Rendili StarDrive Deep Dock Wanderer's Home, Coyn Route staging area
This used to be my refuge, my place of peace. This used to be how I held on to the wonder of existence.
Jarvis Ragnar was standing so close to the MagCon field of the docking bay, he could feel the static charge on his nose. This close, the faint haze created by the field was negligible, allowing the Ryn to stare into the black of open space with as much clarity as if his naked eye were exposed directly to its vacuum. But without any of those pesky, fatal, decompressive injuries, of course.
Here and there he could still spot a star, but the majority of his field of view was occupied by the loathsome, unnatural shapes of the
warships under his command, every one a reminder of past
failures and
mistakes, of lost lives and unrealized dreams. The worst of them, though, were the most distant vessels; those faint, brownish blurs that wouldn't be following him into battle. The support ships.
Nearly a dozen of those held together in a tight clump, the newest addition to the fleet. That wound would never heal.
Why didn't those fools just let me have
what I needed!
The addition of one of the Coalition's
Cornucopia manufacturing ships could have cut the dependence of
The Wandering Ones on outside support to a fraction of its current requirements. It had been a perfect plan. No one had needed to get hurt.
But the
Cooperative wouldn't let it be, and now Jarvis' most trusted lieutenant and personal friend, the captain of the flagship and namesake of the organization, was dead.
Zyras Lunewell was dead . . . and the
Galactic Coalition was hunting Jarvis Ragnar and his organization as
terrorists. And for what? In the end, after the losses were subtracted, for a handful of ordinary manufacturing ships, raidable or buyable from one of a thousand sources across the galaxy.
They should have just given him what he needed!
But that was history, now. And Jarvis Ragnar had to look to the future. This wasn't about
redemption, or
atonement, or any of those other fluffy words that other people cling to when they've realized the
error of their ways. No, this was about making the galaxy a little bit better for whoever he could, before that galaxy finally swallowed him up.
Warning klaxons sounded and red light flashed across the docking bay. A message from the station's control room echoed through the empty station. “All hands, action stations, action stations. Hyperspace reversions detected along vector 375-by-019-by-827. All hands, action stations, this is not a drill.”
But Jarvis could already see them. In a flash of pseudomotion, appearing right on top of The Wandering Ones' formation, the menacing dagger shapes of
Imperial V Star Destroyers pierced through the black canvas of open space.
He already knew who they were, too. Though much too far away to read the designations painted onto their hulls, these were warships of the
Imperial Grand Fleet of the Mid Rim Protectorate. And they were here for Jarvis Ragnar.
The commlink clipped to the Ryn Rebel's ear chimed a notice, and he tapped it with a finger to answer. “Jarvis Ragnar speaking,” he said in a calm, neutral tone.
“
The Free Coynite Fleet is at your command, Boss.” The voice was a familiar one, and it brought a smile to Jarvis' lips.
“
Ag'Tra, The Wandering Ones stand ready to assist you in the liberation of your homeworlds. At your command, we go.”
“Then we go!” the Coynite roared, and only a moment after its arrival, the Free Coynite Fleet, seized only hours ago by mass-mutiny, vanished back into hyperspace.
Jarvis tapped his commlink again and issued the order. “All hands, all stations, prepare for hyperspace jump. We're going to Coyn.” It had been a long time coming, but the Elrood Sector would finally be free of the Empire's chains.
The key to the whole endeavor was
Ag'Tra Jorl'Vir'Saat, dishonored defender of D'Skar during the Imperial invasion of the Coyn System. It was his plan, years in the making, that would both ensure Coyn's freedom, and strike a heavy blow against the Imperial Starfleet:
Exceprt from Cataclysm
“After witnessing the fall of Sat'Skar, I knew that I would be unable to defy the Imperial Fleet once they decided to move against D'Skar and Coyn. My defeat was inevitable, and I knew that the Empire would not offer me the opportunity to surrender. In the weeks before the Imperial attack, and in the days I bought through enjoined combat, several fellow Ag'Tra set about rewriting . . .” He paused, finding what he was about to say almost too amusing to be taken seriously “. . . official documentation . . .
