Prologue: First Strike
Torinn’Vinn Envirodeck
Titan-class Command Ship Ascendancy
Danube System, NI Territory
Epsilon Sector, Outer Rim
1345 Hours Ship’s Time
Naguis’Voxavit Kamren Thansil relaxed as he stretched out naked on the table, enjoying the sensation of the purposeful, massaging hands moving across his back. The tropical atmosphere was thick with the smell of herbs and sweet fragrances, clearing his sinuses and allowing him to take deep, filling breaths of air. The Ascendancy’s premier envirodeck was reserved exclusively for officers of prestige and those who had earned considerable honor in service. It was also the spa that the Vox’Donn himself – the ship’s admiral and task force commander – also frequented, making it an honor indeed for visiting soldiers. As Wing Commander of the Black Rain flight group, Kamren Thansil was one such distinguished officer.
The sound of soothing, natural music played softly throughout the deck, caressing his ears and further helping to relax the worries of military life. It was a luxury not often afforded in times of war. Every soldier’s service was rewarded based on the quality of his service and his accomplishments. Whether it was the pleasure of a warm meal or a free hour on the Titan’s most luxurious envirodeck, everyone was duly rewarded.
Kamren sighed as the expert hands of his masseur worked the tightness out of his back muscles, pressing hard at first, then softening into a rhythmic pattern in tune with the music. Aromatic oils were applied next, sending icy fingers crawling over his skin, to be replaced just as quickly by a warmth that bled into his battle-weary bones. The scent of the fragrances was strong and intoxicating. For a while he just lay there on the verge of semi-consciousness, letting his mind focus away from his worries, into the bliss of nothingness.
Though his eyes were closed, he still saw a darkening of vision as a shadow moved overhead. All too soon, he thought.
“Naguis’Voxavit?”
The comforting hands leaving his back, Kamren let his mind return to the senses of his corporeal body, and he pushed himself up slowly, swinging his legs around to sit on the raised bed. His masseur politely stepped away, leaving Kamren alone with the visitor. Sweat dripped down from his bangs onto the bridge of his nose, and rivulets slowly made their way down his bare skin, caused by the high humidity of the tropical environment, but he ignored them. Raising his head, he turned his eyes toward the figure standing at the front of the bed.
“I am sorry for disturbing you sir,” his second in command apologized.
“What is it, Vos?” he asked, studying the man’s face. Vos Quinlan was in full uniform, meaning he still on duty, probably coming from the Wing’s own hangar section. “I see this is not a social occasion,” he noted.
“Again, my apologies, Naguis’Voxavit. I have news that could not wait, and you wanted to be informed of any changes.”
Kamren nodded his acceptance. Outstripping Kamren by a good two hand-lengths, Vos cut an imposing figure, especially in uniform. His shock of blonde hair, almost white, and piercing blue eyes clearly denoted him as being from the outer provinces. Kamren on the other hand was shorter, with dark hair and eyes, and skin that was tanned a brownish-gold. Whenever he and his second traveled together, the differences between them were impossible not to notice.
“So, we have finally arrived in enemy territory, then?” Kamren asked.
“More than that, actually,” Vos said. “The first wave of attacks has already been completed.”
Kamren blinked in astonishment. The news had caught him completely unawares. “How can that be? I saw the Vox’Donn here half an hour ago.” He looked across the columned, marble atrium to the hot spring, disguised by a small forest of tropical trees and plants.
“I just received word myself,” Vos explained.
After a moment’s hesitation, Kamren nodded. “Indeed. I will meet you at the entrance. Allow me a moment to change.”
His second bowed
and turned to leave. For a moment, Kamren remained
seated, allowing his body and mind to draw back out of their immersion in the
false environment. He took several deep breaths of the enriched tropical air,
gazing around at the wonderful and unbelievably realistic environment. One
would never suspect that he was on a ship at all. Above him, a deep blue sky
stretched endlessly, punctuated by a few of the brightest stars. Mountains
ringed the horizon, which was turning a deep red and gold from the setting sun.
Over the summits to the east hung a ringed planet, the world around which this
artificial satellite orbited. In fact, this place was an exact duplication of
the pleasure moon Torinn’Vinn and the famous
spa there. It was set up as a sort of acropolis, with multiple baths and
columned buildings offering various services to its guests, and outside a
jungle held an array of natural
But enough reminiscing, he thought. This is a battleship, not a pleasure yacht. It was time to go.
Rising, he pulled his robe on over his naked body and made his way across the atrium’s marble floor, past other beds where more fortunate subjects were still enjoying their massages. In the changing and locker area, he afforded himself a quick shower to wash away the sweat and oils covering his body, then changed into his uniform proper. As the last button snapped into place at his collar, the laid-back, leisure-loving Kamren Thansil ceased to exist, cast aside with his robe and replaced by the hardened, focused soldier underneath – a human weapon. This uniform redefined him, or rather brought out his true self, outwardly displaying the change that took place within. Now he was Nagius’Voxavit Kamren Thansil, Wing Commander of the Black Rain flight group. Now he had only one goal: to obey the commands of his superiors and to help bring about the Return as expediently as possible.
