sire... it's only two battlegroups. They are taking over the evacuation organization redirecting the evacuees to specific locations.."


The Regent sighed internally, knowing the numbers of a battlegroup and the numbers of Thorton's Fleet were vastly different.


"Lucky us," Azrael Zell murmured. "Now tell me the bad news!" he demanded.


"Sire, those Coruscant Command and Traffic Control members whose duties were assumed by the reinforcements have left their posts to be evacuated."


"Of course, they have," Zell remarked blandly. "Given that they had nothing left to do, they decided to skip town while the skipping was good. We had better hope, then, that those two battlegroups do not get cut to ribbons by an attacking alien fleet!"


"Perhaps that is what the balance of Admiral Thorton's forces are preparing to defend," the Vice-Admiral mentioned. The difference in numbers was not lost on him either.


"Perhaps," was all that Zell said as the Admiral left to spread his 'good' news to other harried members of the Imperial High Command.


He turned his attention to the holographic map showing a system increasingly crowded and no routes in or out other than the corridor.


Hyperdrive utilized linear acceleration which meant that any object in the way of the ship was hazardous. If the hyperdrive did not cut off, then a brilliant explosion might be seen as the vessel struck said object. However, the hyperdrive could only cut off if a mass shadow of the object was detected. The only objects of sufficient mass to project a detectable shadow were celestial bodies, planets, moons and things of that nature. Smaller particles were often deflected using artificial means but anything and everything in between would typically mean death to a ship traveling at lightspeed. This was why exploration into new areas was an extremely dangerous undertaking because a navigation system needs to know what is in and around not only the route but the destination to which it is traveling or the trip would be very short indeed. Many ships, people, equipment and investments were lost each year to this exploration and this was why hyperlanes (especially the longer lanes) were so important. These hyperlanes were simply routes that were known not to contain objects that would hinder a starship's travel to various regions in the galaxy. Hence, the filling of the need for proper coordination, logistical organization for planetary approaches and departures and the like was one of the major hallmarks of a true star-faring civilization.


Interdiction was the artificial creation of an anomaly (usually gravitic in nature) that would trick a hyperdrive to prematurely disengage or simply not engage. The alien's preferred method of faster-than-light travel utilized self-contained wormholes that created gravitic anomalies that made typical Imperial maneuvers impossible. Microjumps for maneuvering in and out of formations were useless and so the defenders were pulled back towards Imperial Center.


The Regent saw no point in trying to contest space if his fleet could not maneuver faster than their sublights would allow.


On the surface, the tactic might not have been the inspiring stuff of headlong charges but it did allow the Imperials to get the most use out of what they had and it bought them a very precious commodity: Time.

Time to analyze their enemy's actions.


And, while Zell would have been content with a blaster fighting next to the 'boys of the fighting 501st', he stayed in his Command and Control Room so each report, no matter how seemingly unimportant or small, could find it's way to the Regent and, hopefully, present him with a better picture of what was going on.


And, right now, there were two pictures being created.


One by the attacking aliens and one by the reinforcing Imperials and both did not bode well for Regent Zell.


The alien picture was hazy in telling him their intent and goals but he did have a fairly good idea of what wasn't their intention or goal. In fact, he could state with a fair degree of accuracy that the alien attackers were not interested in conquering Coruscant the way the Imperials did from the New Republic years ago. In fact, Zell believed the aliens were not interested in even holding Coruscant given the damage they were doing. Their cybernetic soldiers littering the lower levels could not etch out an existence on a world such as Coruscant. The aliens themselves would probably find Coruscant's self-contained ecosystem insufficient for their needs, especially since their bombardments were destroying that very same ecosystem.


No. The enemy was not interested in occupying the forest. They were burning it down driving their enemies from before them.


And that was the thought that stirred in the Regent's mind. Why were they being driven?


The other picture was far more simple. The move by Kach Thorton to have his fleet take over organization duties for the evacuating ships was a practical one because the corridor that Zell ordered open, the corridor that Imperial Center's dying defenders were fighting to keep open was the only route hyperdrive-friendly in and out of the planet's area. Thorton would probably need that control to ensure that the panicked and evacuating ships did not collide with his incoming reinforcements. But rather than take tactical advantage funneling as much of his fleet into the system as he could, he sent a fraction of his fleet. A fleet that seemed more interested in scanning the fleeing ships than actually defending Imperial Center. An act that invariably slowed the evacuation.


Some evacuating ships complied while others did not. Didn't the reinforcements realize there was a battle going on and the corridor was not exactly going to be open indefinitely?


It all added up to one thing: Admiral Thorton was looking for something.


And when K-384 signalled that it was being taken aboard the Administrator, the Regent felt the proverbial sword being raised. An Admiral does not shout down the Emperor's chosen Regent of the Empire, then travel with his fleet away from his assigned territories to the Capital, issue secret messages to ISB, and then interfere with a courier ship under the Regent's Command Seal if he were not up to something weaselly.



*






Fate was a fickle bitch.



But if there was one thing that ended conversation and speculation, it was action. And as soon as the thought entered Regent Azrael Zell's mind, the palace shook as if someone had grabbed the very foundations and shook them with the strength of the gods. Several icons and decorations fell from the walls and various shouts accompanied by blaster fire was heard in the Grand Hall outside. Several armoured boots were heard heading for the Throne Room causing the Regent to wonder if the palace had been breached by the alien attackers.


"I'll go see what is going on," Ciscero muttered and disappeared out into the Grand Hall.


Zell ignored the commotion outside content that if aliens had breached the Palace, his soldiers would come for him eventually. As it turned out, several troopers did come.


Dressed in blue.


"What the fuck is going on out there and who the fuck are you?" Zell demanded as his eyes scanned a minor partial transmission intercept from the K-384.


What the fuck, Ahab?


Zell's eyes moved from the report to the soldier and realized it was an ISB designation.



