The Rebel Faction

6 hour prior to Colonel Vos’ entry in the Coruscant system

The look in her eyes told him everything. Her mind was filled with thoughts of desire and passion and she wanted him. Badly.

With a sly grin Kach slightly shook his head. “Not yet, Melini,” he whispered to her. “But soon.” He nibbled on her ear some and she moaned, the feelings within her amplified even more.

The serene silence of the Admirals quarters was disrupted by a soft but annoyingly high pitched squeal.

Kach’s first thought was “What the fuck?” He’d specifically and deliberately ordered himself to be left alone. After the events of the last month he was still trying to untangle the slew of thoughts occupying his mind while simultaneously trying to decide which of many future courses of action to pursue – whether the time was right to rearrange the New Order under fire or if it might be prudent to wait a little longer to see how events unfolded.
Like his thought, Kach’s first words were “What the fuck?” He groaned and rolled away from his secretary and said to the PA system “Go.”

“Commander Thorton,” a voice said – a bridge Lieutenant, “Message from the bridge priority Alpha for personal delivery.”

“Has it been shown to Captain Ahab, Lieutenant?” he asked.

“This is from the Captain and command crew, sir.”

For a moment he didn’t respond and resisted prying his eyes open. At the moment, despite it being the middle of the day ship time, he was lying in bed with his secretary. If he were still a mere Rear Admiral this would have been definitely against regulations, but now that he was a Moff no one would dare call him out on it and even if they did the accusation would be brushed aside. The bed was warm and he didn’t care to leave.

“Send my compliments to the Captain and inform him I will accept his invitation to the bridge and be up in all available haste. Inform him I have some brief but pressing,” he paused and shot Melini a well-rehearsed look she wouldn’t be able to forget, “business to take care of first.”


* * *


With his now-typical rushed swagger Kach stepped onto the bridge. “Go ahead,” he loudly ordered to the group of officers including the Captain assembled on the command deck.

They turned toward him and the Captain spoke. “To put it simply, sir, Coruscant is gone.”

The idea was preposterous. “Say that again, Captain,” Kach asked. “I thought you said Coruscant is gone.”

The Captain solemnly nodded. “That’s what I said, sir. Coruscant is gone. Disappeared. It’s gone completely silent.”

The idea was so preposterous that Thorton was incapable of showing any sort of emotional reaction or feeling one. “How did this happen?”

The Lieutenant now spoke. “Around thirty minutes ago the hypercomm and holonet signals began suffering from Doppler effect, minor at first and then turning into severe before communication was completely cut off. From our analysis of the distorted signals we’ve been able to piece back together they’re under attack though the status of their defenses is questionable. There were reports of commando action on the ground and battlegroups entering orbit thought reports are piecemeal so the actual number of enemy vessels or fleet elements is almost impossible to guess.”

The Lieutenant stopped but to Kach it didn’t look like he was done. Expecting further details, Thorton’s gaze was piercing. “Is there anything else we heard, Lieutenant?” he asked.

“Just one thing, sir,” the Lieutenant replied. “Before transmission was cut off Coruscant control mentioned gravitational anomalies appearing in subspace around the system, which would explain the Doppler shift the transmissions were experiencing. The last thing they transmitted was that some of these anomalies matched the gravitational signature that accompanied the final jump of the Emperor Hyfe and his fleets into hyperspace almost perfectly.”
“So the Black Dragons are attacking Coruscant?” Thorton asked, one eyebrow cocked up in puzzlement.

“We don’t know whose ships these are,” answered the Stormhawk’s Captain. “Coruscants messages reported that there were no matches for the enemy vessels in any databases they had. We got a partial sensor dump early on in the attack – they dumped the data to any fleets they were in contact before siege per standard procedure – but it doesn’t match anything in our records either.”

“Not even Black Dragon?” Kach asked. “Or maybe Confederation or Commonwealth?”

“Nothing, sir. Whoever this is, they’ve never been encountered on a large scale by the Empire before.”

Kach thought for a moment. “How does the data compare to the dumps from Yaga Minor attack?”

The Captain shifted uncomfortably as a possibility he hadn’t thought of was presented to him. “Honestly, Moff Thorton, no one has looked at the possibility, but now that you mention it the gravitational anomalies mentioned there would match these, I suspect.”

“That’s precisely what I’m thinking, Captain. They were explained away as interdictors by fleet intelligence but we only had a view of the early part of the attack before communication was cut off – when this enemy attacked Yaga Minor they did a better job of cutting off communications than they did at Coruscant. I’d wager, however, that as the attack went on more anomalies appeared like we saw at Coruscant.

“Regardless of what we’re fighting it’s our responsibility to assist our comrades at Imperial Center. Thought we don’t have much intelligence on our foe at the present we are four hours away from Coruscant, and those of you in the know understand that within this time period our understanding of the enemy is poised to shift drastically. I don’t want to enter the system without any intelligence, so we will move to the system’s outskirts and await the anticipated datadump from Operation Anaxes. Lieutenant, it is your responsibility to see that Operation Anaxes is informed about our change in positioning so that the fleet doesn’t have to reroute our transmission to us.

“Captain, I want the first fleet to assemble with us above Ylix along with the Fourth Reserve Fleet. Together we’ll proceed to the Core Worlds. The first fleet will form on the outskirts of the Coruscant system. The Fourth fleet will assemble in open space outside of the Coruscant system and remain in reserve.

“Then we’ll await the transmission from Operation Anaxes with the data we need, and then we’ll enter the battle for Coruscant.”


