Prologue
“Across the reaches of the galaxy,
through seas of black stars,
rivers of whispering black shadow
from the Republic’s ancient past.
Evil history we had thought forgotten.”
– Master Ooroo, oldest recorded Jedi
Before – 2 years prior to the Return
Xar heard footsteps behind him as he strode through the corridor outside. Feeling a burst of anger, he spun around, and, finding Maarek standing there, gave him a dark look. "I thought I told you to go to Medlab," he warned.
Maarek
hesitated, as if considering whether or not to leave. Then his expression
became resolved. "Sir, thank you for believing me.
I did see that ship out there." His voice was formal, yet uncertain,
shaky. Xar had never heard him talk like that before. There was something
strange in his voice. Almost... fear.
Xar nodded.
"I know you did, Maarek. The question is who... and what... were they? And
what do they want?"
Maarek shook his
head. His voice was shaky. "I... don't know, Xar. But I'm afraid. I felt
like a gnat beside a rancor. Either they didn't notice me, or I wasn't even
enough of a threat to acknowledge. And there was this scream, a horrible,
piercing scream in my head... I've never been so terrified in my life."
Then Xar realized how shaken Maarek really
was. Embarrassed at his earlier anger, he stepped forward to comfort the other
man. "Maarek... It is all right. I do not know what could have caused
that, perhaps some kind of tremor through the Force, or a deep-buried phobia
you might have. But do not jump to any conclusions. Whoever they are, they are
obviously way beyond our technological level. If they decide to show themselves
to us, then they will. Until then, there is little we can do to stop or
hinder... whatever they are up to out there. But if they want to establish
contact, we will be ready and waiting."
Maarek’s eyes met his, and Xar saw dark pools that
reflected his own face. "I hope that doesn't happen, Xar. I don't know
why, it's just my gut instinct. But I've learned to trust my instincts. Nothing
good will come of this. Something is coming, and it's going to affect all of
us." – From Awakenings
* * *
“It is time to remove the last obstacles
to peace, prosperity, and real power,
such as has not been seen in the galaxy
since the days of legend.” – Emperor Palpatine
Now – 10 days before the Return
Tranquility
Planet Haven
Varnus
Quadrant, Epsilon Sector
1900 Hours Local Time
The lone
figure walked across the dusty streets of Tranquility, the largest of the
cities on Haven. Settled and named by refugees from an ancient trading federation,
the dry, almost desert world had become its namesake; if not a paradise, a
place of peace and freedom for the hardy farmers and colonists who lived there.
Its people clung to their simple, selfless way of life, forgoing the
extravagant luxuries the rest of the galaxy strove day and night to obtain.
They enjoyed life, love, and freedom, and opted to stay separate from galactic
affairs, including the current conflict between the New Imperium and the
The figure wrapped his worn parka more tightly around himself, pulling
his scarf back over his nose and mouth. Not because of the temperature – Haven
was a warm, even a hot planet – but to better conceal his features. Unlike the
others, he’d come here of necessity, forced into his hermitage because of his
past. Many had come to Haven to get away, for personal peace and quiet; politicians, retired or injured officers, and fleeing
families from the Empire or other governments. But he was different, and at
first he hadn’t felt like he’d belonged here. The pace of life, the attitude of
the colonists here, mostly families, hadn’t suited him. But, gradually, he’d
felt himself going over to their way of thinking. Their simple, honest way of
life had intrigued and invited him. Now, after nearly a year here, he almost considered
himself one of the Haveners. The other thirty-five
years of his life, and the events that had happened during them, were as if
they never happened, as long as he was here. This was his home: peace.
A sparse population of passersby mulled along the streets, most donned
in simple, worn, earth-colored clothing like he himself wore. Even the capital
city had few buildings over three or four stories. The sun shone low over the
tops of the buildings, illuminating the streets in a surrealistic red glow. He,
like most others, was going home after a day’s work in the fields.
Suddenly he paused, seeing two figures moving along the sidewalk near
him. A woman, and a small boy, dressed simply, strolling along with smiles on
their faces. Each had dirty, sandy-blonde hair and dressed in plain,
unremarkable clothing. Neither seemed aware they were living in poverty, but
they looked content nonetheless. Suddenly, the boy tripped over an uneven
section of the sidewalk, nearly fell. But his mother’s hand reached out and
caught him, pulled him back up.
“Be careful, Juenor,”
the mother said softly, straightening the boy and brushing him off. She looked
down at her son, her sun-darkened face weathered from years of care.
As the boy looked up at his mother, his
face split into a grin, his wide, dark eyes shining in the sunlight. “Thanks, mommy. I love you.”
“I love you too, honey,” the mother
replied kindly, bringing the boy into her arms and hugging him firmly. Then the
boy took her hand, smiling widely, and pulled her along, humming softly.
The figure was surprised to find moisture
in his eyes that hadn’t been there a moment before. After everything he’d seen,
such a simple, innocent display of love touched him more deeply than he would
have imagined. Yes, he finally understood what it was, after living here among
these people the past four years. The entire galaxy was searching for riches,
fame, and personal gain. But the Haveners were the
richest of them all, for they had contentment, and love. Not fleeting
happiness, but joy. That was why was here. He yearned for that kind of feeling.
Perhaps it would come to him, some day.
Turning back down the nearly empty street,
he continued walking. The sun cast the shadows of his robed form long in front
of him as he went. In the sky ahead, Haven’s sole moon, Refuge, was rising in
the sky. He knew, as well, the capital ship that the New Imperium had
dispatched as sentry for Haven would be moving overhead as well. Not just any
ship, an Imperial-class Star Destroyer. In the claim that it was necessary in
case the
Finally he came up to the white sandstone, single-story adobe he called
his own, nestled among a group of two-story dwellings lined along a quiet
side-street. He went up the short flight of steps, put his dirt-covered hand
against the sensor plate, and entered as the door slid open sideways. He moved
into the darkened, cool interior, the door closing
behind him and the lights coming on to illuminate the simple living area.
“Good evening, master,” an electronic
voice spoke up from the far corner. Blinking lights and the whir of machinery
and fans filled the caught his eye and ear. Then out of the shadows a thin,
metal, humanoid form emerged. “I trust you’ve had a pleasant day?” the dull
gray service ‘droid inquired.
“Fine, Cozeeke,” the man replied dryly,
pulling off his robes and hanging them on a wall peg. He paused to glance in
the small mirror on the wall at his reflection. His face, roughly handsome, was
decorated with a neatly-trimmed beard the same color as his dark brown hair,
which had just begun to spring up its first, thin threads of gray. His
prominent scar, there as always, cut its way from the center of his forehead,
inside his right eye, across his nose and down his left cheek. His dark, brown
eyes studied his worn face, eyes that had seen far too much in his lifetime.
He turned away at last from his visage, moving deeper into the dwelling
toward the kitchen in the back. The C-OZ K ‘droid moved along
with him, snatching a stack of letters from the small caf
table in the living room. “Master, here is today’s mail. I’ve prepared
dinner; it’s in the preserver.”
The man nodded, taking the letters, and
went into the kitchen. The droid remained behind, ready if called upon. Unlike
most droids of his type or personality, Cozeeke
didn’t ramble on incessantly or wish for constant conversation. In fact, the droid
was a relatively quiet figure, and had been a valuable companion for him ever
since he’d come by it a few years ago. Or discovered, more like it. He’d never
had Cozeeke’s memory wiped, so the droid had seen
what he’d seen, been with him through good times and bad. It had a serious
personality, and was really the only friend he had. Cozeeke
was just about as human as droids could get.
