The Rebel Faction

Thylor.

Thylor was once a lush, green world, with flowing lakes and rivers crossing fields of endless of grass. Amongst it, children ran, chasing bugs, giggling in the noonday sun.

And then a decision was made. A decision that forever altered the Thylor system and all it’s neighboring worlds.

A company known as Opiette Technologies had slowly infested itself amongst the government of Thylor. It began to push more and more technology on them… new shields, new weapons, new starships… a new interplanetary communication system. Most of these technologies were not invasive, however, eventually every government that is run by a corporation will sell the dignity of its citizens. It is only a matter of time.

They called it The Opiette Pylon.

A combination of a transceiver and a decoder, it worked in conjunction with implants in a persons skull. Attached to the base of the cerebrum animalia, small nanotechnical fibers connected the implant to the nerve stem of the user. With it, he was offered a range of communication previously unavailable. He merely thought, and he called up information, or started conversation or telecommunication. It was a huge breakthrough in communicative engineering.

But such a gift could never be free.

The price in this instance was privacy and individuality. Each user was now linked to a network, and was constantly signaling it. Thus, at any time, any individual in Thylor society could be found. His movements now were recorded and logged for informative purposes. Even worse, nothing could be done to stop Opiette Technologies from opening a line from the pylon network into a users brain, and pick out the thoughts he believed he was merely amusing himself with. Of course, the government promised to keep a close eye on things… and they did, in a fashion, as it was more and more obvious that Opiette was the true government on Thylor.

And so it began. With one implant to help people communicate, another was soon added to help them concentrate, and then another to help them regulate their cardiovascular system. Slowly, Opiette Technologies began to improve the Thylor… one implant at a time.

Thylor was once a lush, green world, and then a decision was made. A decision that forever altered the Thylor system and all it’s neighboring worlds.

A decision that brought about the wraith of the Cree’Ar.

***

They came at night.

Like all conquerors, they hid in the shadows, using weapons to light their way. They shattered the silence of Ador’s night with explosions.

Announcing themselves as the Thylor Opiette, the massive warships in orbit claimed victory and announced that they were beginning, posthaste, aggressive terraforming operations and that all Skey’g’aar were advised to evacuate the system.

They came at night.

And salvation came with the dawning of the red sun.

***

The Cree’Ar had allowed them sovereignty. They had respected their will to be free and unmolested by the Judicaste, but now the Cree’Ar regretted that decision. The Skey’g’aar had wanted to live free, but they would not live would the Cree’Ar not come to aide them. Surely, their intent for freedom was not to die free?

As politicians often do, they put the issue to debate. In the end, however, the answer was obvious. The Skey’g’aar, as disrespectful as their will to abandon the Red Sun may be, deserved to live. The gods ordained it and now they ordained the reunification of the two peoples.

The gods, sometimes, act in mysterious ways.

With battlements prepared, the Cree’Ar warfleet proceeded to Ador, above which hung a fleet of Thylor Opiette warcruisers, who were systematically laying waste to the world below. Summoning Borleas Quayver himself, the Cree’Ar sent the Thylor Opiette back to the planet from which they came. In short order, the Cree’Ar followed.

Thylor was a much different world then it once was. Orbited by innumerous satellites either capturing or rerouting information, and hundreds of orbital weapons and defense platforms, the world of Thylor was also defended by a huge fleet. Nevertheless, the Cree’Ar knew that victory would come on the ground. The battle in the air was only a terribly costly distraction.

As the warfleets of the two massive empires collided, and Cree’Ar battleships fell one by one, members of the shadowcaste infiltrated the very heart of Thylor. They knew of a complex somewhere, which according to intercepted transmissions, was the starting point for millions of transmissions. They knew this was a command center of a sort.

Or so they thought.

As the shadowcaste returned to their vessels in the sky, a massive explosion ripped through the center of the Thylor world. The explosive charges had succeeded in leveling the complex amongst which they were laid. As the shadowcaste members spoke to Judicators of the strange sights on the planets service, all the Cree’Ar suddenly noticed that no attack was forthcoming from the Thylor Opiette vessels.

No movement whatsoever amongst their fleet.

The Cree’Ar considered. They began firing again, with no effect. They stopped firing, they moved forward, turned as if to retreat, and none of which was enough to provoke a reaction from the opposing vessels. Finally, the shadowcaste stepped forward. They would go to the Thylor vessels directly, and see why they no longer moved.

