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Douglas Sienar

1 5:34am 15/11/02

A streak of ivory lightening ripped through inky blackness of Memodan’s night. Governor Sienar held a solemn watch, with arms folded behind his back and a blaster at his hip, from his office in the governor’s manor. His solid, muscular frame lit up in the window with every ground strike; something was not right with this night. An eerie mode hung over him. His green eyes blinked before he pulled away from the window. Sitting in his fine Bollem leather chair, Sienar pulled out the security panel on his desk. With a few swift keystrokes, he engaged the mansion’s security force field and alarms. He wasn’t about to take changes with his life, and the lives of his family. His wife and unborn child were more important to him than the Chancellor was to the Confederacy. As the indicator lights turned green, his office door hissed open.

Reflexively, Sienar leapt out of his chair and drew his blaster. His wife let out a shriek of terror as her petite body recoiled in fear. Sienar froze for a moment, still standing rigid and prepared to kill, absorbing what had just taken place. With the sudden realization that it was his wife he had aimed at, the weapon fell from his hands and landed harmlessly on the desk. He rushed over, grasped her in his arms in an attempt to comfort her.

“Oh my dear,” he said as his wife wept in his arms, “I’m so sorry.” Only sobs could escape her lips in response. She was already in her fine silk nightgown, so he led her off to bed, still sobbing. It was closing in on midnight as they walked down the hall to the bedroom; he heard the chiming of their grandfather chronometer down the hall.

Sienar didn’t realize how weary he was until he laid his wife down, who was still in tears. He changed out of his uniform into his nightclothes. It was mostly silent, save for the cries of his wife and the occasional lightening strike. He crept under the bed sheet and took his wife, trying to make her feel safe. Eventually, she quieted and fell asleep. Soon after, Seinar himself slipped under the veil of night into a dreamless sleep while the thunderstorm raged on.

<hr>
A ground strike close to the mansion awoke Seinar, but his wife was undisturbed was the thunderous noise. He said straight up in bed, frozen, listening… he could hear the weak rumbling of a thunderstorm some distance away, his wife’s calm and slow breathing, and his own nervous breathing; the house was silent. He looked at his wall chrono, which was obscured by the blackness of the night, but it shouldn’t have been; it was hardwired into the mansion’s electrical system.

That strike must have put the whole city out…

He swung his legs off the bed and rubbed the drowsiness from his eyes. He looked over his shoulder to check on his wife again. She looks so peaceful, her chest gently rising and falling with each inhale and exhale. The pale moonlight reflected off her flawless skin, making her glow. Even with dried tears on her face, she still appeared beautiful to him. He reached over with his left hand to rub her bulging midsection. It was only a matter of time before Sienar would have his first son or daughter.

With a sigh, he lifted his hulking body off the bed and shuffled his way to the door. He tripped the emergency release to free himself from the bedroom, and make his way to the kitchen for a late night snack; the culinary droid would be annoyed. The droid’s personality programming had slowly deviated from its original parameters to give the droid a rude demeanor and a hint of insubordination. Sienar had threatened many a time to have the droid reprogrammed, but he didn’t have the heart to.

Navigating the pitch-black halls proved to be more of a challenge than Sienar had originally believed. He groped the walls to find the directions the hallways went. It was a sight to see him fumble and stumble towards the kitchen, trying not to trip over or knock down the various decorations that lined the walls. Sienar made it almost the entire way to the kitchen without breaking anything, until he tripped over a potted plant that flanked the kitchen door. Down with a hollow thud came Sienar, and the ceramic pot shattered in to hundreds of pieces. Sienar rolled over and groaned, clenching his sliced leg. Blood was slowly beginning to follow out of the fresh wound and soak into his night clothing. He laid there in the black silence of the house, telling himself what a fool he was.

As he lay there longer and listen more closely, he heard faint voices from a cross corridor. They were coming closer. Getting up on his one good leg, Sienar made his way into the kitchen. Dragging his bleeding leg behind him, he began feeling up and down the kitchen walls. When the mansion had been originally built, in the early years of the Krath’s reign of terror on the system, the nobles, if they could be called such, had secret passages throughout the house for those “just-in-case” situations. This is one time where Sienar was glad paranoia had good use.