He glanced in the preserver, saw the meal waiting for him inside, and
smiled. A loyal and useful companion as
well, he thought. But he didn’t always restrict the droid to such menial
tasks. When they’d come to Haven, Cozeeke had fully
understood their reasons for being there, and had welcomed his new ‘house-droid’
persona as fully as any other he’d taken before. But he would never forget what
the droid had done for him, the times his life had been saved. And, along with
that, all the information stored within the droid’s memory cores.
Sitting down at the small kitchen table, he glanced through the day’s
mail. The letters were scribed To: Jac Railler, the name he’d taken when he’d moved to
Tranquility. A simple name, for the simple life he now led. His old name was
just a memory now. He glanced through the pile of useless messages from
companies and the city, then his gaze finally rested
on the last letter, one which he stared at silently. The outside was inscribed
with an intricate, looping symbol. He opened the letter, briefly scanned its
contents, then got up and left the kitchen. He quickly told Cozeeke
about the letter’s contents – his companion deserved at least that knowledge –
and moved down the small hall into his bedroom. He opened the closet, and the
small chest inside, and placed the letter there. Then he closed the chest and
locked it, ignoring the long cylindrical shape which rested among a pile of
papers and other artifacts. He secured the closet and then returned to the
kitchen. Pushing the letter out of his mind, he went to the preserver and
retrieved his dinner.
* * *
Jedi Master Mathis Organa stood at the railing of the
balcony on one of the palace’s upper floors, facing east. The sun was about a
hand’s length above the horizon, rising into a near cloudless sky, bathing the
sky above in a progression of orange to blue. And there, barely visible at
about twenty kilometers off, stood a massive cone shape jutting into the
Varnusian sky, distinctly out of place compared to buildings shaped to accommodate
people. Mathis sighed. A bad omen, that. What that crazy alien Malphunoc had intended to do with the device, apparently a
giant planetary repulsor, he had no idea. They were just fortunate they had
stopped him in time. The deluge of scientists that had descended around the
thing after its sudden appearance in a flat plain of grass hadn’t been able to
figure out the slightest thing about how the thing worked or how to operate it.
So there it just sat, an enormous eyesore, and a
potential draw for other power hungry forces out there.
Turning from the view, he walked back into his office, letting the
outside screen slide shut behind him. Enough with the strange
artifact. He had to put his mind on matters at hand, consider all the
possibilities that might come from the meeting this morning. When
they announced the full truth of the Elfodd
Contingency, the truth about the Force, and the path that they were going to
take as a Jedi Order.
Only earlier in this year had they actually received a full, intact copy
of the Contingency, a massive Jedi Holocron in the shape of a simple, hardbound
book. But actually discovering how to use it, how to delve into its secrets,
had taken months. Once completed, the Holocron had revealed a simple truth, yet
one so fundamentally different to the established thinking of the Force
throughout the galaxy that it had shaken even the open-minded Mathis and Xar to
their core. And now soon it would the entire Jedi Division, as well. Would the
members be able to adjust to the change? Could they open their minds and accept
the concept of this, what they had started to dub the ‘True Force’? Moreover,
would everyone be able to use this new way of thinking to tap into the Force
and the far greater power that it offered? Too many
questions, and only one way of knowing.
Glancing briefly at the holo on his desk of a
sunset beach on his home planet of Alderaan, forever
lost, he took up his Jedi cloak and marched out of his office. Time for the meeting. Let come what may, the New Imperium
was about to take a step in a new direction.
The
New Imperium Jedi Division’s Jedi Council sat in a semicircle facing the stage
of the audience chamber, where Mathis stood alongside the Grand Master, with
Jedi Master Alyx Misnera on Xar’s other side. In the
chairs facing them were Nico Flygras, Kiz Thrakus, Vynd
Archaron, Gaius Adonai,
Emil Beli, and former Grand Master Chandel. Behind them sat the other leaders and members of
Houses Ar’Kell, Vortigern, and Aurora, including
Draken Ar’Kell, Omega Kira, Amleth
Uiara, Sturm Brightblade, Neres Warjan, Jacob Skipper, and
others. The remaining members would be watching this on the live holocast throughout the palace and beamed to the other NI
member factions throughout the New Imperium. Grand Master Xar Kerensky sat
behind the counter, his hands together in front of him. For this announcement
the honors had been given to Mathis, though how much of an honor it was, Mathis
couldn’t be sure.
Interestingly enough, Icis Novitaar, the enigmatic, self-proclaimed
‘Traveler’, the one who had brought the truth of the Elfodd
Contingency and the secret of the True Force to Xar himself, was standing near
a potted plant in a corner nearby, for once choosing to remain visible, though
distancing himself from the meeting as if he had nothing to do with it at all.
Though of course, nothing could be further from the truth. Even accessing the
Contingency’s Holocron would have been beyond them except with Novitaar’s help, and it was Novitaar who had originally
taught Xar how to reach out and access the True Force. Only then had Xar, in
turn, shown Mathis, and Misnera, and a few others in
the Council.
Beside him, Xar cleared his throat, snapping Mathis from his thoughts
and prompting him to continue.
“Therefore,” Mathis said in a voice loud enough for everyone in the room
to hear clearly, “the Grand Master, myself, and the
Jedi Council have decided to officially release the details of the Elfodd Contingency to the New Imperium as a whole. Sparing
the finer points, which can be perused at your leisure, I would like to explain
now the important news contained in the Contingency’s Holocron, its
implications, and our new philosophy as Jedi.”
Then he began, explaining exactly what he and Xar had worked out to say
a week before. The secret held in the Elfodd
Contingency was simple: The Force is one, with no light or dark aspect leaning
it one way or the other. The history of the Jedi, going back further in the
Contingency’s Holocron than any before discovered, revealed a time when Jedi
had had no concept of a ‘dark side of the Force’. The ‘dark side’ as it was known, began to be
referred to when Dark Jedi came out of the Sith Empire attempting to conquer
the galaxy using a mixture of the Force with Sith Magic. In response, the other
Jedi, rather than become tainted like the Sith, had
chosen to abandon emotion and the full power of the Force to save themselves
during the conflict. Afterward, the leaders of the Jedi had decided this
philosophy was safer, for both the Force users and the galaxy at large, and
came about the same time the Jedi decided to keep peace and order throughout
the galaxy.
“In other words,” Mathis concluded, “whether or not your actions are
light or dark, good or evil, depends on your heart, and how you use the Force,
not in what particular ‘side’ of it you use. As you know, since we all came
here to Varnus, we have no longer been teaching our students and advocates to
use the ‘Dark Side’ of the Force, and we have shunned the teachings that were forced
upon us back in the Dark Brotherhood. Now, at this time, we are going to
completely renounce all teaching of the Dark Side, and announce a change of
path to follow what we have termed the ‘True Force’.
“This means a personal decision for each and every one of you,” he
continued, glancing at the many sets of eyes in the room. “You will all have to
choose whether or not to not only accept this philosophy about the Force, but
also to turn from any use of our former teachings and to learn to tap into the
true well of power available in the Force, as the Grand Master and I have
learned. This process may be hard for some of you, and may involve re-learning
much of your use of the Force. But, ultimately, it will result in a much freer
and cleaner access to the Force, along with another benefit – a dramatic
increase in your ability to access the Force. Both the Grand Master and I are
proof of this. We have both seen large increases in power, as promised.” He
paused, glancing around the room once more. “That is all. This proclamation
will go into effect immediately. We will now answer any specific questions you
may have.”
Immediately the room erupted into a low buzz of whispered conversation.
The announcement had not come as a surprise to most, considering the display of
power that Xar and Novitaar had shown during the battle against Malphunoc. But to others throughout the New Imperium, the
news would be shocking, a change of values right down to the core, away from
the old Imperial way of thinking. Others, including some Jedi who had known
about the upcoming changes, took this time to voice their opinions, or dissent.
