The Rebel Faction

The ship moved silently through the darkest recesses of space, her only company the winding ion efflux tail that followed her through the inky blackness. Stretching longer than any building was tall, longer indeed than most cities, the Valhalla cruised at an almost leisurely pace. Surrounded by the specks of distant stars, she seemed almost serene. To a casual observer, her deadly payload of weapons and starfighters might not even be noticed as she wound her way through the various constellations. But to those onboard the ship, there was no escaping the truth. The Valhalla was a warship, her slender dagger-like profile an arrowhead to be pointed at the heart of an enemy – both in a metaphorical sense, and in reality. As the flagship of the Black Fleet, it was the Valhalla that had spearheaded the attack on Kal’Shabbol, and the other worlds liberated by the Empire during and after the war with the Galactic Coalition.

In the darkened command room, the only sign of the great ship’s movement came from the rhythmic thumping of her engines through the deck plates. Those who served aboard starships for to long, upon returning to solid land, often said they missed the constant hum of the drives. It was for many a source of comfort, even joy – the uninterrupted flow of the engines spoke of power and grace that was matched by few living beings.

The figure asleep in the command room, spread on a small bed tucked neatly into one corner, was not the sort one would expect to see aboard an Imperial warship. Certainly not asleep in the chambers reserved for the commander of a great warship. Young, probably not yet even thirty years old, she slept with her dark hair spread around her like a black halo. That she was so young to inhabit a position of such power spoke greatly to her skills and experience – that she was female proved that she was good enough for the Empire to accept her on the same level as the rest of its higher officers.

Laying there, she looked restful, the light than shone in from outside bathing her in an eerie white glow. But her dreams this night were anything but. The weight of commanding the largest independent sector of the Empire had grown heavier during the war, and maintaining order without the threat of the terrorists to justify their actions was growing more difficult.

It was a strange paradox that in darkness there was power – as the Empire had proven time and time again – and yet it was when night was at its blackest that we are most vulnerable to invisible demons. Some would wonder if this proves that the true power lies in the light, where our minds are less able to frighten us and provoke us into rash action. But light to could blind one – and the Coalition had shown that light was not always the answer.

Where then, one must wonder, does the answer lie?

Darkness embraces one, surrounding them and feeding them power and serving them as they need it. Light does the same, but requires constant attention from its servants to keep from dimming and becoming useless. Darkness serves its users, while the users of light serves it.

At night, it was these thoughts that consumed the mind of Bhindi Drayson.

But around her, the Valhalla continued to move. The galaxy moved forward. Because somewhere, right now, it was light.

“The forests around the base are a veritable breeding ground for monsters.” Yuri said, leading them out of the bunker and towards an armoured landspeeder. “Partly thanks to the radiation from the Death Star, of course. But this part of Endor has been untamed since the world was discovered, if reports are to be believed.”

“One would think,:” Bhindi returned, “that the Empire would have more than ample resources to eliminate any such threats.”

The scientist smiled.

“Of course. But why? We rarely venture into the forest, save for testing missions for the new soldiers or as a punishment. And the monsters provide a great deterrent to any curious locals, or would be spies. The base is quite safe, I assure you.”

That was enough for Bhindi, because she didn’t speak again until the speeder had passed through the double gates of the outer wall. A hundred meters away the forest wall rose up, dark and foreboding, but between the wall and the ground was blackened and dead – burned away by Imperial engineers.

They entered the forest, and immediately the roadway narrowed, the beaten track disappearing in favour of grown-over lanes only a little more worn than those on either side. It was apparent that rarely did the Imperial vehicles venture beyond the walls.

“We have little need to take speeders beyond the gate.” Yuri said, seemingly reading her mind. “Most of our supplies come by shuttle, and Lord knows there is no entertainment district on Endor. The base does have a rather high suicide rate, I’m afraid.” He said this with a slight smile, taking pleasure in the pain of others, no doubt.

The forest canopy cut off all but a faint glimmer of light. The speeder’s headlamps lit the forest maybe half a dozen meters in front, but presently the pilot turned these off, and the light disappeared.

Yuri brought a comlink to his mouth and spoke a few words, then turned to the vehicle’s other occupants and grinned.

“Watch.”

For minutes nothing happened. Deusvult was about to question Yuri on why they had been brought out here when two creatures – each at least fifteen feet high – emerged from the woods in front of them and let out a ferocious roar.

“Bu’ranas. They’re distant relatives of the Rancor.” The scientist said. “We’ve learned a lot about them since our arrival here.”

From the both sides of the speeder now came soldiers, adorned in the Black Spartan armour they had seen in the base shortly before. These ones carried rifles and equipment belts, strapped to which seemed to be a number of grenades and other devices.

There were six in all, and though they themselves were quite tall (being some 2.5 meters in height, respectively), the Bu’ranas towered over them, roaring and hissing at the Spartans. One of the men, evidently the squad commander, raised his right fist, and the troops sprang into motion.

Two from each group fired, advancing slowly and purposefully towards their targeted beast. The weapons seemed to have only a slight effect – evidently the Bu’ranas’ hide was thicker than most animals.

The other two vanished, and it was only after a moment than Bhindi realized they were on their stomachs, pulling themselves towards the massive beasts.

Within minutes, it was over. The two beasts were laying in the dirt ahead of them, one of them howling with pain. The other’s body had been reduced to charred ash, the smell of overcooked meat filling the air around them. One of the Spartans placed his rifle to the head of the wounded beast and fired several times, reducing the skull to fragments and silencing the beast.


“Your creations are very impressive.” Bhindi said, sitting now at a conference table back at the base.

