The Rebel Faction

She stepped forward from the wall, casually striding onto the bridge as if she had always been there. Of course, she had always been there. It was the bridge that was new.

The Tion Star Destroyer was the pride of the Damuen fleet. No finer ship had ever been constructed. It’s integrated systems and weaponry from Farfalen, the Tion sector’s finest engineers, and of course, the inventions and mystery of The Taj, had been joined together through assemblers and their fires to create a well formed, sleek weapon of war, one unparalleled anywhere else. The level of technology and design efficiency created the single greatest warship ever crafted by man or machine.

Such was His glorious design.

She, however, was not a part of that design. While all the information he could access suggested that she was a competent military commander, and all his diagnostics showed that she was at least of adequate physical attractiveness for a woman of her age and species, she was not perfect. She was culled from flesh; created in the sin of two substandard biological organisms, possibly accidentally. And though for show her rank and privilege allowed her the illusion of being his equal, she was not Of The Taj, and thus as was in the only way that mattered, was his vast inferior.

Hallowed are the Children, indeed.

“Raktus In Excelsius, glorious commander of the Erebus,” was all he said. As he said it, he offered a short bow, receiving a short, military nod in return. The other being in the room also offered a nod. When Eighteen D Seven finished bowing to the woman he turned and offered one to the man, who at first tried to dismiss it and then, shrugging at the woman, meekly repeated his nod.

Essex Inon Vaako was his name. He had a glare many described as piercingly cold, but one which 18-D7 only noted for the intervals of time upon which he was fixated with and made no annotation of it’s relative intensity. His official designation was as a Supreme Admiral of The Imperium, which, given his status as a Tionese Human, meant little to the Draconis as he too was only an adopted child of the Taj, and little else. His personal flag, the Necros, was not present at the battle, but this region of space was under his direct oversight and thus his presence was necessary.

The woman, Ryn Valkriss Adaala, had a more immediate and direct connection to the present engagement, as her personal flag, the Erebrus, was present. She was a far more active commander then Vaako, as evidenced by her proactive approach to this situation and the others that had confronted her during her command. Her eyes were always moving, assessing, and never lingered too long on one particular spot. That wasn’t to imply a lack of focus but rather a wider perspective; active mentally assimilating as much information as possible.

Adaala had the mentality to always question. It seemed, by contrast, that Vaako always knew the answers. Their antithetical approach to situations created an interesting balance. One which Eighteen D Seven found himself intermixed within at the present time.

“They’re running!” Adaala pointed. While the holoprojection was not technically there… though, then, what was?… it appeared as clear as day for the three to see, and Adaala’s fingers found the representative images for the fleets with the greatest of ease, displaying relative position through the simulation of the simulation of the information. Vaako, stoically, offered a nod. “Their ambush has failed. Now is the time to press the advantage; surround them, and reign down fire onto their defenseless vessels, and then turn to take their world.”

“A tactically flawed assessment, Captain Adaala,” Vaako informed, casually and assuredly. “The Coalition ambush failed. But was it really an ambush? They pressed hard enough to get our attention before almost immediately turning back. More then anything else, this smells of a trap. Their push back towards the planet to consolidate their position is, in my opinion, a deliberate attempt to draw us in to a situation where we would be forced to break through them, allowing them to flank, and then destroy, our inbound fleet.”

“Nonsense!” she hastily declared, though from Eighteen D Seven’s position it was in fact a more realistic tactical assessment of the situation. “We have the higher ground. The Coalition has eliminated any room to reposition their forces; they have placed themselves between their world and our fleet… there is no longer room to maneuver, no longer room to retreat. They have committed themselves to victory or annihilation, and I propose strongly we offer them the latter. We have the tactically superior position. There can be only victory.”

“We have the superior position as it stands. If we follow your proposition, and enter into the relative orbit of the world, it will in fact be us who are trapped. If the Coalition brings inbound reinforcement, we would have placed ourselves inside the firing range of the ships turned back to the world and those also arriving from behind, allowing to Coalition to completely surround and destroy us. The opportunity here is to bring them to their knees… contain their fleet where it is and bring in reinforcements. Where they are, the Coalition fleet poses us no threat. There is no reason to change that.”

