The Rebel Faction

The High Cardinal, head bowed, deigned not to share his look of incredulity with the alien ambassador. Quickly dispensing with any outward indication of his emotional state, the Cardinal wiped clear his features. With a placid, good natured look he, brows raised, gazed upon the genuflect alien as though the answer were obvious.

He wanted to say, Peace. He wanted to ask, Understanding.

A flood of words, each more insulting then the last in their assumption, borne of the obvious observation filled his head.

But instead he said only, “Peace.”




Shipwright, in his sequestered bunker, turned a skeptical eye towards the holographic image of Admiral Mar-Veil which, in grainy blue-gray, had recently materialized.

“Peace?!”

The Vice Commodore was shocked beyond further comment.

Oddly it was the Admiral who, a man of war and tactics, was the voice of reason.

“We do not know who they are,” observed the holographic Mar-Veil. “We know nothing about these beings. Why are they here? What motivated this attack? Where do they come from? Who are they? When, if at all, do they plan to retake the attack?”

“Can we not get the answers through interrogation?” He added, “After we have secured our own sovereignty?”

The Admiral had to bite his tongue. He had his own comments and questions, but none of those would be of any help here. He wanted to know why the Vice Commodore had no authorized his forces to move up to extreme alert when the first documents regarding a potential attack had been brought to his attention. He wanted to know why the Vice Commodore and the civilian government, under the stewardship of Colonial Mister Ramos, had stalled so long in their talks with the Commonwealth, the Coalition and the Confederation. He wanted to snap at the younger man, tell him that all of this could have been averted or at least prepared for.

He wanted to tell the Vice Commodore that he, Shipwright, was responsible.

His reply, “We do not know for certain that we even have the ability to drive them off. As I said... we know nothing,” did not fully satisfy his aggravation at the situation the colonials now found themselves facing.

“Oyzamndas, whether he knows it or not, is buying us some much needed time.”

Shipwright grudgingly agreed.

An idea struck him.

“Admiral,” he addressed the hologram. “Can you bring our forces in to some semblance of order, can you ready for a counterattack?”

“Of course,” replied the navy man.

“Can you do it without alerting the enemy?”

The Admiral grinned, ear to ear. “Whatever it takes.”

Mar-Veil was glad for the chance to get back on the offensive. Since the initial attack the colonies had been on defense, but they were not ready for a sustained siege. A quick, brutal counterattack could turn the tide.

“Good,” Shipwright scratched his chin. “Do it but wait for my word before we make any obvious moves. Understood?”

“Perfectly,” answered Mar-Veil as the holographic representation of the man dissolved.

Shipwright turned his attention to the goings-on at David Colony.

Maybe, he though, just maybe we can turn this to our advantage.




Elsewhere, nearing David Colony, Captain d'Foose, on the bridge of the destroyer Colonial, was not so sure.

“I've never seen anything like it,” she observed aloud, to herself.

She had been going over the tactical reports, data scans, and images (still and motion) that had been compiled since the attack. Particular attention had been paid to the enemy ships.

“Their weapons, propulsion, shields and even hull composition are... unique.”

Her executive officer, nodded.

Unaware she had been merely thinking aloud, he asked, “How do we fight an enemy we know so little about?”

The Captain, shaken from her contemplation, regarded her subordinate.

“We don't,” she supplied steadily. “We buy as much time as we can to learn as much as we can.”

“And then?” The XO asked.

“We either attack,” d'Foose shrugged. “Or we don't.”



Admiral Mar-Veil studied the mood of those around him.

The emotional state of those in the combat-information-center aboard the carrier, Provincial, was decidedly uncertain.

They, these alien invaders, had attacked the Colonies. It was the first time these people, since coming together under the Gestalt banner, had faced such an attack. And while many, if not most, of those souls had come from war-torn regions and were well versed in the nature of invasion and of refugee this was something all together different. Their dream of sovereignty called out for blood, for revenge. However, their more moderate idealism, one which espoused the values of isolationism, was considerably more temperate.

Their casualties were low, the collateral damage from the initial attack was limited.