“The Galactic Empire invaded Coyn,” Jorl continued, “and what was the first place they seized? The Hall of Judges, in whose depths our records are stored. They conquered a mountain of paper, and dared to believe in so doing they had conquered our souls . . ."
Someone spoke up. “You wrote papers showing such quality the Empire would admire, such traits they believed they could subvert.”
Jorl'Vir'Saat nodded. “The 'dead' defenders of Coyn have become the living warriors of Empire; they salute in the manner of the Empire, they dress in the manner of the Empire, they conquer in the manner of the Empire. Stationed within the Coynite Division of the Mid Rim Fleet, they await only the order to 'die' once more and be reborn as true defenders of the En'Tra'Sol.
Coyn System, moments later
When the Imperial war fleet dropped out of hyperspace within the defense perimeter of the planet Coyn, the local garrison surely found that unusual, but not a serious cause for alarm. A moment later, when that same “Imperial” war fleet opened fire on that garrison, it was too late for them to reevaluate their response.
The three worlds of the Coyn System would fall quickly to the surprise attack, Coynite warriors rushing those Imperial installations that were too close to vital targets to risk orbital strike, and whose commanders were too stubborn to surrender in the face of overwhelming fire. But this was only the beginning.
Around the worlds of Almar, Acatal, and Akana, task forces of the Sons and Daughters of Freedom assaulted the token Imperial defenses of those “less valuable” worlds, supported by rebel ground forces within the worlds' respective societies. All at once and with no prior warning, every military asset of the New Order Elrood Sector Authority was facing overwhelming force.
The Sector would fall quickly, and when it did, in proper Imperial fashion, the Grand Fleet of the Mid Rim Protectorate would be called upon to return to Coyn and mete out punishment for the “arrogance” of the Empire's sector capital in daring to defy its Order.
What the Empire didn't know, however, was that the liberation of Coyn was the only the bait. The Alliance trap still remained safely hidden away.
* * *
Presidential Office, Pitann, Kathol Republic
President Pedra Choka studied the document very closely one last time. The pressure of this moment weighed heavy on her conscience, but her first obligation was to the people of the Kathol Republic. Her eyes darted to the black clad figure sitting on the other side of her desk, lingering on the Imperial rank insignia before finally moving to meet the human's face.
“For the sake of your Republic, sign the treaty,” the man said, not bothering to hide the menace in his voice.
At length, President Choka nodded and signed her name to the document. The Imperial agent remained seated, his eyes boring into her. He would not leave until he was certain it was finished.
Steeling herself for what she was about to do, the president withdrew a commlink from her desk and thumbed it on. “This is the President. Inform General Jutka that he and the Alliance task force assigned to him are to stand down.” She paused, looking to the Imperial, who simply nodded. “The Kathol Republic is at peace with the Empire.”
Kathol Republic Staging Area, Southern Elrood-Derilyn Trade Route, Elrood Sector
The task force was a conglomeration of three different military groups: the Kathol Republic Navy, the Alliance FarStar Task Force, and the Yvara Defense Force. While Yvara had been admitted into the Kathol Republic shortly after it broke formal ties with the Empire, the lone planet's military hadn't yet been integrated into the Republic's armed forces, making it far more practical to manage them as a separate element of the task force, given the short time frame.
General Jutka, Supreme Commander of all Kathol Republic Armed Forces, was in overall command of the task force, but would answer to the Coynite commander once he arrived in the Coyn System.
Of course, Task Force Light Hammer would be holding position for the time being, waiting for the signal from Alliance Intelligence that the Grand Fleet was inbound. The Light Hammer group would time their jump to end soon after the Imperial's arrival at Coyn, coinciding with the other support fleets. The noose would close, tight and fast, on the Imperials when they moved to retake Coyn, and finally the Empire would see that the Alliance had teeth. And claws. And barbs.
“Incoming message from the Republic,” the comms station reported.
“Ignore it,” Jutka ordered, focused on the battle map floating in front of him, trying to predict likely Imperial responses to the Alliance trap.