Eighteen D Seven knew that Vaako was right; or, perhaps, more right. Such a bother, the considerations of the primitive human linguistics. More then anything else, Vaako was merely less wrong. “I see no reason, Admiral, that the two suggestions be mutually exclusive.”

Vaako nodded, thoughtfully. Adaala, meanwhile, was unsure. “What exactly is it that you are suggesting?”

“The Coalition wants to draw us in towards the planet. Engage them in their strengthened line and draw enforcements from behind. That would be a tactical error, respectfully.” Adaala showed no signs of taking it respectfully, instead offering him a frustrated glare. “There is no reason to do that. Our position is superior and our technology is superior, and it is my belief that we need not wait for reinforcements.”

Vaako nodded. “Then…?”

“We attack from where we stand now. The Coalition has moved outside of their effective weapons range, but not of ours. Between our advanced turbolasers, our PIM and assorted missiles… we can continue to strike upon their vessels from outside their effective range of attack. We need only move forward cruiser support to flank and cut the slight distance and then punish them from outside a range at which they could offer effective resistance. The Coalition has a vast fleet here and too much to allow us to whittle it away. Once they realize their trap has failed, they will walk into range of our heavy cruisers, and we can finish them off, here, and clean up the remnants across the rest of our space.”

Vaako and Adaala looked at each other, Vaako nodding. “Very well. Admiral Adaala, order Farfalen pickets, cutters, and the assembled light cruisers to remain in effective range and move into flanking formation. Move heavy cruisers to the edge of effective firing range but outside the planetary well and prepare for the Coalition to reconsider their position.”

“Raktus in Exelcius,” she offered, crossing her fist across her chest and nodding to her superior. Vaako nodded back, and Adaala faded into the mist.

“Thank you for the suggestion, Eighteen D Seven,” Vaako offered, and the Draconis bowed his head to him in a gesture of the respect he was expected to show.

“I am pleased to serve the will of The Taj whenever, wherever, and however I am able.”

“Hallowed are the Children of The Taj.”

“Hallowed is Heir Raktus.” With that, Essex Inon Vaako and the bridge of his command ship faded from the room, becoming only the mist that projected them, shapeless, lifeless, and worthless. Communication over, Eighteen D Seven saw no reason to linger in the room, leaving instead for the vessels primary command as the deck below him lurched as the ship resumed it’s forward motion.





The Coalition fleet was in position. It had finally stopped its reformation, consolidated position. Safe.

But it was not, in fact, safe. The Farfalen weapons systems outranged the Coalition weapons by several hundred meters, and as the Farfalen picket ships and cutters began to slow as well, lances of energy burst from their hulls, angrily heading towards the Coalition fleet.

They had been built for speed; designed to hit hard and then to duck away. Collapsing to a defensive position was a maneuver that belied the very fundamental principles behind their crafts designs. As the Wyvern cannons opened fired the spiraling blue waves of displaced space signaled the impending pain of the Coalition ships in a bright and artistic expression of their kinetic energy, unleashed as they slammed heavily into hulls, bending against shields, exploding against the Coalition broadsides as the attached laser weaponry dissipated in space, unable to reach their enemy, and ultimately, unnecessary.

The high velocity shells joined soon enough by the advanced turbolaser fire… small arrow heads of light flew from the Farfalen cutters and pickets, cutting the space between the two fleets with velocity and hatred, meeting Coalition shields in a considerable flash as energy battled energy and energy won, for the most part, as the Coalition ships noticed a majority of damage inside their vessels. It was not the turbolasers so much as the cannons that did the external damage, as the shields bled off little of the impact, and the hulls of the Coalition ships began to bend inwards, marked black and disjointedly cracked at the site of full bore collisions between high velocity metal and high integrity metal.