Aboard the now destroyed Commonwealth there had been but a mere skeleton crew; a mix of technicians and tradesmen putting the final touches on the grand warship. Gestalt I and David Colony had both been hardened, been made ready for a potential Imperial invasion that had never materialized and so their casualties were also remarkably low.

Just the same, while the Cardinal played his game, he and the rest of the Colonial Defense Forces would make ready to destroy these invaders at the first sign of trouble.

Somewhere out there, the Krakana was shadowing the alien mothership while her sister ships had been strategically deployed throughout the colonies. Able to move about utterly undetected, he saw the MC-170's as key to any counterattack. His ship, in position above Gestalt I, had all her star-fighters standing ready at their ships as did the other carriers positioned throughout the colonies. Each carrier was screened by at least a duo of Colonial Mk II destroyers while d'Foose, aboard the flagship of that line, had been dispatched on a mission of her own.

A truth he would never admit, no matter how this all resolved itself, was that he had never been content to sit on his laurels as the civilian government had done. The reports describing a potential attack, which Ramos and her cadre had dismissed along with Shipwright, had raised the hair on the back of his neck. Despite his numerous pleas to step-up their military readiness, all falling on deaf ears, he had been ordered to do nothing. Outwardly, he had complied with that command. However, as the highest ranking member of the CDF, it had been his privilege to maintain the current readiness level of their combined forces to which end, under the guise of 'training and combat drills' he had begun moving his assets to key positions within the system.

And then the aliens had attacked.

So, no more then half way through his preparations, he had not been able to fully realize his goal of securing the colonies against the orders of the government. What he had accomplished thus far was, however; enough to work with.

Smirking, he studied his displays.

To himself he said, “You bloody aliens better hope the prayer for peace is answered because if it's not...”

Getalt Colonies


Captain Vaala's photoreceptors whirled at the Cardinal recording his body temperature and heartrate. It would not be able to let her know if the Cardinal was lying for they had no experience with the people of this system. Just because people of different star systems looked alike did not mean their internal make-up was the same. This was a lesson burned into the Remoran conscience five hundred years prior.


If there was to be a prayer for peace, though, she could not enter into it armed. That would create a paradox of unpardonable error.



*

She had been going over the tactical reports, data scans, and images (still and motion) that had been compiled since the attack. Particular attention had been paid to the enemy ships.

There was, in fact, three ships in the Gestalt System.


The Laerne, 1000 meters long and cylindrical. It's shuttle, 150 meters long. And a one-peson landing craft of 20 meters.


Each vessel was simple in design and effected a large, bulky, block-style construction.

“Their weapons, propulsion, shields and even hull composition are... unique.”

This was the understatement of the century. The only experience the Colonials had had with this enemy was the attack on their 'battlestar' and that had been carried out also by bulky, blocky fighter craft of exceptional size and armour.


That was their first clue to linking the fighter attack with the sudden appearance of this 1000 meter craft and the string of destroyed sentry bases along the hyperlane.


The difficulty was trying to determine the prepulsion as the fighter craft that attacked the Gestaltica (renamed Commonwealth) soon disappeared as quickly as they arrived. The Colonial Command had been browbeating it's tracking and scanning officers and crews laying their inability to not only see the attack coming but to locate where they went as blame for the battlestar's destruction when a savvy scanning officer recovered and reviewed the recorded images of the destruction.


It was popular belief that the ships had engaged a new form of cloak since, if it had jumped to lightspeed, their outpost scanners would have gotten something!. The cloak theory allowed for the enemy's sudden appearance and disappearance. The finding of footage showing one such craft disappearing was hailed as proof of the cloak until this scanning officer recognized and pointed out the lack of effect on the wreckage. Even a cloaked ship would have displaced the wreckage of the battlestar (and there was quite a bit of wreckage) even if the ship had changed vectors. This officer was instrumental in focusing attention on the effects of the wreckage and found that there was some displacement... at the moment of disappearance.


The scanning and tracking officers were exonerated and rewarded leaving Colonial Scientists to postulate about a new way to travel the distance of lightyears, namely, a space fold system.


