The Rebel Faction

Kamino

Brisk waves overlapped each other in central dioramas of the viciousness nature can provide. Kamino...the starting place of the Clone Wars. Where so much death, so much destruction started with one ignorant race. How were they to know that a Jedi imposter had asked them to build a clone army? An army that would be used to ignite the flames of war throughout the galaxy?

But in turn these clones - slaves of their own manifestated image - managed to save an entire religion of persons due to the valiant efforts of the great Master Yoda. But now...here, the planet was desolate and scarred from war. The few islands populating the planet barred out over the sheered waves and endless scapes of former battle grounds.

What were once grand lands were now barren waste fields, generated from the Clone War Era. The Clones Wars that had turned Anakin Skywalker to Darth Vader, and had caused the uprising of the most sinister evil in galactic history.

The New Order.

<!--EZCODE ITALIC START--> Fleet Admiral Blackblade reclined on his command seat as he watched the shuttle float effortlessly towards the rainy planets surface. On board was some of The Rogue Empires most elite men, men who had won TRE many wars on many different landscapes.

They were the men of the Rogue Imperial Diplomatic Corps.<!--EZCODE ITALIC END-->

"Admiral Gant? Transmit our peaceful intentions and our desire to speak to the Prime Minister of Kamino. I assume he is where our intelligence indicated?"

<!--EZCODE ITALIC START--> The junior Admiral turned to Blackblade, his eyes passing the many NonComs and Officers that lined the bridge, all busy at their tasks. He bowed slightly as he replied to his superior.<!--EZCODE ITALIC END-->

"Of course sir. Our Intelligence is never wrong more than once. And that once shall never happen again."

"You had better be right Admiral. As our Intel liason, your success depends wholey on the detail of our Intelligence. When they are wrong, you are in trouble."

<!--EZCODE ITALIC START--> The Admiral blanched before inclining his head slightly to indicate subservience. He turned back to his moniters and the crewmen in his span of control. The boards showed no reading and yet Gant seemed to be paying them alot of attention.<!--EZCODE ITALIC END-->

"Is something wrong Vice Admiral?"

"Of course not sir, everything is going well."

<!--EZCODE BOLD START--> They should demote him to captain and change his name to obvious,<!--EZCODE BOLD END--> Dakkon thought.

"Very well. Launch our TIE Shadows. And make them maintain their stealth. I want a basic patrol of the immediate area and a Combat Air Patrol to watch the planet."

<!--EZCODE ITALIC START--> The hangar cheif nodded and turned to his command personel. Within minutes the TIEs were assuming patrol patterns in the designated area. It remained silent and forboding. He knew something might happen here. Kamino had caused problems for the Republic, and the Galaxy, who knew what it could do to the Largest Fleet in the Rogue Imperial Navy...<!--EZCODE ITALIC END-->

Prime Minister Ebe Mola rolled on his heels as he faced the incoming shuttle. It held the markins of the Rogue Empire, one of the largest sovereignties in the galaxy, and he was curious as to why Emperor Fearsons would spend resources on something so miniscule as a clone planet. Of course he did have a cloning facility of his own, as rumor had it, made of the magnificent Spaarti Cloning Cylinders, or at least that was what the "client" had told them.

"What do they want?" one of the guards asked in his musical, sirenic voice. Kamino had recently adopted a small national guard foce after the "client" had made idle threats on the planetary leaders. Ebe did not like the idea much, but he at least tolerated it.

"I have no idea," he responded, lulling his head as the shuttle dipped down onto the rain-soaked landing platform. The mouth-like landing ramp opened and hit the floor with a loud bang, and the guards jumped slightly. Exitting the shuttle were several well-dressed humans, flanked by four black-robed guards portraying an elite aura, reminding the prime minister of Emperor Palpatine's crimson-clad royal guarsd. Of course their staves were slightly different, long metal poles with two strange protruions toward the top. They marched with perfection toward the prime minister, their feet hitting the ground with perfect timing, even without cadances. But what seemed strangest was the fact that they were silent, their march uncounted.