He met his second in command at the entrance. Vos was already starting to sweat in the humidity, and Kamren could feel it clinging inside his newly-donned uniform, as well. Together they passed by the registration office and through the front entrance, into the large waiting airlock and turbolift. The doors closed behind them, and the air began to cycle automatically as the two officers waited. Meanwhile, the car traveled downward, taking them deeper into the lower levels of the ship. Slowly, the thicker air was supplanted by the cool, dry air put out by the ship’s ventilation systems. The contrast was so great that Kamren could actually see the line of thicker air being pushed out, starting at their feet and moving up their bodies, passing their heads and finally flushing out the vents in the ceiling. Instantly, Kamren felt a chill as the cooler air settled around him, setting his skin crawling.
Then the cycle was complete, and the lift came to a stop. The outer doors opened, and the two officers emerged into the bustling, military interior of the Ascendancy.
“All right, tell me what you know,” Kamren said as they marched through the corridor. He kept to the right side near the wall, as beings of numerous species continuously filed past going the other way.
“Apparently the first battle group arrived in enemy space a short while ago and has already subdued one of their systems near our sector base, which the outlanders call Mizar.”
“Yes, I extensively studied the records of the battle there. The Cataclysm dealt them a harsh blow, an accomplishment considering we had just lost our sector task force commander.” Kamren nodded in satisfaction. He didn’t know who had been commanding the forces here in this sector, but he had apparently been defeated because the forces at Mizar had been milling about aimlessly without a commanding officer, something like a headless viper. There had been a lack of foresight in the abilities of these outlanders.
Vos nodded as they continued down the brightly-lit corridor. “And now we’ve begun to further injure them with this attack. They won’t be able to stop this task force, Commander. By the time we are finished, this ‘New Imperium’ will have ceased to exist.”
“Don’t dismiss them so lightly,” he told Vos, sidestepping to avoid a squad of huge, burly Thoktil marines marching past the other way. “It is easy to talk about victory, but in actuality it takes much time and effort. The outlanders have shown a remarkable resilience and luck, if not outright skill.”
“Luck. It must be. I can’t believe that they purposefully blunted our first offensive, when they hardly even knew of our existence at that time,” Vos countered.
They had made their way through the corridor and into one of the ship’s many ferry stations. A series of docks held waiting cars that every few moments would zip along their tracks, taking passengers to distant parts of the ship. For their journey to the hangar, they would have to board the appropriate car. After all, they could hardly take the time to make the fifteen-kilometer trip on foot.
Kamren and Vos entered the appropriate car and settled into its secure seating as the shuttle whisked them through the long tunnel toward the aft of the ship. At thirty-two standard kilometers in length, the Ascendancy was a colossal warship capable of laying waste to entire planets and subjugating whole star systems. She might not be as big or impressive as the Cataclysm or the other largest Titans, but she was still a Titan in every right. With over two thousand fighters in ten different wings, she was the equivalent of an entire fleet in herself. Though not the largest or best-armed Titan in the fleet, the Ascendancy was nevertheless a legend, renowned for countless victories across two dozen millennia of service. She was ancient, dating back to the Great War, and just serving on this ship - or any Titan - was one of the highest honors an Altarin’Dakor warrior could receive.
In this campaign, however, she was not alone, but one of four separate Titans that had just recently entered New Imperium space. Each Titan led its own separate task force of corvettes, cruisers, destroyers, carriers, and battlecruisers. In addition, multiple task forces would be working together in some engagements. In Kamren’s opinion, such a force sent to eliminate such a tiny threat seemed overkill in the extreme, even by Altarin’Dakor standards. But the enemy had proven quite resilient already, so he understood why the fleet didn’t want to take any chances this time. Better to completely overwhelm them than rely on precisely laid-out strategies.
And yet, the fleet had attacked without his even being informed. It was this kind of negligence of certain forces that was the major drawback of being part of a huge task force. Besides, what he’d heard so far indicated that maybe they were following someone’s meticulous strategy after all. Either way, he knew it was useless to try and guess about things without the proper knowledge. His orders would come down from command soon.
Moments later, the car slowed to a stop, and the two exited, emerging on the main flight level. Unlike some ships, the Ascendancy had a separate hangar for every two wings, meaning there were five hangars spaced throughout the vessel. Two were amidships on either side, and two more were near the aft under the ship’s broad wings. A fifth was located on the upper side of the ship. This provided ample space for the Titan’s compliment of starfighters. The hangar designated for the Black Rain Wing was on the port side, aft.
The hangar bay was bustling with activity, confirming Vos’ words that the ship was on full alert and located inside enemy territory. The whole hangar was a well-lit, massive open space half a kilometer across, with the many fighters in his wing spaced out in multiple recessed sections. Ships were just now coming in from patrol while others were on their way out, and crews and technicians ran across the expansive, shiny hard deck, carrying supplies, refueling ships, and performing maintenance. Here, the air was even colder than the rest of the ship, with only the atmospheric shielding over the hangar’s two exits preventing the air from leaking out into space. In the dry atmosphere, the scent of grease, smoke and fuel was thick in the air, and he breathed it admiringly. It was a welcome friend to a veteran pilot.
“This way sir; you’ll want to see this,” Vos spoke up.