"Well?" he demanded, refusing to be intimidated.



Fickle




*


The Past...

Last onboard was Dr. Goddard, who was under a heavy personal escort to ensure his safety. As he stepped out of the Imperial Boarding craft and onto the ship he was hit with a heavy tidal wave of emotion and energy. Stunned by the psychic blow he bent over, his head screaming.
On the surface the message was clear.

An all powerful, all consuming hunger.

But below it was something else. Something intelligent.

And then, instantly, he understood.

And while Dr. Goddard's head was screaming, the boarding parties on all the vessels reported finding the same thing.


A metallic slab with the inert body of a Quermian lying flat on it's back.

An encrypted message, relayed through the open corridor, reached Kach soon after the securing of the Imperial Palace. On the bridge of his flagship ready for action, he briefly looked down at his datapad to read it after entering the cyper’s key, surprised to see such a long message from the cybernetic general. Thus far, he had shown himself to be a man … borg? … of few words.

Operation Overlord is partially complete and the palace and the Regent are secure. His escorts have been disarmed without major bloodshed and he and his close confidents, including Ciscero, have been isolated from the rest of the palace, who thinks my men are a security detail.

We are proceeding to stage two and preparing to evacuate the Regent at a moment’s notice while I speak with him – by coercion or by blade I will get your appointment to Regent made. I have also uploaded Zell’s full intelligence files on the Reavers and it’s clear they’re falsified – by who I don’t know. But they’ve majorly overestimated both their individual capabilities and numbers.

And be aware that he’s very, very disappointed with you. Not necessarily angry, but definitely surprised that he was outmaneuvered and humbled by it. You have to remember that he is, or at least used to be, the cockiest son-of-a-bitch alive.

** *

“Inform Vos there is a change of plans,” he ordered, musing over what was about to happen. “The entry corridor is clear and so we’re going to do two microjumps to move around the system and then jump to the corridor from it. The 4th fleet will stay in reserve.” Though the reserve fleet was already on a vector that would allow them to jump in immediately he wanted his fleet to move in first. He had nothing against them, of course – their crews were up to active duty standards and their equipment was in perfect condition, even if not the latest models (Imperial IIIs instead of Imperial IVs, and older TIE Defenders rather than the newest IIIs and IVs) – but for political reasons it had to be him first. In addition, Coruscant and Zell didn’t know about the extra fleet in reserve yet, and he wanted to keep that ace up his sleeve.

“Let him know that the fighter operation is off for us but he is not required to follow us in, though he has to remain in system, and is free to continue if he wishes.” He whistled a short diddy – he was in a jovial mood thanks to Trachta and the ISB’s success on Coruscant. Once he was appointed Regent he would appoint Kraken Emperor after gaining the proper leverage needed to control him and doing some necessary . . . chores first, such as reassigning Vos one of his fleets. They were his greatest asset right now – he had their complete loyalty and could take advantage of that as long as he delivered what he promised: the removal of Zell as Regent and an offensive in the Borderland. Assigning one fleet to Vos so that he was up to strength and could keep the Reavers at bay plus two to the Borderland left him eight to play around with – a few less than what was available in the rest of the Empire due to the continued bloody warfare in Onyx and the disappearance of three Core fleets. Once Gilford was promoted to Grand Admiral and given control of the Core’s remaining fleets he would be up to twelve available, putting him back into a position of superiority. In addition, he would soon have two Executors – the Core’s and the Borderland’s – which was worth probably another fleet together.

As the first microjump commenced – well out of range of the interdiction wormholes on the outskirts of the planetary system – a lieutenant approached him, one who was in command of the vessel’s external communications via hypercomm. “Admiral,” he spoke, “Coruscant just messaged us. The Regent wants to know – and he put it in rather impolite terms – why you’re not bringing your fleet in on the open corridor.”

Kach let a narrow smile come onto his face. He imagined Zell preparing the message to his flagship. “Thorton you dog,” he pictured Zell saying, “where the fuck are you right now?” He wondered if Trachta’s men had let him send the message out – the plan was to use Zell as a puppet for now provided he behaved until he could be brought up to Kach’s flagship and hand over control. However, he might have sent the message up to ten minutes ago and it had just now made it out of Coruscant’s clogged transmission channels.

The first jump, completed in a dozen seconds, brought them to the edge of the hyperlane corridor on the outskirts of the Coruscant system. The second, beginning just moments after the first ended, propelled his flagship and the several hundred following ships into the mouth of the escape corridor above the badly maimed planet rotating slowly below. Badly weakened planetary shields barely held on against colossal alien bombardments as the remaining defenders outside of the evacuation corridor did their best to hold back the alien force.

And there, in the middle of the channel, sat a massive battleship. Park Kraken’s newly commissioned Dominion. Kach’s mind turned as the possibilities came to him. It’s presence changed a lot of things and would make things sticky later if things went bad, but it was also an opportunity. “Form the fleet up behind the Executor, we’ll use them as the tip of the spear for our attack.” He paused as he moved to the center of the bridge.

“General message to the fleet,” he ordered, stepping up to the bridge’s holonet transmitter. “Soldiers, the Empire expects every citizen to do his duty here today. Gloria Imperium!”

** *

Omnae:

---

And while Dr. Goddard's head was screaming, the boarding parties on all the vessels reported finding the same thing.

A metallic slab with the inert body of a Quermian lying flat on it's back.

On Goddard’s ship the reaction was immediate. The squad commander, clawing at the medical kit on his belt, moved toward the inert, long-necked alien after quickly checking for traps in the vicinity. “Medic, check vital signs,” he ordered, laying his kit down as the squad’s medic approached. “Fireteam three, secure the area. Teams one and two, continue with the rest of the boarding party further in. Sergeant Humphry, you are in command now. I’m staying here. Lawrence, order in a medical investigation team.”
As two of his fireteams moved further into the alien vessel the Lieutenant looked down at the alien body, wondering what exactly it was they had found as Dr. Goddard, in a frenzied panic, appeared.