“Priority one, Sir. Office of the President.”
Sighing, Jutka switched the display to standby and stepped back. “Okay, let's hear it.”
The message played, each successive word landing like a tremendous weight on the general's back. “General Jutka, by order of the President and Senate of the Kathol Republic, you are to stand down all hostile action against the New Order of the Galactic Empire, and return all forces under your command to Republic Space. You are not permitted to allow the Alliance force present to disengage from your command at this time. Failure to comply will be considered a violation of the Kathol-Imperial Peace Treaty, a war crime, by the Kathol Senate. Confirm receipt of this order and intent to comply immediately.”
Jutka couldn't believe what he was hearing. They had made an
agreement with the Alliance, and with Jarvis Ragnar. The Elrood Uprising was depending on them. And this . . . this
treaty with the Empire? The Kathol Republic had just disentangled itself from one of those! What were they thinking?
But of course, he knew what they were thinking: Kathol first. They were thinking of safety, and security. Not for Elrood - not for the billions still under the heel of the Empire, of course – but for the Republic and its citizens.
Jutka wanted so badly to disregard the order, to have his comms officer delete it from the record and order the task force ahead anyway. His bridge crew would follow him, he was sure, and nobody else even needed to know until the battle was over.
He could face the consequences. He could shoulder that burden, to do what was right.
What was right . . . Jutka was an officer of the Kathol Republic Army; he had a duty to protect his people, and to serve at the command of their Senate.
But how would Captain Adrimetrum respond? She had committed to joining The Wandering Ones in assisting the Coynite Rebellion, as well. And he had orders to prevent her from doing that.
He would make her understand. He had to make her understand. The Kathol Republic was at stake.
“Comms, send reply. Confirm the order, then hail the
FarStar.” General Jutka sighed heavily as he allowed himself to fall into his chair. “I have to convince an old friend not to fight me.”
* * *
First Secretary's Office, Sennatt, Bothan Space
For a long time now, the Bothan people have been making ready for war. Even while its government was splintered and its homeworld still burning, the industrial and intelligence sectors of Bothan Space had been making plans, gathering resources, and priming their people for revenge.
Revenge against the Empire.
But times change, and the Bothans know how to change with those times.
For the past several months, while securing his power base as the new head of the Bothan people and eliminating fanatical pro-
Ar'krai elements from his administration, Rolk Bar'Akai, First Secretary of the Bothan Clans, had been in secret talks with the Empire.
The Empire maintained naval forces at Bothawui, guarding the shipyards that continued to contribute to their war efforts, as well as a sizable ground occupation force at Krant, and if Rolk could manage to get the Imperials off of those worlds
without committing his people to a galactic war and burning through their amassed military might . . . well, then, Bothan Space could easily become one of the single strongest regions of the galaxy as other nations wore each other down.
There was always the Bothan Council's membership in the Alliance to consider, and while their assets and influence had certainly benefited Rolk and the Clans in the past, the relationship was beginning to become a liability for the Bothan Clans.
But in the end, none of that really factored into the decision. In the end, it was personal. In the end, that rat-bastard nephew of his had betrayed him for a Ryn
terrorist! And that was inexcusable.
“Who will it be?” Rolk asked, not looking up from the datapad sitting on his desk.
The black-clad human with the Imperial rank insignia frowned at the question. “Does it matter? The only entity capable of discovering the fraud is the Spynet, and I don't think we'll have to be worrying about them, will we?” The last half of the sentence he had addressed to a Bothan standing in the corner of the room, face and upper torso hidden in shadow.
Rolk glanced at the Spynet operative, the one who had arranged this meeting. “No, I suppose not. And, just so we're clear, the Bothan traitors who will be assisting them?”
“If they attempt to enter Bothan Space or affiliate with any Bothan military forces operating beyond Bothan Space, you are to destroy them, utterly.”
“That's fine, just fine,” Rolk answered absently, his attention already focused on the datapad again. “And the shipyards at Bothawui?”