The voices had turned down the hall that went pass the kitchen. Sienar turned to check his shoulder; lights could be seen cutting through inky blackness of the hallway. A sense of urgency came over Sienar as his hands move more frantically over the moldings and baseboards, feeling for that vital switch that would protect him from the intruders.

“I heard someone come in here,” came a faint voice outside the kitchen.

“Be sure you have your blaster on stun,” another hushed voice broke the silence. “Remember, the boss does want any ‘damaged goods.’”

That’s the last thing Sienar heard before the blue stun bolts swept over his body and fell unconscious.

Kanbal Stian

2 5:50am 18/11/02

“We have firm control of the planet Chancellor,” said the flickering image of a breaded man. “If you desire the safe return of your politicians, and eventually control of this planet, our demands will be met.”

It had been one week since the Confederate government had lost control of Koros Minor, and the terrorist were only now beginning to make their demands of the Chancellor. Chancellor Stain stood tall behind his desk, staring into the static laced transmission from Koros Minor. The only reason this man was getting a direct audience with the Chancellor was because they had occupied the Governor’s Mansion.

“And what are these demands?” asked the Chancellor in a cold, calm and collected tone.

“Because we are a reasonable people,” he began, “you have two options. Option one: You will have forty-eight hours to distribute one billion Tetan credits to various private bank accounts throughout the galaxy. Option two: You will have forty-eight hours to announce your resignation as Chancellor.”

“Those don’t seem very reasonable.”

“Chancellor,” the man said with an irritated sigh in his voice, “you are in no position to be negotiating.”

“Oh,” a false shock came over the Chancellor’s face, “I’m in no position to negotiate, am I?”

“If you wish for the speedy return of the hostages, alive, no, you’re in no position what-so-ever,” his tone was almost menacing, but the Chancellor wasn’t about to be phased by his words. It took a lot to intimidate a man who’d been hardened in one of the roughest professions in the galaxy. “You have our demands Chancellor. A decision will be reached in forty-hours or the hostage will begin to be executed, starting with the women and children first.” With those words sitting in the Chancellor’s mind, the image flicked out.

Chancellor Stian sat down in his chair, a stretched out his legs. “How much of what he said was true?” the Chancellor asked to a figure beyond where the transmission had been projected.

First Lieutenant Marcus Denoncore, the liaison for military intelligence to the Chancellor’s office, step into the light to speak. Not out of his mid-twenties yet, Denoncore was shaved bald, which made his green eyes penetrating to men of weaker will than he. “Operatives are reporting that most of the local government have been shut down by the terrorist. The hostage he spoke of are mostly predominate political figures of these local governments and the entire planetary legislative body. The location of where they’re being held is still unclear, it could be one central location, or host of different sites.”

“Any update on the whereabouts of Governor Sienar?” The overthrown Governor had been missing since the coup.

“None sir,” replied the lieutenant somberly.

“Damn!” the Chancellor said through clenched teeth as he slammed his fist on the desk in a momentary fit of rage. “Of all the people you keep tabs on from Koros Minor, you lose the one that is the most important to the success of my government. What am I paying you people for?”

“Chancellor,” Denoncore was visibly and audibly flustered, “may I remind you that…”

The Chancellor interjected, finishing the young man’s thought, “that both of your agents were killed before the supposed time that the terrorist took control. They were killed at point blank range, Lieutenant! Their murders should have been identified as threats one hundred meters away from the Mansion’s gate, stunned and detained. They weren’t; your agents desired to die.” Kanbal stood up and turned to the window, overlooking the city of Cinnagar. “When did Intelligence get so stupid?”

“Chancellor, please,” pleaded Denoncore, “one of them was my brother.”

Kanbal turned around, shocked, this time the look was genuine, “My apologizes Lieutenant, I had no idea. Your parents and his family will be compensated for the loss of his life serving his government. I will see to it personally.”

“Thank you sir,” Denoncore nodded.

“Chancellor,” buzzed the intercom.

“Go ahead,” responded the Chancellor to his administrative droid.

“The Tetan has just captured a Lambda-Class Shuttle which appears to entered the system undetected by the blockade group. It was broadcasting no identification profile.”

“Prepare my shuttle and inform Captain Tyco that I’ll be joining him at once,” Kanbal switched off the intercom and motioned to Lieutenant Denoncore as he walked pass him. “Come Lieutenant, you shall be joining me.”