One of the well dressed officials walked ahead of the others with open arms, the smirk on his face portraying obvious excitement. "Prime Minister Ebe Mola! So good to see you!" he said as if the two were old friends.

"Yes?" the kaminoan asked carefully.

"I am terribley sorry for not contactnig you first," the human said," the call from the emperor was urgent and I was busy the whole trip here. Oh you know beaucracy, always trying to steal up some of your time." The man laughed lightly and looked back at the men behind him. The guards came to a prompt and precise hault. "These are my PeFauna."

"Pe-what?" Ebe asked, having obvious difficult with the royal name.

"PeFauna, Rogue Imperial Royal Guards basically."

"I see...so what brings you here?" The sandy-brown haired man sighed almost sadly.

"Well my friend," he started," it appears several amounts of clones have made it away to militia starships, specifically around the Sluis Van system. We immediately knew that any clones had to come from Kamino..."

"Why?" Ebe asked, growing instantly nervous. The man, who had breached protocol by remaining unintroduced, simply smiled.

"Why because you have the only other cloning facility in the galaxy," he said. Ebe desperately sought out another turn in the debate.

"No...no! Surely there are other cylinders out there, why us?" he pled.

"Because you are the only others who have one, we did the research, the background checks."

"How can you be sure of that?" The man grinned.

"We made sure of that." So that was that, the Rogue Empire had effictively demolished the rest of the galaxy's cloning facilities. The Rogue Empire was monoplizing their clone warriors. The man then looked up at the pouring rain above the two. "Awfully wet out here," he said, "why don't we go inside?"

The kaminoan gulped and nodded. So that was that, his masterowk clones had been used for private wars. He turned on his heels and entered the ancient building, away from the shuttle.

Jarek Leo, one of the other "officials" turned to the PeFauna nearest him, handing him a transmitter of some type. He leaned in close and whispered, "Slip this on their mainframe." The other nodded before falling into step toward the building.


The cloning station looked even grander than the archives had said it was, and the diplomat, who'd introduced himself as Certaun Eeara was cast into an alluring awe as he stared at the several grwoth processes and stages of the clones here. Those that were ready stood in every type needed to run a military. Crewmen, pilots, gunners, infantry, commanders, they were all there, all made up of the same four or five people. But there was a strangely familiar sloppiness to them that alerted Certaun. Caution flared into his mind and he watched carefully.

"Who are those for?" he asked, stopping to observe them train through a transparisteel window. All their movements were so coordinated.

"We regret that we do not know," the prime minister said tragically. Certaun turned an unbelieving stare on the Kaminoan. This was like selling fully armed weapons to a group of people and not asking who tey were. It was dangerous.

"You mean to tell me you construct whole militaries for someone who may even be a terrorist faction?" he demanded scornfully. The taller, long-necked alien looked down and bit his lip.

He hesitated and said," When the Republic began hammering down on cloning facilities and their legality our entire economy fell apart, we had nothing. We had no money, we had no purpose and our planet was in chaos. Approximately three years ago an admiral came to us with an emergancy, all he said was Hoth could not do the job for him. So we began working on his orders. Then a year and a half ago we received news of his death, but were told to continue. The money has been decent and its kept our people occupied and out of trouble."

"So then how do they pick it up?" the human asked. "Wouldn't that give thetm away?" It was a long shot but if it was who he thought it was chances were...

"They come in an unmarked freighter with one of six random bounty hunters." Certaun sighed. It was no use, he may bean intell agent, but he did not have enough knowledge to really put these pieces toegether correctly. "I hope you are not considering closung us down, we are beyond Rogue Imperial jurisdiction."

"We have no intentions of doing such...yet," Certaunr esponded kindly, drowned in the thought. "Would you care to show me the whole facility?"

*Story takes place earlier in the timeline, hence my lower than normal rank*

“ Rear Admiral.”