“They are nearly perfected. Soon, they will be complete; the absolute achievement in cyborg warrior.” Showing his yellow teeth, he looked at the lone Spartan-II who guarded the doorway. “It is almost a shame that these experiments will all have to be destroyed, when we begin manufacture.”

The soldier did not respond. His face was invisible behind his mask, but Bhindi knew it to be expressionless. The Spartan-IIs were designed to be incapable of emotion, built to serve and die for the Empire.

“They do not feel pain, they do not feel pity, they do not feel anger. They follow orders, but they retain enough of their original wit and sense to improvise, when necessary. They are completely independent. And perfectly, one hundred percent, loyal, to the Empire.”

“It’s like playing God.” Deusvult said.

“It is playing God, my boy! We destroy who they are, put new ideas and pieces into their head and make them believe what we tell them to believe. You could tell a Spartan-II that Imperial Centre is a tropical paradise and they would believe it!”

The commander frowned, but Yuri only went on, his smile growing with each minute.

“We’ve removed everything that made them men. They’re more machine now than man – no heart, no organs, nothing. They do not need food, sleep, entertainment. They simply are. They exist for the sole purpose of serving the Empire. They have no other purpose.”

“What makes them different from druids, then?” Bhindi asked.

“Simple. They have a brain. Not a mechanical droid brain, but a real one. A brain taken from an elite Imperial soldier, connected to their new body just as their old one was. We clone the brain, and insert it into a modified body. They are conditioned, of course. Modified. They do not remember their previous life, only their service to the Empire. All of our Spartans are experienced in war – they have been fighting since Kaine was a mere General.”

“And their bodies. They are modified, as well?”

“Of course. Muscles have been conditioned. They can run faster than any man, lift weights hundreds of times heavier… and they can be beaten to a pulp and still survive, so long as they remain operational.”

“But they can die?” Desuvult said, curious now.

“Oh, yes. They are ‘alive’, you might say. Their hearts still beat. They still need air to breath. A shot to the heart, or the brain, will kill them. They are simply stronger, faster. Better.”

“When will they be ready for production?” Bhindi asked, looking too at the soldier who guarded the room.

“Within the month.”

"One of the cannons jammed up and misfired." The designer said, pointing out the weapon that had caused the problem and offering a shrug. "It literally blew itself up."

Yuri said nothing. That the Endor had proved effective was no surprise - the ship had been in the developing stages since the Arc Hammer II had been comissioned.

And yet, it had still failed: the prototype had been lost, after only its first live trial run.

"It will be corrected in the next ship, Sir." The designer assured him, pulling up the changes made to the design in the wake of the disaster.

Indeed, the guns had been redesigned entirely, and there was no chance of a similar mistake occuring aboard the next of the class.

Still, the problem had delayed the project by almost a month, and High Command was itching to put the vessel through the first of its proper trials.

They would have to be sedated, though, in the meantime by her sister-ship - the droid-operated Stand-On Attack Ship had passed her final tests and was now being built in limited numbers, mainly under Bhindi Drayson's yards in the Ubiqtorate. And the keels laid for those ships could be quickly adapted to the design of the other, assuming they worked out these final bugs before major construction began.

"And the fighters?" Yuri asked, turning his gaze from the blueprints for the Endor.

"Approved by High Command, and being deployed to a limited number of ships at the present, Sir."

"Good." Yuri smiled thinly. If these four ships were seen as a success within the Empire, the doors would be open to a much greater vessel that Yuri had already begun to put together.

"Fighters launched." The report came to Yuri where he stood again on the bridge of the Mantis. This was the final test of the EMPIRE Project - already the capital ships and Assault Fighter had been approved and were entering production. Now the final run of the faster, space superiority fighter, was underway above Endor.

"Sensors report unusual activity in sector eight." The officer in charge of the scopes said, unfamiliar with the EMPIRE designs, reported with some puzzlement. "No match in our computer, Sir."

He was obviously confused, and with good reason. The 'skipping' cloak system employed by the ships, lifted from the old TIE Phantom design, prevented any sensor from establishing a good lock on the ship. It was all but impossible to identify, and even harder to target with any degree of success.

"Enemy starfighter launch confirmed." The officer reported, clearly relieved to know what he was talking about.

The enemy ships were Rebel designs - A-wings, X-wings, even a couple of E-wings from the New Republic era. The EMPIRE SF outstripped all of them, the ships firing thier first volleys (a dozen enemy fighters fell, mostly reckless A-wings that had moved out in front of their comrades), and peeling away. The enemy ships gave chase, but none were fast enough to touch the SF, the small vessel speeding along at twice the speed of the fastest enemy vessel and dancing through space to avoid their fire.

And all the while the SF sprayed fire in all directions, eliminating fighter and fighter with apparent ease. Twin turreted mounts, controlled by a seperate gunner, ensured the best accuracy one could hope for, while giving the other the ability to focus entirely on piloting the craft.

Yuri smiled thinly at that. The ship, of course, had no pilot, nor gunner. Not by any traditional standard, anyway. Cloned brains, samples taken from the best the Empire had to offer, where wired directly into the controls - expert efficiency, without the need to feed or cloth them, nor did the pilot need to worry about such trivial things as sleep or the effects of high-g manouvers.

The project was perhaps the most twisted yet undertaken by the Black Mantis facility. But judging by the success of the fighters, perhaps the most effective.

"Send word to the Grand Moff." He said, turning away from the viewports (the last flaming E-wing was spiralling away from the battlefield), "EMPIRE SF is ready for deployment."