The emergence of the cylindrical ship Laerne in the Gestalt system did nothing to disprove this theory.


Scientists were torn between a desire to learn more and a desire to blow the enemy from their space. Unique!


The Cylinder seemed solid on all sides and so floated at relative station-keeping giving the Colonials no indication as to their sublight capability until dispatching the 150 meter 'shuttle'. The energy output did not seem all that different than those recognized by the Colony. Sublights were sublights it seemed.


However, whatever these vessels seemed to use as a powerplant, there was no energy barrier was detected. No shields. Even when the small landing craft entered the atmosphere, the armour of the craft took the brunt and so had the appearance of being scorched. But not necessarily weakened.


Scans were coming up empty as to the makeup of the armour shell of both the alien representative and their ships but their scans could not penetrate the hull.


Therefore, since there were no protrusions from the hull, it seemed there were no weapons to speak of. But there were designs along the hull that seemed to outline ports. Whether for the viewing pleasure of the crew or weapon ports, the Colonials did not know.


While these 'port' locations came in all different sizes and seemed to cover the craft, the Colonials postulated that even if weapons did come out of those ports, they would have a very limited shooting angle leaving "blind spots" for smaller craft. Also, the number of ports seemed to indicate not alot of guns and that was assuming all the ports were weapons.


While they conceded there was nothing fighter weapons could do against that armour and they were not sure what capital energy weapons could do, the fact that they outgunned the intruder gave the Colonials a boost of confidence.


So, while the weapons would surely be unique, they were also not so scarey. And while the armour was unique leaving energy weapons largely ineffective, a memorandum went out across the Colonial Defense Fleet recommending the use of projectile weapons, missiles, torpedos and other such weapons.

Somewhere out there..

Outside the Gestalt System

It stood to reason that if other enemy ships were not in the system, they were nearby. If their system was being probed or if they wanted to know what was going on with the one ship envoy, they would have to be.


The Colonials had guessed correctly.


Outside their system were nine vessels, six of them looking exactly like the 1000 meter craft that entered their system and three of them being 5000 meters in length. The 'port' etchings were much larger and the Colonial ships shadowing them found the armour (while still very thick) was less than what was found on the smaller vessels. Behind the larger 'ports', scans revealed hollow areas causing analysts to believe them to be carriers of some sort.



*


Captain Vaala slowly rose to her feet and as her armoured suit, 2 meters tall, straightened, the Cardinal heard the buzzing of gears being spun. The back of the suit from head to toe seemed to unlock down the middle and peel back exposing the Remoran to the environment of the David Colony.


Captain Vaala was thin, slender and had a gray skin-tone as compared with typical human tones. Her hair was straight, white and not quite to her shoulder. Her eyes were larger than a typical human's though not by much. Her frail features contrasted with the bulky armour suit that she had worn. She was five inches four feet and wore a skin-tight green suit covered all but her head.

As she stepped backwards out of the suit, she put on some sort of dark eye coverings as the light in the David Colony was much too bright.


She knelt slowly and as she did so, she asked a question. Her voice had a type of song quality to it and was soft. It was also unintelligible and so, her suit's external speakers rendered a translation to the Cardinal.


"Now, that I have prepared myself for a prayer of peace, to what should I pray?"

There was a long pause, a sigh of resignation, and finally: “We surrender. You best keep your word, Arkanus.”




Before

From the bridge of the Assault Frigate Cavalier, Marshal Kerrick Arkanus directed the largest single engagement of the Rimward Defense Initiative to date. Directly before him sat several massive asteroids, reduced to little more than a faint smudge by the vast distances of open space. But already the darkness in front of that improvised interdictor was alight with the red and green of combat.

Kerrick smirked at the poetic justice of this moment; using the hallmark maneuver of these pirates against them: dropping an asteroid in their path and waiting for its weak gravity to trick their hyperdrive failsafes into forcing a reversion.

And now the bastards will pay! A string of asteroids at their backs, a red giant blocking a full hemisphere, a sizable moon nearby . . . and the might of the Rimward Defense Initiative between them and open space. This moment was the closest to contentment that Kerrick had been in a long time.