“Grand Master Kerensky,” former Grand Master Chandel
spoke up after clearing his throat. “Thank you for the comprehensive and candid
briefing.” He nodded to Xar. “I would like to take this moment to announce to
the others what we had agreed on previously.” He waited until Xar’s return nod
before continuing, this time addressing the others throughout the room. “My
fellow Jedi, I feel it is time for me to leave the active scene and turn to
more private affairs. It’s not that I disagree with the Grand Master on this,
but personally, I’ve lived a bit too long as I am, and I don’t think this old
dog will be able to change quite so easily.” He gave a chuckle at that, as the
rest of the Jedi gathered put their attention on him. “Therefore I will be
retiring, probably back to Erebria, but I truly wish you all the best in your
new path, and endeavor. That is all,” he finished.
Finally Xar spoke up. “I speak for all of us in that we wish you the
very best,” he said with a candid expression, addressing the former Grand
Master. “We cannot repay you for what you have done to help build this Jedi
Order and the New Imperium. May you be successful in whatever future endeavors
you may embark upon.”
At that, the buzz of whispers in the room continued, though it seemed
there were no outstanding questions or issues to be raised. Mathis supposed the
members would all cope with the announcement, and once began actual adapting
and training in the True Force, there would be no
regrets among any of them. Like he’d said, it was like being set free.
Then Adept Emil Beli walked up to the counter
in front of Mathis, Xar and Alyx. His eyes had dark rings around them, like he
hadn’t slept lately, and his expression was different from the calm, stolid Weapons
Master of Ar’Kell he had known a couple of years before. “Xar, Mathis,” he
began, speaking crisply. “Do you really believe all this you just said? How can
you turn your backs on all that we’ve been taught until now and chase after
some new way of thinking? How can you deny the power and teachings that we’ve
learned as Dark Jedi? How can you deny who we are?”
Before Mathis could answer, Xar cut in. “We are not Dark Jedi anymore, Beli. Since we came here we have not been using those
teachings. This is just a formality; the real ties were broken two years ago.
We are not a Dark Jedi organization.”
Beli’s eyes widened, and seemed to Mathis to
almost glow with heat. “I for one have not abandoned my teachings,” he said,
passion in his voice. “You have allowed these new teachings to brainwash you,
Grand Master. I’m sorry; I can’t accept this ‘True Force’. I am a Dark Jedi and
I will always remain so.”
“I am sorry to hear that, Beli.” Xar looked up
at the man. “But the decision is yours.”
“Are you sure you’re all right, Beli?” Mathis
asked. The man seemed on edge, as if something else was troubling him, also.
“I’m fine, Mathis,” Beli countered. “But forgive
me, Grand Master, but I cannot adhere to these new teachings. I will continue
on my own way, as I have until now.”
“Very well, Beli. You are free to make your
own decision,” Xar stated.
“Then consider it made.” With a last, intense look, Beli
turned on his heel and left the room.
“That could be trouble,” Mathis murmured to Xar beside him. “He carries
weight with some of the apprentices, people from the Dark Lightning Strike
Fleet.”
“We did not expect this transition to be without losses,” Xar said. “but I do expect it to be peaceful. Beli
will deal with it properly, or he will be dealt with.”
Mathis nodded, silently realizing just how hardened the Grand Master was
becoming. He supposed the pressures of leading such a large, diverse group and
making decisions of this scale required such hardness. But how much more the
man could take until he broke, Mathis couldn’t guess. He didn’t know how much he could take, either.
Altogether the Jedi Division lost over a dozen members due to the
change. All of those who rejected giving up their powers agreed to leave Varnus
and establish themselves elsewhere. But while concerned over the loss, Mathis’
thoughts kept going back to Xar’s mental condition. He just knew that if
something happened to Xar, this whole thing was likely to fall apart. He just
had to convince himself that would never happen…
* * *
Varnusian Productions
Presents:
Senate Complex
Tralaria; NI Capital
1430 Hours
Commander Maarek Stele sat in one of the spacious lounges inside the main Senate Complex, leaning against the bar and idly fingering the red-colored drink in front of him. Through the lounge’s panoramic view outside, through floor-to-ceiling windows, he could see the bustle of activity that occurred on the New Imperium’s capital world. Personal craft sped along the streets below, eager to reach their destination and escape the heat of summer. Tall, flowering palms swayed in the breeze, standing upright next to the streets and the towering skyscrapers of the business district. Between the buildings he could make out a gorgeous, frothing turquoise ocean in the distance. He’d returned to Tralaria for the first time in the past nine months since his last visit and the COMPNOR incident, and much had changed. The planet had really been built up, and the New Imperium was booming.
He turned back to look up at the holoscreen hanging from the ceiling over the bar. The bar was busy this time of day, and a myriad of species lounged throughout the room or sat up at the bar. But the only thing to show on the screens mounted throughout the room was the current feed from the Senate building itself, the official governmental channel and news reports. The current populace didn’t seem to like that too much.
Maarek grunted as
he watched the end of another Senate session, his untouched drink warming in
front of him. Another day of seemingly endless bantering,
tabling of bills, and generally getting nothing done. The camera focused
on Diktat Ryskar D’larit as he descended the podium
in the center of the chamber, which looked like a miniature of the main
galactic Senate on
The screen cut away from the Senate session and changed to a news update. Maarek sat and kept watching as the screen flashed into a logo and a series of music played, then showed the image of a news reporter recounting current news throughout the New Imperium.
“And another Senate session ends with the tabling of a bill designed to create a New Imperium House of Officers,” the newswoman reported. “With delays, counter-proposals and filibustering the designated timeslot for the bill had already passed, and will have to be re-written and submitted before it can be brought to the floor of the Senate once again.”
“Kriffing bureaucrats,” someone beside Maarek muttered, then launched into a series of expletives describing the genetic flaws of said governmental figure-types. Maarek coughed and ignored him, hoping the wrong people didn’t hear his insulting remarks.
“In other news,” the
reporter continued, the screen flashing to a view of space and a group of
planets surrounding a hot white star. “It appears the New Imperium –
The onscreen
newswoman continued. “The New Imperial Senate has officially commended the Fleet
Admiral Caramon Majere for his generous deployment of
resources for the Vonsam Campaign. An award ceremony
will be held Sunday evening for those who were distinguished in the conflict.
Meanwhile, a tentative peace has been instilled as
“I don’t see why we keep prodding so gently along the border,” Maarek muttered stiffly. “I’d strike deep into their territory, defeat them with one decisive blow. Strike your enemy where they least expect it, where their weakness lies and their misconceptions of security keep them in a false assumption of reality…” He caught himself before bantering further. He realized with some shock what he’d been doing. He was talking like Grand Admiral Thrawn. Repeating one of his lessons Maarek had studied while being the Admiral’s Wing Commander. Copying the man he’d wanted to desperately, at last, to be rid of. Had Thrawn really rubbed onto him that much?
The news report
changed then, to a close up of the other side of NI Territory and a large,
bright red sun. “Meanwhile, the situation in the Satyr System continues to
escalate. The NI Senate has dispatched the Mark-II Imperial Star Destroyer Vortex to guard the system and the
fragile planet Haven from impending occupation by the
Maarek disagreed
with the woman’s words. It didn’t sound right that the
But the next words of the screen didn’t just chill, they turned him cold. As the news program ended and a popular interview-style talk show began, a window popped onto the screen showing a lone Tie Defender, circled in red with a line across the middle. The words “Convertible hero or loose cannon?” appeared across it.