The Coalition ships were not meant to withstand probated periods of intense bombardment. Their strength for the most part was centered on their ability to utilize their agility, ducking and weaving, dodging blow after blow. Thus the concentrated hatred eventually became too much for some vessels… several of the Coalition lighter cruisers began to explode, some with crippling fires bursting from their bows, others with bows themselves being consumed, shattering apart and drifting into space. While the heavier of the Coalition ships maintained their complete integrity, they were still being targeted, moreso now as lighter cruisers began to wilt and fire was redistributed amongst the remaining vessels.

The Damuen vessels, meanwhile, crept up to the edge of the planetary well, still outside the effective range of the Coalition weaponry by some distance, back behind the lighter Farfalen picketships. Eighteen D Seven monitored their state of readiness intently, as missiles were loaded, computer systems raised to a full state of readiness, and sensors powered down to a still silence. Sensors would not tell him more then he could discern from the interoperation of the reflected light; that the Coalition was losing, and had made a gigantic mistake.

"Sir..." said the sensors officer, as he turned to Ruuvan. "The enemy's waking up. I think they're preparing to advance to our position."

Ruuvan grimaced, and turned to his fellow Knight. "We still have them at range. This could be our last chance to make adjustments and movements before the fleets collide. Are the White Knight trainees and trainers still on the planet?"

"Yes, Ruuvan. We did not have time to roust them before-"

"I want you to go to them. I need to be sure we'll have effective leadership on the ground."

Isip's eyes widened and his mouth hung open for a moment as he processed this requet. "But the battle! You'll need help directing this, you can't possibly-"

"If we lose here, Isip, there will be no one to rally the ground troops to fend off invasion... or worse. I can't afford leaving them without leadership or coordination, and that's why I need you to get down there fast!"

Isip seemed willing to argue it out, but knew there was not enough time. He sighed, and set off quickly for the docking bay. A minute or so later, his figher left for the planet. Ruuvan turned to look out the bridge's window. "How long until the enemy's within effective firing range?"

A tac-officer looked up from his battle display, and croaked. "Estimate one minute. Thirty seconds before our long-range guns have a chance. Dominators holding fast in the face of enemy bombardment, reporting only minor damage so far." On his tactical map, rows of mighty Dominator battlegroups formed a tight wall between the enemy and the planet, with support ships swirling behind them and fast-attack brigades waiting on Ruuvan's orders. It was an impressive sight, even though it would soon be strewn with ruins.

Ruuvan leaned forwards and gripped the rails. The Dragons were believers - fanatics. To utterly crush them, it would be necessary to prove that the Coalition had an even greater will, one that could make them doubt their own gods in the face of ironclad resolve. "The Dominators must hold formation, no matter what happens. Patch me through to their captains."

There was a crackle as the Sinew assured connections throughout the fleet. Green lights representing the mighty warships of the Coalition appeared all over Ruuvan's own display. "Captains," he said. "It should already be immensely clear to you the importance of this battle. Listen to me, and listen well - we have but one objective. Hold the line! Hold it no matter what! Do not give the enemy the satisfaction of seeing us so much as budge if we don't need to. I am not asking you to throw your lives away, but I am saying that to win we will have to stare them down and make them blink first. They are religious fanatics, and beating their resolve is the first step to beating them entirely."

"Sir," said the tac-op, "Long-range weaponry now in range. Enemy still firing, moving in."

"We've only a few seconds now, soldiers! Hold your cannonades on my orders - win or lose, we'll show them the strength of our beliefs!"

The tension on the bridge was palpable as Ruuvan's huge, bulbous eyes watched the counter on his display tick down to zero. Weapon's range. "Fire!"

All of space was filled with light and colour as both fleets unloaded massive payloads at one another. Through the silence of space it was unnerving to watch explosions and debreis fly all around. Ruuvan's own ship swerved to avoid a burning salvoe, one that passed close enough to send blue ripples through the shield.

"Sir, we're picking up a new signal!" said Ruuvan's sensor officer.

Puzzled as to why this would warrant his attentions, Ruuvan went over to the sensor console - his eyes bulging yet further at what he saw.

"Sir" croaked the sensors lieutenant, in a voice betraying panic and fear. "The lines are breaking! We can't hold them back!"

