The Rebel Faction

The Empire
Months Prior

"Contigency plans must be established. The New Order has not existed for this long because it is unprepared for the worst."

The speaker was Moff Zell. One of the oldest (and perhaps smartest) Moffs still serving within the Empire. The room itself was large and brightly lit, the glass ceiling looking out on the mountains around them.

"Plans are in the works." Simon Kaine - Grand Marshall of the Empire - replied. "The Empire will not be caught off guard again."

Present still in all their minds was the fiasco of the New Empire, and the epidemic of the Wrath Virus.

"The Empire will not suffer another Tilaric Brell. We will not allow some insurgents like these... terrorists... to undermine the authority of the Regent!

We will not let the New Order crumble around us!"

The Grand Marshall paused, his short tired winding down.

"Contigency plans will be established." He tapped a key, and the lights dimmed. A holographic representation of the galaxy appeared in the midst of the table. "Here."

A single spot lit up in a yellowish tint.

"Yaga Minor." Zell breathed.

Simon Kaine nodded.

"Yaga Minor. Moff Drayson's Protectorate."

"Do you... think it wise, Grand Marshall, to place the future of the Empire in the hands of one so young?" One of the Moff's asked.

"What other choice do we have? Commodore Gevel? He's to unprediticble, to likely to take this out of our hands. Lupercus Darksword? He's a Sith Lord. His powers lie along a different path.

No. Drayson will be eager to please... eager to prove her worth to the High Command. She will listen."

And with that, the meeting came to an end.



The Empire
Now

Contigency plans.

Right.

The cruiser War Cry hung listlessly in space. The last of the probes had launched long ago, on a hundred and more different vectors.

"Tracking communications signal." One of the officers reported lazily, keying it onto the main screen.

The images flashed by to fast to be dechiphered. A planet, a moon, a coment, a shipyard.

"Stop there!" The Captain half-shouted. "Reverse images."

The computer scrolled backward, coming to rest on the construct of metal and steel floating over a distant planet.

"ID on the probe?"

"Assigned from Command." The officer said. "A hundred were sent to a system with 'likely terrorist links'. Looks like they may have found what they were looking for."

"Contact Command. Get them the information."

It was only a matter of time, now...


Contigency plans.

The War Cry was abuzz with activity. The cruiser had been deployed to deploy probes - and now those probes were reporting back.

"Contact in Sector Seven-A, Captain!" A report came. "The probes aren't finding much of anything."

The Captain nodded. That was normal, expected.

On the computer screen in front of him, another sector changed from light blue (unknown) to green (minimal threat).

"Have you ever played Battleship, Ensign?" He asked a man who was rushing past.

The ensign, surprised, stopped and looked at him.

"Sir?"

"Battlehip. It's an ancient game, really. Both players place their ships, and then take turns reading out cooridants. Their opponent then responds 'hit' or 'miss'."

The officer began to understand.

"Rather like what we're doing now."

"Precisely. Left to chance, this board is just like a game of Battleship."

He indicated the sectors of the map that were coloured in a darker blue, where the reports had placed the approximate locations of the enemy's construction facilities.

"And like Battleship, the noose gets smaller and smaller."

One sector lit up red (threat).

"Until there is no room for retreat."

He smiled.

"Signal Command. Phase III is underway."