“Commander Maarek Stele,” a new woman began to Maarek’s dismay, “made Wing Commander by former Diktat Xar Kerensky, and now in charge of the New Imperium Jedi Division’s fighter groups, has been an enigma and a mystery for many since he joined over a year ago. He’s kept quiet on the Division base world of Varnus, training a special squadron for privateer-like runs throughout the New Imperium, giving him virtually complete freedom with his forces. But is this a wise decision? We let you respond. Simply dial in on your comm system and record your feelings on this…”
The woman’s voice was cut off by Maarek’s yell of surprise. His full glass of liquid smashed against the screen and broke, sending red rivulets streaming down its face. “Stupid, frigging media!” he yelled. He spun around, hearing how silent the room had gone. He glared around at the various occupants, many of whom realized with shock on their faces that the man in question was standing there in front of him. The disgruntled man who’d sat beside Maarek, berating the senate for its actions, was staring wide-mouthed up at him, now. With a last furious glance over the room, Maarek turned and stormed out of the lounge.
As fate would have it, he hadn’t gotten far down the hall when a voice called his name. He stopped and turned to see Sector Admiral Arfann Dogar approaching, still dressed in formal uniform from the Senate session. Since the circular Senate chamber was designed as the centerpiece of the building, someone inside could access many parts of the huge building with relative quickness and ease. Maarek stopped and waited for the man to approach, as the daily bustle of activity, a myriad of people and species moved around him on their way.
“Good thing I found you so quickly, Maarek,” the Admiral said as he approached. Maarek could see his generous covering of dark hair slightly graying with age. “Were you in a hurry?”
“Just venting my jets,” Stele replied. “I watched the session. And the trash the media was spilling about the decision.”
The man nodded knowingly. “Yes, well, at least you got what you wanted. Your own commission.”
“About time,” Maarek muttered under his breath. He wasn’t angry with Dogar for the time involved in the decision, just at the system itself. There had to be a quicker way. He wondered if the Senate could get anything done if things really counted, when an emergency came. “Not fast enough to help out at Vonsam,” he said less strongly.
“Unfortunately, no. But you’ll be there for the next fight, I assure you.” Dogar cleared his throat. “Speaking of which, what do you think about some Sim time later on this evening? After dinner, of course; I can’t fly on an empty stomach, you know,” he said with a laugh.
Maarek smiled, but shook his head. Everybody wanted to fly with him – or against him – these days. “Afraid I have to get back to Varnus, tell my men the news. I still have to collect everyone on leave. Only a few are here on Tralaria.”
The man nodded solemnly. “Well, maybe next time then. I doubtless have some obscure official matter or appointment to take care of at any rate. Probably one I haven’t even been told about,” he said, grunting.
Just then a beeping noise sounded, and Dogar arched an eyebrow. “Speaking of which,” he said in an annoyed tone. Reaching down, he brought up his commlink. “What is it?”
“Admiral, an Ambassador is here to see you. He says his appointment had been pushed back, but he’s on a schedule, sir. I think you should see him.”
Dogar’s eyes narrowed, and he glanced at Maarek. Stele could make out the man’s words as he mouthed the aide’s last sentence. I think you should see him?
He cleared his throat, then hit the comm again. “Very well. Tell him I’ll meet him in the officer’s lounge. I don’t want to sit at a desk all day today again.”
“Very well, sir.”
Dogar shut off the comm and clipped it back to his belt, muttering something about finding a good Secretary like Brucmack. “The Diktat is so busy we Senators get all the runoff,” he said gruffly. “When you get back to Varnus, could you kindly tell Xar to come up here and relieve me for a while? I know he’s itching to get back in on the action.”
Maarek laughed, shaking his head. “Frankly, sir, I don’t think he’d touch it with the butt end of a blaster rifle.”
“Is that so? Hmm, maybe he has changed, like they say. Oh well.” He gave a quick salute, which Maarek smartly copied, then reached out to shake his hand. “Farewell, Maarek. Till I see you again on your next trip up here, keep your weapons hot and your shields at full.”
Maarek returned the handshake and smiled. “Always, sir. Always.”
Dogar walked into his office and gave an involuntary snarl. His visitor was already inside, sitting upright in a chair facing his desk. The man was tall, pale, and dark-haired, and his suit was way too neat for Dogar’s tastes. Everything about him reeked of a greasy, nasty worm, the kind he liked to squash with his boot on hot days. Like today.
“I know you,” he said, walking around to the other side of his desk and sitting cautiously in his chair. The window behind him showed an expansive view of the ocean, but even its beauty couldn’t lighten his mood, for once. “Moren Zein. The mystery ambassador.”
The man in front of him gave a smile that didn’t touch his dark eyes. Dogar had seen the man several times around the Senate Complex, though he had rarely had chance to talk to him. Diktat Ryskar D’larit didn’t like him though, and from what Dogar had heard of him, there wasn’t much to like, anyway. He had just appeared a few months ago, claiming to represent a powerful alien race that had helped the New Imperium by eliminating a pirate threat. But as far as Dogar knew, his claims were unfounded, and his attitude simply so arrogant and repugnant that nobody wanted to deal with him. Why any race would choose such a man as their representative, he hadn’t the slightest idea.
“Fleet Admiral Dogar, it is a pleasure to speak with you,” the man said in a voice that indicated no pleasure whatsoever. “Thank you for your time. I heard about the battle at Vonsam. I understand the Rebels have been giving you trouble lately.”
“The New Imperium
can more than take care of itself,” Dogar countered flatly. “The situation with
the
“Nevertheless,” the man continued as if Dogar hadn’t even spoken. “I urge you to consider our aid in this matter. Strong the New Imperium may be, but it is still a fledgling government, in the relative early stages of formation. Too many… situations… could cause what you’ve begun to unravel. Chaos could ensue.”
“Is that a threat?” Dogar asked darkly.
The man laughed off Dogar’s comment as if brushing off a child’s words. “Perhaps I should be a little more direct in stating my intentions,” he said. “We wish to help you, not harm you. My associates are powerful, with powerful allies as well. It is in our interests to see the New Imperium prosper in this sector. You have already established order in this part of space, which is very good for all of us. We can do a great deal to help the New Imperium solidify it’s presence in Epsilon Sector.”
“Please elaborate.”
The man smiled again. “We can help you with your situations with the Rebels,” he said, making it sound simple as breathing air. “Our military might is more than capable of dealing with their forces in this sector.”
Dogar leaned forward, studying the man. This was quite some claim to be making, especially for someone with as yet ambiguous relations with the NI. “How exactly are you able to do that? What military might would you be referring to?”
“We have a large fleet, Admiral, lying just outside the sector. And I assure you, we have technology that would be of great interest to the New Imperium. If you wish, as a token of our goodwill, we could lend quite a helping hand to eliminating the Rebels’ presence from this sector.”
“In exchange for what?” Dogar asked. The tone in the man’s voice was unmistakable. This was no mere boast he was making, he was dead serious. He truly believed what he was saying. Was he mad? Or could his words be true?
“Well,” the man said tentatively, “Let us say for favors that can be decided later on. For now, we just ask that the New Imperium continue to control events in this sector and keep order.”
Dogar gave a low
harrumph and leaned back in his chair. “I don’t know whether to believe you or
if I should get my ears cleaned,” he said sharply. “But I’m afraid you’re
telling all this to the wrong person. Such an issue is not my decision to make,
it’s the Diktat’s.” He didn’t really believe Zein’s
claims, but there wasn’t much he could do. He didn’t want to shovel this onto Ryskar’s shoulders, but he had a full plate to take care of
already. “You’ll have to talk to him. Then, if something comes of it, the Senate
will take it up and discuss it.”