Vos lead him across the deck to the edge of exit two, a massive hole in the hangar floor allowing ships to launch out of the ship’s bottom. Only a protective railing was between Kamren and a bottomless fall as he looked down into space below. But instead of the familiar blackness of space, he saw a world suspended, looking just a bit larger than both his hands held out at arm’s length. He hadn’t known the Ascendancy was in a planet’s orbit.
“I heard that the
outlanders call this the
Was, Vos had said. Kamren understood why. The planet seemed to be covered completely by water, which was not so uncommon a sight, but instead of a deep cerulean streaked with white clouds, this world was fast becoming a dark, lifeless ball. Its oceans had already turned green, and were darkening to brown in some places. The clouds had become a dirty brownish black. This was obviously the work of a well-placed biological/chemical strike, the first major blow to be dealt in this operation. A fitting fate for the barbarians. He’d heard that other forces had subdued a system or two, but this was the first inhabited New Imperium world to fall. He smiled wistfully. If only his squadron could have taken part in the first strike…
“What did you hear?” he asked Vos without turning from the scene.
“Our forces moved in quickly and cut off all their communications. We already had ships in the area to stop escapees – no one got out. There were no real defense systems worthy of speaking of, so this was a quick and bloodless victory. I believe the Vox’Indant wanted the planet rendered uninhabitable, since we obviously have no use for it.”
“Of course,” Kamren said. This would be the first payback for what the outlanders had done to the initial invasion force at Mizar. And furthermore, for the embarrassing defeat that had driven his people from this galaxy a thousand generations ago. He would be sure to send copies of the engagement back to his wife and son. They would be proud to see this.
“What’s that just passing over the planet?” he asked, pointing to a distant object just visible against the dark hue of the world. “Is that he Hegemony?”
Vos squinted and leaned forward a bit, as if being that much closer would help. “I believe so… She must have performed the bombing.”
“Lucky van’brak,” Kamren said, shaking his head. Again, too many ships had meant less action. “Both Titan’s weren’t needed to take this system, not as lightly defended as it was. We must be using it as a staging point.” The Desolation and the Annihilator would also be in NI space by now. Never had he heard of this many ships being used together in such close proximity. Almost half the task force’s Titans in one sector! Kamren intended to get the Black Rain into the action, before this conflict was over before it even started.
“All right,” he said, pushing back from the railing. “Call the Wing and tell them to report for briefing at 1800 hours. I’ll be in Command and Control for a strategic update.”
“Yes… regarding that,” Vos spoke up, his voice a bit hesitant. “You do recall that Voxavit Jukor and Voxavit Tryn are scheduled to honor duel at 1700, correct?”
“Ah, that.” Kamren shook his head. “They will have to make it fast. I’ll be there personally for this one.”
Vos arched an eyebrow, then saluted and proceeded out to fulfill his orders. Alone, Kamren started for the lift that would take him toward Command and Control. He was going to get his Wing involved in the next engagement. And then the outlanders would be up against odds so poor that no amount of luck could save them.
* * *
Outskirts of Vectur
Planet Varnus
1040 Hours Local Time
Jac Railler, as he was now known, stooped down to gather a couple more vegetables hanging from the tender green plant at his knees. It was but one of a long row, and that one of several rows, in his garden, behind the flat he was renting on the outskirts of Vectur, capital of Varnus. The city, its skyscrapers rising impossibly high off in the distance, was just too big and bustling, too hectic and out of touch with nature for his tastes, now. He’d had more than enough of that in another life.
Unfortunately he couldn’t escape entirely. Fate was not so kind to Jac Railler. The spot he had originally chosen to escape to, a newly colonized world called Haven in the Satyr system, had been suddenly and violently attacked by an enemy more terrible than he’d ever known, one that called themselves the Altarin’Dakor. Having seen thousands abducted or brutally murdered in front of his eyes, he’d had no choice but to fight back, and eventually escape, bringing what refugees he could here to the heavily protected world of Varnus. But even that wasn’t to be the end of his battles. He’d spoken with the Grand Master of the New Imperium’s Jedi Division and had been offered a commission to train the soldiers here. Faced with a choice of being annihilated by the deadliest threat the galaxy has ever faced, or taking up arms to fight for hope and freedom, there was little choice to be made.
Besides, there was something in Xar Kerensky that had captured his imagination, and inspired a sense of loyalty that Railler thought he could never have again. Maybe it was the charisma the man had, the intensity with which he pursued his goal of defeating the enemy. Or perhaps it was his power, his abilities in the mysterious Force, that Jac’s former master had commanded as well. Whatever it was, the impression had been made, and Jac had agreed. He’d even given the man Cozeeke, his loyal multipurpose droid, to archive the ongoing struggle against the Altarin’Dakor and offer whatever services he could give. Jac hadn’t had nearly as much need of the droid here, anyway.
He reached down again and poured a nice amount of water over the he’d been tending, giving it a drink to help settle it in and spur further growth, then he moved toward the next one down the line.
Suddenly the low roar of a repulsorlift engine sounded across the field, and before he could even see it, he knew an airspeeder was approaching. After a moment, he could make out a dark speck coming his way from the city, and as it grew larger, he saw that it was a personal-sized craft, made to carry only three or four and built for speed.
Within moments the airspeeder came to rest just outside the property line, which was fortunate not to bump up against anyone else’s property. His flat here had lots of space, something he’d hoped would help him feel like he was away from the war that was raging. He was never more than a few minutes’ ride from the city, however. The guard was performing well, but there was always work to be done.