Ruuvan ground his teeth as he observed the spread of battle. The enemy was splitting his fleet, giving the old divide and conquer strategy. The new force was threatening to flank, and though the Dominators were admirably resisting, they weren't nearly enough in the face of enemy attack. It was now or never.

"Launch the counter-attack!" he said, and typed in his commands to the communications hub provided by the sinew. Ruuvan moved away from the tactical display and retook his position in the command chair. "Prepare to chage!"

On cue, Ruuvan's fast attack brigades of Claymores, Longswords, and Kris starfighters surged from their position behind the battle lines. Enemy fighters had begun to pour through the gap in the Dominators defence, but they were swept aside in devastating hails of Projector fire as the Swords rushed into the face of the advancing enemy.

Splitting the enemy down the center, Ruuvan felt his stomach churn as huge and dark enemy destroyers passed on either side. The Swords used their short-ranged heavy guns to devastating effect, breaking through the Dragon lines and leaving a few burning hulks in their wake. Though clearly outnumbered, they had managed an impressive thrust.

But into what?

"Somebody give me an update on that cloud..." murmured Ruuvan, as he observed the terrible haze before them. "What is it?"

"I don't know, sir," replied the sensors officer. "None of our sensors can pierce it, but it looks like there's... a small moon inside of it?"

That's no moon... "...We can't fight what we don't know," Ruuvan muttered. "What else is there?"

After checking his console, the sensors officer said "Another enemy fleet is trying to flank our main line! It looks like they came out of the cloud - if they make it the Dominators will be shattered!"

"All right!" Ruuvan grabbed his comm. "Prepare for a new heading! We're going to intercept that enemy flanking detatchment before it hits our main line. Everyone stay close and steady, and we just might have a chance." Maybe.

The lead Claymore in the unit turned towards Grevious's ships, other Claymores and Longswords following in its' wake. No longer with surprise on their side nor a distracted enemy, the fast attack brigade seemed terribly outnumbered, a pinprick of silver rushing headlong at a mass of darkness. As they rode to battle, Ruuvan's finger hovered over a red button resting on his command chair.

"Firing range in five, sir," whispered the sensors officer. "Enemy's preparing to volley."

If I don't time this right, we're going to look pretty stupid, Ruuvan reflected, in what could be his last moments.

Grev's ships were just turning out for the attack, which had bought Ruuvan's swords some time, but that time was up. A multicoloured barrage lit up along the enemy fleet, the harbinger of strange and alien weapons. Waiting for the exact last moment that he dared, Ruuvan slammed the red button on his command chair, and immediately a blue glow set up about his ship.

It lasted only for a few seconds, but it made all the difference. Pulse shields went up all along the spearhead of the attack, deflecting the microwave beams and PIM missiles and other strange and terrible weapons of their mysterious foes. With the last stretch between the two fleets covered, the Pulse shields burnt out, but now it was time for the Coalition to deliver its' own devastation.

"Fire at will!"

Projectors rocked back in their stations as projectiles flew thick and heavy from the Swords, smashing and flattening all in their path. Breaking up their lance, the area of space on the edge of the cloud became a swarm of shattered hulls and roaring thrusters, as the battle dragged on.

"Sir!" the sensor officer croaked once more, this time spitting blood where an artifical gravity flux had resulted in a bloodied nose. "The enemy... they're... they're just... it's..."

He didn't need to finish the sentance. Ruuvan could see the writing on the wall. The Dragon forces were vast beyond counting, and seemed to be supported by an entire mobile planetoid armed with massive cannons and a seemingly unlimited supply of reinforcements. The enemy had completely enveloped the Coalition's positions with numbers, driving them back with a wall of wreckage and fire. The Dominator line was broken, with SSF fighters and Haven cruisers struggling to regroup around the remaining behemoths.

It just wasn't possible. Everywhere he looked, the sheer weight of guns against them couldn't be withstood. In a split second, his Knights' training came back to him and Ruuvan had to make a decision.