The human seemed to be growing tired of the questions. “As agreed, all vessels under construction will either be removed when the fleet withdraws, or scuttled in-system. All infrastructure will remain intact and undamaged. The Empire's only concern in that regard, is ensuring no classified military technologies are left for your people to exploit.”
Rolk's eyes shot to the human's face at the word “exploit,” but he let the moment pass without any protest. “Very well, then.”
“Am I to take it that there is an understanding between us?” the Imperial asked once it became clear that Rolk wasn't returning his attention to the datapad.
“Absolutely, provided we are in agreement on one final point."
“And what is that?” the Imperial asked, apparently amused by the Bothan First Secretary's attempt at an ominous finish.
“Jarvis Ragnar dies in Elrood.” The Imperial made to respond, but before he could speak, Rolk added: “Presently.”
The Imperial smiled. “That can certainly be arranged.”
Rolk nodded emphatically, picking up a stylus and signing the datapad before sliding it across the table with the stylus set on top.
The Imperial stared blankly at Rolk for a long moment, until the First Secretary retrieved a commlink from his desk and clicked it on. “This is the First Secretary. Inform the commanders of the Second and Third Fleets that they are now at standby status and are to return to Bothan Space immediately. The Bothan Clans have reached an understanding with the Empire; the war is over.”
Only when Rolk Bar'akai turned the commlink off did his Imperial counterpart pick up the stylus and sign as well.
* * *
Efreeti-class Battlecruiser Husdant, Northern Elrood-Derilyn Trade Route, Elrood Sector
Of all the Alliance forces present at the Battle of Sullust, Inferno Fleet had fared the best. Admiral Reshmar and the Third Fleet had taken the brunt of the Imperial task force's anger, both during its arrival and its departure. Alliance ground forces had ended up suffering a few losses during the initial wave of Imperial landings, but most casualties were the result of the Empire's short-lived bombardment, a parting gift as the force oriented for departure.
Sullust itself now supported the Alliance, though only indirectly. SoroSuub Corporation supplied some parts and ships, and had been maintaining and repairing Inferno Fleet while it guarded Sullust from possible future attack.
A token force of Inferno ships was at Sullust even now, but the main body of Inferno Fleet had met a fresh new fleet division straight from the shipyards of Hell's Anchorage when it arrived here, and with its inclusion, this fleet was larger than any Inferno presence at Sullust to date.
The array of crimson warships set out before him was a rather impressive sight, actually, almost as if space itself had been painted red . . .
Admiral Kre'fey shook the thought from his mind. There was already going to be enough real blood spilled today; he didn't need to go imagining even more, elsewhere. He had only to wait for the signal from Jarvis Ragnar, and Inferno Fleet would pounce.
The mechanical hiss of the bridge door opening drew the admiral's attention, and he turned to see Se'lar, Inferno Fleet's Spynet contact, heading straight for him. “News through channels?” Kre'fey asked.
Se'lar shook his head, features grim, and passed the admiral his datapad. “No,” the Bothan spy whispered, moving his mouth close to Bandor's ear so he could hear even as Se'lar dropped his voice further. “This is from a personal contact in the Home Office.”
Bandor Kre'fey studied the information on the datapad very carefully, looking for any clues that the information might be fabricated or tampered with. But he knew he wouldn't find anything. Sei'lar was too good at his job for a professional soldier to be able to pick up on signs of misinformation, if the Bothan spy so chose that course of action.
But why? was all Bandor could think, reading over the short report again.
“The public announcement is being made tomorrow, in front of the Bothan Council,” Sei`lar offered, apparently the only other bit of information that he had on the matter.
“And this isn't a ruse?” Bandor asked.
Sei'lar shook his head. “This is really happening, Bandor.”
He just couldn't believe it. Bandor had been away from home for a long time, but he knew his people, and his people weren't soon to forgive the atrocity at Bothawui. Even if the politics of the situation worked out clean, there was just no
way that Bothans would forgive the Empire for what it had done.
And then he understood. “Communications, raise Jarvis Ragnar on the hyperwave.”