The 7MC rang through the Grand Inquisitor’s quarters, interrupting the Viscount’s self imposed solitude. On long journey’s where he could be of no service, the Corellian aristocrat preferred to merely sleep away the time or put himself through impossibly intense battle simulations. Aboard the Disruptor-class Star Destroyer Termagant, could not avail himself of the intense simulations he prided himself on completing victoriously. Instead, having recently appointed to command the Jutraalain Inquisitoriate as Grand Inquisitor, there were many duties and responsibilities he had taken on which consumed great amounts of his time as a Devastator did life and land. It was the young gentleman’s job to enforce Imperial Jutraalian decrees and mandates, as well as revise laws and see that all ran smoothly within the expansive borders of his Empire.

A gargantuan task which few men were equipped. He Emperor, however had placed much faith in the Viscount, and was thus unprepared to fail him.

Before the Grand Inquisitor was a dispute between rival civilian steel conglomerates, each with competing claims to one trilithium vein deep within the surface of Averam, near her Teeri Mountains. Both parties had valid and contradictory claims to the one source and had each moved in mining operations at either end of the source. Neither was, of course, happy with the other’s presence just over the horizon, and scouting parties had actually fired on one another when they met.

A solution would have been to pick one who had support the Jutraalian Imperial Government the most; those being equal, such a solution was impossible. Without the new source, one of the companies would crumble, their cost of supply rising steeply.

Another option had to thus be devised.

After much deliberation and brief textual conversation with the Governor General of Averam, it had been discovered that there was another, equally sizeable vein of the ore on the fourth moon. With that knowledge, the Grand Inquisitor handed over Teeri Operations to the Ranroon Steel Corporation. Immediately following the declaration, the competitor made a public announcement about the rise of prices for her industrial and commercial complex support beams. According to plan, the press release was rescinded and an apology made for confusion hours later.

Unilateral Manufacturing had another mining operation to exploit.

Satisfied, the Grand Inquisitor closed the first important chapter of his new posting and reclined to relax. Then the commander of the Termagant, an old and rather self indulgent officer, Captain Maxim, deigned to interrupt the Rear Admiral and Grand Inquisitor.

“ Yes, Captain?” del Forza asked, emphasizing the officer’s junior rank. There was quite a bite to the Inquisitor’s voice, angry at having been disturbed. There would be no apex of his anger or action thereon, but it was an excellent way to put his subordinates in their place. If the general opinion is that age and non-Jutraalian birth made him a less than able command, the Viscount reasoned, then he would prove them wrong. Through words as well as action.

“ Sir,” Maxim replied, his haughty enunciation still prevalent, “ we shall be making the real space reversion in ten minutes.”

“ Thank you, Captain. I shall be on the bridge at that time.”

“ Very we-”

The Viscount cut the comm, allowing the Captain to speak into dead space.

Count one more for the aristocracy.

***

“ Attention all hands! Admiral on deck!” called the young yeoman at the entrance to the bridge proper. His face was bereft of the unfortunate epidemiological impurities that plagued youth; his bearing was strong and efficient. The Viscount took note, deciding that he may make an excellent attachment to his personal Inquisitoriate Guard detail.

There were scattered motions through the bridge as all officers and enlisted personnel stood at rigid attention. The Captain had his arms at his side, his slight paunch inhaled as deeply as it could. His white hair and mustache reminded many of Gilad Pelleaon; on his own initiative, he changed his mustache style to lessen the likeness. Now it had upturned end that required an absurd amount of wax to maintain. It did allow him, however, to gain a sort of grace and physical charm.

That was a façade that was ended when his mouth opened.

The Viscount del Forza was very pleased by the efficient parade-ground response of the rarely flag-visited crew. He himself stood out like a neon star. Most of the standard Fleet officers wore the green-grey tunic and trousers of the Navy. Fighter Corps as well as Fleet Ground Service officers wore black. The Inquisitor, in contrast to the green grey, black, and green-blue jumpsuits of bridge techs, wore polished jackboots, black breeches with a prevalent red trouser stripe, and a red tunic. Around his sleeve cuffs were black bands, and his collar was equally trimmed. His rank plaque, rather than red over blue, was red over black. Below it were two crest-like medals, each representative of his noble standing.