The stories they had told of the previous strangeness aboard the world of Thylor were incomparable to the stories they now told. The Thylor had stopped.

Aboard the Thylor vessels, the crews stood frozen in mid-motion. Crews’ fingertips hovered over weapons controls. Wounded officers stopped, mid walk, on the way to medical facilities. It was as if the entire Thylor society was suddenly suspended in time, and the Cree’Ar walked among it like Borleas Quayver, unfearing and afraid, calm and very nervous.

The Judicaste, again, debated about the cause of the Thylor Opiette’s demise and what they would do. Of course, as is often the case amongst the Cree’Ar Judicaste, the answer was never really in doubt.

The Thylor Opiette were no longer a people.

Years ago, they had begun a progression towards a state of collective cybernetics. Where every being was not so much a person as he was merely another robotic hand for a robotic brain. The command center the Cree’Ar destroyed was not so much a command center as it was the command. A single source for all the movements, actions, and indeed, the very thoughts of the Thylor Opiette for the last hundred years. Without their collective brain, the Thylor Opiette, long ago weaned off of independent thought and the concept of reaction, simply shut down, waiting for some day, when a new communication would send them to life again, to continue to forward the goals of the Thylor Opiette.

That communication would never arrive, although, one did arrive in its place.

To the Cree’Ar, the body is perfect. Crafted by the gods to carry out his will. Thus, they would never defile it in such a manner. However, a godless people who have defiled themselves obviously no longer support or respect a god, and likewise, a god would no longer support or respect them. The Cree’Ar then had little hesitation in turning the Thylor Opiette’s technology against them. They used the Thylor Opiette pylons, in conjunction with the implants in the Thylor’s heads, to form the cybernetic nexus network. Small at first, it rapidly grew to encompass the entire Thylor Opiette Empire, and continued beyond that, even growing this day. But one thing was for certain.

Thylor was once a lush, green world, and then a decision was made. A decision that brought about the wraith of the Cree’Ar. Now, Thylor stands like many worlds.

A cold, desolate rock, upon which is mounted technology that maintains the backbone of the Cree’Ar Dominion. Even now, its population continues to live on long past their empires demise, as servants of Borleas Quayver inside the Cybernetic Nexus.

And had they left the Skey’g’aar alone, even now, there may not be a Dominion, and the Thylor may well have lived on, perhaps, one day even conquering the Cree’Ar. But that did not happen, because the gods did not wish it to happen.

The gods, sometimes, act in mysterious ways.

Then again… they sometimes act exactly as one would want them to act…

He watched as the humanoids ran. The ball of fire behind them that was once the Geonosian arena was now a crumbling implosion. The act of terrorism, an attack on innocent workers of the Tholatin Republic, had convinced them that it was time to leave.

Of course, the Geonosians were left behind.

“What caused that explosion?”

Zeratul pressed a button. The world of Sathora was shown, and in the midst of one of it’s building complexes another explosion burst forth.

“It was part of a terrorist campaign. We’re not sure of who is responsible, or their motives, but the ‘holonet’ has been ‘buzzing with rumors’.”

Kal Shora nodded, disinterested with rumors.

“Any likely suspects? Proclamations of the actions success?”

“A group of separatists has claimed responsibility for the attacks on Ison.”

He pushed another button, bringing up the aftermath of the attack on Ison.

“Ison… is in the Sovereignty. Could the Empire be responsible?”

Zeratul shook his head. He pushed the button again and on the screen, the scene on Ison was split into a splitscreen showing the aftermath of the attacks on Eriadu, N’Zoth, and Carida.

“No group was hit harder than the Empire.”

Kal Shora squinted his glowing eyes at the pictures on the screen.

“Feints? Deception?”

Zeratul pushed the button again, revealing Geonosis again.

“Possible, but extremely perplexing if so. Two of the groups attacked, the Vinda Corporation, and the Anthos Republic, have no history of aggression with the Empire, to our knowledge. As well, following the terrorist actions on Bespin and Taloraan, it is unlikely the Empire would risk the sympathy those attacks have gained them by staging attacks on themselves and calling into legitimacy the previous attacks.”

Kal Shora shook his head.