<hr>
Two TIE Defenders escorted the Chancellor’s shuttle from the surface to the Imperial-Class Star Destroyer Tetan who was in the orbit of Cinnagar, providing defense against those that are unwelcome who did manage to slip through the blockade. There was an unsetting silence that had hung over the Chancellor and the Intelligence officer since the Chancellor’s inadvertently damaging comments about the Lieutenant’s dead brother.

“Chancellor,” Denoncore finally broke the silence, “where do you think that shuttle came from?”

Kanbal closed his eyes and took a deep breathe, “I don’t know, but something tells me that it’s a missing piece to a puzzle.” He slowly opened his eyes and locked with the gaze of the Lieutenant. Denoncore tried to look away, but was held there by an uncontrollable desire. Later in life, Denoncore would say that he saw the soul of a man who was being engulfed by the flames of eternal suffering. The Chancellor looked away, and Denoncore felt a wave of relief overcome him.

The Chancellor’s shuttle sat down gracefully across the deck from the captured shuttle. The Chancellor exited the shuttle flanked by two Tetan Shocktrooper, whose polished armor harkened back to a more civilized era of the galaxy, and Lieutenant Denoncore was in tow. A portly middle-aged man in the uniform gray uniform of the Tetan Navy approached the Chancellor and his escort.

“Good day Captain,” the Chancellor acknowledged the Tetan’s command officer. “What have you caught for us?”

“An unidentified Lambda Chancellor,” the Captain responded in his gruff voice. “There are no distinguishing marks on it, and any visible exterior serial numbers have appeared to be removed, most likely with Spatch-Cote, a common bonding agent used in hull repair. Scanning crews have found faint signs of life on exterior scans. We have yet to venture inside, we were waiting for you.”

“Very good,” the Chancellor nodded his approval. “Open her up.”

“Immediately sir,” the Captain turned to his men. With a snap of his fingers and several orders given, Captain Tyco put his men into action. Sparks showered the technicians who were cutting the gangplank hinges and hydraulic extenders. Binary load lifters held the gangplank up so when the full breach occurred, the close to one metric ton piece of durasteel would not crush the technicians to death.

After a quarter hour, they reported full breach, and the binary load lifter slowly removed the now useless piece of scrap metal. Several naval commandos bounded into the shuttle without fear of what they’d find. Two came back with a man slung around their shoulders, and lowered him down to two more commandos who placed the lifeless looking body on the deck. The Chancellor and Intelligence officer stood staring at the body in shock and disbelief.

Both men knew who this seemingly lifeless being was; Denoncore uttered his name to make it real, “Governor Sienar…”

The Chancellor knelt down to examine Sienar more closely. Kanbal placed his right hand over Sienar’s forehead, the skin was calmly to the touch; making sure his thumb and middle finger were place over the temples. Closing his eyes, Kanbal sat there for a few moments, almost like he was looking for something. The onlookers were perplexed by the Chancellor’s actions. Suddenly, the Chancellor’s eyes snapped open and he stood erect.

“Quickly,” the Chancellor ordered, “we must get him to sickbay.”

Douglas Sienar

3 4:17am 23/11/02

A strange fever had over taken his mind; he dreamt dreams that seemed to be more than real. The pattern of their content and when they shifted had no rhythm; random was hardly how he’d later describe what had happened to him. He saw many times, places, and people in his dreams, if they could be called that. Some events had happened in his childhood, his first day of school, adolescence, his first kiss, and early adulthood years, the death of his father. Others seemed to be what would’ve happen if his decision were different, some visions were terrible; while others seem like life could get no better. The ones that looked as if they were in the future were the ones that would trouble him the most. While they weren’t certain, Sienar felt like his fate, and the fate of others, was set into stone. The cycle continued, and continued for what seemed like an eternity; he did have time to question if he was dead or alive.

A bright white light was beginning to break the cycle, and mummers outside of what his sense were telling could be faintly heard. Then, all at once, his sight became crystal clear and his hearing was extremely sensitive. Overwhelmed by the sensory overload, Sienar sat straight up in his bed. His breathing and heart rate spiked, causing monitors and med droids to screech alert sirens. What organic doctors and assistances were there made every effort to suppress Sienar and try to get him to relax. Only a sedative that was put into his nutrients flow calmed him down, and eventually put him back into an unconscious state. Only this time, he wasn’t haunted by the horrible visions, and was allowed sometime to reflect upon those that remained in his active memory.