5 Months ago...



Broadsword Necropolis



Malice watched the debris gently bump into each other as her bridge crew scanned the wreckage for any indication of what had reduced the two Borderland battlegroups to nothing more than space garbage and wondered briefly if this was yet another attack by the contemptible Alliance to Restore the Republic or the hated Inferno Fleet.


For the past few months since the action at Nar Shadda, the Oversector Outer Fleet had had several altercations with this nebulous organization that seemed hell-bent on destroying anything 'Imperial' in nature. She had used that against them by baiting a trap with the knowledge of an Imperial superweapon being built under contract in Oversector Outer. As expected, they had taken the bate hook, line and sinker arriving in the area intent on blowing said superweapon out of existence. What the Alliance did not know was that the project was only in it's early stages and not nearly as complete as Malice had leaked so there was not much of a target to destroy. What Malice had not predicted was just how large the Inferno Fleet was but she had trapped it nonetheless reducing the fleet by 50%. What she did not destroy, she captured bringin her prisoners to Echtabahn in glorious triumph.

Imperial bureaucracy, however, saw things differently and the Imperial High Command balked at having to find another location and reroute resources to continue the superweapon project. In the end, the resources never were reallocated and the new location never saw the arrival of materials to commence construction resulting in the project ultimately being shelved and personnel reassigned.

In classic bureacratic fashion, the Imperial High Command had ordered Malice to Vladet to make an accounting of her action against the Alliance. In her absence, the Alliance boldly attacked Echtabahn. It was thought foolhardy at first since there was no way the planet could fall to the Alliance with their numbers so few but the Imperial arrogance dropped when they realized the attacking fleet was a feint for the rescue of their captive comrades. Malice's victory was undone with the escape of all the prisoners and the damage done to several of the defending Imperial starships.

She had come back to her command in a rage and was ready to destroy Inferno Fleet once and for all when the Alliance's illustrious warships suddenly fell off the grid. After nearly a month of no activity within the Oversector Outer a foreboding overcame Malice and, each morning, she came to expect the other shoe to fall.


And it seemed to have fallen on the outskirts of the Borderland Protectorate and Oversector Outer's common border with the loss of two Borderland battlegroups that had failed to acknowledge communications or return to port. Malice's forces were conducting maneuvers at the time she received the information regarding the missing battlegroups and decided to check for herself. If Inferno Fleet had suddenly come out of hiding, she wanted to be on hand to welcome them to their deaths.


What she found, however, was troubling.


There was enough wreckage to account for at least one battlegroup which raised the questions: Where was the other battlegroup? And why was there no enemy wreckage?


In a battle heated enough to produce this much debris, there should be wreckage from both sides. As much as both the Alliance and Imperial propagandists liked to claim the other fleet was managed by morons, the fact of the matter was, anyone competent enough to fly through space safely and fire a weapon could do some sort of visible damage.


"Commodore," interrupted a voice and Malice turned to her XO.


"What is it, Commander?" she asked tearing her eyes away from the dust, debris and wrecked hulls of the dead Imperial Fleet.


"The Scanning Pit has something."


Malice mentally shook herself out of the state of mind the destruction before them put her in. It was not so much the loss of life or materials but the completeness of it. Sure, a battlegroup was unaccounted for but, of what was left of the other group, the destruction seemed ...well, complete.


It was not the method of operation with the Inferno Fleet and that part unsettled her even more. The Alliance did not needlessly take lives (at least not when they got their act together) and it had forced Malice into a compromise in issuing the more harsher regulations of the Empire. It would not do to glass planets as examples if, in doing so, you left yourself a Protectorate of dead worlds.


"What have you got?" she asked the Officer in charge of the Scanning Pit when she and the XO had reached it.


"Sir, it seems our earlier assessment of the wreckage may have been in error."


Malice frowned, "In what way?"


"I believe we have found the second battlegroup."


"Where?"


"Where the first was is, Commodore," the officer replied. "The computer extrapolates what wreckage it can find and does the conversion based on the mass and volume of the fleet known at the time."


"So you are saying the battlegroup's numbers were reduced thus throwing the off the computer's extrapolations?" the Commodore asked. It was easier to accept a computer error than a human error.


"Not quite, Sir. The battlegroup's numbers are pretty accurate. However, what the computer failed to take into account as wreckage was the dust."


"Dust?"


"There is always stellar dust and drift Commodore and the computer accounts for some of the dust being from the destroyed fleet but what the computer did not take into account was the sheer volume of the dust that was wreckage."


"I am not surprised," Malice said with a frown, "To turn an entire battlegroup to dust is unheard of. Even if the enemy sat here after killing the ships and simply fired their weapons to break down the debris, most would probably be vaporized."


"But who would be that cruel.." someone started but fell silent when Malice turned towards them.


The front elements of her fleet had reported that there might have been asteroids in the area accounting for the dust and some reports of annoyance as smaller craft and fighters reported technical malfunctions attempting to find wreckage that might have a computer core, memory crystal or log buoy that might tell them something of what happened here.


Had she pushed the Inferno Fleet too far? Had she killed off all their tempered commanders and now she was seeing reactionary backlashes?


Or was this something else...



She started to issue a command to her XO when a brilliant light suddenly flashed and one of her own ships vanished from sight.



"Battlestations!" she snapped, knowing that weapons were being primed and shields were raised.


"Tactical!" she called out as she moved toward her command position and the holographic projection of their area winked into existence and stopped her in her tracks. There were no hostiles shown.


"Comm! Any messages from that ship prior to it's destruction?" she called out.


"No, Commodore. The only reports are fr-.. Commodore! Look!"


Malice's eyes turned outside the bridge viewports to see the wreckage of her recently destroyed ship dissolve into ...dust. Dust?