The man that
emerged from the airspeeder wore the duty uniform of
the New Imperium armed forces, with the insignia of the
The officer approached and saluted, cutting off his train of thought. “Sir,” the man said crisply. “Sorry to disrupt your leave, but there have been important new developments and your attention has been requested.”
“It’s all right,” Railler said, waving the man down. “What’s happened?”
“Command believes we are under attack from the Altarin’Dakor once again, sir. We have lost all contact with the Danube System, and we think that this could just be the beginning of a new phase in their assault.”
Jac nodded, taking in the report. Dire news, indeed.
“I have been sent
to ask you to accompany me back to the
“Understood. I will be right out, Jac replied. Turning, he set a quick pace back toward his flat to gather his things. This could be it, he realized. His respite has been all too brief here. If this was the invasion they’d all been dreading, he knew he wasn’t likely to be back here for quite some time.
* * *
1700
Hours
The planet
Until now.
Suddenly, lines of starfighters began to appear out of the darkness, space around them rippling as they powered down their cloaking systems, not for any need to raise shields or target weapons, but so their pilots could acquire greater honor in the sport of the kill. Only the smallest strike force was needed to eliminate such an insignificant target – and Altarin’Dakor hated to share their battle glory.
The two squadrons of fighters that had de-cloaked immediately opened fire on the station’s essential systems – shield generators, communications arrays and power generators. Striking with precision, the fighters unleashed their beam weapons and missiles, blasting sensor dishes, cutting through power conduits and destroying the shield generators before they could even be brought online.
A single destroyer-class vessel de-cloaked then, flanked by two corvettes, immediately opening fire with beam weapons into the interior production cylinder of the station. Fire blossomed out at their touch, cutting through durasteel hull and opening the breached areas to vacuum. In response, the station’s defensive turbolaser and blaster turrets opened up, sending red streams of light out into the void. But the beams simply impacted harmlessly on the shields of ship and fighter alike. The Altarin’Dakor were not so easily dissuaded.
By this time the
station’s patrol ships and the defensive fighters stationed inside were
launching into the fray, an assortment of vintage-design fighters from
The destroyer and corvette continued to rain fire into the heart of the station, igniting its storehouses of raw and refined fuel. The fuel went up in a chain reaction, consuming the refinery from the inside out, then continuing through conjoining corridors into the ring surrounding the center. In moments the station was breaking up, the last of its fuel and atmosphere burning away quickly in the airlessness of space.
But the Altarin’Dakor appetite was far from satiated. With the NI fighter cover obliterated, the AD fighters dove for the surface, gaining the first strikes against the helpless mining colonies below. Beam weapons tore open ground structures and ignited more fuel repositories, causing flaring explosions and opening the buildings to near-vacuum.
As the fighters pulled out of their initial strike, the destroyer’s larger beam weapons opened up from orbit, stabbing down into the deep holding tanks and even into the deep mining shafts. The NI mining base was suddenly covered in flames as massive explosions leveled any remaining structures that were standing.
The final blow came several minutes later, when as a parting shot the destroyer sent a high explosive orbital fusion bomb down the main mining shaft entrance of the colony. The resulting explosion sent massive gouts of flame pouring back out the entrance and burning deep inside through the mining tunnels as well. With a final, silent implosion the mine itself collapsed, sealing the destruction inside. If the NI ever returned to this world, they would have to find a new place to settle.
With nothing left to destroy, the Altarin’Dakor vessels began to pull away, disappearing behind their cloaks as they did so. Behind them, the scattered pieces of the station marked a desolate graveyard for the station’s 3,000 inhabitants, and the burning crater on the surface a funeral pyre for the 1,000 that had been on the surface. As the invading ships vanished into the darkness of space, there was little sign that anyone had ever set foot in the Basra System.
Varnusian Productions Presents:
The Second Great War 1:
NI
Senate Complex
Tralaria,
NI Capital
Epsilon
Sector, NI Territories
2215 Hours Local Time
In an isolated conference
chamber deep within the NI Senate’s main Complex building, the Diktat and seven
of the eight members of the War Council had assembled in an emergency session.
The reason of the impromptu gathering was clear: word had arrived that all
communications had been lost with
Everyone’s attention was on the tall, confident woman standing before them, whose duty was to inform them exactly what was going on. She held a regal bearing in her stance: back straight, head slightly turned upwards. Her hair fell in an assortment of dark brown locks, and her dark eyes swept across the room with a predatory look.
“I believe the reason for my visit here is obvious to all of you,” Zalaria said. “The main invasion for which we’ve been waiting for the last months has finally started. Frankly, I wonder why it took them so long to act in the first place.”
From his seat at the large, round briefing table, Jedi Master Nico Flygras watched the scene with growing unease. If what Zalaria was saying was true, then the day they’d all been dreading had finally come. He could see that newly-elected Diktat Gene Rytor was as disturbed as he was, enough to call the top military personnel of the NI together in the middle of the night for this emergency meeting.