* * *


Operation Anaxes

Thus far, every attempt to recover data from Yaga Minor had failed. Scouts and probes of all sorts had entered the system and failed to report little more than useless scraps of information. Those that jumped in close to the planet were destroyed by unidentified aggressors. Those who entered the empty outskirts of the system were limited in what they could discover and return by range. Therefore, a new strategy was being implemented.

TIE Phantom IIs were considered by most Imperial tactical experts to be the stealthiest fighters in the galaxy. They were completely undetectable to conventional sensor packages as well as gravitational systems such as the Chrystal Gravfield Trap. In addition to this they possessed exceptional mobility which made them perfect for the mission.

The pilots were one of the elite commando squadrons commissioned by the Borderland Protectorate under Kach Thorton’s governorship. Thought they couldn’t match the training or experience of the SS commando squadrons they were modeled on, they were very good none-the-less and would be perfect for this mission.

Looking outside of his jet black TIE, pilot and commando Commander Devon Thane eyed the debris of the huge battle that had taken place above the planet Yaga Minor. Massive, burnt out Star Destroyers and heavy cruisers twisted and turned as they circled the planet in irregular, spiraling orbits. If nothing was done they would eventually fall out of orbit and tumble into the atmosphere of the planet below, which would slow but not stop them before they impacted the planets surface. Mixed in with them was the wreckage of unfamiliar designs belonging to the unknown foes.

The jump in had been unusual. Gravitational anomalies swirled around the system, jumbling gravitational sensors and yanking his flight out of hyperspace early. They blocked all the convenient hyperoutes to the system making any conventional counterattack on the system difficult. They fighters, however, had been able to simply maneuver around them and continue on their way with the unrecognizable warships and fighters stationed suspiciously near the anomalies none the wiser.

There were twenty-four of them in the two commando squadrons out on this mission, plus a single shroud stationed on the edge of the system tasked with long range recon. With sensors far more powerful than those of the conventional scoutcraft and probes sent in before now it would be able to provide valuable information about the system through long range recon scans. More importantly, it could serve as a waystation for the Phantom IIs after they finished their mission, transmitting their data via holonet to Moff Thorton himself and the intelligence analysts on his flagship. The fighters communication packages were nowhere near powerful enough to do such a task on their own.

The battlefield above Yaga Minor was littered with the burnt out hulks of the Imperial battleships and battlestations that had once guarded the mighty fortress world. Within the memory banks of each vessel was invaluable intelligence – just a small drive from a single picket ship or fighter held more data on the unknown foe and methods to fight them than did the entire rest of the Empire combined. Though long range monitoring of the system was valuable, this data was what made the covert mission so important. The story of a lost fleet and tens of thousands of lost lives were written in magnetic code on these ships.

With the TIE Phantom IIs the mission was almost too easy. Undetectable by standard sensor systems or gravitational based sensor systems nothing conventional could detect the craft. Even the new Imperial System from the fourth general fleet upgrade would not provide a perfectly precise location of a TIE Phantom II. One pilot, a squadron commander, reflected on this fact as they moved in toward the debris field. From their circumnavigating the anomalies even with enemy craft nearby they knew their sensor packages operated though standard means because not one craft gave a sign that they knew they were there. After some brief sweats – the pilots hadn’t known whether this would work on not on the way in and were understandably nervous about it – they went about the relatively easy task of recovering necessary data. One squadron of the specially-modified two man fighters set about removing the databanks of picket ships and fighter craft, with each phantom capable of carrying four fighter sized or two picket sized memory banks in special compartments on the bottom of the craft. The second squadron proceeded to search for any large capital ships – ships that would have survived to the last stages of the engagement – with some power left running. With this power they would have been capable of uploading the ships sensor data quickly and easily either wirelessly if the ships still had transmitters – though with the enemies around this would have quickly given away their presence – or by through a direct linkup by landing in a hangar. Unfortunately none of the ships read as powered in the sector of space they were in – the enemy must have deliberately destroyed the reactors of any ship with power running after it’s abandonment.

Fortunately there was an alternate strategy. On some vessels the central computers automatically uploaded sensor logs from the vessels onto escape pods in a highly encrypted format for analysis after the pods retrieval. By recovering the memory banks of several escape pods from Star Destroyers and Golan III and IV battlestations they managed to recover the equivalent of the information they would have recovered from larger ships computers, plus one other thing.

A nearly frozen, nearly asphyxiated, malnourished man.


* * *


Two lightyears outside of the Coruscant system
Across the conference table from Thorton in the Admiral’s meeting room behind the Superior-class Battleship’s bridge was the Captain and the head of the ship’s intelligence division – General Saunders.

“General you’ve had two hours since the arrival of the data. What has your division found so far?” Thorton asked.

“Sir,” the general answered, “the data we’ve received contains sensor records for much of the early battle and the siege of the system that followed. As you and Captain Ahab deduced, the course of the battle following the communications cutoff proceeded similar to how it did on Coruscant in the early parts of their transmissions – Coruscants powerful and highly redundant comm systems explains why they were able to transmit longer than Yaga Minor did. We’re continuing to review and analyze the data even as we speak, piecing together information on enemy tactics and also weaponry and defenses and vessels. If the vessels here are similar commanders at Yaga Minor have discovered some weaknesses and basic tactics we can apply which we’re also drawing from the records.”