Zein stared
at him for a moment before nodding. “Very well. But I
urge the Senate not to wait too long. Think on our offer. It won’t be available
forever.”
“Fine. But go through the proper channels, Zein,” Dogar said, letting a hint of force into his voice. “Don’t try to go behind the Diktat’s back like this again. If he decided not to talk to you, there was a reason for it. You will abide by NI laws while you are here.”
Zein stood abruptly, apparently deciding this meeting was over. “I understand, Admiral. But I am disappointed to find you aren’t as… open… as we had hoped. I sincerely hope for your Intruder Wing’s sake, and that of the entire New Imperium, that you treat us with a little more welcome, and consider our offer carefully.”
Dogar had had enough of threats. “I have a lot to do, Zein. I believe we’ve said all there is to say. Have a good evening.”
With a last, glaring look, Zein turned on his heel and walked out of the room. Dogar repressed the urge to wring his hands together. He felt like he needed a bath.
Grand Master Xar Kerensky waited as his personal terminal sent a call through the Holonet to the New Imperium capital of Tralaria. After a few moments he was patched into the governmental network and ambassadorial channels. A few requests and several subalterns later, he was watching the waiting screen to the Diktat’s personal office.
Finally, the face of the Speaker of the New Imperium came on-screen. Ryskar D’larit was a middle-aged man with a look of authority and experience in his eyes. Those eyes seemed a bit tired, of late. Xar knew the feeling; he felt that his own six-month tenure as Diktat had put more years on his shoulders as well, if not a few gray hairs on his head. The man must have a tremendous amount to deal with, these days. The NI was becoming a larger and more complicated thing every day.
“Xar, good to see you. How’s the Division?”
Xar gave a nod of respect, but familiarity, to the older man. “Ryskar. As good as can be expected, considering the announcement and reforms being made. But things are going well. Most of our members have adapted, and many have already converted to using the True Force exclusively. It is very encouraging. And Phoenix Technologies is about to unveil our new ship, the Starfire model. It is scheduled to undergo its maiden voyage next week.” The new design was something he was particularly proud of, and thankful to Walt Amason for designing and producing. It would be ideal for taking teams of Jedi anywhere in the sector they were needed, quickly and efficiently.
“That’s good to hear,” the man replied. “Wish I could say there are such good happenings here as well.”
“I heard the news,” Xar said. “That is what I called about. Beli left Varnus a few days ago. I did not expect he would go so far, though…”
The news had come in from the Dark Lightning Strike Fleet just that morning, followed quickly on the Holonet channels with the news. Emil Beli, an Admiral in the Dark Lightning Strike Fleet and one who had helped D’larit build the fleet after he came from Thyferra, had taken a battlegroup out of the fleet and was on his way out of the New Imperium territories. The news had shocked even Xar.
D’larit’s eyes narrowed in anger at the mention of the man’s name. “So far? It’s mutiny, that’s what it is!” he spouted angrily. “Nobody thought he would go this far. When I get my hands on him, he’ll wish he’d never left Minos Cluster, that’s for sure.”
“I am sorry, Ryskar,” Xar said candidly. “We will do whatever we can to help. I am sorry to say, our announcement may have exacerbated his issues with you and the DLSF. Beli considers himself a Dark Jedi and would not change his ideals.”
D’larit gave another harsh sigh. “That’s as may be, but this problem lies inside the DLSF, at its core. In my absence I couldn’t take care of the fleet, and Beli didn’t like the way I was running it. He gained far too much power than he should have. If we catch him, he’ll be dealt with as a traitor, and those who mutinied with him.”
Xar nodded. “I agree. However, I think it will be difficult to catch him. He is probably outside the NI by now.”
“He’s headed towards the Unknown Regions, Delta Sector.” D’larit narrowed his eyes. “If he knows what’s best for him, he won’t be coming back out.”
“We will keep an eye on things from this end of the sector,” Xar put in. “I just wanted to assure you that we do not support his actions at all.”
A look of weariness finally came onto D’larit’s face. “I know. Don’t worry, Xar. It’s just another problem piling on top of a mountain of problems.”
“Is it that bad? If there is anything I can do, let me know,” Xar offered.
“Actually,” D’larit spoke up, “there is one thing. I need Nico back, Xar. I can’t watch after the Dark Lightning Strike Fleet, and with Beli gone, there’s no one competent enough to head the fleet. I hate to take one of your most valued Jedi, but Nico is a DLSF officer, and helped me get the fleet started. He’ll be in charge until I finish my term and can resume command.”
Xar paused, fighting back an urge to deny the man’s request. He needed Nico Flygras, too. The man was currently the Warden, taking care of a lot of training, Force research, history, and had been useful in a number of missions that Xar had been unable to undertake himself. But he could hardly deny Ryskar his highest-ranking subordinate now that Beli had seceded from the fleet. Not for the first time, he regretted that so many Jedi had gone onboard the DLSF in the early days – but that was over and done with, now. No use dwelling on the past. “Very well,” he said with some reluctance. “I will inform Nico. I am sure he will be able to leave for Kolath within the week.”
“Good, that’s all I ask,” D’larit said, sighing heavily. “That takes a weight off my shoulders. I’m sure the fleet will be in capable hands. That’s one less problem I have to deal with.”
“Indeed. I am sorry to keep you so long, Ryskar. Perhaps I should leave you to take care of those other things.” Xar said. At the man’s nod, he added, “If you need anything else, just let me know.”
“Thanks, Grand Master,” the Diktat said with a grateful nod. “I’m glad to have your support. I’ll be in touch. At least not all the news is bad. I will be giving a victory speech broadcast to the whole NI after our victory at Vonsam. Majere is to be commended for his actions.”
“My congratulations to you, and him,” Xar said genuinely.
D’larit nodded. “Finally, we seem to be getting things were they need to be. As you well know how hard that is.”
Xar nodded. Keeping a new government together was hardly easy. Especially one consisting of many different fleets and factions, formerly independent of one another and self-governed. Sometimes getting day-to-day things done seemed a miracle in itself. “May the Force be with you,” Xar said.
“And with you, Xar. Keep an eye out for the broadcast. I’ll see you on Tralaria next month for the Senate meeting.”
“See you then,” Xar nodded. Then the Diktat reached up somewhere off screen, and the transmission ended. Xar sat back in his chair, thinking of all the different changes that were taking place. Yes, finally things seemed to be going somewhere. But he couldn’t help shake an uneasy feeling from the back of his mind. It all seemed just a little too good to be true…
* * *
Maarek Stele watched the ceremony from the back wall of the auditorium, as those officers who had distinguished themselves during the conflict at Vonsam stood one by one and received their medals and awards. The room was full of beings wearing military uniforms, the hodgepodge mixture of colors and styles that the various fleets within the New Imperium used. The most by far, however, were the gray uniforms of Fleet Admiral Caramon Majere’s Naval Fleet, who had been the primary participants in the battle.
It was a good
chance for Maarek to take stock of which pilots in the NI were exceptionally
talented, or good in their abilities. At the head of the line was Colonel Rivian Donitz, Majere’s top Ace. And with good reason. With dozens of confirmed kills just in
this recent conflict, he was the NI’s most decorated
pilot, and to Maarek’s frustration, held even more
kills than Maarek had in the NI so far. They had not met formally yet, much less
flown together, but Maarek already could feel a rivalry spawning between them.