“We have wandered from our topic. Is it likely the attacks on Geonosis could be repeated?”

Zeratul took his turn to shake his head.

“No. The attacks were focused on aggressive governments, not insignificant alien races. I believe as long as the world stays, off the map, so to speak, it will attract very little attention and will remain unmolested in galactic politics.”

Kal Shora made a gesture of spreading his hands, which Zeratul recognized as him wishing to continue.

Zeratul pushed the button again.

“Without the Tholatin Republic, the Geonosians will go back to doing what they do best. Which is the creation and distribution of weapons. Fortunately, we have an opportunity.”

Zeratul changed the image again to a current camera, showing movement amongst the Geonosian arena.

“The Geonosian economy was shattered when they were abandoned by the Tholatin Republic. In addition, the terrorist attack itself brought down the arena, around which the Geonosians had numerous residential districts and marketplaces, and there are still dead Geonosians trapped under the rubble. Their focus is on rebuilding their homes, and not their weapons programs.”

Kal Shora motioned a hand for him to pause.

“Their weapons programs need rebuilding?”

Zeratul nodded. He pressed the button again, and it showed one of the Geonosian AAT factories.

“The Tholatin Republic shut down the Geonosian Droid and Weapon production facilities. In doing so they ensured the Genosians were completely unable to interact galactically without the Tholatin Republic, and isolated them completely.”

“How…” Kal Shora struggled for a word before settling on “pathetic. To starve a people as a means of control. Deplorable.”

“It gets worse. When the Tholatins left, so did any incoming food to keep the Geonosian people alive. If they are unable to reform their civilian infrastructure, and continue to neglect their industrial facilities, they will be unable to afford to feed their population, and in under a year, they will all be dead.”

“Despicable. Remind me that we must allow the Tholatin people to starve to death.”

“In any case, this offers us an opportunity, if I could present it.”

Kal Shora gestured again to continue.

“You see, if we step in now, we can offer the Geonosians access to the Nexus. Show them how quickly we can rebuild the Genosian Arena, and their homes around it.”

He pushed the button again. The camera pulled back, showing not one factory, but several. Hundreds.

“The Geonosians are in no position to deny our request and without ties in the intergalactic community, they will not be missed whence upon we neutralize them. We will then have access to their droid construction facilities and with this, we will begin to assemble our armies.”

Kal Shora nodded silently. He remembered the last time he had been in combat… melee combat, of course. He was a tactician by design, but earlier in his years at the age of 246, he had begun his campaign as a Lesser Templar, serving Borleas Quayver in the destruction of the Red Sun’s greatest enemy. When he began to show command abilities, he was asked to consider a position in the Bringers of Fire… which is where he served now, High Judicator of the entire Cree’Ar Dominion. Sometimes, however, if only for a moment… he wished he was younger again.

“I will go and ba…”

“No,” Kal Shora cut him off. “No, Zeratul, I will go. I have a more important task for you…”

Zeratul turned to Kal Shora.

“I will handle Geonosis… myself.”

Geonosis was a rock. A rock, hard at the core but covered with flimsy sand. On it stood no defenses, and above it, no warfleets. Only the Geonosians and their silent weapons factories remained on the soft soil. And above it, the sky was empty.

The Cree’Ar Command Vessel, the Sep'Ta'd'Aark, led the Cree’Ar in exiting the C-velocity conduits as it usually did. Behind it arrived the Sep'Ta'd'Porl'a'Mor and the Sep'Ta'd'Dina'a'Dar, the two vessels assigned to travel with the High Judicator as his own personal command flotilla. With these three vessels leading, it would not be unusual for the Loh'a'Mar'a'Dor Mec'Ta'Darin'd'Ol to emerge from the conduit, as it did, but it was unusual for the flow of vessels to continue until the Nir'a'Sen'a'Dor Mec'Ta'Darin'd'Ol was entirely present and accounted for. Such a large number of vessels, well over 200, were unusual for the Cree’Ar to bring to one location. However, this was an unusual situation, and the High Elder felt it better to be prepared, if force was indeed required.

He stood on the bridge of his Ja'Mha Rerodon Cruiser, command vessel of not only the Loh’a’Mar’a’Dor Mec'Ta'Darin'd'Ol, but the entire Cree’Ar Darin'd'Ol in the Coruscan galaxy. He felt powerful. He felt prepared.