But then the double-blast of an Aggressor-class Star Destroyer's main gun enveloped one of the Kaloth-class battlecruisers belonging to the Cooperative fleet element, and Kerrick's mood darkened. There's still a fight to be had here.

The RDI was ideologically opposed to the sort of powerful capital ships fielded in excess by the galactic superpowers. The fact that more and more outlaw organizations were gaining access to such assets made that ideology a difficult thing to work with . . . or around.

There was perhaps one vessel under Kerrick's marginal command with the defensive and offensive capabilities to match blows with the enemy Star Destroyer; fortunately, it was the same vessel at his disposal with sufficiently sophisticated tactical systems to perform a precision microjump.

The MC80a Star Cruiser Naritus appeared in a flash of light and a streak of blue-gray matter, allowing the gravity of the asteroid interdictor to draw it out of hyperspace at precisely the right location, just on the edge of the string of space rocks. Here and there along its hull were the obvious discolorations of hasty repairs, and a few mismatched weapons blisters supplemented what remained of her standard armament. Even so, she was a battered and war-worn behemoth, long overdue for critical but unavailable maintenance; the power spikes accompanying the initial power-up of her shields betrayed the weakened state of her defenses.

But her weapons sounded with a terrifying ferocity, and her shields held against the initial onslaught of return fire. Alone and engaging the enemy at point-blank range, Naritus succeeded in her purpose, drawing the ire of these outlaws and forcing the enemy Star Destroyer to begin the laborious process of turning about and bringing its main cannon to bear.

Kerrick and his lighter ships had been saved―at least for the moment―but they would have to move quickly to save the lone Star Cruiser.

That is to say: someone would have to move quickly. On the far side of the largest asteroid cruised a formation of starships led by an icon of the Rimward Defense Initiative: the Corellian Gunship Void Cutter, one-time flagship of the Cavrilhu Pirates. Hidden from their enemy by the asteroid's sensor shadow, they pressed their accelerators to the limit, breaking from a collision course with the asteroid-turned-shield at the last possible moment, flying through the small artificial field and moving with the weak gravitational pull of its largest member. The ships emerged on a vector that would bring them along the Aggressor's main axis, the perfect target for their close-range missile barrage. The full force of that barrage collapsed its shields, already weakened by the drain from firing and recharging its main cannon.

As Kerrick and the main RDI formation laid into the lighter pirate ships, the comm lines filled with a broadcast from the Mon Calamari Cruiser. Kerrick nodded to his communications officer and watched the small holographic image that appeared before him, knowing the Mon Calamari captain that stared back at him had been waiting years for this moment.

“This is Captain Genkal of the New Republic Star Cruiser Naritus, to the crews and personnel of the Kavil's Corsair's pirate organization: I require your unconditional surrender. By authority of the New Republic High Command and in accordance with the New Republic Anti-Piracy Act of 17 ABY, failure to surrender will result in your complete destruction.” The voice paused for a moment, resuming with an edge of venom: “You will answer for your crimes.”

As if to accent the Mon Calamari's claim, one of the pirates' medium ships exploded under the sustained fire from Kerrick's formation, hurling debris into the tightly packed pirate formation. In desperation, A few of the pirate vessels made hyperspace jumps in the direction of the nearby moon, pulled back to realspace immediately but hoping to move beyond its gravity well at sublight speeds and make the jump into open space.

Of course, a secondary RDI task force was waiting in low orbit around the moon to pounce on any ships that might try that method of escape, so Kerrick kept his attention fixed on how best to convince Kavil's Corsairs of the futility of their struggle. After another painful few moments of combat Kerrick looked to the casualties list, deciding it held enough enemy names to give his offer some weight.

“Open a channel; I need to talk to Kavil and his Corsairs.”




before

“We'll have to trap him,” The Mon Calamari stated firmly. “There must be no opportunity for escape. If a single vessel makes it out, then the entire engagement will have been for naught. We have to neutralize Kavil without his handler finding out until it's too late.”