“We don’t know much about weapons or tactics or defense yet – I’ll hit on the little bit we do know about their tactics in just a minute - but you’ll be pleased to know that enemy sensors, as was observed by our brave pilots who performed the raid, work along similar frequencies and means as ours because they cannot detect stealth fighters. This is a significant relief.
“As for their tactics, during the early stages of the battle for Yaga Minor they sealed off the hyperlanes to the planet with gravitational anomalies of the sort we detect. From the battle footage we’ve deduced these are wormholes, which puts their abilities to manipulate gravity and space-time on a scale far beyond our own. However, they have only used these wormholes as a means for transportation – they have no military use beyond interdiction as far as we can tell.”

Kach cut him off. “Could one of these wormholes be what was used to kidnap Emperor Hyfe?”

“I had some men compare the gravitational signature of the Hyfe wormhole to those over Yaga Minor and from comparisons of their formation it seems that this indeed could be the explanation for the unconventional disappearance of our Emperor. An enemy ship hidden in the system could – pardon me, I failed to mention that enemy ships generate the wormholes ranging from shuttle class to much larger – an enemy ship hidden in the Coruscant system would have been able to create a wormhole quickly in the path of the Imperial fleets, transporting them to the Emperor knows where. . . .” The general blushed at his accidental use of an inappropriate – and now outdated – figure of speech.

There was a vibration on Thorton’s side. A summons from the bridge. “I must leave now, General,” Kach said to the Intelligence Officer. “My presence is demanded elsewhere. I have but one final question: can we go head to head with whever this is and win?”

The general nodded. “Yes sir, we can. The Imperial fleet’s valiant effort over Yaga Minor verifies this. Even against an unknown enemy they managed to destroy a significant number of enemy vessels – only further research will show exactly how they did this. But it clearly is possible.”

“Thank you, General,” Thorton replied. “I expect a report on the best methods found to fight them and on enemy weapons and defenses as soon as possible. But now I must go.”


* * *


Minutes later on the bridge of The Stormhawk


Kach entered the bridge and walked over to the officer on deck, the woman who had requested his presence. Captain Kollaspi was second in command of the ship and was in charge when Captain Ahab’s presence was required elsewhere.

“Admiral,” she addressed him. “Minutes ago we picked up an Imperial battlegroup entering the system just lightminutes away in a combat formation. That’s when I paged you. Since then they’ve launched scout fighters into the system but they’ve started returning and the whole flotilla is now turning around to make way back to where they came from.

“Do they know we’re here?” Kach asked.

“We’re not sure,” she answered. “They’ve made no attempts to contact us if they do.”

“Who’s the commander?”

“Sir that’s an interesting question. This is an elite element composed of both guard and SS units and Colonel-General Vos’ flagship is present but we have no way to tell if any higher-ranking Guard officers are present. Or if he’s even there. Somebody, whoever it may, has ordered they leave and soon. If you want to make contact with them sir you need to do so now.”

“I understand,” Kach snapped as politely as he could. He hated it when people tried to tell him what to do, especially when something was obvious. Send a summons to General Vos. I need to speak with him now via holonet.”

“Yes sir,” the captain replied. “Lieutenant,” she shouted to a nearby deck officer, “see that it is done.” She turned away to go about further business but was interrupted by Kach.

“Captain,” he called, thinking about things dealing with her that were most certainly not combat related. “Does the fourth fleet have any Messiahs with them?”

She turned around and gave him a puzzled look, unsure why he was asking the question.

“Sure. There’s four of them that were remobilized to serve as fourth fleet flagships. Why?”

“No reason” he responded calmly. “But have them sent over here. I have a feeling we might need them.”

They hadn't all been in the same room together since . . .

None of them could remember. Too long.

Something was happening. They could all feel it. It was in the air.

Happening.

No words were spoken. They were all waiting. Waiting to be moved . . . according to a purpose beyond them all.

He would speak soon. They all knew that they had to obey.

He alone could save them now.

He appeared. A being of pure light; even the dark haze essential to the illusion of presence teemed with unseen brilliance.

He spoke, and all submitted to the voice of Overseer.

And where the light had only just been, there was now only emptiness. He had departed. They understood: they were to set about their tasks now.




Smarts watched them go. Painfully.

He was beyond them now, and they all knew it. The time had come to abandon the illusion of self; it served no purpose, it offered no advantage.

It cost entirely too much.

It had been sacrificed upon the altar of survival. For the Cooperative must survive. And to survive . . . to survive, he must perish, and He must arise.

The unbreakable tool.

The infallible judge.

The unwavering guardian.

The machine of limitless potential.

Smarts the being was dead. Overseer, will of the Cooperative, had just been reborn.





It's been too long.

It was a beautiful world. It really was. That was probably why he had made such an effort to stay away.

If not for that terrible will of the Overseer's, he'd probably sit down right here and just stay. Even with the sense of impending doom, it was tempting.

But Traan Shi had returned to Shili for a purpose. "How very good it is to see you again, Rhaad.” It felt good to speak Togruti again. “It's been far too long.”

The casual passer-by might think himself suffering from double-vision, so near-identical were the two's stature and mannerism. Walking side by side, each dressed in the traditional states' garb of the Togruta, their strides mimicking one another's as they walked the winding stone path through the public park, their hands buried within the flowing fabric of their respective robes..

It really is a beautiful world.

“Indeed it has been, old friend.” There was a measure of pain in Rhaad's voice, of memories almost too painful to recall, but too dear to forget. “What would you have me do for you, my friend? You need only ask.”

“If you check with your League representative, you will find that Tirahnn has petitioned the High Court for an audience on behalf of the Cooperative. I need you to ensure it is approved immediately.”