It was once said that preparedness made one powerful. It was a sentiment the High Elder not only agreed with, but felt was applicable to him at present.

The Priest caste had been asking him to secure sanctified land upon which they could dedicate their lives to Borleas Quayver, a world that they could cultivate to grow food and raise children. But Kal Shora was indifferent. If they were attacked… if the Jedi or the Sith made a preemptive strike, what good would food do? Would they throw it at them? Maybe, wow them with its masterful farming?

No, the Cree’Ar needed weapons. They could eat when they could defend their farms, and until then, they would go hungry.

The Elder felt a rumbling in his stomach. But it was not one of hunger. It was one of anticipation. He wanted to begin immediately.

And the High Judicator of the Dominion always gets what he wants.

***

Aboard the Grey Defense, everything was quiet. It was a perfectly normal, quiet day.

The Grey Defense had been formerly known as TSD-0127a, The 127th Tholatin-Class Star Destroyer on Assault duty. It had been assigned to combat when combat broke out above and around Geonosis, and had stayed here up until the terrorist attacks that caused the Tholatins to abandon the system. They did not want to leave it undefended however.

And so TSD-0127a was renamed the Grey Defense, and became the Tholatin Protectorates official liaison to the planet Geonosis. It remained in orbit, ensuring that pirates and other undesirables were kept away from establishing a criminal presence on the former weapon production world. It also remained to safeguard Adelah Kinumaro, the Tholatin Protectorates diplomatic envoy on the ground. He lived in the remnants of the Tholatin Protectorates abandoned military compound; with stockpiles of food and supplies he occasionally bartered with the Geonosians when he required maintenance or other raw labor. All in all, it was a fairly boring assignment for all involved.

Until today.

The Grey Defense was on the opposite side of the planet when their sensor upload began to stream in across the Geonosian satellite network. Captain Ralek Jelico was the first one to answer the beeping on the com station as most of his crew were predisposed with rest and leisure activities. At first, it was only an anomalous spacial disturbance, but when the first vessel appeared, he alerted his crew.

By the time his bridge had a full compliment, there were approximately 260 vessels, over 80 of which being capital class. He sat with his head resting on his fist, waiting for an opinion from his crew. He only received questions until finally his commander, Dennik Katarn, offered his opinion.

“We should contact Tholatin immediately. There is no evidence they are blocking communications. We need to get the word out.”

The crew began to fervently argue this until the Captain stood. He shook his head.

“No… that might be premature. There are a lot of ships, granted, but we do not yet know their intent. We should contact Adelah Kinumaro. Inform him of the situation. If things worsen he can use the bunkers com systems and the satellites in orbit to relay a message to Tholatin, alerting them to the situation.”

The crew murmured their approval. He was a level head, was Captain Jelico. He was a quite competent commander.

He was also up creek.

***

The Cree’Ar Vessels slowed. Assessing the situation, Kal Shora looked at a map of positively identified objects in orbit. So far, nothing. A small refueling station and various communication satellites hung just outside the atmosphere of the desert world, but no defense fleet. No opposition.

No fun.

Of course, Kal Shora did not take pleasure from the deaths of other beings. He knew that it was an unfortunate part of his service to Borleas Quayver. He understood the necessity but he did not think that he could, now, kill a man in melee combat. He had before but now… much of the fire and zeal of his youth had been replaced by wisdom and experience. When his family had died, he had felt a rage inside him that gradually, over time, had began to cool.

Although he did not take pleasure from the deaths involved, Kal Shora did very much find battle enjoyable. The anxiety before hand… the intensity and uncertainty during… the pride afterwards… the entire experience could be a very positive experience if done correctly, and in his many centuries in battle, Kal Shora could count his losses on his three-toed foot.

Kal Shora was good at combat, and combat was good at finding a way to him.

Today would be no exception.

“High Judicator, we are receiving a communication from… a vessel!”

The crewer stood, turning to face the High Judicator.

“There is a vessel on the opposite side of the planet. Our original echolocative sensor sweep was unable to locate it around the planets gravity shadow. However, it is there, and it is moving… moving towards us.”