If he ordered his men to fight to the last, he didn't doubt that they would. The enemy was strange and alien to them, and sought to destroy their homeworld in a most horrific manner - what patriotic soul wouldn't do his duty to the end? Then again, he could order a retreat and preserve his forces, ideally regrouping for a counter-attack or to join up with Panacka's forces elsewhere.

Though it pained him to do so, as he looked out upon his own homeworld that now stood threatened by a vast horde of black-husked aliens, Ruuvan seized his comm unit and declared "All Coalition forces, prepare to retreat! I repeat, all Coalition forces, retreat now. Disengage!"

With that one order, and not a word of protest, the Dominators gave way to the Dragon forces. As a dam that has broken free of its' support and at last let the water run freely, the Black Dragon fleet poured past the Dominators and towards the planet.

Ruuvan's own fast-attack brigade turned immediately away from the enemy and toward open space, pushing their massive thrust systems to their limits to nimbly escape the heavy firepower the enemy's planetoid threatened to bring to bear. The enemy seemed almost content to let them run, more interested in establishing their superiority in space rather than the death of their enemy.

All around, whatever civilian ships that could had long since fled. Stations were abandoned, supplies were torched, and the presence of any living citizen of the Coalition around the planet was soon gone.

With all Coalition forces pulling out of the orbit of the planet, one could only wonder what recourse was available to the defenders on the ground. Such thoughts had already occured to Ruuvan, as he brought the comm back up and ordered the Sinew to project his next communication towards the planet.


"...I understand, Ruuvan." The speaker was Isip, who stood in the bottom floor of a bunker deep underground one of Mon Calamari's largest land masses. "Anything that you could have done, you would have done."

"I know... but it seems that wasn't enough. They're preparing orbital fire, dropships... and there's something else."

"What?" said Isip, who examined his sword edge with the detatchment of a professional soldier.

"Have you looked at the sky lately?"

"No... should I?"

"You might want to see this."

Bemused, Isip quickly took the elevator up to the surface, where he looked up to the sky and swore under his breath. "How long has that thing been up there, and why didn't anyone tell me?!"

"It looks like a small moon..." said Ruuvan.

"You know what else looked like a small moon, Ruuvan? Because I do, and I also know you don't want to be on any planet it orbited!"

"It's not a Death Star, Isip - at least, it probably isn't. Whatever it is, though, it was carrying enough arms to take on our fleet single handed. There's only one defence we've got against bombardment. I guess you'll just have to activate it and... pray, as the saying goes."

Isip nodded. "Your signal's breaking up. You better get on your way."

"We'll be fine, we've disengaged for now." Ruuvan's voice had become fuzzy and hard to hear over static. "You just keep the planet safe as long as you can. We'll be back." With that, the static shorted out his response, and Isip dropped the dead comm to the ground. He turned around, towards the building that the command bunker was situated under - the Coalition House of Government.


Of course, the actual House of the Coalition's government was situated on Azguard. Due to the secretive nature of the Azguards, however, the House of Government stood as its' more publically's accessible House, one through which requests to work with the government and government decisions could be relayed to and from the Coalition. It was the governments' "First Line of Defence" - in more ways than one.

Rising up the steps of the beautiful building, inlaid with valuable metals and marble, Isip reached a raised pedastle on the roof where sat a plain looking jewel on an ornate carved stone shrine. Next to it, an official-looking guard house housed not a soldier, but an ecclectic old Quarren. His tentacles were wraped with charms for fortune, wisdom, and more, and one eye was pale white.

Isip nodded to the mystic in charge of maintaining the shrine. Though a strange bunch, these attendants maintained the mystical framework of an Azguardian design, one that offered unparalleled protection for a brief time to a whole planet. The shield would keep them safe... for a little while.

With that, Isip drew up to an inlaid panel on a nearby wall. In a moment, various video feeds appeared, showing the collected government officials of Mon Calamari, the House, and the military command of Mon Calamari.

"Ladies and gentlemen," said Isip. "In a matter of seconds, the enemy is going to rain fire on our heads. If our mystic friend activates the shield, we live. If he doesn't we die. By my authority as Knight of the Coalition, I hearby cut through all of your authorities and order activation of the shield myself, right now."