"It's the dust!" she barked out, "Order all ships of the fleet to fire their iron cannons at the debris!"


"Tricky, aren't you Frey!" Malice suddenly grinned, speaking to herself. "But this is too cruel, even for you. Did I push you too hard? Are you close to breaking?"



**



Hanger Deck, Messiah ACSS Chau Ming



"What the frell are we shooting at?" Glint asked as he handed his helmet off to his hanger duty officer.


"Something in the wreckage made the Aspire blow up," another pilot called out.


"I did not scan any bomb or mine," Glint snapped out in irritation. Commodore Malice was exacting and if he had missed such a device, she would not go easy on his Captain and he would not go easy on Glint.


"Maybe it was cloaked."


"You can't cloak a mine," Glint answered in irritation. "What would be the point?" he asked heading off the Hanger Deck Officer's inevitable technical rebuttal about the ability to cloak a mine.


But the Deck Officer had other concerns as Glint followed his gaze back to his Tie-Fighter. "What the heck did you fly through?"


Glint saw that his solar panel was glittered with silver flakes of debris and patches of green.


"What is this? Moss?" the Deck Officer asked, jokingly.


Glint put a gloved hand over the panel and felt a sharp pain in his fingertips.


"Damn!" he swore, noting the red droplets forming on the outside of his glove. "That stuff is damn sharp. Get someone to hose it off."


"You better get to the Med Deck, Glint. You don't look so hot," the Deck Officer commented as he turned to order his crew to begin servicing the fighters. Glint could see that his ship was not the only one sporting silvery glitter.


The pilot went to the lift and grimaced when he saw his reflection. He did look about as bad as he felt. Six hours flying around floating debris looking for anything that might shed light on the death of the Imperial battlegroups would put anyone through hell.



Bridge, Necropolis


As soon as the shields were raised, the Shield Monitoring Pit began to notice an energy drain and the flaring up of energy in certain sections of the shielding and put two-and-two together.


"The dust is weaponized and, for lack of a better term, attacking our shielding," the Officer-in-Charge reported.


"Can we handle it?" Malice asked and the Officer shrugged. "So far. It is not doing anything resembling appreciable damage but the energy being used to power our shields is energy that is not being used elsewhere.


"Is the fleet's ion barrage of the debris field having any effect?"


"Probably," the officer replied. "However, the fleet has been steadily moving away from the debris field so the attacks on our shields has been lessening. We cannot measure the effect of our ion barrage unless a ship enters the field again. If the attacks have not lessened inside the field, then I would say, no."


Commodore Malice did not relish the thought of ordering one of her ships back into the debris field but she did not have much time to think about it since the officer continued.


"What worries me is the time frame involved in keeping our shields active."


"If they are not taxed, our shields can remain active for quite a while.." Malice started to say, wondering if the officer had forgotten his academy instructions.


"What about the ship itself? Look, Captain.." the officer pointed to a monitor.


Malice frowned, "Are these scans directed at us?"


"Yes, ma'am. Our fleet has been in this debris field for over seven hours. You cannot see it on the current visual spectrum but if we adjust the scans, here, look!"


On the monitor, it showed the the ship covered with patches of ... something.


"The dust is adhering to the hull," Malice confirmed a suspicion. "This is not dust is it?"


"I would venture that they are nanomachines of some sort."


"Then this is an attack by the Black Dragon Empire," Malice realized suddenly that what they were facing was something unlike anything they ever fought before. And that it was definitely not Inferno Fleet.


"Was their war with the Galactic Coalition not enough?" she murmured. She drew herself up and looked for her XO, "Prepare to drop a marker. We need to inform command that we may be at war with the Imperium."


The Comm stations moved to raise the Imperial High Command on the holonet at the XO's behest but failed to find a suitable relay close enough. This proved somewhat irritating to the communication crews but eventually a relay was found though much farther out.


The signal locked onto the relay and began it's protocol initiation. As the nanoseconds passed between the transmitting and receiving data streams something unfamiliar within the network also began to be passed. The artificial architecture connections between the receiver and transmitter suddenly found those connections pulled apart and while both signals struggled to complete their pre-programmed protocols to allow uncorrupted signal transfer it was not enough to prevent the pulling. It was like an adult pulling apart two hugging children and while both children struggled with waving hands to keep their hold on each other, they just were not strong enough to overpower the adult pulling them apart. However, in that metaphorical example, the connection between the two children was not lost. No, it merely was augmented by the adult. In a similar fashion, the transmission between Malice's flagship and the relay was active, only bridged by something else.


And this bridge, this connection between the receiver and the transmitter flared brightly with it's own light drowning out any attempts by Malice's fleet to contact others. This light that drowned out the Imperial's plea for help was known to those evolved enough to 'see' it as the path that lead to hunger no more.


Those in the Comm Pit screamed as the light poured out over their audio transmitters... Over and over it repeated a single word...



reaverreaverreaverreaverreaverreaverreaverreaverreaverreaverreaverreaverreaverreaverreaverreave



Med Deck, Messiah ACSS Chau Ming


"Dammit, Glint! Stay with me! Nurse!" the doctor shouted over the battlestation klaxons but he knew from his resuscitation efforts that it was a losing battle. But, for the life of him, he could not figure out why.

The flatline on the readouts was unmistakable and the doctor recorded the time of death.

The medical computer was still chewing on the blood analysis when more pilots were brought in. Some seemed to have gone mad and had attacked their bunk-mates, roommates or just fellow mess-hall mates.

The medical computer was still chewing on the blood analysis when Glint rose from his bed amid a situation where those victims attacked by the pilots had gone mad themselves and mindlessly attacked others.

The medical computer was still chewing on the blood analysis when Glint bit the doctor on the back of his neck.

By the time the ACSS Chau Ming drifted out of formation and struck a nearby ISD experiencing the same problems, the medical computer ended it's analysis.