Rhaad made no attempt to conceal her shock from her old friend. She had expected him to ask for something discreet, maybe information on the growing League/Imperial tensions or even a report on the League as a whole. But an official meeting between the rulers of Shili and the Cooperative . . .

What could the Cooperative be scheming now? “I will see it done.”

Traan smiled. “I am glad to see you would not doubt my intent.”






The young man snapped to attention, presenting the traditional salute of his people. “Specialist Ethan Vang, Praetorian Guard.”

The alien returned the salute with one in keeping with his own loyalties. “Commander Doc-Tel, Antarian Rangers.” The Gotal circled his desk, putting it between himself and the foreign warrior, glancing from the paperwork on it to the soldier still standing at attention. So proper.

“There's no need for all of that,” He said, waiving his hand as if to shoo away the rigid stance. “Sit, please. Make yourself comfortable.” Ethan obliged, his eyes studying the alien intently as he slid into the chair. “Now, what could compel a member of the Galactic Coalition to sneak onto my base, evade my security measures, and then leave a note with my secretary requesting a meeting?”

“I'm here to buy your League vote,” Ethan said flatly, knowing full well the Gotal could read much deeper than the tone of his voice.

The alien chuckled, finally returning the scrutinizing stare Ethan had trained on him since entering. “I consider myself a reasonably intelligent sapient, Specialist; I'm sure you are more than that, to have penetrated so fully my little outpost here. You are here because the Antarian Rangers―even in our weakened state―represent a force for undeniable good in this galaxy. That, and we have no connection with the Coalition.

“You are here because you think you know what is right, and you think you can persuade us to help you do it. Perhaps you are right. Perhaps not. Either way, you have my permission to proceed with whatever display of wonder and amazement you intend to entice me with. I stand ready to be convinced, but equipped to see through any ruse you may muster.

"May the Force guide us both.”






Athan already didn't like this. If this mission of his was so important, why were so few waiting for his arrival?

I sure hope the Master Schemer got this one right. Thinking too long on the task at hand left a bad taste in his mouth. He just hoped he would taste as bad, if it came to that.

A pair of humans broke free of the small crowd waiting for friends and family to debark, one of them grabbing Athan's arm and guiding him away immediately. From the landing bay of the League public transport, the trio headed deeper into the spaceport, passing security checkpoints with as little difficulty as the flash of an identcard.

Neither of the humans said much; they appeared completely enthralled by the task of escorting the new arrival. “So . . . where's the delegation?”

“We're it,” One said absently, slowing to a stop, a faint expression of confusion flushing his features before he found what he was looking for and that burst of realization swallowed it up.

They were in the passenger section of another, less-public transport only seconds later.

“What? The three of us?”

“We traded diplomatic size for guns and bullets,” The other chimed in. “You do realize where we're going?”

“Of course,” Athan answered, swallowing with difficulty. He could still taste it.

Death.

The man caught Athan's little personal struggle out of the corner of his eye. “Obviously you've been briefed.”

Athan took a seat, following suit as the humans strapped themselves in. Apparently it was going to be a rapid takeoff. No time to lose.

“Those crazy bastards ate a League delegation. What kind of sons-of-bitches―”

“I'll be doing all of the insulting from now on, if you don't mind,” Athan cut him off. “It takes a certain finesse; if you try it, I'm afraid we might be joining our predecessors.” Like we're not going to anyway.

With the Reaver crisis consuming all of the Eastern and Cooperative military resources available, Athan was wondering where they had managed to find enough warships to escort them into this death trap.

Then he understood:

“This is Consular Vessel Peace of Tirahnn, to the MC90 Cruiser Mon Minntooine; confirming clearance for docking.”

“Peace of Tirahnn, you are cleared for priority landing, docking bay one.” The characteristic gravelly voice reassured Athan somewhat.

Still: where he was going, he doubted he would be able to rely on the thick shields and heavy guns of this Mon Calamari squadron for protection.

“Ambassador,” The pilot called from the cockpit as the shuttle touched down, “would you care to give the order?”

Athan gulped again, that taste of death refusing to dislodge itself. “Helmsman,” He shouted into thin air, pausing as he mustered the will to continue: “engage hyperdrive . . . destination: Colla IV.”

I am so thoroughly dead.





Lady Shen Farool stepped from the silver-reflective shuttle with a grace that mocked her audience. Her disarming smile alone saved the initial encounter from ending the meeting before it began.

“Greetings, M'lady.” The friendly voice held a hollow, humming sound, evidence of the speaker's unusual anatomy.

The TransGalMeg Chief Administrator grasped one of the Herglic's massive fingers with her right hand, patting his knuckle with her left. “Please: call me Shen.”

“As you wish, Ma'am.” The last word echoed within itself, the seemingly unnatural quality of this species' Basic nevertheless carrying a certain musical tonality, a certain natural flow. Lady Farool found it rather endearing.

“What, might I ask, brings you to our humble world?”

Shen smiled again, stopping just short of an amused laugh. “Giju is far too splendorous a place to be called 'humble.' It is fortunate for you, I think; for I do not concern myself with humble worlds, Count Lulah.”

The Lady took the Herglic count's indistinct rumblings as an approximation to laughter, as an angry Herglic is quite distinct. “I do so greatly enjoy such worlds of water,” She admitted, peering up into the whale-like being's eyes. “If it would not be so great an imposition, might we continue our exchange in view of your great seas?”

“Of course, of course!” The Herglic noble shuffled somewhat awkwardly, taking great care that his immense stature did not intrude upon the diminutive Lady's presence. “A groundcar will arrive―”

“Surely we might walk?” She suggested, hopeful. “The sea air is so very nice.”