Kal Shora nodded. He listened as the message began to play across the ship’s communicative translation matrix; in it’s early stage, very foreign to his ears. He turned to the Skey’g’aar manning the sensors as their information was routed from the nexus aboard the Assault Ships now circling around the mass shadow of the world on a roughly polar orbit.

Kal Shora looked towards one of his Judicators and nodded. The Assault Ships suddenly disappeared from his eyes, moving around the planet still, but shimmered out of view as the gravity field it emitted bent the light successfully around it. The Judicator went back to his station, handling the inter-ship communicative duties he had been attending to.

Kal Shora meanwhile turned to a member of the Pe't'ara D'oo'l, and gestured with his hands, a very marked gesture that the D’oo’l’’o’lar recognized immediately. He went to his command input center and pushed a button. For a moment there was only static, and then, words began to flow, words that Kal Shora could, this time, understand. He nodded his head when he heard the message, and turned to the Judicator to whom he had commanded earlier.

“Make our intentions clear.”

***

“Alien vessel, this is the Grey Defense of the Tholatin Protectorate. Geonosis is a protected world. Please leave your weapons unpowered and state your intentions.”

That was the third time the message had been sent, and still, there was no reply. Captain Ralek Jelico looked over at commander Dennik Katarn, and both shared the same apprehension about the situation. Something felt… wrong. Something…

“Captain!”

Jelico looked over at Lieutenant Samuel Adams, who was pointing out the transparasteel viewport with one finger. The Captain came closer, straining his eyes to see what Adams had spotted. He felt Katarn slide in beside him as he watched, nothing visible to his eyes.

“I saw something… there was… look! There it is again!”

His finger slid across the starfield, eventually settling on one up and to the right from where he originally pointed. Jelico watched, and as he did, the star began to bend, turning right, spinning, and inverting before it began to stand still again. Beside him, Katarn sighed, and Jelico knew they had both reached the exact same conclusion.

“Cloaked ships.”

“They didn’t answer because they were busy slipping a cloaked fleet around to us. Well, what should we do now?”

This time, Jelico didn’t hesitate at all.

“Contact Tholatin. Let them know what’s going on…”

Jelico trailed off as he saw a bolt of energy form before his eyes. He ducked immediately.

“Incoming!”

The rest of the crew hit the deck. Their shields had been up, but they had no idea how many cloaked ships they had out there, or how many shots were incoming and where. As it was, the ship rocked slightly from the impact, and Jelico looked up for a moment and saw a bolt of lightning running across the roof. He lowered his head again, and behind him, he heard an explosion and a man screaming. And then everything went black.

Captain Ralek Jelico was dead.

Or at least, so he thought.

“Captain! Are you all right? Captain!?”

Jelico nodded, not sure exactly who was speaking or from where. He looked up again. The lightning was gone. The ceiling was gone. He could see the stars outside, but beyond that, everything was black.

“Who turned out the lights?”

There was a nervous chuckle amongst the crew. Commander Dennik Katarn came up and gave the Captain a tap on the shoulder.

“They did, sir. Some kind of ion weapon. It must have gotten the mains. Backup power is isolated in deep… if we have engineers left, they’ll switch it on in a few seconds.”

Jelico looked around, but he couldn’t really see much. He could make out the form of Katarn and he knew at least one more crewmember was alive, as he had broken the silence, but beyond that he really had no idea. So he decided to ask.

“Everyone alright?”

A few seconds of whispering ensued. He could hear at least 20 people, which was about normal for the bridge under battle conditions.

“Adams is dead sir.”

Jelico turned towards the voice, a futile gesture in the current state of illumination.

“Are you sure?”

“He was right beside me, and now there’s a body on the ground. I think it must be his. And it’s dead, sir.”

Jelico sighed. He mentally cursed his attackers, and this infernal darkness.

And as if answering his silent command, the backup power generators came online. And for the first time, the Captain was able to survey the damage.

The lightning bolt he had spied earlier had left a trail, a pattern of warped metal, liquefied and blackened by the heat. It had friends, too… he spied several lines spreading across the ceiling, the floors, the walls… he looked to find the source, and figured he had spied it… a few computers had overloaded from the shock. He supposed…

He stopped, mid-supposition, when he saw the body of Lieutenant Samuel Adams.

When one of the consoles had exploded, the young crewman had been manning it, trying to get the shields to recalibrate against the weapons. He had been caught full bore across the chest, and had fallen, in the dark and with no one to help him, and died of shock.