Kerrick nodded in agreement, looking at the holographic display of the place that would bear witness to the end of Kavil's Corsairs. “And this asteroid idea of yours; it'll work?”

“It's worked against me more than once,” The Mon Cal answered bitterly. He had been fighting and running from these pirates for years now, since the collapse of the New Republic left him stranded, fighting against an enemy he soon discovered was much too powerful for a lone Star Cruiser to handle.

Kerrick watched the pinpoints representing the asteroids appear on the display, saw space turn shades of gray as it showed the gravitational forces at work. “So we shut down their long-range comms, trap them in a gravity corral, and pound them until they give up or there's nothing left to run away.”

Captain Genkal tapped a few buttons on the projector's console, bringing up a rough approximation of the enemy's fleet strength. Another few commands magnified one vessel for careful consideration. “Our main concern will be their Star Destroyer; in its current state, even Naritus would have a hard time taking a hit from its main gun. Your ships will be powerless against it.”

“So that leaves us with a blitz,” Kerrick surmised.

“Naturally, we'll take full advantage of their surprise and disorganization at the onset of combat. But what we need to deal with Kavil and his Star Destroyer is a trap within a trap. They'll revert, you'll hit them hard, and while they're getting organized we'll hit them with something else.” He paused, not liking what he was about to suggest. “I'll bring Naritus out of hyperspace right on top of them, use the asteroid barrier to drop her right at their flank.”

“And then what?”

Genkal sighed, the stress of so many years of relentless fighting and running showing through. “You've got to hit them with something big; you've got to come to my rescue.”

Something connected in Kerrick's mind, and a feral smile crept onto his face. “I know just the man for the job.”




Before

Zothip knew immediately that this was not hell. Hell wouldn't be this cruel. Through the green tint of bacta, the face of Kerrick Arkanus stared back at him.

“You suffered multiple fractures to your spine,” Kerrick began coldly; Zothip arched his back to assure everything was in working order. “Spiral fracturing of your right arm,” He twisted his wrist and rotated his shoulder, his arm fine. “Severe head trauma,” Zothip looked up, noticing the top of the tank was open and a bright white light was hanging just over his head. Seem to be in working order. Kerric's lips compressed into a thin line, “And irreparable disfigurement of your male―”

The dull thud of Zothip pounding against the bacta tank's transparasteel wall stopped Kerrick short. He smiled at the helpless pirate, shaking his head slightly. “Okay, so I made that last part up; you're going to be fine. Now get the hell out of that thing.”

Zothip drifted slowly to the top of the tank, pulling his breath mask off as his face broke the surface. A technician in white medical garb offered an assisting hand from the attached walkway, which Zothip sneered away, dragging himself up and onto the metal grating with some degree of effort. He met Kerrick at the base of the adjoining stairs, where the other man handed him a robe. “Do you consider me a modest man, Arkanus?” Zothip asked, sliding a thumb into the side of the diaper-like garment that was his only clothing.

“I just don't want you dripping all over my ship,” Kerrick replied, noting the puddle of bacta gathering around Zothip's feet.

Zothip snatched away the robe and pulled it on quickly, still looking a little unsteady. “I don't think you let me cook long enough,” He mused.

Kerrick began walking away, the pair of guards that immediately appeared making it clear that Zothip was to follow. “I've got a job for you.”

“It couldn't wait?” He asked, stumbling slightly as he transitioned from the medical floor to the corridor outside. “Just one more day and . . . wait, how long was I out?”

“We've made a new friend,” Kerrick said, ignoring Zothip's question. “Captain Genkal was kind enough to share some information about the ships that destroyed Task Force Reliant. It would seem we owe our recent misfortune―”

“Leonia Tavira,” Zothip cut him off.

Kerrick wheeled on him, obviously shocked. “How did you . . .”

Zothip shrugged. “Every self-respecting outlaw knows of the moff-turned pirate Leonia Tavira and her Invids.” Kerrick didn't look convinced. Zothip sighed and continued: "It just so happens I had a little run in with her, back in the day."