“Admiral,” the ship's tactical officer spoke up, “The Wandering One's are under communications blackout for the duration of the engagement. You won't be able to reach them.”
Admiral Kre'fey stifled a frustrated snarl. “Then get me the Coynite commander in-system. Or use the planetary governor's channels. Hells, slice us into the Imperial HoloNet at Coyn, if you have to. I don't care, just get me a line to Jarvis Ragnar!
“. . .
“It's a trap.”
The communications officer paused in his duties, turning a bewildered face toward the admiral. “Sir? Of course it is. That's what we're here for; the trap.”
A low growl issued from Bandor Kre'fey's throat, and his feline features took on a predatory menace as his fur laid flat, accentuating the sharp features of his face. “The Empire knows; it knows everything.
“Coyn is a trap
for the Alliance.”
* * *
Coyn, at the steps of the En'Tra'Do (“Hall of the King”)
The Empire had not been so foolish as to leave the En'Tra unguarded. They had, however, been foolish enough to underestimate the skill of his Eliteguard. The thirty Kroyn, elite warriors belonging to the Coynite noble families, made short work of the Imperial troopers sent into the En'Tra'Do to guard and detain the Coynite leader once the battle had began. They bought the En'Tra the time he had needed to access the Imperial public communications terminal in another section of the Hall and make his decree: every able-bodied Coynite on the Three Worlds was to rise up and strike against their Imperial oppressors.
The announcement, however, had not been heard only by the Coynite people, and by the time Rol'Tru'Saat and his warriors had landed and fought their way to the expansive stone steps leading into the Hall of the King, Imperial troopers had rushed the building and killed the En'Tra's guard.
The battle, however, was not going well for the Imperials. Hundreds of bodies, both Coynite and Imperial, lay splayed across the steps of the Hall, and fallen in the adjoining streets. The torrent of red turbolaser fire that had been lighting the night sky had faded and vanished in the last moments, signaling the end of combat in orbit. Reports were coming in by the dozens of Imperial holdouts falling to ferocious Coynite assault.
Only here, at the seat of the Coynite people's power, was the Empire holding on. They had the En'Tra captive, a dishonorable act indeed, but one which stayed the Coynite charge nonetheless. And so, Rol'Tru'Saat, standing between his gathered army and the base of the Hall's steps, used what he had learned from his time in the Alliance, and he compromised.
Walking forward a few meters from his place at the head of the Coynite warriors, Rol'Tru'Saat ascended the first step of the Hall and shoutet, “Imperial forces, I am Rol'Tru'Saat, commander of the Free Coynite Fleet, and a slayer of your brothers in arms! This world is free from the tyranny of your lords! By the ancient laws of my people, we are to strike you down, to the last man and without exception!”
The Coynite leader paused for a moment, looking over his shoulder at the warriors behind him, every one ready to storm the building, no matter the consequences to their En'Tra. “But in deference to the customs and laws of the Alliance that stands with us, I will offer you your lives! Lay down your arms and you will be spared!”
There was no answer for over a minute, Rol'Tru'Saat standing alone and stoic on the first step of the Hall; his warriors, restlessly awaiting, behind. And then the En'Tra of Coyn appeared at the top of the stairs, alone, his gold-threaded robe glistening under the beams of powerful spotlights.
Rol'Tru'Saat beckoned to those behind him with both hands, and his own honor guard of Kroyn, borrowed from his brother who was now the “official” Ag'Tra of his family, rushed up either side of the steps, staying on the farthest edges and diverting their eyes as they passed the En'Tra, disappearing over the top of the stairs and setting about their task of detaining the surrendered Imperials.
Rol'Tru'Saat knew what this moment required. The En'Tra had supported the liberation of Coyn, but that did not change what the disgraced general was in the eyes of his leader. He was
af'harl, more than disgraced, more than shamed. He was not Coynite. He was not worthy of the blood that gave him life.
But Coyn is free, he thought to himself as he bowed his head and set his weapons on the lowest step of the Hall. He hunched his back, pulling his hands up to his chest so they would not touch the steps, and ascended, slowly, to meet his fate.