Maarek knew that his reputation had preceded him; as a famous pilot, people
expected him to perform. On the other hand, Donitz kept on making kill after
kill, steadily climbing the ladder with a calm, no-nonsense attitude until he’d
unexpectedly been named the most decorated pilot in the NI. But Maarek had
plans for that to change, soon enough. He just needed someone to fight; that
was the problem. Things had died down now that the NI had established its
territory, and the situation with the
Realizing where his thoughts had traveled, his chided himself. Only a fool would hope for conflict, or a war, he realized. Hopefully, the NI would keep on going exactly as it was, at peace and on friendly terms with its neighbors. That was, after all, the cause that had attracted Maarek to this place, and was what he claimed to be fighting for, now. If that meant he didn’t have to see actual combat anymore – well, so be it.
Also, behind Donitz, was a plethora of other pilots, both representing Majere’s fleet and the others, including the Intruder Wing, Dark Lightning Strike Fleet, and the Star Vipers. Some he knew by their call signs, others by their profiles. Narm Greyrunner was there, a very talented pilot from the IW, and was currently receiving a Golden Sunburst. He had scored numerous kills as well as doing an exemplary job as a Flight Leader. He would be perfect for the squadron Maarek had assembled, had he not belonged to another organization. That was the problem, Maarek thought. The NI was too disjointed – each group still looked out for its own interests first, although in principle their loyalty was ultimately to the unified government. If things ever changed, and the different organizations merged, formed into one single government and fleet – well, any loss in individual identity would be more than made up for in terms of unity and strength.
As the ceremony winded down to its conclusion, Maarek checked his wrist chrono and saw that he’d need to hurry to make his scheduled flight back to Varnus. With a last glance at the pomp of the award ceremony, he turned away and made for the exit.
* * *
Diktat’s Office
Senate Complex
Tralaria, 1330 Hours
“Sir, an Ambassador is here to see you.”
Diktat Ryskar D’larit looked up from his large desk, stacked high with datacards and sheets of flimsy, at the figure approaching him, working his way around past Brucmack. He was tall, dark-haired, and pale-skinned. Not the man he wanted to see today. He set the datapad he’d been studying back on the table and smoothed his own uniform Jacet, still left over from the Senate session, then stood.
“Moren Zein,” he said flatly. “I knew it was you when I got the call.” He gestured at the chair opposite him. “Sit down.”
“Of course,” the man replied smoothly, his voice low and almost harmonic. “Thank you for admitting me.” He took the seat offered, and D’larit sat back down as well. The man stared at him with dark, penetrating eyes.
“Please do be brief, Zein. Do you have the information I requested out of you last time?”
“It has been several weeks since we met,” the man replied coldly. “You have been avoiding me. I do not understand why.”
“Forgive my frankness, but entertaining you when you won’t reveal any information regarding those you represent is just a waste of my time, Ambassador.”
“I have told you, Diktat. My people are very eager to establish healthy relations with the New Imperium, but we are afraid we might… frighten you, for lack of a better term.”
“We don’t frighten easily,” D’larit replied gruffly. That was all this Moren Zein was; slimy, coolly grafted words and veiled threats.
But in answer to D’larit’s response, the main raised his head and laughed heartily. A cold, heartless laugh, one that sent a chill through D’larit. Not pleasant at all.
Irritated, as he often was with this man, D’larit tapped his fingers on the table. “Without enough information on your people, I can’t do anything for you.”
The man’s laughter cut off as if it had never been. He stared at D’larit with those dark, black eyes. “Very well. I am prepared to reveal things about my government to you.” He leaned forward. “This is for your ears only, Diktat.”
“That is for me to decide,” the Diktat replied tersely. “The New Imperium doesn’t just ally with every new faction on the space lanes. Now please; I’m all ears.”
“What I have to say may surprise you, Diktat, but please listen until I am finished. I have a confession to make: the original data I gave you on my associates was falsified.”
Why am I not surprised, thought Ryskar. However, what was surprising was Zein’s willingness to admit it, something he wasn’t used to hearing from diplomats.
“We represent a government that is far more than one single race,” Zein continued. “In fact, we are a coalition of many races that has existed for many thousands of years. We come here to you from the spiral arm in the galactic rim. We are known as the Altarin’Dakor.”
Ryskar tried emulating the sound of that name in his mind, listening with genuine interest, now. He had never heard the name, but he knew there were species and governments out there that the NI hadn’t made contact with yet. Zein had never been this forthcoming before about who he represented, or where their territory was. But things were about to get even more interesting.
“My people are very ancient and powerful, Diktat. We were driven from our lands many millennia ago, but we have now strengthened ourselves once again and are now expanding throughout the stars. We have assembled a vast military that is capable of defeating any opponent we face. And we have expanded, incorporating many new peoples into our culture, our way of life. Unfortunately, some have not accepted our new rise to power, and we have had to eliminate some of our opponents by force.”
Ryskar kept listening, a wary sense coming into his stomach. He didn’t want to believe what he was hearing, even now.
“I am prepared to make you a very generous offer, Diktat. We are already gaining allies elsewhere throughout the galaxy. But your New Imperium is essential. You see, it is directly in our… way. I told you, I am not interested in what you can do for us. Indeed, we simply wish for you not to interfere while we continue our expansion. This is about what we can do for you. We have already given you one example of what we can do. Do you require another to settle the deal?”
D’larit stared in disbelief. This man was clearly threatening the New Imperium. Moren Zein had first appeared about three months previous, when the NI had just moved into finish off the Blackhawk pirates operating out of the Caledon System. Instead, they’d arrived to find that every living thing in the system had been completely annihilated. Then Zein had appeared to D’larit and claimed responsibility for the event, claiming it as a gesture of goodwill and asking for an alliance straight off. D’larit had delayed and finally tabled the event until now, but it seemed the man wouldn’t take the hint. Ryskar still didn’t believe his preposterous claims. If these people were powerful enough to wipe out everything inside a star system, then they were definitely worth attention. But he had offered no proof that it was actually they who had done it. Moreover, even if it was true, their ‘gesture of goodwill’ involved the death of hundreds of people – pirates, yes – but living beings nonetheless.
“What do you mean?” he asked, guardedly.
“You are
currently fighting the
The man’s eyes widened as D’larit stood up abruptly, knocking his chair over behind him. “That’s enough!” he said, his voice rough with anger he was feeling. “The New Imperium doesn’t accept bribes. “
“It’s hardly a bribe, Speaker. We do this in a gesture of goodwill to you. We do not ask for money, or concessions. We are not mercenaries. We simply want your friendship – and alliance.”
“At
what price?” Ryskar countered. “You are not a friendly, tolerant
government; you admit as much, yourself. The
“Ah yes,” Zein said in a tone that made Ryskar’s skin crawl. “I know of your non-confrontational attitude towards the Rebels, officially. But deep down, you would rather have them out of your way, would you not? They are disrupting your presence in this sector. It is preferable to us to see the New Imperium in control of this sector instead. Perhaps, one day soon, you could supplant their government entirely.”
Ryskar looked at
the man in total disbelief. Was he truly mad, to make such claims? He spoke as
if he could destroy the
“Listen, Zein,” he said forcefully. “You’re out of line here, making
such ridiculous claims, threatening the New Imperium and trying to incite us
against the
“Diktat.” The simple word made him stop. “Perhaps I could interest you in another way.” The look in his eyes drew Ryskar in an inexplicable way. He moved forward slowly. The man reached inside his fine jacket and produced a small pad, which he laid on the table. He activated something on it, because a holographic image sprang to life over the table.
“I can see you are a hard man who desires much gain from his deals,” Zein explained softly. “If military intervention does not interest you, then perhaps this will.” The holograms split and changed into various forms, alien to D’larit, but similar enough that he recognized what they were. Weapons.