“What can you tell me about her?” Kerrick asked, resuming the walk through the medical ship.

Zothip shrugged again. “Heartless bitch; good lay.” Breathing deeply, he picked up his pace a little to keep from running into the guard at his heels, certain now that he should have spent longer in the bacta tank. “Alright, alright. She's got a lot of little pets, doesn't do much of the work herself. Kavil's Corsairs, they're the ones who hit Reliant, and judging by how big they've become, I'd wager any one of the Invids' pet groups could have given my Cavrilhu a run for its money. If you value your life, you'll turn around and leave the whole region right now.”

Kerrick rounded a corner, ignoring Zothip's warning. “Captain Genkal says she's pretty much got the whole sector cowed. There's not much in the way of galactic governments out in these parts; we're in the backwaters of the Rim, where people like you and Tavira thrive.”

“Hey, hey!” He shouted, and noticed the guard at his side tense in anticipation. “Tavira's in a class of her own. I got no problem admitting I've pulled some pretty dirty tricks in the name of profit, but Tavira's a monster, you hear me? A monster. The stories I've heard . . .”

Kerrick came to an abrupt stop and Zothip followed suit, but not because of the guards; he was genuinely confused. “What are you trying to pull here, Kerrick?”

In front of them was an open airlock, and beyond it the cramped access port of a Corellian Gunship. Zothip recognized the telltale signs everywhere, from chipped paint to scrapes on the deck plating; this was his ship. This was Void Cutter.

Kerrick pulled his blaster from its holster, though holding it from the top. He offered it to the nearest guard, who grabbed it by the handle, finger resting beside the trigger. “This is how it works, Captain Zothip,” Kerrick said warningly. “One misstep and he shoots you in the head. Understood?” Kerrick turned to the guard: “This is captain Zothip of the gunship Void Cutter; he will conduct his vessel and crew according to the dictates of the Rimward Defense Initiative and the orders of his commander. If he performs any action at variance with that code of conduct, you are to shoot him in the head with this gun.” Kerrick released his grip, allowing the guard to holster the weapon.

“Yessir.” The guard affirmed.

Kerrick turned back to Zothip. “I need good captains, especially now. The rules haven't changed. You are a prisoner of the Rimward Defense Initiative; your reward for cooperation is open space, decent meals, and a view of the stars. But you saved some lives, and that's worth something."

“I won't be your pet, Arkanus.”

Kerrick smiled. “All I need is for you to be a captain. I've got a strategy meeting with Captain Genkal in half an hour; he wants to help us take down Kavil, and I'm inclined to let him. Looks like you'll be having your revenge in no time . . . captain.” Kerrick turned and walked away, shouting “In the head!” and tapping a finger to his temple as he went.

Druckenwell

"Helm, bring us to one quarter flank speed. Order all vessels to maintain formation," ordered Admiral Carson to the chief navigator. Around the command ship floated the wreckage that had once constituted a mighty Reaver fleet that had, until the fleet's arrival, posed a significant risk to the world fading behind them.

Having eliminated the enemy fleet in exchange for two percent fleet losses to starfighters, one percent losses to capital ship units, mainly consigned to pickets and small escorts, the Imperial fleet was outbound from the system.

It would in the logistics train that follows the fleet wherever it goes and it's escorts that would see to the reprovising and resupplying of the planet and it's defenders as needed. Kept at the rear of the formation to guard against a possible flanking attack, the Druckenwell Defense Fleet had suffered no losses in the engagement and would remain behind to see to the world's defense against any other possible threats.

Carson's eyes roved from the viewport to the communication officer whom was sitting behind his console monitoring the incoming and outgoing messages and status reports from the various vessels of the fleet and HQ.

"Admiral, message from Vladet, marked CRITIC," reported the officer, catching his gaze.

"Transfer to my console ensign," said Carson, punching in the code to bring the message up and unlock it's contents.

'Vladet under attack by sizeable Reaver Fleet. Currently not requesting reinforcements. Will keep advised.'

Followed by another message;

'Reaver attack repulsed. Enemy fleet destroyed. Minimal losses.'