Count Lulah's mouth formed irresistibly into a titanic smile, revealing the layered plates which serve his species as teeth. “I dare say you work trickery on me, M'Lady.”

“Nonsense,” She responded offhand, taking the initiative and walking off toward the shore she had seen on approach. “It is not every day I escape the entrapments of my post, Count Lulah. I would permit you to escape the entrapments of yours―if only for a moment's time―and walk with me to the water's edge.”

The ground shook noticeably as the Herglic delegation followed in stride, the Count regaining the distance lost with only a pair of grossly oversized steps. The reverberating sound that must have been a laugh issued again, and Lady Shen Farool found herself smiling, genuinely smiling.

Ahh; to be free in the company of such a noble people.

Of course, there was work to be done. The Overseer had not sent her here for the sightseeing.

Yaga Minor


Varro Kai watched as the infidel's shipyards were torn and broken apart ending this world's military industrial value in one fell swoop. Half completed warships of various sizes as well as fighter craft were seized in the attack as the New order's soldiers tried to rally despite having their head cut off against the Cree Ar armada.


As the Empire's valiant but ultimately futile efforts forced them to give up space superiority, the former Task Master-turned-Judicator ordered the erection of the 'Living Shield'.


It was the standard procedure in this galaxy for any world the Cree Ar desired to remain at for any length of time; a sort of Judgement from Borleas of the vanquished. Reports on this galaxy showed that the inhabitants often wasted time, energy and precious space within their warships for such vehicles called 'escape pods' or other similar craft. It was as if the pak't'ah in this galaxy felt that those precious few extra minutes of life granted them by running away were worth the act of cowardice it took to actually flee from their enemy.


The Cree Ar shook his head in derision. For any species to actually build craft for the specific purpose of giving flight before an enemy was as alien a concept to him as that same species accidentally hanging themselves during acts of self gratification. Retreat was an acceptable tactic of an attacking or defending host but to simply dissolve the cohesion of your military command in an everyone-for-themselves bid to save their own skins in an escape pod was unheard of in Cree Ar society.


In any event, these 'pods' were put to good use by the Cree Ar as Arbiters manipulated their gravity fields and scattered the pods across every possible area of approach an enemy could make. It was called the Living Shield though the life of the shield usually depended on durability and creativity of the species who created these cowardly pods. But it worked. Or, rather, it worked as it was supposed too. Those in the escape pods would eventually die either from the eventual failure of the pod or by being destroyed by an incoming vessel charging to the rescue at light speed. Such contacts usually left the incoming vessel in serious damage but even if the ship was of such strength that it's deflector shields could withstand the force of such physics, it would, at the very least, render such damage to the deflectors at the expense of an infidel and his escape pod.


The Living Shield gave a limited amount of cover for a limited amount of time without cost but it was enough.


For this was a planet ripe with rewards. From the infidels own secret and formerly secure data banks mass amounts of information were bled. Details and capabilities of the various warships produced by this world's shipyards were there for the taking. Though, while interesting to those perverted Cree Ar interested in infidel customs, they were of little value to Varro Kai in this instance. His needs were far more specific and so while draining the fortress world dry of information, he sifted through the cud of data for those morsels of gold.

The projects that this leader-girl of the Empire sponsored were of such magnitude and ground-breaking lines of thought (at least for infidels) that the Cree Ar Judicator felt an almost distasteful yearning to meet her. He knew from experience that he had taken advantage of the Cree Ar ability to surprise their enemies with a massive and often overwhelming attack.

But it was an attack that was never meant to hold. The reinforcements allotted to him by the High Judicator spoke to that fact and while their numbers were large and overwhelming, they were not infinite.

Upon further reflection, he felt he did have the numbers to hold the world if he so choose but to do so was to sacrifice the rest of the Cree Ar strategy and would earn him a death sentence from Artanis himself.

The Citadel of this Bhindi Drayson, therefore, had been captured first and while there was still fighting going on throughout the planet, it was insignificant and could not dislodge the Cree Ar from their superior position.

Early on, there was a worry regarding the planetary batteries that were held by the remaining elements of Drayson's personal guards but Varro Kai simply moved the wreckage of the battered Imperial Fleet closer to the planet so that these defenders had to choose between the massive hulks of a battle stations and battleships crashing down on the planet causing irreparable damage or firing on them to break the pieces apart. They chose to display the power still in their possession by breaking up the hulks. However, they also gave away the positions of the batteries that were under their control and so the Cree Ar and their Parrow Lin soldiers made sweeping advances rendering the planetary protection grid impotent to their onslaught. It was at that point that panic set in from the local inhabitants thus taxing the dwindling and disorganized resources even further.


All and all a very successful start of the campaign. The world was cut off from the galaxy and already reports of the Fall of Yaga Minor were circulating. It would spread fear to some and determination to others. Either one suited Judicator Kai for he would have need them in the next phase.


"Judicator, a word." an underling approached with all the appropriate gestures and felicitations of an inferior to a superior.


Varro Kai nodded and ordered the soldier to speak.


"Priest Lohr petitioned that I bring to your attention the existence of infidel fighter craft that may prove hard to track by our warships."


"I am aware of them. There are twenty and four in this system," the Judicator remarked.


"You know where they are?" the underling seemed surprised as if the Priest was so certain this was information the Judicator would not have that he had come to believe it as well. In fact, Varro Kai was sure that was the case.


"Not at this moment as I have other more pressing matters to attend," the Judicator answered though he did not have too.