“Fusion beams, advanced mass drivers, advancements in armor, propulsion, biotechnology, medical sciences… All here at your fingertips,” the man coaxed. The display changed to show a view of starships, long, shiny, and sleek, of many different designs, sporting these beam weapons and other advancements the man spoke of. “We can offer you starships as well, to supplement your fleet. We seek an alliance, one that will benefit you greatly, Speaker. All you have to do is promise that you will let us go about our business freely within this sector. We have a lot of equipment and resources to move in the near future. Simply ensure that your government does not interfere. With your position and authority, you can convince the other leaders to leave us alone. It is not such a high price to pay for a thousand years of technological advancement… is it?”
Ryskar caught
himself, staring at the projection. He swallowed hard. This was impossible. Zein offered technological advancements beyond their
dreams. Stuff that would put them light-years beyond the
“Of course, of course…” the main whispered, switching the hologram off. “But please, I don’t want this to get out very far. If the wrong people see this, there would be serious trouble for both of us.”
Nodding numbly, D’larit sat as Brucmack escorted the man on his way out. He wasn’t thinking straight. An alliance with such an obviously ruthless group of beings was out of the question. But if what they were claiming was true, they couldn’t simply be ignored. This was going to affect the whole NI. He needed time to think this over. Seriously.
* * *
Hours later, Moren Zein sat in the small quarters that had been appropriated for him in the Senate Complex and, instead of the standard data terminal on his desk, brought out another, portable terminal and set it on the desk instead. At the tap of a few instructions on the screen, he was connected to his contact, over a secure, secret line that would be untraceable to the authorities in the NI. His contact’s face came on screen, revealing a graying man with a sharp nose and steely eyes.
“Report,” the man on the screen, who Zein knew only by the code name of ‘Raptor’, said evenly.
“The Diktat is reluctant to accept our proposal, even after all the evidence,” Zein said apologetically. “I even showed him the datacard. His response was… disappointing.”
“D’larit is an honest man, and not as greedy as some of his rich relatives,” the graying man allowed. “But no matter. Things are already in place. We cannot afford to wait on the NI any longer. They say Kronos is moving.”
“Already?” Zein asked, breath catching in his throat.
“This is all within General Akira’s plan,” the other man assured him. “He assumed the response would be like this, but we had to make it look real, to set up our example to them.” He paused, seemed to be lost in thought for a moment. “Reveal more to D’larit, Zein,” Raptor commanded. “If we cannot appeal to his greed, then we will instill him with fear. Show him what he faces if he does not accept our rule. If he still doesn’t bend… Well, the NI will be provoked to action soon enough.”
“I don’t understand why we must act in such a roundabout way…”
“That’s not your place,” the man snapped. “General Akira has sent new orders, Zein. We will give D’larit one more chance. If he refuses…” His eyes tightened. “Then I’m afraid it may be time for a change of command.”
Zein listened intently as his instructions were relayed. “I
understand,” he said once the man was finished. “And I obey. Glacia tomek Altarin’Dakor.”
As
Zein cut the connection, Raptor turned to the cloaked
figure standing behind him. “I may have need of you very soon, my friend,” he
said.
The man who had once been part of House
Ar’Kell, a man who was now missing from the Jedi Division roster, stepped
forward obediently. “I hear and obey, master,” he said in a monotone voice.
Raptor eyed the man warily, wondering if
he could truly accomplish his mission. He had been turned completely, fully
loyal to their cause, yet doing so had left few traces of the former man.
Raptor began relaying his instructions, slowly. It would take some time for him
to get to Tralaria, to get inside the Senate Complex and establish himself.
The instructions received and digested, the cloaked man turned to leave,
uttering the same words Zein had but moments before. “Glacie tomek
Altarin’Dakor.”
“It will be,” the man assured him. “It will be.”
* * *
Varnus
1950 Hours
Xar
watched the sun set on his beautiful home planet from the comfort of one of the
Varnus was a completely different place from what it had been when House Ar’Kell had arrived. And now, a unified Jedi Order with members from all over NI space and Epsilon Sector was finally established and strong. It was nice for once to just relax and enjoy the change of pace after so many unexpected events and conflicts had sprung up since they had been here. Now they had definitely earned a little rest.
A lot of recruits
had come into the Division, so that now the pyramidal structure operated as it
should: a few Jedi Masters and Adepts to lead, a strong showing of Jedi
Knights, Crusaders, and Templars to provide the
backbone, and a large base of Initiates, Novices, Acolytes and Guardians who
were learning the basics and growing. The Palace was filling up and the
renovated areas were being put to good use, especially the Jedi training areas.
Now that things had died down and the Division was filled with a respectable
number of Jedi, Xar had allowed the members to reinstated the House system and
organize themselves into sub-units, just like the system House Ar’Kell had been
a part of before. Now there was a House Ar’Kell again, under new leadership and
with new members, but also a House Vortigern, House
Aurora, and House Castellan. Xar figured that four would be more than enough;
they were sparsely populated now and had lots of room to grow. While the Houses
provided a way to induce friendly rivalries that encouraged hard training and
growth, Xar had been careful not to allow them to become too powerful or
independent, lest another coup occur just like the one he had caused with
Ar’Kell. The Houses were all friendly to one another and highly dependent on
the Division as a whole. And while he’d allowed them to establish their own
bases in other star systems, on other planets, each House had its own section
in the
Xar was very pleased with how the Division had grown, and he was in good spirits. Even Bren was becoming more open and Derek, the boy they had saved in a recent mission on Hijarna, was taking to the Palace quite enthusiastically.
And, in a few days the Division’s newest craft, the Starfire, would be unveiled in a grand ceremony in orbit. A medium-sized vessel about twice the size of a Corellian Corvette, the Starfire was still fast and agile, well-armed, and was ideal for sending teams of Jedi throughout the sector or the galaxy on missions. Although Xar still preferred his own personal ship, he had to admit the new vessel would allow for more personnel and much more freedom of movement for his organization. Yes, there was definitely a positive outlook on things to come.
Turning, he made his way back into the Palace, for once deciding not to work late, but to get some rest.
* * *
Conference Room
Senate Complex, Tralaria
2130 Hours
Ryskar entered one of the Complex’s private conference rooms and found the two men he’s asked to attend sitting at the center table, chatting in low tones. He nodded first to Sector Admiral Arfann Dogar, then to Fleet Admiral Caramon Majere. The two of them commanded the largest naval fleet units within the NI, besides D’larit’s own Dark Lightning Strike Fleet, and they had become his closest advisors in military affairs in the few months since Ryskar had taken on his position as Speaker.
“Thanks for coming,” he told the men. “I’m sorry to pull you away from your evenings, so I’ll try to keep this brief.”
“My wife has already gone back to Gracchus Prime for the weekend, so it’s not a problem,” Majere replied, placing his datapad and stylus onto the table in front of him.
“What’s concerning you, Ryskar?” Dogar asked with a questioning look.
D’larit waited until he sat down to begin, even then keeping his voice low. “We have a situation with our ambassador friend Moren Zein,” he told them. Briefly he recounted his last meeting with the mysterious, brash representative, including his veiled threats and pompous attempt to bribe both Ryskar and the New Imperium. The other two listened intently until he finished, then Ryskar waited to hear their responses.
“Didn’t we have this conversation a few months ago?” Dogar spoke up first. “That man has been a nuisance since he first showed up.”
Majere just shook his head. “That’s crazy talk, and illegal, too. It sounds as if they’re planning to invade the whole galaxy.”
“And this is a tactic that an empire with vastly superior forces might use against a minor opponent,” Dogar added. “Think about it: an invading army arrives at a city, displays their might, and demands the city surrender and join the empire without a fight. They get to keep their lives and their lands, but must serve the new empire and obey their laws. This allows the empire to take the city bloodlessly, and move on to other targets as well.”