Carson looked up from the messages.

"Any other high priority messages?" asked Carson.

"Just the archived messages from HQ," replied the ensign.

"Transfer the next oldest one of those to my station," said Carson, again inputing the combination.

'Contruum Borderland Protectorate, under attack by unknown alien fleet. Vastly outnumbered. Requesting reinforcements.'

'Hmmm, that was sent some time ago. If the Reavers are hit and fade, then they may be gone. But any survivors will need our help. We've already recieved scattered reports of pirates and slavers attacking helpless Reaver ravaged planets. We'll head there next.'

"Navigation, set course for Contruum. Orders to the fleet, we'll depart immediatly, be prepared for possible hostiles upon exiting hyperspace," ordered Carson.

In front of the grateful eyes of the Druckenwell Defense Fleet, the Imperial Grand Fleet vanished into the darkness of hyperspace, bound for Contruum.

* * *

Vladet

"So, it appears we have no other choice then?" asked Park, looking around at the various military and political leaders gathered in the briefing room.

"Empire Proper, Yaga Minor are both in utter chaos without proper leadership. Corellia is now under interdiction and apparently in the middle of an insurgency uprising, although we are still waiting for confirmation on that. Borderland is in ruins and unknown status mostly, although our main fleet is out assessing it's status and restoring some sense of order. Onyx is contained, and we've just recieved word that Baron Deseria is on his way with a squadron to the Core, but he won't arrive for another day at least," spoke one of the military advisors concerned with current Galactic status updates, pursing his lips as he thought and recounted the current grim picture.

The group of them, assembled from various squadrons, politicans arriving on refugee ships from Coruscant, high ranking military personnel coming either out of retirement or arriving from other systems and sectors as new battle squadrons were assembled in the local space while helping to protect the resettlement of personnel coming from Coruscant, were in the midst of a debate as to the need for a new leader to take the reigns, temporarily if nothing else, until order can be restored and the Empire adjusted to the current conflicts and going back on the offensive.

"Very well then. With Coruscant still up in the air, I have no choice but to declare Vladet the new provisional capital of the Empire, and I accept the promotion to the new Emperor of the New Order, effective immediatly, until such a time that the current crisis is over, at which time it'll either be declared permanent or amended as needed. We'll inform the media and I'll begin preparing an acceptance speech along with a State of the Empire address to bring our citizens up to current speed," spoke Park with a sudden new conviction in his voice as he accepted his new and unprecedented appointment in post.

Everyone in the room seemed to let out their breath all at once, then a general murmur began as preparations would have to be made for a coronation ceremony, among other things.

"But, I want to make three things immediatly clear, as the new Emperor," interrupted Emperor Kraken, "We need to focus on consolidation, rebuilding, and re-arming. We have a long road ahead of us, one which unfortunatly we'll have to travel down at a much faster speed than we would normally rather cruise at. The time for arguing and bickering amongst ourselves is over. The time for back breaking work to restore the glory of the Empire has now begun. Gloria Imperium," stated Park, raising his fist in the air as salute.

"Gloria Imperium!" shouted everyone in the room, commander or politican alike both raising their fists in response.

Several Months Prior to the Coup
SSD Midas

"I have to admit, we were intending to use this new model for something else. However, I suppose I can make adjustments for you," Dr. Mengax noted with annoyance.

Trachta was still admiring the artifical muscle and skeletal structure of the currently skinless Human Replica Droid the Union's chief scientist had been developing. Doctor Mirothu Mengax was a genius, a savant even, but he utterly lacked any concept of ethics. This was the precise reason the Union had recruited the twisted scientist to their cause. The total lack of an moral guidelines combined with the Union's vast resources was more than enough incentive to keep Mengax loyal and constantly developing new horrific toys for the organization's operations.

"It will be like me?" Trachta asked as he looked over at the Falleen scientist.

"It will be you," Mengax retorted with a derisive snort and twirling the end of his knotted hair through his fingers thoughtfully.

"Explain," Trachta ordered sharply, his metallic voice making it sound all the more ominous.