The final verdict was: Inconclusive. More Data Required.


Those ships that had not sent out fighters were designated as uninfected. Still, the outside of their hulls were covered with the 'Reaver Dust' and as both infected and uninfected ships hurled weapons of unimaginable power at each other, it was evident that the dust was having an effect on those uninfected vessels. Shields eventually failed as their generators were eaten through. Soon after, weapons stopped firing and hull integrity was compromised. Some ships were eaten through completely while others simply were rendered inoperable as a tomb. A tomb filled with slowly freezing crewmen.


It did not take long for these tombs to be compromised with the arrival of a nearby Reaver Fleet, sensing the 'light' they had evolved to recognize. Ships that looked so damaged it was a wonder they could make it to lightspeed flew alongside other ships that looked as new as right off the shipyard assembly line. But they all moved with a hunger.


In the end, Commodore Malice saw none of this as she desperately drove her ship towards a nearby star in the hopes of ....well, in desperation really. After what she had seen on the comms between her fleet, she found herself realizing that for the first time, they were truly outmatched.


And, for the first time in a long time, she felt fear.




Death had come.

Coruscant

In the seventy-seven times that Solir Marakis had visited Coruscant in his life, he had never heard the streets so quiet. A planet populated by a trillion people should not have been capable of silence akin to a graveyard, and yet somehow the broad avenues of Kiridar District had achieved just that. Crouching behind a low wall of permacrete, Solir tried to ignore how loud his breath sounded in the stillness around him, and how the subtlest movement of his stiff and aching legs seemed to echo in a way that made him cringe. After over three hundred years of life, he was surprised that something so minor could still unnerve him, and yet part of him continued to wish that he was safely within the hull of his ship, the Spinning Dagger, and not out in the open in the middle of the great siege of Coruscant.

He had not seen another living soul in at least ten hours, probably more, with the exception of the mercenaries and their lone charge huddled around him. In the wake of the apparent blockade drawing into its fourth week, starving citizens had chosen to hide deep within the spires of the city, guarding what food they had, or had gravitated toward Imperial Center. The latter no doubt believed that the Regent and his officers in the Imperial Palace had enough food to feed the people indefinitely, and that the closer they got to the seat of the New Order government the more likely it was that they would not starve to death. Solir knew better, of course, and pitied the poor fools looking for salvation in a government that he believed had no idea what to do in this kind of crisis.

He and his mercenaries, known as the Legionnaires, had not been expecting an attack on Coruscant when they had arrived on-planet almost four weeks earlier, and as such had not left their ship with an overabundance of rations in their pockets. The little food that they had brought had been rationed as necessary, but even so it had only lasted a matter of days. They had been forced to raid homes and stores in order to find food, but only from sites that seemed to have been abandoned; Solir refused to take food from the hands of innocent people simply to ensure his own survival, though he expected that it would be easier to find food on their own than to ask for kindness from strangers.

“I hear movement,” the bearded man beside him muttered softly. Renneth Garec, the mercenaries’ professional scout, was facing the wall that Solir had claimed for shelter, dark green eyes just peeking over the top to scan the streets beyond.

“Coming from where?” Solir asked in a thin rasp that, despite the lowered volume, served as his usual form of speech.

Renneth cocked his head slightly, listening to distant noises that only his hearing, which was exceptional for a human, could detect. After a moment, he replied, “Coming from the west, on our right. I can’t tell how many.”

“Is it more of those things?” An air of revulsion entered the voice of Pwar Dev, a former freedom fighter from Mon Calamari, a feeling that was certainly warranted considering the nature of what the Legionnaires had been fighting these past weeks.

Renneth only shook his head to indicate that he could not be sure. From the other side of the small courtyard where the mercenaries had taken refuge, the subtle clicking of servomotors caught Solir’s attention as the sole droid among them scuttled to crouch beside the scout. LE-M2554K, simply nicknamed “Lee”, was almost invisible in the darkness of the night, his red and black plating designed to melt into his surroundings. Even his photoreceptors barely glowed as he trained them in the direction Renneth was peering.

“I will endeavor to identify our targets using my long-range sensors,” Lee informed his comrades, and set to work without another word.

Solir shifted slightly again as he felt yet another surge of admiration for the team that he had created these past years. Each one knew what their role was in the group, and they were quick to step into a situation where their individual skills were needed. Even Lee, though he was a droid, seemed to possess some sort of intuition about when to act that went beyond his basic programming.

You work so well together, and they trust you so implicitly, and yet they don’t really know you. Solir silenced the voice in the back of his mind, wondering if the uncommon chastisement was triggered by the knowledge that Coruscant might very well be his final resting place.

He stared across the tiny courtyard at the final Legionnaire in the entourage, the only woman among them, who had been watching him for several minutes. The beautiful young Chev, Brel Nayigon, always seemed to know when something was troubling him. That alone was a cause for concern, since Solir’s upbringing as an Anzat had taught him to carefully guard his emotions from others. Yet his trusted soldier knew when something was bothering him, and was often there to provide him with a needed comment or a crooked smile in the hopes of allaying his fears. She did so now, and he smiled softly and genuinely in return.

“Captain Marakis?” a quivering voice murmured to his right, in a whisper that the Anzati thought was actually excessive. He turned his head to regard the reason for their presence on Coruscant, the short and pudgy Councilor Sammel Kersh from Taris. Though he had been resplendent in his colorful robes and polished shoes when he had boarded the Spinning Dagger on Obroa-skai, weeks of skulking across the streets of Coruscant had covered him in grime and significantly disheveled his dark hair. The warm, jovial expression that had seemed to always crease his face had been replaced by an anxious twist of his mouth and a constant darting of his eyes.

“Are we going to be staying here much longer?” Kersh asked him softly. “I remember you saying that we should not remain in one place for very long, and we’ve been camped here for almost thirty-five minutes…”

“We’ll be moving on soon, Councilor,” Solir replied in a tone that he hoped was comforting. “Once we determine if it is safe to do so, we will be moving. You’ll be under the protection of the Dagger very soon.”