Without a moment's hesitation, the quarren lifted the jewel and hurled it back into the pedastle. A visible ripple travelled through the air, and in moments golden light began to filter upwards from the ground.

As all this went on, the various commanders of Mon Calamari just gawked on with confusion at Isip. The Knight merely returned them a nonechalant look, before saying "The fleet has been defeated. We have two hours tops to organize the ground defences of Mon Calamari before the enemy is upon us. I want politicians underground and all military commanders to meet me here, at the command bunker, where the rest of the Knights are gathering. We have precious little time, people, and a lot of firepower coming our way, and - yes, can I help you?"

Isip turned to the Quarren attendant, who had remained nearby. "Yes..." said the attendant. "I'm afraid by my count, you have far less time than that."

Isip's reaction was cold. "What do you mean? The shield lasts for two hours - it always lasts for two hours."

"Well, no..." the mystic seemed embarrased to have the entire command structure of the planet watching him as he tried to explain. "The crystals can only support the shield for two hours. The actual fuel for the shield is the courage and spirit of the people being defended - it is their will to resist made manifest. At the sight of that Death Star in orbit, that courage is somewhat... diminished?"

Isip paused, his curiosity piqued. It was then he noticed a faint sound, at the edge of hearing, like a dull roar of thousands of voices yet far away. He moved to the edge of the House's roof, and looked downwards.

There, the streets were thronged with the panicked citizens of Mon Calamari, soldiers and police struggling to maintain order or even move in the tight packing. Above it all was the unmistakeable sensation of utter terror.

Isip's eyes widened as the implications of this all set in. "Oh hell... looks like we've got priority one."

"Double time! We launch in thirty seconds!" The voice was of a a garrolous Quarren Knight as he pushed the last of his junior fellows into the open side-doors of the Meteor dropship. Jumping aboard himself, the door slammed shut and the Knights - some still securing bits of armour - strapped into the seats lining the drop-room.

With a roar, the side-thrusters came to life, lifting the round body of the Meteor off the Academy's hangarbay floor and out the doors. Quickly overtaking the spires and walls of the White Knight Academy, it was soon racing over the glittering oceans of Mon Calamari.

Inside, Zek clung for dear life, praying his breakfast would keep in. Next to him, his friend Ashrad sat with unusual stillness, apparently unaffected by the bumpy flight. Ashrad considered the strange events that had lead to their early launch.

"First that moon appears overhead," he said to the room in general. "Then we get reports of our fleet defeated, now we're being depolyed to the capital. Something doesn't sound right..."

"Isn't it obvious?" said Zek, who groaned with nausea. "It's an invasion! We're probably under attack right now!"

"No, that much is obvious," said Ashrad, who shook his head, as if to shake the facts into order. "Why aren't we being bombed? There's a whole moon in orbit - an enemy who could do that could surely have some sort of bombing weapon, right?"

"I don't remember the Dragons having a moon in Galactic Conquest," Zek muttered darkly.

"Yeah, we should complain about their haxxorz," Ashrad sarcastically remarked before turning to the senior Knight. "So we're heading to the capital?"

The Quarren nodded, keeping his eyes fixed forwads. "Isip's taken command of the planet's defences. He needs the rest of the Knights to help him coordinate defences on the ground - it looks like an enemy detatchment's already made planetfall."

"Just one?" Ashrad's Calamari brow furrowed. "That can't be right... It's a trap!"

Zek laughed loudly at this, getting some odd glances until he quieted down. With the interruption over, Ashrad turned back to the Quarren. "They've obviously got the firepower and the forces to take us on, but they've only sent down one wave? It's gotta be a trap."

"Then it is our duty to spring that trap," the Quarren replied, "and destroy whatever it is they would unleash on us. What else is there to do?"

Ashrad settled into his seat to brood. "Doesn't sound like sound tactics to me."

The Quarren at last broke his concentrated stare to look directly at Ashrad. "Tactics don't come into it, young one. When the enemy is on your doorstep, it's a simple matter of survival."