When he awoke again, it was more natural, reminiscent of a refreshing sleep. He felt anything but refreshed when he opened his eyes. Everything was stiff and ached if he attempted to move it. He remained lying down and simply rotated his neck, trying to figure out where he was. It was a hospital that much was clear. Graphical displays of his vital signs arced around his head, and med droids were there, watching the readouts for the abnormal. He doubted they’d notice if he was even awake. No human was in sight. Sleep seems like the good and logical thing to be doing. Like the last night he remembered, the one before the terrible visions, he found himself in a dreamless sleep.

Douglas Sienar

4 5:54am 23/11/02

Again, voices were breaking his sleep. They started out indecipherable, dull mummers, nothing like a language, let alone Basic. Slowly Sienar brain could begin to isolate words, but not interpret them to mean anything. When his level of comprehension had fully evolved, he laid there, listening to what was being spoken and made sense to it.

“There are still many holes in the system Chancellor,” came the voice of a young man. “It’s difficult telling who’s where, the chain of events that has happen and the validity of if it’s correct. Too many agents have been lost.”

“Well,” sighed a second voice, the one Sienar registered as the voice of the Chancellor, “we are losing time, regardless. There’s one solution…”

“How much time?” Sienar interjected, to the surprise of one of the two men sitting at his bedside.

“Eight days now Governor,” Kanbal was unfazed by the comment of the seemingly sleeping man.

Sienar turned his head to look at the Chancellor. The face of the other voice was unrecognized by the ailing governor. He noticed the olive green uniform, form the Department of Military Intelligence, and the rank of first lieutenant that he wore. His young face was given age by his shaved head and the lines behind his green eyes, which Sienar would remember not being as brilliant as when he would later work with the lieutenant, almost fulltime.

“Who is your friend, Chancellor?” Sienar was suddenly more interested in this… boy that the Chancellor had been talking to.

“First Lieutenant Marcus Denoncore, this is Governor Douglas Sienar,” the Chancellor gestured with his hand from one man to the other.

“No relation to the company,” Sienar stated as he rolled over to extend his hand to the lieutenant.

“A pleasure to finally meet you Governor,” Denoncore crouched out of his chair to shake Sienar’s hand.

“What has happened on my planet?” Sienar’s mind suddenly shifted gears. Many questions had come about what had happen to his administrative responsibility.

“Things have become very unstabilized,” began Denoncore, “although, there are conflicting reports from operatives who appear to be within the same five kilometer radius.”

“And the people responsible for my ousting?” Sienar started through the checklist of questions.

“They’ve been isolated as the Red Eye Syndicate. Thy are being lead by,” there seemed to be a pause in Denoncore’s voice, like he knew that the Governor would be shaken with the mention of the name, “Vsalmiro Hibberon.” The name stuck a spear through Sienar’s soul.

“Blasted,” he commented.

“Do you know him?” the Chancellor asked.

“Know him?” Sienar was almost stunned at the question. “He was a classmate of mine at the academy. More like a bitter rival.”

“How so Governor?” inquired Denoncore. Sienar’s question and answer session had suddenly been turned around.

“During our simulation tests at the academy,” Sienar began to recount the days of his young adulthood, “students were assigned random designation colors and numbers, to ensure there were no students cheating by one playing the dummy and the other the hero, so the one that played the hero would get the higher test score. On a later test, the dummy and hero would switch roles, thus both students having a balanced testing grade in the end.

“It would never fail that I would end up being pitted against Hibberon’s legions, and I would thoroughly defeat him. I would allow his mistakes to amount until they were too much and he defeated himself. I was beating him at such a staggering rate that it got to the point where the other students began to take notice of this fact and intentional pit us against each other, betting on the winner and giving the winner half of the credits in the pool. Surely, leave it to the Imperials, we were found out and all of us discharged from the academy several days short of our graduation.”

“Would he plot your overthrow to humiliate you?” Denoncore had begun to make connections.

“I wouldn’t put it past him,” Sienar said without a doubt in his mind. “It’s been a personal vendetta since I beat him the first time. Never before did he have to surrender, and even then, I denied his surrender, not giving him the dignity of a surrender. I have always believed it was better for a solider to die on their feet than live on their knees.”