Around the conference table was the newly-appointed NI War Council. At one end of the table was the Diktat, elected just a month and a half before with a strong voting base, including Nico’s support as the Jedi Division’s acting Senator. At the other end was Zalaria, who was already at Tralar on other business and had been called in for her obvious experience with the AD military and their strategies. Filling out the other seats around the table were seven of the eight members of the War Council. The Minister of War and overall commander of the NI fleet was Sector Admiral Arfann Dogar, Rytor’s predecessor. Dogar had decided not to re-run for office and everyone had expected him to retire, but Rytor had made him his chief military officer because of his experience as both a fleet commander and former Diktat. Also present were Fleet Admiral Gaius Adonai, commander of the First Fleet, and Sector Admiral Stan Sanders, commander of the Second Fleet. Each officer commanded roughly half of the entire NI Starfleet, each of the two fleets composed of three separate task forces. Gaius was the former Commodore of the ISD Stormwatch, a commanding officer the former Dark Lightning Strike Fleet, and a Jedi Master, to top it all off. Stan had been the Fleet Commander of the Intruder Wing until the NI’s factions had recently decided to merge under one flag.
Also present was the new commander of the Fighter Corps and one of the NI’s top research and development heads, Admiral Walt Amason. Beside him was Field Marshall Rodin Kaler, head of Ground Forces. Next was Fleet Admiral Percy, head of Logistics Support. Last but not least was CEO “Silverfox” K’bail, a Trianii male and head of Research and Development.
The only missing member of the War Council was Grand Master Alyx Misnera, who was also the only member occupying two Cabinet positions. In addition to leading the Jedi Division after Xar Kerensky stepped down, he had taken the job of commander of Special Operations, desiring the ability to pursue a few private projects. This was presumably what he was doing now, organizing some nasty surprises for the AD with his R&D team on Varnus. As for Nico, he also had a respectable list of titles under his belt – Sector Admiral because he’d led the former Dark Lightning Strike Fleet, and Jedi Master in the Division. Now he had come to Tralaria as the Jedi Division’s representative in the NI Senate. With all the factions of the New Imperium now merged, the NI seemed stronger and more united than ever. It was all too important now that the Altarin’Dakor had finally decided it was time to strike.
Nico took his task seriously and with more than a few reservations. In his early days as a Jedi he had never dreamed he would hold such a position, but circumstances and the Force – not to mention no small amount of luck – had seen otherwise. Now he was bringing his past experiences leading a star fleet to his position as official Jedi Division Senator, and he was well-acquainted with how difficult organizing all the Jedi within the New Imperium would be. Though the Jedi were based on Varnus, the Grand Master’s primary command center, there were some stationed at Jengar, Moro, and Ilfaygin, where the each of the four Jedi Houses were. Juggling them all was no easy task, and with all this on Grand Master Misnera’s shoulders, he would have to prepare the Jedi to fight the most dangerous foe they had ever faced.
Now, Diktat Rytor
sat with his elbows on the table and his fingers pressed together, studying
their guest speaker. Nico knew that Zalaria’s forces and territory far exceeded
that of everyone here combined, and compared with her, their haughty titles
were reduced to boastful wishing. She was an Altarin’Dakor Warlord, one of the
chief Force users leading the Altarin’Dakor against the galaxy in the Great
War, before the founding of the
Rytor finally nodded at their guest. “Very well. Thank you for joining, us… Zalaria.” He seemed unsure about what title to use, so he simply stated her name. “Your wisdom and knowledge will be indispensable in developing a counter-strategy.”
Zalaria seemed to lose some of her anxiety at his welcoming tone. “I suppose. Fortunately, I was in the system with the Nexus taking care of some matters.”
The Nexus, a Titan-class Battleship, was her flagship, the vessel on which she’d come to NI space. Though technically assigned to Task Force Nexus under Fleet Admiral Gaius’ First Fleet, everyone knew that she was ultimately the one in charge of the Titan.
Gaius spoke up then, his tone remaining conversational. “I take it Xar wasn’t with you on this trip? I’d expected you two to be together.”
Zalaria turned to look at him blankly. “Xar is helping with the training of the Jedi on Varnus. Hard as it may seem to believe, we don’t spend every waking moment of our lives together.”
“All right, no
need to get personal,” Jann Percy, head of Logistics,
spoke up from his seat beside Nico. “Begging your pardon, but how are you
certain that this is the full-scale invasion that you’ve been predicting? True,
we’ve lost all contact with
Stan Sanders, head of the Second Fleet, spoke up. “True, but we haven’t lost any systems since Varnus briefly fell a few months ago, and then they attacked with overwhelming force. Other incursions have been ragtag units, seeking personal glory.”
Zalaria, the only one at the table standing, took an audible breath and let it out slowly. “Gentlemen, are you going to argue all day, or do you want to hear what I have to say?”
That elicited a few looks of surprise, and Nico felt the atmosphere clam up as though an airlock had just slammed shut. He hoped it wasn’t going to be this tense the whole time
“Please, continue,” the Diktat spoke up, cutting off any further comments. “In fact, you are our only real source of intelligence on the inner workings of the Altarin’Dakor we’re facing. Please fill us in.”
Zalaria nodded condescendingly. “Very well, and I’ll make this brief. The enemy we are facing is my brother, the Warlord known as Nimrod. He commands by far the most powerful fleet in the Altarin’Dakor galaxy. He is also a military genius, and he wouldn’t have attacked us without fully developing a strategy to take the entire New Imperium, and Epsilon Sector with it.” She placed her hands on the table’s edge and leaned forward over the holoprojector. “However, he also knows that I am here in the NI, so the opponent that he expects to face, and the mind that he is trying to outwit, will be mine.”