The chubby human nodded, mollified, and settled back into his cross-legged position on the ground, eyes staring downward. Solir was surprised that Kersh continued to be placated by the simple assertion that he would be returned to the Legionnaires’ vessel in due time, since they had been trying to get back there for over a week. He suspected that the only thing keeping the politician together was the hope of the safety of an armed starship against whatever it was that had Coruscant in its grasp.

Kersh had rapidly changed from the jovial, bantering and incessantly loud politician that he had been when he had commissioned the Legionnaires’ to escort him to Coruscant in the wake of the expansion of “Reaver Space”. Solir had actually liked the portly human, believing that he was a man who genuinely tried to serve his people – a rare sight in the post-Republic galaxy. The brief journey from Obroa-skai to Coruscant had given him a chance to also see the tough negotiator beneath the jovial façade, the man who was not going to back down as he demanded that Regent Azrael Zell dispatch forces to help reclaim the worlds currently under the thrall of the Reavers. His homeworld of Taris specifically contributed great amounts of raw material and produced goods to the Empire, he argued, and deserved to be saved along with the other needy worlds in the region.

Though part of him liked to think that the Councilor’s tenacity would have persuaded Zell into agreement in record time, Solir had not expected their stay on Coruscant to be brief. He had ordered the rest of the Legionnaires who were not tasked with escorting Kersh to the Imperial Palace to try to enjoy the sights and gather up any needed materiel for future missions, in the hopes of keeping them busy.

He had not expected, of course, for Imperial Center to come under attack just days after their arrival.

Kersh had not been able to gain an audience with the Regent, told that Zell was preoccupied with urgent matters of state. Solir had assumed that it had something to do with the attack on Yaga Minor that he had gotten wind of, and his suspicions were confirmed when the planetary security had begun issuing alerts of intruders on the planet and the sky had lit up with the explosions of an attacking fleet. As soon as they discovered what was going on, Solir made the decision to get Kersh back to the Dagger and find a way off-planet immediately. He ordered the mercenaries who had remained with the ship to hunker down and keep their docking platform clear for their return.

He had planned on having them back on the Dagger within a day. Instead, they had been forced to seek shelter in a massive shopping center when the Imperials reported alien troops emerging from the Undercity, turning the streets into a deadly trap. By the time it was safe for them to start moving, the public transit was down and they were forced to travel on foot. Such had been their journey that Solir refused to stay in one place for too long, ordered everyone to have their weapons at the ready at all times, and had three of his people awake during any rest periods.

We come here to help a man save his planet, and get trapped in another world’s fight for survival. Solir had no love for the New Order, or the people that believed in its ideals, but the tragedy and the destruction that he had seen on Coruscant made him pity the trillion citizens trapped on the surface. These aliens that had laid siege to the planet were like nothing he had seen before, and he was not sure that even the mighty Empire would be able to defeat them. All that he could worry about was getting his people off Coruscant safely, before it was too late.

“Captain.”

Solir looked up at Lee as the droid turned to regard him.

“There are three beings approaching from the west,” Lee told him. “It is them.”

Everyone in the courtyard visibly tensed. Solir was already rising, bringing his SoroSuub “Renegade” to bear over the top of the low wall. Renneth and Lee had done the same, the scout staring down the scope of his sniper rifle, the droid carefully aiming with the blaster affixed to his right wrist. Behind them, Brel and Pwar crouched next to the councilor.

Solir counted ten heartbeats before he saw them. They emerged from an alleyway across the street from the Legionnaires’ position, moving together as a unit toward the center of the avenue. Solir held his breath as he watched them, for they were like nothing he had seen before the attack on Coruscant began.

The Legionnaires had encountered these creatures two days after they had begun their trek back to the Dagger. They had not been able to determine what they were, though it was clear that they made up the bulk of the invading force that had landed on Coruscant. No one was identical to another, though they shared similar characteristics: curved legs supporting a central body, covered in a mixture of organic and mechanical components, like some sort of cybernetic arachnid, only mutated. The flesh that could be seen was sallow, giving them a frighteningly undead appearance, though Solir knew that they were anything but.

Most frighteningly, their numbers were replenished by the dead and the dying.

The three monsters stopped in the center of the avenue, directly in front of Solir and his comrades. Several corpses had been strewn across the street, the result of some sort of fighting that had broken out days earlier. One of the creatures crouched down over the nearest corpse and picked it up with its forelegs, hefting the body onto its back. Its companions moved to do the same with the others.

“They are gathering the bodies as before,” Lee reported, his vocabulator muted to a whisper. “They will no doubt be used to construct more soldiers.”

“Open fire on my command,” Solir said to the droid and Renneth. “Three … two … one … Fire!”

Bright blasts of energy erupted from their weapons in unison, striking their targets completely unawares. All three staggered under the barrage and collapsed to the ground, gaping holes burned across their bodies. The Legionnaires ceased firing, and only moved from behind the wall when it was clear that the three monsters were not going to get up.

They stepped into the avenue cautiously, weapons trained on their felled opponents and the buildings around them. Brel, Pwar and Kersh remained behind until they were sure the area was safe. Stepping up to the cyborgs, Solir nudged one with his foot, but it did not move. He stared down at them, feeling pity for the innocent people they had once been and revulsion for what they had become.

“I estimate that our docking platform is merely five kilometers south of here,” Lee reported, gesturing down a side street. “We should continue immediately.”

“Agreed.” The Anzat gestured to Brel for her and the others to move forward.

Something suddenly grabbed his boot, yanking his leg backward and causing him to fall. He cried out in surprise and spun around to see one of the cyborgs snatching at him with one of its limbs, trying to draw him toward it.