“Apparently he felt different,” murmured Denoncore.

“Well my mind is made up,” the Chancellor rose from his seat. “General, the doctors will clear you immediately so you may take command of your army.”

“General, Chancellor?” Sienar was baffled by Kanbal’s words. “With all due respect, I never graduated and haven’t used my training in years.”

“If there’s one thing that the Imperial Academies did in their officer training,” Kanbal moved to the foot of Sienar’s bed, making his way to the door, “it was make sure their men retained what they learnt. And I have no doubts that if you could consistently defeat Hibberon in the simulations, you should have no problem with real battle conditions.”

“If you wish it to be so Chancellor,” there was some reluctance in Sienar’s voice.

“And you Major,” Kanbal now addressed Denoncore, “You’ll be assisting the General as his head Intelligence officer.” Denoncore was visually taken back, left lost for words. “I wish you both well in your liberation of Koros Minor,” Kanbal finished as he walked out the door, taking the tow shocktroops that flanked the door with him to his awaiting shuttle. Both men left in the sickbay room looked at each other, both utterly and equally stunned at their new promotions.

Douglas Sienar

5 6:20pm 01/12/02

“General,” Captain Tyco said, walking up behind the newly named General Sienar. Sienar’s response wasn’t immediate, so Tyco tried again, “General Sienar.”

“Oh,” Sienar finally turning around, acknowledged the Captain, “my apologizes Captain. Still getting accustomed to my new title and whatnot.”

Tyco was taken back by the apology, however, like the General had just said, he was “getting accustomed to the title and whatnot.” The whatnot must have encompassed not apologizing to your subordinates, the Captain reasoned. Tyco resumed his line of dialogue as if the apology had not happened. “We will be in landing range of Koros Minor in ten standard minutes. We should be breaking the planetary sensor threshold momentarily.”

“Thank you Cap…” a shout from the aft of the bridge came before Sienar could finish.

“General Sienar,” the communication officer shouted, “We are being hailed. The transmission is coming from the planet.”

“Must be Hibberon,” Sienar reasoned with a slight tone of coldness in his voice. “I’ll take the transmission right here Ensign,” General Sienar turned around looking out the view ports of the Tetan. “Page Major Denoncore to the bridge immediately,” Sienar added over his shoulder.

The blue-white orb set on a field of pinpricks of light that dominated the main view port dissolved before Sienar and Tyco to be replaced with a less than picturesque mug of Vsalmiro Hibberon. Not a strand of hair was to be found upon his head or face. His whole face seemed big; set between his coal black eyes was a nose that one would expect to find on an Ugnaught, below that was a set of lips that were proportional to the nose, and his ear stuck off the side of his head, like a pair of wings. The creases in skin lied about his age, making him appear in his late forties, maybe early fifties. Fact of the matter was, Sienar was close to five year senior to Hibberon.

“There’s two hours until the Chancellor’s deadline,” Hibberon’s sour voice came over the loud speakers.

“In two hours, Hibberon,” Sienar said with an unwavering confidence, “you will be either in the custody of the Confederate Army or dead. One can only hope for the latter.”

“You will not get a surrender from me,” Hibberon said smugly, “A man who graduated first among his class from the Imperial Academy would not disgrace himself in such a manner.” He had not yet realized that he was talking with Sienar.

“First in your class?” Sienar was surprised slightly, “But only after getting those that were above you either expelled or murdered, of course, like any honorable Imperial officer.” Hibberon’s expression suddenly changed, realizing that the man he was talking to knew more than Hibberon cared for him to. There was a silence between the two, Hibberon still trying to make sense of Sienar’s comments. “Hibberon, I’ll accept your surrender this one time, however, it will be the only time.” It then set in on Hibberon that the man was Sienar.

“Five minutes General,” whispered Captain Tyco.

Hibberon still remained silent, however, his face had suddenly lost some of its color. Somehow in Hibberon’s mind, if he didn’t acknowledge that Sienar was still alive, he could not bring Hibberon any harm. “You have thirty minute to tender your surrender Hibberon,” Sienar said before signaling to end the transmission. Koros Minor returned to the view port, slightly larger than before.

Tyco and Sienar turned aft to see Major Denoncore standing at the threshold of the bridge. “How much did you see Major?” questioned Sienar.