"Scramble! This is not a drill, you miserable sons of sea shrimp!" The sergeant had shouted himself hoarse, but still his voice roared over the chaos as soldiers grabbed rifles off the rack and stormed out into the courtyard around the command bunker. Through the chaos, Isip parted the crowd like the red sea - his distinctive white armour and insignia moving him with ease forwards.

In his wake, a number of government officials and workers dragged all manner of technical equipment. Cables streamed after them as they criss-crossed their way up the stairs of the House and towards the doors.

The great doors had been pushed open. The vaunted inner lobby was circular in nature, built grand and glorious with portraits of famous Coalition heroes hanging with respect - considering the lifespan of the Coalition, many still had fresh paint on them. Nevertheless, this central chamber was the public forum of the Coalition, now cleared of the press of the public and public servants coming together so that an address could be made.

Satisfied that he had found the center of the circular chamber, with a door on each side giving the location a prime sense of centralization, Isip drew his ceremonial Knights' sword and rammed the blade point down in the middle of the floor. The government officials in his wake winced at the sight of it, they themselves afraid to even speak too loudly in such a place, but set about establishing the broadcast equipment rustled out of the command bunker.

Isip had decided seclusion was no place to make his address from. The people had to see that the Coalition stood brave in the face of danger, and shrunk not for the enemy. That, and he wanted to keep an eye on the projector for as long as possible.

"Are you sure this emergency broadcast equipment is still up to code?" Isip asked, as he examined the equipment critically.

"It's a brute-force technique," the resident technician replied, "but effective. The broadcast equipment is strong enough to replace every signal on the planet. Just try and keep the address short, it isn't power friendly, y'know?"

Without answering the Calamari, Isip took his place behind his still-quivering sword. "Tell me when we're live."

"Okay, on in three."


Inside the Meteor dropship, the radio continued to feature breathless, panicked reporters talking about mass panic and impending doom. The mood was grim in the little ship, when quite to Ashrad's surprise, the radio spluttered and went silent.

"Think it's a technical malfunction?"

"More like they just bombed the radio station," muttered Zek.

They didn't have to wait long for an answer. The next voice to come out of the radio wasn't that of a two-bit reporter, but the deep, crisp tones of Knight Isip.

"People of Mon Calamari, I am White Knight Isip Yushenko of the New Coalition. As of twenty minutes ago, our space forces around the planet were repulsed by an invasion of the Black Dragon Empire fleet. The only thing that stands in the way of the enemy now, is your courage..."


Isip stood with one hand resting on the hilt of the downturned sword, facing the camera. Crowded behind the cameraman, all manner of bureaucrats, officials, soldiers, and even regular citizens who had flooded in, stood crammed all the way back to the doorway, down the stairs outside, and into the street beyond.

"Yes, it is true that the enemy has the capital world of the Coalition - your home - surrounded, and that we now face the greatest threat of destruction Mon Calamari has ever seen. We still have one weapon, however, one ace that can save this world and our lives from annihilation.

"Your bravery. Your will to survive. That will that has seen Mon Calamari's two peoples survive any number of invasions and wars. As one of the greatest powers in the galaxy, as founder of one of its' greatest nations, as the people who championed freedom, independance, and liberty at any cost for decades, your courage again will see us through the day.

"So I ask of you, you brave people, to return to your homes. If you are not a soldier, then find a basement, shelter, or safe house, and stay there. Stay tuned for further emergency broadcasts, and pray. The undersea cities of the Quarren seem safer, for the enemy seems intent to march upon the ground and streak the skies with their weapons of war. A shield is in place that will preserve us from the brunt of bombardment, but their soldiers shall still descend upon the cities of Mon Calamari and try to bring ruin to us.

"As for all military units recieving this communication, stand by your guns! We will overcome, so long as the spirit of Mon Calamari remains strong. Show the galaxy why this world is a candle in the dark! A light in the shadow! An island of reason in a sea of madness! The battle for the sky is over - the battle for Mon Calamari has just begun."