“So, you’re saying that you know what each other is going to do?” Percy said as she paused. “Since you said your race has virtually perpetual memories, you already know most of his strategies. He’ll have to outwit himself, basically.”
Zalaria smiled softly. “Not quite. I am familiar with the strategies he’s used in the past, and which methods he prefers to use. However, this kind of war is different from both the subjugation of a lesser race, and an Altarin’Dakor civil war. I am not the genius in war that he is, and I cannot predict which of his strategies he will use until he starts moving, and then it may be too late. Moreover, he could have developed something unexpected. He’s taken six whole months, remember.”
“So what are you saying? That we don’t have a chance?” Stan asked.
“Frankly?” Zalaria glared at him. “That’s probably the case, considering how much personnel and firepower Nimrod has behind him.” That caused a small murmur which she quickly overrode. “Our best chance is to flee, although as you’ve all pointed out before, this is only a temporary solution, as the longer we wait, the stronger he will become, until he takes the entire galaxy. I would suggest we flee the galaxy entirely, but since you’re all adamantly against that idea, I will offer you my services the best I can.”
Nico winced, knowing she’s probably just stepped on the toes of every officer in the room. Running away? Leaving the entire galaxy? The very idea seemed preposterous. Could things possibly be that bad?
“So what do you suggest, Zalaria?” Diktat Rytor asked, raising his eyebrows.
She swept in everyone gathered with a dark glance. “To better understand who our enemy is, we must first learn about him. I have prepared an informative tutorial based on records contained in the Nexus’ computer archive. We have recordings of quite nearly the last 25,000 years of conflict in our galaxy. I wish I had the time to show you one percent of all the information we have here, but sadly we do not. If you will watch the holoprojector’s image, please.”
Producing a datacard from her pocket, she slid it into the holoprojector and hit the activate button. The overhead lights began to dim, and a three-dimensional NI logo appeared over the projector as the datacard prepared to play.
Zalaria slid back into the remaining empty seat. “Gentlemen, before you see this I must tell you one thing about Nimrod.”
“What’s that?” Stan spoke up, as the image began to coalesce into a black star field.
“You will be afraid of him. Don’t let this cloud your judgment, or your resolve to fight.”
Slowly, the starfield changed into a view of two large suns, one red and one blue, rising from behind the edge of a dark brown world striated with black clouds. Slowly, out of the distance appeared a group of dark vessels, silhouetted against the suns, but growing closer and larger, finally eclipsing them and growing to fill the entire image. That’s when Nico realized that each ship was a Titan-class Battleship. Each of the dozen or so ships were of comparable length and width, but widely different in shape and form. As the ships passed by in what was certainly a time-accelerated effect, the camera focused on the black hull of the center ship, shaped like a wicked-looking dagger, with spear-like projections extending out at seemingly random junctures. The holovid slowed as the camera focused on the ship floating past, and Zalaria began to speak again.
“During the Great War, Nimrod became one of the most feared and renowned names in this galaxy. Though other Warlords hold more personal power and caused more trouble to he Jedi of the day, Nimrod was the most dreaded opponent to face in naval space combat. He was hated so much that I understand his name is still used as a derogatory word in this galaxy. Ironically, the word means “idiot” to you, but this is the opposite of its true origin. Nimrod is a genius.
“Nimrod was the last Warlord to be driven back by the combined fleets of this galaxy’s allied races, and his were the last ships to travel through the Galactic Gate into our new galaxy. But it was there that he has earned his real reputation. His ruthless and relentless conquests subdued all who would oppose us in the Altarin’Dakor galaxy, and paved the way for us to take the it all in the name of the Altarin’Dakor. In our galaxy, one of the names he is known by is the Destroyer.”
The scene shifted to another view of space, this one filled with explosions and beams of light and crossed by uncounted numbers of oddly-shaped vessels, both large and small. A transparent window appeared over the battle, and a scroll of unreadable text began to flash by. Nico couldn’t begin to catch it all, but there had to be thousands of listings scrolling by.
“Nimrod has expanded his territory in our galaxy through continuous conquest of both the indigenous population and of the other Warlords. There used to be many more Shok’Thola, but most of them were wiped out through civil wars. Nimrod has defeated more than any other. This is a list of the various civilizations that he has personally eliminated. This may seem unreal and may not have full impact upon you, but I assure you that it is completely accurate. As you know, those who were deemed unproductive races were wiped out. Nimrod has exterminated thousands of races and subjugated at least a million worlds. That is why he is known as the Fist of the Million Suns.” She paused, letting the silence and scrolling of names to underscore her statement. “Do you understand the import of what I have said?”
Nico couldn’t have answered if he’d wanted to. He was too busy staring drop-jawed at the scrolling of names and the maelstrom raging in the background. No one else uttered a word.