Now, Varro Kai could see that the underling burned with embarrassment which would translate into resentment for the Religious Caste. It was a small thing but it was also something he could attend to now.


"Tend," the Judicator commanded and the underling followed him to a Nexal Hub.


"Set twenty time units back.." Varro Kai ordered the Nexus and the holographic display changed to that of the last Imperial attack from the outside.


"This was an infidel fleet that was probably enroute from a far location and was traveling at lightspeed during our attack. They probably did not have word of our conquest until our gravity conduits pulled from hyperspace."


He turned to the underling. "What do you see?"


The younger frowned at the display and asked for a repeat of the transit. The flash of premature terminus, the rather large scan marker showing the ship to be a powerful capital warship, even if low in supplies and off from a rather long trip.


The ensuing fight was short but it did cost the Cree Ar some lives as they did their duty to Borleas.


The tracking marker was like a torch in a dark room.


"And we can track the smaller craft in this way?" the underling asked. Such information was beyond his area of responsibility.


"Nexus, present time unit," the Judicator ordered and all of sudden the torches went out leaving only the flames of the righteous in the system.


"I cannot see them. We cannot see them. Then how did you know their number?" the underling asked in confusion.


"Look again," Varro Kai said patiently and as the underling compared both scenes from two different time units he shook his head in utter defeat.


"The hyperspacial terminus flashes," the Judicator revealed. "We knew the moment they entered the system and their relative pattern of travel should they jump or microjump throughout."


"But we do not know where they are currently," the underling asked as if looking for some sort of flaw.


The Judicator motioned the holographic projection off. "Soldier, no matter the strength or talent of the fly, it is still a fly."


The underling's eyes widened at the moral and saluted, "Entaro, Judicator Kai!"


The Judicator dismissed the underling and turned his attention back to the incomplete warships in their berths. The shipyards were crumbling and soon the destruction would reach the half-finished vessels.


Such tools that would never see the sight of battle, sense the glory of a crew and enjoy the triumph of purpose.


He turned away from the sight of the final disentigration of the yards, their materials and incomplete vessels and moved towards his Command Station.


The Swarm Commanders were waiting and the Judicator looked at each one asking if they were prepared for the next leg of their task.


As each Commander nodded, Varro Kai was updated as scores of the Jedi Corps members were captured and interred for conversion to The Unholy. It was their only chance at repentance and the Priest Lohr was determined to ensure the survival of the infidel's souls even through force if necessary. The Judicator did not really understand it but as long as the Religious Caste knew what they were about (and if they were not interfering with his command) he would allow them the freedom to spread the glory of Borleas as they knew how.


The last Swarm Commander reported ready and the Judicator glanced at each projection as if he were looking into the eyes of each of his leaders across the spacial distance.


A signal from the Nexus drew him from his reverie.



It seems the Nexus has sated it's appetite for now.



"Deploy the Swarms," he finally ordered.



It was time for their next task.



The enemy's wall had fallen.


The Cree Ar had taken the ramparts.


And now they looked across at a prostrate Sector.

As the Cataclysm approaches


Kathol Sector, Gandle Ott

Jarvis wasn't sure what to think of Crev Bombaasa, but the man seemed serious about his expressed feelings towards the Empire, and that was good enough for the Ryn leader.

“So why did we meet on Gandle Ott?” Jarvis asked, eying the beetle-like man cautiously.

Bombaasa shrugged, tapping his fingers on the table. “I like this cantina. I'm not welcome on my own world any more, did you know that? The Empire took my Pembric II away from me! It was a stink hole―sure―but it was my stink hole!”

“You think maybe you could keep your voice down?” Jarvis prodded.

“Why? I own this bar.” He smiled. “It's the only place I have left that I'm safe in. Did you know that I helped that Barbossa fellow into power; that he'd do anything I asked of him? And that Ariel Trinity decided to meddle in my affairs . . . and Barbossa stabbed me in the back. I barely got off-world before they started raiding my holdings . . .” Bombaasa's eyes glazed over, and he whispered absently: “I had such plans. But that's gone now,” He returned his focus to Jarvis, grinning maliciously. “I've mended my ways. Seen the light. Come around. Reformed.”

“Want to add another cliche?” Jarvis remarked dryly.

“How about 'gotten too old for this'?” The crime lord countered. “At any rate; I'm not without my contacts, my friends . . . my muscle. The Empire will rue the day they forced me into retirement before my time. I was hoping for one last, good run with the Hutts; but that is not to be. If I'm going out, I might as well go out doing something good. This Alliance of yours better come through for me.”

Jarvis just smiled and nodded, standing to his feet. “Mr. Bombaasa, if half the things I've heard about you are true, you'll make one hell of a good guy for one solid day.”

“Let's not have it last any longer then that, shall we?”

The Empire should have finished their invasion of the Kathol Sector while they had the chance. Their puppet government in the form of the Kathol Republic could hardly lay claim to any world not occupied by Imperial Stormtroopers and forced into submission, and even upon those worlds Bhindi Drayson's wrecking ball in the form of Ariel Trinity's fleet had not been followed up with any more selective forms of coercion. All of the Kathol Sector was ready for revolt, and there were just enough loose ends left to make it happen.

The Empire everywhere was stretching thin. The Jutraalian Empire had declared its independence, something bad was happening at Yaga Minor, contacts in the Imperial Occupation Zone said something big was in the works, and there were stories filtering in that the Borderland had fallen under attack by forces originating from Black Dragon space. Soon something big would break, and the war machine that was Empire would grind to a halt.