Jelico looked at him, and then he looked at his crew.

“Communications.”

Katarn shook his head.

“No use. We could dial out, but we don’t have enough power to get a long-range signal out. We could call the planet? Have them relay a message…”

“…relay a message off the satellites.”

Katarn smacked his forehead with the palm of his hand.

“Of course. The satellites should still be at full power.”

Jelico charged to one of his engineers.

“Can we get the computers online?”

The engineer smiled. Behind Jelico, he heard the system begin to dial up the main computer core. He clapped his hands together.

“That’s what I wanted to hear! Patch us in to those satellites… aim them at Tholatin immediately.”

Commander Dennik Katarn charged to one of the communications consoles, and began to open a line of communication with the satellite. He began to punch in commands…

And then the computers went off again.

“The hell?”

Katarn hit the computer, hoping to coax it back to life.

“Another power failure?”

The engineer Jelico posed the question to shook his head. He wasn’t sure what it was, but it wasn’t the generators, as the lights were working perfectly.

Jelico was about to hit the computer himself when it blinked back on. Only the pattern it displayed he had never seen before. It was black with scrolling lines of vertical symbols in a language he had never seen before. And then he heard it.

Whispers.

Millions of them.

He heard them from all around, and realized that every computer on the bridge was displaying the same pattern, and must have served to echo the sound.

“What is that?”

Katarn was furious at the keyboard, trying to get a dialogue, or something in this odd program. Finally, frustrated, he slammed his hand down on the console’s edge.

“I have no idea. It was uploaded when we interfaced with the satellites and now I can’t get anything on this stupid machine. It must be a computer virus… some way to lock us out of our own instruments…”

Jelico shook his head.

”No, they already took out our systems. They must be trying to stop us from something specific…”

Katarn lowered his head and popped it up almost immediately.

”Communicate.”

Jelico nodded.

”Yes, I think you’ve got it. It’s possible that’s been on the satellite since they arrived in system, and we just realized it now. It must be… some kind of invasive communicative program, sent out when we interfaced with our satellites. They couldn’t sneak it past our firewalls…”

“…we had to let it in. Damnit. Well, what are our options?”

Jelico turned to the window to begin to think, and when he did, he instantly knew what he had to do.

“Katarn, is the ships internal com still working?”

Katarn shrugged.

“Yes, it doesn’t interface with the main computer at all. Why?”

“Just turn it on.”

Katarn hit the switch to activate the internal communications device, and when he was done he turned to face the captain…

And saw behind him why the captain wanted the com online.

“All hands, this is the Captain. Abandon Ship. Repeat: Abandon Ship.”

***

Ambassador Adelah Kinumaro of the Tholatin Protectorate had been afraid many times in his life. However, he could not remember a time when he had been afraid for his very life.

He had been attempting to call Tholatin when it happened. All of his computers shut off before rebooting with a foreign, alien program running. He didn’t know why. But he suspected it had something to do with the alien vessels that Captain Jelico had mentioned. So his next logical step was to communicate with the Grey Defense.

So grabbing his backup computer systems, and making sure to keep them away from any systems that had been infected with this strange alien virus, he connected to the Grey Defense and sent them a message informing them of his situation.

And Grey Defense had replied… with the alien computer virus, infecting his backup computers as well, and rendering him unable to contact anyone. Completely isolated in his office and without a way to contact his homeworld, Kinumaro took the streets to find absolute anarchy.

The Geonosians, only hours before a somber people, were rallying in the streets. He didn’t know why, but they were chanting, and dancing. And then he saw a group of Geonosians fluttering around a human, smacking him about the face with rocks. Kinumaro, not normally a violent person, did still keep in his compound a blaster pistol, and he quickly retrieved it. He fired into the swarm of Genosians about the battered human, and the scuttled away quickly.

He quickly rushed to the man’s side, pouring water on his bloodied face. He raised his chin, making sure he was conscious, and saw the man’s eyes open when he realized whom it was who had saved him.

“Thank you, Ambassador. I’m Dennik Katarn.”

“Commander Katarn, of the Grey Defense? What are you doing down here?”

Katarn shook his head.

“I was from the Grey Defense. It’s been destroyed.”