A dozen steps from the top, the En'Tra spoke. “Stop.” The voice was commanding. Powerful. Worthy of the Coynite people.
Rol'Tru'Saat stopped, dropping to his knees and pressing his head against the stone steps.
The sound of the En'Tra's footfalls as he descended the steps echoed through Rol'Tru'Saat's mind. This was the moment. This was how it would end.
“Do. Not. Grovel.” the En'Tra commanded, the contempt evident in every word.
Obediently, Rol'Tru'Saat sat upright and allowed his eyes to meet the En'Tra's feet.
“Look. At. Me.”
So he would be permitted to look upon his lord one final time? It was enough; enough for the
af'harl who had once been a mighty and honorable Coynite. Rol'Tru'Saat lifted his head to stare directly into the En'Tra's face, his neck craning backwards, presenting an inviting target to the man who would be his executioner.
There was a swift move of the En'Tra's hand, and Rol'Tru'Saat willed his eyes to remain open, not to flinch from the judgment of his En'Tra.
But no blow fell, and there was no weapon held in that hand. “Rise, Ag'Tra. Stand and take your place of honor at my side.”
Shocked and elated, Rol'Tru'Saat raised his hands and cupped the En'tra's with them, allowing his lord to pull him to his feet. Ag'Tra Rol'Tru'Saat moved to the En'Tra's right side, remaining one step below him as he turned to look at the crowd of Coynite warriors gathered in the streets below.
“Warriors of Coyn!” the En'Tra shouted at the crowd. “At my side stands Ag'Tra Rol'Tru'Saat, Defender of the Three Worlds, Commander of the Coynite Armies. All who challenge this, defy my rule.”
The crowd cheered on their general's reinstatement and promotion.
Finally, after years of service and sacrifice to his people, Rol'Tru'Saat allowed himself a smile.
Rendili StarDrive Deepdock Wanderer's Home, Coyn Orbit
As soon as the last of the Imperial forces in-system surrendered,
Wanderer's Home and other, less-mobile but well-armed elements of The Wandering Ones' mobile base of operations took up positions in orbit around Coyn. The Imperial garrison had been composed heavily of local Coynite conscripts, many of whom had joined in the uprising upon realizing that the En'tra, the leader of the Coynite people, supported the move against the Empire.
The Golan III Defense Station in orbit had been taken intact, having sustained only minor damage before Coynite saboteurs on-board had disabled both its primary and secondary sensor arrays, making its heavy weapons all but useless and allowing waves of troop transports to land on the station.
The light warships of the Space Guard, the system's local defense force, were crewed by Coynites operating under the authority of the Empire, and so had stood down upon receiving the En'Tra's decree. That had left only a small number of Imperial warships in-system, most of the Empire's dedicated warships having been called Coreward in the preceding months. And they had stood no match against the combined efforts of the Free Coynite Fleet and The Wandering Ones.
Once the Three Worlds of the Coyn System had been secured, token forces were left at Sat'Skar and D'Skar, but the Coyn Route – the hyperspace route that connected the Rimma Trade Route and the Elrood-Derilyn Trade Route – ended specifically in the skies above the planet Coyn, so that was where the Imperial counter-attack would arrive. The Free Coynite Fleet intended to use the formerly-Imperial and newly-reinforced orbital defenses of Coyn for support and protection once the inevitable Imperial counter-attack arrived.
And when the Grand Fleet of the Mid Rim Protectorate arrived to re-secure its Rimward holdings, they would be surprised to find that the Coynites were not the only rebels in their midst. The Coynites' allies in the Ishori and Diamala divisions of the Grand Fleet would wait until the battle began to launch their mutinies, at the worst neutralizing a substantial fraction of the Imperial fleet, at the best turning that fraction against the rest.
And
then the Alliance reinforcements would arrive along three separate vectors, converging on the Grand Fleet in unison and cutting off every possible avenue of escape.
The thought of it brought a predatory smile to Jarvis Ragnar's face, and suddenly the fleet of warships cluttering his view of the stars didn't bother him so much.