"We'll make a personality engram of you and put it in the droid. It will think its you and act like you. Honestly, you're so heavily cybernetic no one will probably notice until its too late once I make the needed adaptations to it. Oh and the grafting of cloned skin obviously," Mengax noted as if this was just a minor detail.

"It will be sufficient to fool those it needs to then?" Trachta asked as he regarded Mengax with his glowing red photoreceptors.

"Honestly, I've told you it will work. I suggest you drop the xenophobic attitude that I am somehow incompetent," Mengax retorted angrily.

Trachta just chuckled, a very inhuman and dead sounding noise as he stepped closer to Mengax. The Falleen almost immediately backed away from him with a concerned expression but could do little before Trachta produced a small knife he'd hidden on his person somewhere. He put it under Mengax's chin, pushing just hard enough that if the doctor withdrew it would draw blood.

"I don't give a damn what species anyone is, you egotist. Humans as just as rotten and expandable as aliens. So let me give you this thought. If that droid fails me and I survive, I'm going to use this knife on you in terrible and fascinating ways. I'm quite the scholar on forms of torture."

The two stared one another down before Trachta calmly made the knife vanish, stepping back. Mengax rubbed under his chin, but was bit unnerved by such a brutal personality as Trachta's. If he had any guess he'd have to say the cyborg had turned his pains and anxieties into a terrible and consuming misanthropy. That helped to explain his willingness to betray even his Imperial masters to the Union.

"Fine, the point is taken, now get out of my lab," Mengax glared at Trachta.

Trachta merely nodded and withdrew from the chamber where his second-in-command, Rohm, was waiting outside.

"So I take it the final arrangements have been made?" Rohm asked curiously.

"Yes, Rohm, the Union will hold their end of the bargain. We're too valuable for them to simply discard," Trachta replied as he looked over at his aide.

"I've sounded out the men on this. A lot of them are with us on this, anyone else has been silenced and disappeared. No obvious tracks for anyone poking around to find easily. Are you sure you want to go through with this?"

"Never more sure, Rohm. The Empire has rotted from the inside, grown fat and weak from dominance. In a way, what we are doing is helping it. Of course it will be treason, no matter whom wins. The ISB, my ISB, will detach itself from the rot and corruption to pursue our own agenda. The paradigm will continue even if the host dies."

"I'm still concerned someone might catch on before we act," Rohm replied, always playing the role of challenging Trachta's plans so as to help him forumlate them better.

"They'll be too distracted by other things going on to notice the ISB is up to something. Technically to them, we're always up to something, just never anything of this scale or intent. By the time our plan is revealed it will be too late. You must have everything ready for us to withdraw though, Rohm. That is your task. I can deal with the High Command."

The pair walked on through the massive ship towards the shuttle bays where their transport was waiting. The knowledge of the location of the Midas would have been devastating to the Union's mobile capacities if not for the fact Trachta had no intention of sharing that knowledge. He came and went as he pleased within the Empire as most were generally too terrified of him and his reputation to risk spying on him. Not to say there were not attempts, but they were always dealt with brutally and violently enough to send a clear message.

"I can't believe they managed to get their hands on a Jutraalian SSD though," Rohm muttered as they passed guards in black fatigues and berets.

"Chadd Fearsons left quite a few weapons and warships behind, including this ship. To think it was almost completed when the Jutraalians surrendered. The Empire would have gotten it if Sabrino and his Jutraal Syndicate agents hadn't carried out their plan to steal it," Trachta noted with some amusement.

"Who is he, anyways?" Rohm asked with curiosity.

"A man with an axe to grind with the galaxy, Rohm. Just leave it at that. Best not to dig too deeply on our new employer," Trachta replied warily now.

"True, I suppose there's no going back now, is there?"

"No Rohm, we've damned ourselves by simply meeting with the Union. If we go back on the deal now, they'll just share this fact with the Empire and we'll be good as dead. No; better to go on with the choice than face certain annihilation."

The pair boarded the waiting shuttle, making their departure back towards the Mechis Cluster and Trachta's personal ISB fiefdom. There were plans to be set into motion.