On his head, like the Captain, was a mane of white hair, full and cropped. His was as well a sign of age; rather than advanced though, it symbolized youth. To woo a prospective love interest in his teenage days, the Viscount had dyed his hair white, along with his eyebrows to make the look uniform. The love failed but the dye did not. His friends had tricked him into using permanent dye. A decade later, the twenty eight year old Inquisitor enjoyed the look it gave him. His friends that had wanted to were now living comfortably, courtesy of the Viscount’s Corellian House stipend, which was more than his Fleet and Inquisitoriate salaries combined.

“ At ease.”

As abruptly as it ceased, life on the bridge returned to normal.

“ Admiral, we have arrived in the Kamino System.”

“ Excellent,” the Viscount replied as he mounted the dais that held his command chair: every ship that carried a flag officer had a command chair aboard. By the crew, such places were nicknamed the Admiral’s Perch, for if not directly operations of the Fleet, the man thereupon seated oft simply observed the bridge operations from on high.

“ Admiral,” called the communications chief, a middle aged Warrant Officer donning the blue-green jumpsuit of a technician.

“ Yes?”

“ The Death’s Hand is hailing us. Fleet Admiral Blackblade.”

“ Excellent. Put him on, primary station.”

The Warrant Officer nodded and the Rear Admiral was off towards the rear of the bridge where the HoloNet pods were located. Elsewhere on the bridge, holographic persons were presented in a half meter sizes. At the primary station, they were their actual size.

Thus, as the Grand Inquisitor placed one of his code cylinders in a SCOMP link on a durasteel support beam, the visage of Admiral Blackbalde shimmered into existence. Following the Grand Inquisitor’s bow, the Fleet Admiral returned it. Both men were equal in rank: the Fleet Admiral among the highest ranking officer in the Jutraalain Navy, the Viscount the highest civilian authority next to the Emperor.

“ Rear Admiral del Forza, a pleasure as always.”

“ Likewise, Admiral.”

“ I assume you are my replacement on this operation.”

“ That is correct. You have been recalled to Despayre to receive further orders. I shall assume local command and continue the Kamino Project.”

“ Any intimation as to what those orders may be?”

“ None officially, I am only a Rear Admiral. Unofficially, the new Fleet formation has some kinks that need to be ironed out in order for the groupings to be effective in more than just combat. I would assume you shall be placed in charge of administering the reorganization. But again, that is only conjecture.”

“ I see. Best of luck here, then, Rear Admiral.”

“ Until we meet again, Admiral.”

The Fleet Admiral gave the Viscount one last look before his visage gave way to aft control corridor, the low humm of the projector fading into its relative obscurity.

The Rear Admiral executed a disciplined about face and returned to the Admiral’s chair. From there he issued his first orders in his new position as Rear Admiral of the Fleet.

“ Captain, order all starboard heavy batteries to execute a salute as the Death’s Hand departs.”

“ Aye, sir.”

“ Flight Ops: deploy three Defender Squadrons in parade form. Prepare as well my personal shuttle and escort. When the Death’s Hand is gone, we shall remove ourselves to the planet and resume where the Admiral left off. “

“ As ordered, Admiral.”

It was then, that ten minutes later, the Eclipse-class Super Star Destroyer Death’s Hand moved out of orbit and turned towards her exit vector. As she stately passed the Termagant, a twenty one gun salute was fired off, the bolts exploding a kilometer out, having been temporarily set to flak mode. Above and below the hail of the salute, the three Defender squadrons passed in flight groups, each flight commander tipping his ship as he passed the ridges.

The Jutraalian flagship fired off a five gun return, and then vanished into hyperspace.



Twenty minutes later, a flurry of four shuttles and two Defender squadrons were bound for the surface of Kamino.