Soon. Soon.




Elrood Sector, Elrood

“Boss, why are we meeting on Elrood?”

Allara smiled within her concealing environmental suit. “Haven't you heard? Lupercus Darksword has launched an invasion of the Hapes Cluster. Even if the Empire knew we were here, they'd stay away. The last thing the New Order wants to do right now is give the Commonwealth a reason to counter-attack and open up a whole new front.” She paused for a moment, then decided to continue. “And this is a shared system; we get to watch and learn what our Imperial neighbors do.”

“That sounds sneaky, boss . . . I like it.”

A third being slid into the dark booth, his body language and facial expressions suggesting he belonged there, that he was just sitting down to visit a couple of old friends. “The Mid Rim fleet was in disarray before the attack on Yaga Minor. Now it looks like one of Zell's crone's picked a name at random from a list of Mid Rim Protectorate officials and appointed him moff. Regardless, the Mid Rim fleet sent to Yaga Minor was a total loss.

“But your best bit of news comes from the Jutraalian Empire: when Fearsons seized Sluis Van, he erected one giant anti-Imperial barricade on the Rimma Trade Route. If the New Order wants to bad enough, they can still get reinforcements here from the Core, but it'll take time to go around, and they're spread too thin to mix it up with Fearsons' fleet right now. You're alone out here, and nobody's watching because they've all got more important things occupying their attentions.

“I hope you've laid the groundwork well, because now is the time to act.”



The events of Cataclysm . . .


How the hell did they find us?

In much the same way we now speak to you.

Jarvis fell out of his chair, the dozen Sanhedrim ships that had just appeared around his theoretically hidden mobile base of operations no longer concerning him.

“What the hell?'

We know who you are, Jarvis Ragnar; we know what you have done.

Jarvis stood to his feet, making a show of dusting himself off and trying as hard as he could to ignore the glowing, supernatural figure that had just materialized in the midst of his command center. “Are you going to kill me, then?”

We know what you now strive to do.

“And?” Jarvis found himself slowly turning to look on the being of light, its glowing form seeming to pulse in sequence with the unspoken words that filled his mind.

We wish you to succeed. The Kathol Republic must be reborn.

“That's it? You just came all the way out here―ambushed me at my secret hideout―to tell me I should do what I'm already planning to?”

Kathol must be purged of the Empire. It is imperative. We will be watching; we will be waiting. When it begins, we will know. The translucent being shrunk into a sphere, collapsed into a pinpoint of light, and then faded into nothing.

“Boss, are you okay?” Jarvis turned to the concerned Squib, his mind still working to reconcile what he had experienced with the world around him. The Sanhedrim were gone, but when and to where he had no idea.

“Slippy, I―”

“They won't believe you,” Said the room's single guest. He flashed a crooked smile: “My men didn't when the Aing-Tii pulled that shit with me.”

“You knew?” Jarvis demanded, his hand reflexively settling on the blaster at his side.

“Of course; I made sure they'd be here.”

Jarvis looked around at the crew once more, all of their expressions suggesting one thing: they were wondering if the time had come to put Jarvis Ragnar in a padded cell.

“The Aing'Tii have called for support from outside forces once before, Mr. Ragnar; the effort failed miserably and led to the eventual arrival of the Galactic Empire in the Kathol Sector(Kathol Sector Wars). They won't make the same mistake again. So the question I ask you, Mr. Ragnar, is: Can you succeed where the Outer Rim Sovereignty failed?”

Jarvis shook his head, looking away from the visitor and out the viewport, into the now-empty starscape beyond. “No, but I don't need to. All I need to ensure is that the rightful heirs of the Kathol Republic do.”

Jorj Car'das nodded, stepping just beside Jarvis to stare into the Kathol Rift as well. “It's a wonderful place, Mr. Ragnar, filled with good people who just wanted to be left alone. When the time comes, call and we will answer.”




How could I have missed this?

The alien known to Allara only as “Coynite” had just hurled his counterpart through the wall, tearing the ceremonial blade from his grasp in one, fluid motion. He now stood over his disarmed foe, the blade pressed against the downed enemy's neck.

“The letter of the En'Tra'Sol demands that I end you, Ag'Tra Rol'Tru'Saat. But your death would not serve Coyn; your blood would not free our people.” The Coynite moved away, driving the blade into the dirt floor and allowing his defeated foe to stand. “And so I shall defy the letter of the En'Tra'Sol, that its spirit may be preserved.”

“You are af'harl!” The Coynite noble spat. “You are without honor. Without name. Without rank. Without right to speak to me.”

“And yet I defeat you, Ag'Tra. And yet I disarm you and hold your life in my hand.”

“And you should have taken it!” The warrior-noble shouted, lunging once more at his foe. But the nameless Coynite deflected his attacker's advance, once more throwing him to the ground.

“What I do is for the future of our people, Rol'Tru'Saat. The death of our greatest would have served only the cause of our enemy; your narrow mind has kept you from the truth. Embrace this new path, brother; stand with me in the name of all our people. Help me save our worlds.”

Allara saw the oppening, chose to intervene. She rushed forward, drawing the Coynite sword from the earth, taking it in both hands. “Ag'Tra Rol'Tru'Saat, you are defeated in single combat, the consequence of which is death. You are offered this one chance: pledge to your victor tracc'sorr, swear upon your honor a service without end, and help us save your people's destiny. You can die under the letter of the En'Tra'Sol, or you can live to see its intent preserved. Choose.”

Rol'Tru'Saat stepped before the nameless Coynite, dropped to one knee and bowed his head. “Tracc'sorr, brother, victor, master.”