Solir reached desperately for his blaster, which had fallen from his hand. A blast tore through the air above him, striking his attacker directly in the midsection. The grip on Solir’s leg loosened and he tore it away, jumping to his feet before he nodded his thanks to Renneth.

“Captain!” Lee suddenly exclaimed. “I’m detecting multiple hostiles converging on our position from the east!”

Everyone spun in that direction, weapons drawn. Gazing into the shadowy recesses of the streets, strangely dark with the absence of many of the streetlights and marquees, Solir heard the sound of thumping footsteps before he saw the ghostly, multi-legged shapes marching toward them like commandos converging on their enemy.

Blaster bolts erupted from those in the lead, flashing around the Legionnaires. Solir ordered them to return fire, and their greater accuracy felled several of the monsters, and yet the rest kept coming. He heard Kersh yelp in fright from where he hid behind them. They had to move – now.

“Make for the ship!” he ordered. “Lee, take point! Renneth, rearguard with me! Move!”

Sixteen days.

The Cree'Ar fleet had broken the plane of Coruscant sixteen days beforehand. Nexus cores, built in the lower levels of the massive city world, slowly converted the residents of the lower levels. The people that the Imperials had forgotten about, and left to starve and rot and die, would have their revenge, for it was they who stormed the gates of Imperial Center, and they who began the war.

The fighting in orbit had been the second round.

Zertaul looked up into the night sky. He saw a long green trail of burning plasma as one of the Cree'Ar Jha'ma cruisers broke up and rained against the shield. The Imperials had a slight material advantage, with larger ships than the Cree'Ar on average, but were at a significant technological disadvantage, as their shields proved just as ineffective against the Cree'Ar's plasma weaponry as did the Galactic Coalition's.

Zeratul had been on the planet since before the fighting began. Advanced scouting, officially, but unofficially, Zeratul was here to visit old friends. During the tenure of the Eternal Rogue Order, Zeratul had been at one time a pupil here... and, when Recon Klain fell out of favor, he had become a prisoner. He had much unfinished business on the capital world.

Now, all his enemies were dead. The captors had become corpses. And the world was still, and quiet.

He had wondered why Artanis simply hadn't asked Zeratul to destroy the shield generators. Quite the opposite; he had been told specifically not to destroy them, but to make sure they were turned off. That would require infiltration and computer work that Zeratul did not have time for. He had a better idea.

In the shadows, the Skey'g'aar warrior stood unseen as a man hurried past. He was dressed in a black trenchcoat which trailed behind him, and though he wore black gloves, he rubbed his hands together for warmth. As a tek'a'tara patrol approached, he ducked into the shadows himself, and Zeratul took a closer look at him as he stood unmoving.

When the patrol was gone, both men stepped from the shadows and began walking briskly.

The man tried the door, but found it locked. He stepped back, and drove his boot into it, causing it to slam open, splintering where the locking mechanism was inset into the wood. He pushed the rest of his body through the doorway and looked around. His pacing was frantic, moving his feet rapidly from room to room.

“You're looking for her, aren't you?”

The man turned. In a flash, there was a blaster in his hand, but the blue skinned alien raised his arms, which stopped him from firing. “You're... you're one of them, aren't you,” the man inquired, blaster lowering slightly. “One of the wormhole aliens.”

“My name is Zeratul Daz'da'mar, but yes, for all intents and purposes, I am what you refer to as a wormhole alien,” the creature said. The man with the blaster didn't see a mouth... as it spoke, the light of it's eyes shifted with his words... almost as if he spoke purely in light.

The man raised his blaster back up. “Then would you mind telling me what the fuck is going on? Who are you? And what did we do to piss you off?”

Zeratul stepped forward, but a twitch of the blaster caused him to pause midstep. “We come from a place far from here. Where, why... doesn't really matter now, does it? Motivation will be studied in the distant future. What matters now are the practicalities of survival.”

“Bullshit,” the man said. He put his other hand on his wrist, steadying his aim. “You can't just storm in here and expect...”

“Excuse me,” the creature replied, “did you not break down the door to enter this place yourself? You are no more at home here than I.”

“You know what I mean!”

“I do,” Zeratul said. “And I would tell you the purpose of our attack on this world, if I felt it served my interests. I do not, but since it does not disserve them I might be tempted to tell you anyway. Were I to know the reason. The truth is, I take very little interest in the politics of war.”

“What is your particular area of expertise, then?” the man asked, still training the gun on him.

“I am...” Zeratul began, and then allowed his voice to trail off. “I am a student of psychology. Of theology and philosophy. I ask questions, and consider answers.”

“You're a spy,” the other man said. “Aren't you? Advanced intelligence agent. That's why you're here, on the ground, when the rest of your soldiers down here are just walking factories.”

“You are very observant,” he said, bowing his head. As he did so, the trail left from the light in his eyes faded like mist... it was then that he noticed his body seemed to... steaming, almost. As if he was leaking some sort of gas from his pours. A subtle, deep blue, dark cloud poured slowly out of him. He wasn't sure what to make of it...

...but he didn't feel like wasting his time with a spy. “You should be informed I've been indoctrinated to resist torture.”

Zeratul once again raised his hands. “Someone in your position is far too valuable to subject to torture. All I want is to talk.”

“Talk about what?” the man said, drawing his gun slightly higher. “I'm not going to give you any codes, or insight, or secrets, so you can just fuck off back where you came from.”

Zeratul raised his arm, and pointed at the picture on the wall. “I want to talk about her. You came here looking for her. Weren't even on the planet when the invasion began. You fought your way through the blockade, the wrong direction, to save her. Why? Who is one such as she to one such as you?”

The man didn't say anything. Just lowered his blaster.

“Was she your lover?”

Slowly, the man nodded. “Once. A long time ago. I nearly ruined my career, since I was married at the time.”