"...And we're out," said the technician, at last noticing the light had winked out. "Thank you, sir."

"Move our command equipment out of the bunker and into this room," said Isip, who pulled up his sword from the center of the room. "I won't abandon the House so long as it's defensible." It also happens to be the shield emitter, but it sounds better without that fact.

As the packed crowd turned out into the street to go about their business, a Mon Calamari commander was quick to join Isip's side. "Sir, the Quarren units are turning out at the coast, and your fellow Knights have touched down outside."

"Good," said Isip. "You get my Knights distributed to the other commanders, and make sure we've got a common line of communication with the Quarren."

Mon Calamari technicians began dragging in all manner of communications consoles, scattering wires and cables all over the floor and quickly turning the room of august splendor into an impromptu command center. Requisitioning the holographic table display for himself, Isip punched up the local defence grid, seeing the various forces popping up as coloured blips.

It was as the command consoles began to come to life that the Knights entered the room. Several dozen, all in the distinctive white plating of the Knights, yet all different species and sizes, arranged themselves casually about the room.

Isip, noting their arrival, leaned back up from the holo-table and locked his hands behind his back. "Good to see you, brothers in arms. This is just a quick briefing, I think my little speech might have bought us a little more time but we'll still be pressed for deployment.

"What's coming up is a battle of belief. So long as our morale holds, the shield should protect us from the worst of enemy attack - and our reports from space indicate that it is the worst up there. I've asked that you be spread about the standing Mon Calamari forces, ideally one or more in every potential combat zone.

"Your jobs will be to guide the military there by inspiration. Like I said, this is a battle of belief, so be that belief. Of course, I don't need to tell you about that. We are Knights, are we not? Go forth, do your duty, and that should see us through."

"What are we facing?" the Quarren asked, as he idly eyed the holodisplay. "More notably, why aren't we facing more bombardment or dropships?"

"The enemy's limited by the shields," Isip explained, while pointing out at a certain part of the holodisplay. "As you can see, however, an enemy detatchment's gotten through. Our first concern is containment, so units will initiate long-range bombardment shortly. The shield is critical, however - that's just a fraction of their forces, and the rest are just waiting for our shield to drop, which it will if we lose faith."

Isip eyed the group critically for a moment before continuing. "I see a lot of you are fairly green. I'm sorry we don't have time to give you any more training for this situation, but if you were chosen as Knights, you must be of natural ability. I advise to trust your instincts and let them be your guide in the upcoming battle.

"Meteors will be outside, taking on command groups to move to the different 'zones' expecting enemy contact. Find a ship, get aboard, and the rest should come naturally. Knights, dismissed!"

With such a simple briefing, the Knights filed out. They needed little real direction in their duty.

Finally, Isip turned to face the myriad command consoles that had flickered to life. One by one, they came to light, each showing a different military commander. Some were Mon Calamari, other were Quarren. Some were en route to their commands, others were in fortified bunkers, while still others stood on coastal bulwarks or observation posts. All turned to Isip.

"Let's get started..." Isip said.


Ashrad was mildly surprised to see the calm that had descended after the initial panic. The streets were nearly deserted, with doors and windows shut tight. Soldiers marched the streets while Meteor dropships filled the air, hauling consignments of troops to different battle zones.

The Quarren Knight turned to Ashrad and Zek as the other Knights moved out to the transport landing site. "You two stay here and assist Isip. He'll have his hands full directing the campaign. and won't be able to look after his own front."

Zek's eyes widened at the charge. "But this is the capital! It's like the battlezone!"

"Don't get your hopes up," said Ashrad darkly. "It's the most well-defended sector on the planet. We'll be redundent."

The Quarren patted them each on the shoulder. "We each have our own cross to bear, boys. Good luck." With that, he was off to join the other Knights at the landing site.

"Don't worry about it," said Ashrad, as he noted worry in his comrade's features. "The battle should be easy." Ashrad looked up at the sky. Somewhere up there, Ruuvan's forces had disengaged and fled into hyperspace to parts unknown, trying to recover for the counter attack. "The war, on the other hand, has just begun."