“Destroyed? How? Where’s Captain Jelico?”

Again, Katarn shook his head, clearly still in shock.

”Jelico is dead. He refused to leave the ship. The Grey… the Grey Defense… they shot some kind, some kind of acid… it ate right through our hull, and completely bypassed our shields. We were already on the way to the planet when their fleet opened up with the big guns.”

Kinumaro nodded. Behind Katarn, he could see the escape pods dropping out of the sky. He could see, as well, a large shadow dropping through the clouds.

“Is that…”

Katarn nodded.

”I ordered all of our soldiers to form a collapsing box around this position. When that ship lands, and those alien bastards start charging on the cities, we will defend you. Do you have a ship?”

Kinumaro gulped.

“No.”

“That might be a problem.”

Katarn reached into the flap of his jumpsuit, and pulled a small communicator from it.

“Engineering… yeah, this is Katarn, we may have a problem… yes, that’s it… how long would it take? I’ll give him my com… no, I’m sure… get started as soon as possible… yes.”

Katarn gestured for Kinumaro to take the comlink.

“Take it. There are several abandoned vessels on this world from the Clone Wars that are about 100 years past their prime. I’ve sent our vessels engineering department to go and get at least one of them to work. They’re going to send you a message when they’ve got one in working order, and let you know where you need to get. Until then, stay in your office and stay out of the firefight. This isn’t going to be very pretty.”

With that, Katarn dropped the communicator into his hand. He gestured towards the blaster, which Kinumaro turned over with little hesitation. Katarn winked, his way of saying good luck, and turned to run into battle.

Kinumaro turned and ran into his office, which coincidentally, was his way of saying good luck.

***

Kal Shora savored the feeling.

The familiar feeling of sand beneath his naked feet.

The last time he had felt sand beneath his feet was on Ador. He had taken his children to the beach, and lay beside his wife, the breaking waves of the ocean soothing them both to sleep.

When Kal Shora stepped through this sand, he didn’t smell the familiar scent of sea salt water, or hear the familiar cries of gleeful children.

No. Kal Shora could only smell sweat. And the cries he heard were not those of children, but of grown men being torn in half by rigid metal. This didn’t seem like home.

But if he closed his eyes… and focused on the sand…

He could almost hear his wife sigh contentedly beside him.

He was home.

If only for a fleeting second, he was home…

***

The fighting outside was fierce. He could hear men screaming, crying, gargling through blood a final affirmation. He waited for the comlink to buzz, for the sign to begin running to come.

He waited.

And then they began pounding on the door.

He looked at him with contempt. He was weak… unable to avoid even a stupid people such as the Geonosians. He was an embarrassment to the Jedi. He made him sick.

Obi Wan Kenobi.

Reckless, arrogant, careless.

How typical of the Jedi, when he gave it a moment’s thought.

“You traitor!”

The Jedi spat at him, hateful. How pathetic, to abandon your principles, your righteous stance, when trapped in a corner. It was quite sad.

“Hello, my friend. This is a mistake, a terrible mistake! They’ve gone too far, this time! This is madness!”

Dooku looked at him, struggling to hold back a laugh. Obi Wan looked at him with great derision.

“I thought you were the leader here, Dooku.”

How perceptive, young Jedi. Qui Gon would be proud. Dooku held back his smile, raising his hands in protest.

“I assure you, this has nothing to do with me! I promise you that I will petition immediately to secure your release.”

Obi Wan got a smug look on his face, and Dooku knew that he was aware of his lies.

“Well, I hope it doesn’t take too long. I have work to do.”

Obi Wan’s voice practically dripped sarcasm as he spoke. Dooku laughed internally at how easily malleable Obi Wan’s emotions were.

“If I may ask… why is a Jedi Knight all the way out here, on Geonosis?”

Obi Wan answered almost immediately.

“I’ve been tracking a bounty hunter, known as Jango Fett. Have you seen him?”

Dooku cursed himself. He knew that the Bounty Hunter was more trouble then he was worth. He was quick to regain his composure, however, and shook his head adamantly.

“There are no bounty hunters here, at least, not any that I am aware of. The Geonosisans… they don’t trust them. You understand.”

Obi Wan nodded, as best he could.

“Who can blame them. But Fett is here... I can assure you of that.”