The scene then shifted to a different scene, a dark world half-eclipsing its own sun, and floating in the distance, a massive black space station. From this distance its surface seemed an intricate working of uncountable spires and projections. Nico couldn’t begin to guess its size, but it appeared massive, at least the size of a Death Star. “Furthermore,” Zalaria continued, “my brother has assembled a star fleet dwarfing any of the other Shok’Thola. Many of his ships are those he has captured from other Warlords, including many of their Titans. His strategies have been very near perfect in every engagement.”
Her face bathed in shadows, Zalaria gave a slight smile. “I don’t really know where his genius came from… But even when we were children he was always good at reading other’s true motives and intentions. By our days among the Jedi before the Schism, he was renowned for his knowledge of past wars and military strategies. I suppose his interest carried him in that direction.”
The holo changed
again then, to a chest-up view of a massive figure clad in jet-black armor, so
dark that the shadows around him seemed light in comparison. Though its details
were hard to make out, it was clearly huge, leaving nothing uncovered, every
seam fitting together perfectly. The helmet was a huge black mask with sweeping
wings and a faceplate sporting two glowing, electronic eyes. The simple
presence that the figure exuded sent chills down Nico’s
spine. He’d thought the sense of age and wisdom in Zalaria’s eyes was bad, but
just seeing the being in this holo was far more terrifying. He looks like Darth Vader, Nico thought,
only worse.
“Nimrod conceals his true form in this technological construction,” Zalaria said. “He is, and has been since before the Great War, obsessed with technology and electronic equipment of all types. His suit is less to protect himself than to give him access to hundreds of commands and computer links, and of course, to strike terror into anyone he sees. Though few do so outside his personal circle and survive.
“Additionally, after the death of Kronos, the leadership of The Return was in question. I was present when it was declared that each Warlord would begin acting independently. When Kronos died – only temporarily, I might add – Nimrod invaded his territory and took a large portion of it, possibly acquiring more Titans as well. Furthermore, when he tried to confine me on his world in Dorchav Sector, I learned through my sources that he would likely become the new spearhead of The Return. That is why I believe we’ll be facing only him for now, instead of multiple Warlords. Although, he’s certainly enough for us by himself. If he’s become powerful enough to send other Shok’Thola against us, then I’m afraid he may be unstoppable.”
From near Nico’s seat, Walt Amason let out a low whistle. “I wish Vader could have met this guy once… and that I was there to see what happened.”
“I’m familiar with the man who nearly wiped out the Jedi in this galaxy single-handedly,” Zalaria said. “Who is to say that Darth Vader or your Emperor Palpatine didn’t come across some scrap of legend in a museum and read about the legendary being who once ravaged this galaxy? He could have been thus influenced, perhaps.”
Feeling his nerves returning, Nico rubbed his face with one hand and shook his head slightly. He doubted such a story was true, but then again, who could know? Stranger things had happened.
“Zalaria,” Rytor spoke up. “Do you have any idea what percentage of Nimrod’s total force we’ll be facing? Roughly how many Titans and other ships?”
“Obviously, the majority of his forces remain back in our own galaxy, protecting his considerable territories,” Zalaria responded. “However, he does have a large offensive fleet that he brought into this galaxy years ago. As you’ve learned already, the spiral arm on the other side of what you call the Great Rift has already been conquered. Ever since the return Gate was completed over thirty years ago, we have been active in this region, and it’s fully Altarin’Dakor territory now. Nimrod, as well as other Warlords, has holdings in that area of space. Therefore, to answer your question, his fleet will be considerable. He wants to bring enough ships to not only defeat us, but to continue toward the galaxy’s heart.”
“That’s true,” Amason said, nodding. “We have to consider that we’re not just fighting for ourselves, but to stop them from sweeping over the rest of the galaxy unsuspected. It’s up to us.”
“Nimrod will most likely spread his fleet across NI space and may even strike at other territories and factions around us,” Zalaria said. “In all, I expect that he’s committed somewhere in the range of ten Titans, though it could be as many as fifteen. We could – in this sector – be facing only half of them, or then again we may be facing all of them. Along with a host of other capital ships ranging in size, of course.”
Nico felt even more dismayed at this news. Altarin’Dakor capital ships ranged from corvettes to ISD-sized battleships or much, much larger, but Titans dwarfed everything else in their arsenal. He didn’t see how the NI would stand a chance if faced against ten of them.
“At any rate,”
Zalaria continued, “it is unlikely we will come into direct contact with Nimrod
or his personal command. Rather, he will probably employ his top Admirals and
his
“We’ll have to be at our highest alert for infiltration, then,” Gaius said.
“Assuming we haven’t already been infiltrated,” Zalaria said with a wry expression. “That’s why I can’t conclusively say which method Nimrod will use against us. I would have expected an overwhelming military attack already, but since that has not occurred, I therefore suspect that his attack will be multi-pronged, both from within and from without.”
“You’re saying there are spies and sleeper agents already within the NI? Why haven’t we been doing something about this already?” Field Marshal Kaler demanded sternly.
“We already have,” Zalaria said, staring across the table at the man. “Xar and I have been searching for them for them, and we’ve eliminated those we know about. Of course, that leaves the ones we don’t.”
“All right,” Diktat Rytor spoke up. “We’re already working on that. I have people looking for Altarin’Dakor agents at every level. If I find anything, this War Cabinet will be alerted immediately.”
Nico nodded silently. The thought of spies among them, perhaps even in the NI command, was unnerving in the extreme.