“Enough to know that his over confidence will be his end,” said Denoncore with the same air that Hibberon had boasted with.

“Don’t let it be yours Major,” Captain Tyco noted.

Sienar nodded approvingly of the Captain’s statement, knowing full well it was all too true. “Major, launch your scouts and advance operatives immediately. I want to be aware of any resistance we will face.”

Denoncore simply nodded and about faced, leaving to carry out his orders. Sienar and Tyco now waited.

<hr>
Hibberon in a fury withdrew his blaster and promptly shot the nearest human. “Get me Fuerber!” Hibberon boomed with the muzzle of his blaster pointing at the intended messenger, “NOW!”

The messenger quickly shuffled out of the room, leaving only Hibberon and a dead body in the room. Sienar was back, but he wasn’t supposed to be. Fuerber, although a recent addition to his “team,” had become on of Hibberon’s most trusted associates. He had assured Hibberon that the Tetan Defense Fleet in orbit at Cinnagar would find a dead Sienar in the shuttle. Fuerber had failed and now would pay for it like all the others. Fuerber entered the room and was greeted by a cold stare from Hibberon. Fuerber knew why Hibberon summoned him; he’d been monitoring the transmission secretly.

“Sienar’s alive,” Hibberon said coldly, as he shot the man standing before him. A shower of sparks leapt from the place where the blaster bolt had hit Fuerber’s chest. For the second time in as many minutes, shock overwhelmed Hibberon’s being; Fuerber was a human replica droid.

Douglas Sienar

6 8:14pm 01/12/02

Hibberon’s time had come and gone, now began the assault. Forward scouts had determined a minor contingent of shocktroopers could safely take the Governor’s Mansion, with damages being minimal. At least two heavily defended sites in Memodan where hostages were being held had been discovered. All seemed quiet on those fronts, for now at least. Sienar hoped his wife was in one of the two sites, alive and safe. He would never forgive himself if she was dead, he would also not rest until Hibberon and those that killed her were dead as well.

The First Confederate Mariner Regiment, consisting of nearly ten thousand fearsome Tetan shocktroops, a score of imposing, sixteen meter tall All Terrain Assault Transport Walkers, and another thirty All Terrain Scout Transport Walkers; the Red Eye did not stand a chance, no matter how well funded they appeared to be. Sienar divided his regiment into three battle groups: assault groups Alpha and Bravo, consisting of forty-five hundred foot soldiers, ten AT-ATs, and fifteen AT-STs, whose mission was to liberate the two identified hostage sites, and assault group Delta consisting of a thousand soldiers whose charge was the capture of Hibberon and all those that they could trap.

This was it, touchdown.

Sienar exited his landing shuttle was quickly swept to his commanding AT-AT walker in Group Alpha, who was heading to the hostage site on the far side of the city. The walkers and supplemental troop transports delivered then in less than twenty minutes. They were met by several laser cannon turrets, which had little effect on the AT-ATs, and were made short order of by the combined strength from ten sets of medium and heavy blaster cannons that huge war machines possessed. Trooper disembarked their transports and the AT-AT and stormed the building that held the hostages. Bravo group reported similar resistance and results. The hundreds of people were freed from their nearly ten-day imprisonment. Several dozen of the radicals that guarded these people now found themselves on the receiving end of the cruelty of imprisonment. All the people catalogued so that they may be accounted for if a person had gone missing, perhaps killed by the terrorist. Sienar’s wife was not found among them; he feared the worse.

Sienar quickly sent out a report to the Chancellor’s office, sending news of the success rescue of the hostages. Group Delta had not made a report as of yet. Sienar ordered Group Beta to rendezvous at the Governor’s Mansion. With the uncertainty of the fate of his wife, the journey to his home seemed like an eternity. Hibberon would pay dearly if the worst happened to her.

They finally came upon the grand estate, Group Beta already there, and it’s troop complement aiding in the fire fight that the last of the terrorist were putting up, trying to buy time for their ring leader. Their last defensive was about to end. Sienar ordered the disengagement of all troops, with Group Delta on standby. The awkward AT-STs came forward provide cover fire for the retreating soldiers. Looming over the smaller scout walkers, the AT-ATs open fired on the ground in front of the barricades.

It was over.

Almost.