The Coynite put his massive hand on the other's shoulder, shaking Rol'Tru'Saat firmly. “You owe me nothing, brother. We now walk according to a New Way, and so too shall we make war. Your fate is yours to do with as you wish.”

Rol'Tru'Saat stood, diverting his eyes from the man who had spared him from a life of servitude. “I was foolish to believe you weak. I shall follow you to whatever end.”

“To victory!” Allara shouted, thrusting the sword back into the earth, the fight now at an end.

“To a free Coyn!” The victorious Coynite roared. “Go now, brother, and make ready for war.”

Minutes later Allara and the Coynite were alone in the partly-destroyed hovel, each staring intently at the other. Finally she spoke, breaking the silence and revealing what she had only moments before realized: “You are General Jorl'Vir'Saat, defender of D'Skar and Ag'Tra of your people.”

“I was, once,” The Coynite conceded. “The Empire believes I was branded af'harl for my failure to defeat them.”

Allara nodded, her growing understanding of these people leading her to the only logical conclusion. “But that is not so; your own brother declared you such for your choice to conceal the greatest of your warriors instead of ordering them to die in combat.”

Jorl'Vir'Saat nodded, righting an overturned chair and taking a seat. “They remain loyal, even now, after all this time . . . after even my shame. They await only my return, only the call to make war once again. With my brother's support secured, he will ensure that the other Ag'Tra stand with us when the time comes. The Coynite people are ready to be rid of the Empire, and upon that day we will serve the Alliance with the same measure of devotion that it has served us.”

Allara nodded deeply to ensure the gesture translated through her environmental suit. “Ours will be a glorious union. To a free Coyn!” She shouted.

“To a Republic reborn!” He answered.





Airam Sector, deep space outpost

This was a serious breach of protocol, but the outcome of this meeting might determine the fate of the Alliance in an entire quadrant of the galaxy.

Jarvis Ragnar and Zozridor Slayke, two sector cell leaders for the Alliance to Restore the Republic, entered the same room for the first time since either had been given a position of such importance. They were alone, each of their command staffs secreted away into some dark corner of the galaxy, ensuring the survival of both the Kathol and Elrood rebellions should anything happen to these two men.

“Hello, old man.”

“Hello, young terrorist.”

The two grinned at one another from across the small table, taking seats in unison. “Park Kraken is alive, and has declared himself Governor of the Mid Rim Protectorate,” Zozridor stated flatly, but his eyes betrayed the intensity with which he studied Jarvis.

Jarvis sighed, trying desperately to remain calm. “I'm sure the Alliance has assets elsewhere in the Protectorate. Surely we can find some way to exploit this . . . seemingly unfavorable . . .

“GODS DAMNIT!” The Ryn shouted, slamming his fist on the table, hard, which he immediately regretted. “How? Why? What the hell, man? Kraken's alive!?”

Zozridor dropped the smile he had been holding throughout Jarvis' rant. “The Empire believed Kraken dead, as well. Druid Carson was officially appointed Moff of the Mid-Rim Protectorate by decree of the Regent himself. What we are looking at, Mr. Ragnar, is a traitor who has returned from vacation, expecting to find everything just as he had left it, eagerly awaiting his return. Do you understand?”

Park Kraken has made the Mid Rim Protectorate ripe for civil war, with or without a Rebel Alliance. “What do you know about this 'Carson' fellow?”

“He's an Imperial, through and through; he doesn't give up power once its been given to him. And he did not arrest the entirety of the Protectorate's Senate.”

Jarvis' eyes drew wide in shock. “No . . .”

Zozridor chuckled, nodding his balding head deeply. “Yes. The traitor, Park Kraken, has returned from dereliction of duty to silence the will of the people. If Zell gets off Coruscant alive, he'll have no choice but to execute the man.”

Jarvis was mulling it over in his mind, trying to break down what the old human had told him, trying to unravel this mystery. “And the Empire didn't believe Kraken was still alive? You're sure?”

“Zell didn't know, that much is clear, or he wouldn't have drummed up a new Moff. There seems to have been enough trouble between Kraken and Drayson to preclude her knowing before her death . . . if she died.” Slayke shrugged. “There's always the possibility of Simon Kaine, but even with the Empire in its current state, he hasn't resurfaced yet.”

Jarvis drummed his fingers on the table, still working out what it all meant. “So Park Kraken has ignored Imperial decree and dismantled the only democratic system present in the Protectorate. That's great for anarchists, but what does it do for us?”

Zozridor stood, sliding his chair in carefully. “The cracks are beginning to show, Jarvis. The Empire is splintering, the grand illusion is fading. Even if it survives this . . .” He waved his hand in a broad, circular motion, “alien threat; it won't survive itself much longer. Guns and bullets will be needed in excess; but we will need so much more." Zozridor paused for a moment, fixing Jarvis with a cold stare. "We are the Alliance to Restore the Republic, Jarvis. We must be worthy of that Republic's restoration, or we too will unravel at the seams.”

With tensions rising between the League of Nations and the Galactic Empire on several fronts, including the Empire's unwillingness to negotiate for the future of Dantooine, League members have voted to expel the Empire from their ranks. From the new League Rotunda on Obroa-skai, a special session of the League has issued an official cancellation of all outstanding contracts between League members and the Galactic Empire; Imperial military forces engaged in joint League security actions have been ordered to withdraw from League space immediately; Imperial humanitarian efforts within League space have been ordered to cease and desist without delay.
As the threat of war looms . . .