“They said they are coming from the far spiral arm,” Ryskar added in.
“It sounds as
though they want to avoid a fight with us in order to keep their movements
secret,” Majere mused. “If we resist, and it causes an uproar,
the
“We’re assuming that what Moren Zein says is true,” Ryskar reminded them. “Come on here; do you really believe that he’s representing a massive, powerful alien force? Personally I think he’s on the edge of insanity, or at least bluffing to try and win some kind of concessions for his own government.”
“The problem,” Dogar pointed out, “is that we don’t know. We know nothing about them or where they’re located – except that it’s toward the Galactic Rim.”
“That brings the Mizar System into concern,” Majere said.
Rysker nodded gravely. In this part of Epsilon Sector, with the nebula bordering the edge of settled space, there was one star that lay farthest out toward the Rim and the Spiral Arm. The Mizar System. A scouting frigate that had been exploring the different NI systems two years previous had never returned from Mizar. It had been considered a mystery at first. Then, other scouts had vanished, as well. It was clear there was an alien species there, but with the system being technically outside NI space, and with a desire not to start a conflict, the NI had left the system alone. “It’s really the only feasible place that these aliens could be based out of,” Ryskar said.
“Then we have to do something about Mizar,” Dogar agreed. “But first, we have to do something about Zein. Let’s say that for now we call his bluff. What do you intend to do?”
“Well, he’s already tried to bribe me once,” Ryskar told him. “That, according to NI law – and most other governments’ laws, for that matter – is illegal and can bring an indictment. I don’t like Zein having the freedom to run around the Complex freely – I’d much rather have him confined somewhere that we can find out some real answers.”
“You’re going to arrest him?” Dogar asked.
“I have no witnesses or hard evidence yet,” Ryskar said, “but soon I will. Our next meeting will be recorded, and I’ll have guards standing by. We can’t let Zein get any chance to escape or to contact his associates. Then he’ll be prosecuted to the fullest extend of the law.”
Dogar smiled. “I can see we picked the right man for this job; it takes a strong man to reject and expose what this guy’s tried to offer you. I’m just glad you’re on our side.”
“I couldn’t do it without you, gentlemen,” Ryskar replied, standing. “Now, let’s get this taken care of.”
* * *
Raptor sat in his office, reading the endless reports coming in to him from his intelligence network strewn throughout Epsilon Sector and the rest of the entire galaxy. Much of it was useless junk and babble – speculations from agents and news from informants who thought what they’d found was important, but really wasn’t. One particular message was of note, and was pasted to the top of his mail window: the news that his man had arrived safely on Tralaria.
Suddenly his commlink beeped, indicating an incoming signal. His eyes widened as he checked the frequency, and he immediately set his desk display to visual communications mode. This was a rare moment indeed.
The screen flashed to an image of a balding, older man with dark, almond-shaped eyes and a thin gray mustache that cut neatly across his top lip and down to his chin. Behind him was a background of plain durasteel. The caller’s face was impassive, revealing no emotion or hint of his intentions.
“I am honored, General Akira,” Raptor said to the man on the screen. “How may I be of service?”
“What have you found?” the man asked, straight to the point.
“Our agents have spread throughout the New Imperium,” Raptor replied. “We are ready for anything you may need. Our ambassador, on the other hand, has met with little progress. He has been speaking with the New Imperium’s leaders, but they are stubborn and difficult to corrupt with their lofty ideals.”
General Akira leaned back from the screen, crossing his arms in front of him. “I expected as much,” he said finally. “You have my contingency plans in place?”
“Of course,” Raptor replied.
“Very well. Proceed with them,” the other man ordered. “We are working on an escalated timetable from now on. Lord Kronos will be arriving imminently.”
Raptor felt a chill go down his spine. So the time had finally come; things were about to become very dangerous. He’d been dealing with General Akira for years, and knew the man to be rational and cunning. But now all bets would be off, and things were likely to explode into barely organized chaos. He’d heard the rumors, knew how servants could get themselves killed, literally, on a whim. But this was what it was all about – there was no going back, now.
“I am telling you this because it is in your interest to know,” General Akira continued. “You are my top man inside the New Imperium, and I will still be relying on you heavily to help navigate through the first part of the Spearheading process. The New Imperium must be felled quickly, decisively – and quietly. We will cripple them, then offer our ultimatum. Any sensible being would accept our terms, but if not, then we will be prepared to destroy them utterly. No one must be allowed to escape to warn anyone else.”
“I understand,” Raptor replied. “This is what I’ve been preparing for ever since the NI got started.”
“I’m counting on you,” the other man said. Then he reached down, and the screen went back to Raptor’s message summary. A dozen new messages had arrived already.
Raptor returned to his work with renewed vigor.
* * *
Diktat’s Office
Senate Complex, Tralaria
1740 Hours
Ryskar looked up as the figure entered his office once more. “Good. I’ve been looking for you, Zein. Come in.”
Moren complied, moving across the carpeted floor into the seat opposite the Diktat.
“I want to hear more about your proposal, and about your associates,” Ryskar stated.
“I think I was quite clear before, Diktat,” the man replied.
“Nevertheless, I would like to hear it again,” Ryskar countered, “in more detail. What exactly are you offering me if I comply?”
Moren Zein leaned forward and met Ryskar’s gaze eye to eye, shaking his head. “We are not playing games with you, Diktat. I am offering you a chance to grow powerful beyond your wildest dreams. An invasion is coming, and my associates can promise you the safety of their protection if you will join us. Furthermore, I am sure that the territory of the New Imperium will be greatly expanded once we have taken control of this region. Perhaps the entire sector can be given over to the control of the NI government.”
Ryskar narrowed his eyes, wanting the man to say more. He had enough already, but he felt like he’d barely scratched the surface. “And?”
“And?” The man gave a short laugh. “I told you we can give you technology that will put you millennia above the other governments in the galactic community. That, coupled with our protection, would be more than any organization could normally dream of.”
“I’m talking about me, personally,” Ryskar put in. “You spoke of benefits before.”
“Diktat, you are a wise, just man,” Zein said. “It is in the New Imperium’s interest – and our interest – to see that someone like you stays in power to lead. We are prepared to let you stay in control of your government, and I can promise you that as the official NI representative of the Altarin’Dakor, you will have power and prestige beyond your wildest dreams. Anything you desire can be accommodated.”
“And in return, you just want me to let you guys pass through our space, is that is?”
“In basic form, yes,” the man replied. “Because you are so well known and respected, I am sure your people will listen to you. Assure them that we are not hostile to your worlds or your government, and convince them to cooperate with us in every way, and I promise you there will be no trouble.”
“What kind of trouble?” Ryskar prodded. “Are you saying we might end up like some of your other… opponents, as you called them? Wiped out?”
The man’s cool eyes told Ryskar the truth even before he spoke. “The past is of no concern,” he said evenly. “Insignificant. You have to learn, Diktat. Only the strong survive in this galaxy. And we will choose only the strong to assist us, and to serve us.”
“An entire race, insignificant?” He shook his head, brought his finger up in the man’s face. “I’ve had enough of your arrogance. You cannot wipe out an alien species, Zein. That’s what the Empire does, and we are not them. Do you understand me?”
“It is you who do
not understand,” Zein countered, leaning forward and
placing his hands on Ryskar’s desk. “Now listen to
me, because this is crucial for you. The Altarin’Dakor are
not to be trifled with; we are not some tiny government hiding out in the Rim.
Before the founding of the Republic we were the sovereign rulers of this
galaxy. We were driven off, but we conquered our own and rebuilt our vast
armada of military might. I cannot describe to you how insignificant the New
Imperium is compared to us. Indeed, even the