Dooku nodded. He wanted to change the subject… play with Obi Wan’s emotions a bit more, before he dropped his bombshell upon him. He considered briefly how best to upset Obi Wan, but it was an easy decision.

“It is a pity… no, a great pity, that our paths have never crossed before, Obi Wan Kenobi. Qui Gon always spoke highly of you…. very highly, indeed.”

He let out of a loud sigh.

“I wish he were still alive… I could certainly use his help right now.”

“Qui Gon would never join you!”

Ah, anger, as expected. Dooku was embarrassed at how ineffective his old friend had been at teaching this one emotional control.

“Don’t be so sure, my young Jedi friend. You forget that Qui Gon was once my apprentice, just as you were once his. He knew… he knew all about the corruption in the senate. How it was a perversion of democracy. But he never would have went along with it, if he had known the truth.”

He felt curiosity radiate off Obi Wan then. But he knew his suspicious nature would be unable to accept what he said, even when he would speak the complete truth.

“The truth…”

He paused, allowing his statement to become more and more ominous before he continued speaking.

“What if I told you that the Republic was being manipulated and controlled by a Sith Lord?”

Obi Wan did his best to vehemently shake his head.

“No… no, that is not possible! The Jedi Council would be aware!”

Dooku, struggling to withhold his laughter, managed to look down and shake his head. He composed himself before he looked Obi Wan in the eye.

“The Dark Side of the Force is clouding their vision. Hundreds of Senators, even now, are doing the bidding of a Sith Lord known as Darth Sideous.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“No… at first, I didn’t believe it myself. But the Viceroy of the Trade Federation, and his men, worked for this Sith Lord, but he betrayed them almost ten years ago. He came to me for help, and explained everything. I went to the Jedi Council but they did not believe me, and they refused to begin an investigation. That is why I left… that is why I am here now…”

Dooku gave him a few seconds to take it all. He considered, that Obi Wan could be easily swayed to the darkside… if his argument had convinced him. He had to ask.

“Obi Wan… this is critical to the survival of the Republic. You must join me! Only together can we expose and destroy the Sith!”

Obi Wan lowered his head in consideration, before raising it and looking him directly in the eye.

“I will never join you, Dooku.”

The Count sighed, shaking his head as he walked away. He stopped at the door.

“It may be difficult to secure your release.”

Obi Wan shook his head as Dooku turned his back to him. As he strode from the room and the door closed behind him, he was smiling. The Geonosian politician fluttered just outside the room, looking up at Dooku. His grin grew wider.

“Kill him.”

Prometheus had returned, empty-handed of course. There just didn't seem to be anything to find. Issk would go mad before figuring out what was going on.

Outside though, things were buisness as usual. People bustled about, guards made their rounds. It was, as far as Kiyar went, as picturesque as it ever got.



And somewhere, in a distant warehouse, one extra crate of fruit was delivered from a supply ship, although no one noticed in the hustle and bustle.



***



"Man, I'm starving" said Murdock, local Distribution Manager for the Food Dropoff point. He'd complained the stretches between supply shipments were too long, but it wasn't like there was anything anyone could do. Murdock was also an Azguard, which meant he towered over the Kiyarans which assited him in his duties. He couldn't speak their language, either, but that hadn't been a problem yet because all they had to do was open the box and hand out food to people.



He went back to a shipment roster, checking off each crate as he came to it. It looked like everything was in order, until he got to the end of the list, and saw there was still one more crate. He frowned.



"'S funny" he said "I don't think we were schedualed for any bonus." Maybe then, he wondered, they had accepted his complaint that they weren't getting enough food? If so, he wondered what they had sent. Two friendly Kiyarans whos names he could not pronounce but he remembered as Bill and Ted stepped forwards to open the box. Murdock waved them away, deciding to tackle this one himself.


With a huge effort, the top of the box came off, and he peered inside. There was something, something -

A twisting metal arm with a syringe at the end lashed out, injecting something into his neck. Murdock roared and staggered back, fell, and contorted horribly. The two Kiyarans screamed and ran, but a half-dozen more arms tore the box apart, revealing a gleaming metal construct, like a ball with arms. The door was locked, one Kiyaran fiddled with the key as the other was dragged screaming by an arm. The first Kiyaran turned in time to see another arm with a syringe heading straight for him.