Zeratul took two steps forward. “You're a bad liar. She's far too young to be an old flame and you're far too protected to have been ruined by a simple mistress. You've likely had many. The woman in that photo... she's your daughter, isn't she?”

The man hesitated... and then raised the weapon. “I don't know what you want, but I swear, if you try anything, if you even think about doing anything to her...”

“Your threats to me are hollow and empty, Gevel,” Zeratul replied, and saw the look on the man's face change. “Oh yes, I know who you are. And I know what you do.” He began taking measured steps forward. “The truth is, Theren Gevel, that I do not fear you. Not your blaster, not your powers, not your influence or your words. The reason...”

Gevel had heard enough. He squeezed his trigger and a lance of laser shot from the barrel of the blaster. Zeratul clutched at his chest before the wound even struck him, and when it did, he vanished, the laser slicing right through him, his entire body turning into nothing but dust. If not for a small spray of blood from where the laser passed through his flesh, Gevel would think he'd just shot a hologram.

Theren Gevel checked the setting on his blaster. It definitely wasn't set to disintegrate. Maybe...

“Did that feel good?” Zeratul asked. Gevel turned to see the blue skinned creature walking slowly down the stairs. His shoulder bore the mark of the blaster wound, though it did not seem to have pierced him as he had thought it had. As he walked, even more of the dark blue mist trailed from him, and as Gevel turned his head, he noticed the dust slowly fading away. “You are a fast shot. Most cannot catch me offguard like that. It was my own arrogance, of course, in stepping so close to you. A mistake I will not make twice. You are fast, Gevel, but I have survived hundreds faster over a century of service. Should it amuse me, I could extend the bones in my arms to protrude from my wrists, and saw you limb from limb. But it is my intention that you survive this encounter, Praetor Gevel. There is much that you can do.”

Gevel snarled. “What do you want me to do, alien? Zell's in charge. Saw him up all you want, see if I give a fuck.”

“Zell is running,” Zeratul lied. By coincidence, Zell was, at that very moment in fact, making preparations to leave. But Zeratul knew that he would; his population was gradually turning against him, and his soldiers were being destroyed, his ships in orbit being bombarded and shredded by acid they couldn't stop with their shields. It was only a matter of time before he accepted the truth. Zeratul, an accomplished liar, had killed men and offered apologies to their parents. To a man such as a lie, this was a simple lie. “With Zell gone, command will fall to you.”

“I've officially left the planet,” Gevel said. “I'm, Imperial Records indicate, halfway to Bastion by now.”

“When your buildings begin to burn and your streets begin to stink of death, you will find that reliance upon, and adherence to, official record keeping tends to deteriorate,” Zeratul said, factually. “In any eventuality, you have respect. You will be given whatever it is you demand.”

“You're asking me to betray my own people,” Gevel said, throwing the blaster aside. He stepped forward. “You talk about respect like you know the meaning of the word, meanwhile, your... fucking whatever they are... are out there, violating the people of this world, and you talk to me about respect. Fuck you. Go shove your bones up your own ass. I'm not helping you do a goddamn thing.”

Zeratul allowed his eyes to narrow into short, sharp slits. They hissed at Gevel, but Zeratul held him, in that moment, the fearless, cold expression in the human's eyes, in even greater respect. “Very well. I will allow you to continue your search. Do keep me in mind should you require assistance.”

As Zeratul began to walk from the room, Gevel turned back to the picture. “...what are you offering me, creature?”

Zeratul stopped. “I can make them stop what they're doing. Our... whatever they are. I can have them look for her instead.”

“And if she's dead?”

Zeratul turned. “Some things are beyond my hands. But our soldiers, as you have likely observed, avoid killing when possible. It very likely that she is alive.”

Gevel snarled and spat. “And turned into one of those things?”

Zeratul would have shrugged if he had thought that Gevel would detect the gesture. “A reversible process. But if you are not interested...”

“What do you want from me?” Gevel cut him off.

“The shield,” Zeratul said. “It prevents us from landing on your surface and prolongs both the battle in the skies and the battle in the buildings below.”

“So you can land more of your soldiers?”

Zeratul gestured with his hand. “We have enough soldiers, Gevel. We made them out of dust. We make more out of your sick and your dead. From your dirt and debris. There is an infinite number of soldiers here, Gevel. We control the surface of this world. But what we need is to control your finer things... the technology of this world must be made to service us. Until we can bring down our people... thinking, breathing creatures... the war here will never end. And more of your people will suffer and die. You have the power to end that.”

Gevel stepped past Zeratul. He looked out into the street. His overcoat was stained from walking in and amongst the lower levels and their type of filth. His hands balled into fists. “You know what, fuck this planet. It's always been a shithole below the penthouse level anyway, and all of those people have probably pissed their pants on shuttles back to whatever world they're ambassadors of. You bring my daughter to me, and don't interfere with my passage from this world, and you have a deal.”

Zeratul pressed a button on his wrist. Though Gevel looked for a strap, he found none; it appeared the device was implanted into the creatures skin. “Met'a'raa pez'ro'shan.”

In the distance, a pair of tek'a'tara turned from their patrol and began to walk towards the skey'g'aar and the human beside. Gevel regarded them with indifference, now resigned to his fate. He wasn't a traitor; this world, this Empire, was dead. It's Regent gone, it's leadership in shambles, it's people bathed in blood. He didn't like what he was doing, but deep down, felt no lingering sense that he was doing anything even immoral. His choices included what he was doing, and death. He had fallen into a trap and extrication in an optimum situation did not seem possible. So Gevel would turn off the shield, and then he and his daughter would leave this world. If Bastion hadn't been destroyed, Gevel would make his stand there. Coruscant was in the hands of the gods now.

And with that resignation, Gevel felt a weight lift off his shoulders. He reached into his pocket and, for the first time since the skies had darkened from the craft blocking the sun, he allowed himself to smile. He was still alive. He was still free. And he still had half a pack of cigaras.