“In that case, my report is concluded,” Zalaria said. “I will continue to offer advice as needed.” She took her seat, and the holograms faded, and the lights began to brighten once more.
The Diktat nodded slowly. “All right then. Perhaps we should now take stock of our current military capabilities and the steps we’re taking to combat the Altarin’Dakor. As you all know, we’ve been busy in the time since the last attack, boosting our defenses, assembling new ships, incorporating Altarin’Dakor technology with our own, and working to gain allies among other races and empires. Sector Admiral Dogar, could you please brief us on the current status of the NI military.”
“Of course,” Dogar said, rising to his feet. “Most of you know of the projects we’ve been working on in the lull since Mizar. I’m going to update you on the status and feasibility of these various projects.”
He activated a
few commands into his terminal, and another holo sprang to life, though the
lights remained on. Nico instantly recognized a map of New Imperium space,
situated at the edge of Epsilon Sector, bordering the Unknown Regions. NI space
wasn’t a straight or circular containment of territory, but an uneven line
between the Unknown Regions border and the territory of the
Tralar, the New Imperium home system containing Tralaria and six other planets, was near the center of NI space, near the Nebula. Approximately 200 light-years away was Varnus, which was spinward, or on the right side of the map. Just over 50 light-years above Varnus was Mizar, where the New Imperium had suffered a huge loss against the Altarin’Dakor months ago. Other notable systems included Erebria, located just inside the nebula above Tralar; Kolath, a major inhabited world and former home of the Dark Lightning Strike Fleet; and the various inhabited systems in Naroon Quadrant to the left.
As Nico watched,
the upper right portion of the map was highlighted and expanded. Dogar began
speaking as the 21 major systems in the quadrant appeared, including five
“This is correct,” Zalaria chimed in.
“Now, if we
assume the Altarin’Dakor have taken
“If the Altarin’Dakor take Moro, then Varnus is really in danger,” Stan pointed out. “And if they take Talas too, then it’ll be completely cut off.”
“Not to mention that it’ll isolate Sigma, Jengar and Pax,” Gaius added.
The Minister of War nodded. “Exactly. So, how can we anticipate the enemy to strike?”
“Nimrod will want to take Varnus,” Zalaria said. “It is of particular symbolic importance to us – to the Altarin’Dakor. Therefore, we should make every effort to defend it. If we can, it will seriously affect their morale. As for Moro, I suggest we evacuate it. We can only make our stand at one location. We can’t afford to let them advance too far, but we don’t want to spread ourselves too thinly. Better to choose our own battlefield.”
The group seemed to consider her words for a moment, and Nico watched thoughtfully. He knew this was in the hands of Dogar and the Fleet Commanders, as well as the Diktat.
“We can’t just abandon Moro without a fight,” Gaius said, visibly struggling with emotions. “We can’t evacuate everything in time, and it’s one of our most vital systems. There are lots of incomplete ships there, not to mention uncounted thousands of personnel.”
“They’ll have to be abandoned, and the people evacuated” Zalaria said impassively. “Take everything that can fly and get out.”
“I agree with you Gaius, but we don’t have much of a choice,” Stan said. “We can’t wait until the enemy attacks before we decide our course of action.” He turned to the Minister of War, seated beside the Diktat. “Dogar?”
“The First Fleet will be deployed to Varnus Quadrant,” Dogar answered. “Stan, your Second Fleet will have to guard Tralar and the anti-spinward side. It’s up to you, Gaius. I suggest we begin evacuations, but we’ll have to do something to avoid a preemptive strike. If the enemy finds out our plans, they won’t let us leave.”
“What we discuss doesn’t leave this room,” Percy put in. “If you start things quietly, through the right channels, we should be able to pull it off.”
“We need to start evacuating the other systems too,” Nico offered. “Sigma, Jengar, Talas, Pax...”
“Those are all major inhabited planets,” Walt Amason spoke up, “and there aren’t any places for them to go to, until they reach Ariel Quadrant. That’s a long trip.”
“Varnus can take some,” Nico countered. “If we’re going to place our defense there, then people will go there anyway.”
“And if Varnus falls under attack as well?” Field Marshal Kaler spoke up.
“Then we get everyone off there, too, and defend as best we can,” Nico replied adamantly.
“See to it then,” the Diktat said. “The rest will have to make the long haul, or stay.”
“I still can’t see abandoning these systems without a fight,” Gaius put in. “I’ll order the evacuations at Moro, but it’ll take time. Lots of it. I don’t want to leave anything behind if possible.”
“Then I suggest you get busy,” Zalaria said matter-of-factly.
Nico watched uncomfortably as the woman stared at Gaius, but the other man seemed to take it without too much effect. After moment, he nodded.
“Okay then, what about our projects’ status?” Field Marshall Rodin Kaler asked.
Dogar held up a hand. “Yes, I’m getting to that now. As I said, the First and Second Fleets are in full deployment and high alert now. We’ve been bolstered by additions from the Devastator Project.”
“Not to mention the nCSA’s new Majestic-class Cruisers,” Amason added. K’bail, who had been silent until now, nodded and voiced his assent.
Dogar nodded to the two CEOs. “We’re especially grateful for that, as well as helping integrate AD technology with our own. We recently unveiled a new version of the TIE Avatar sporting quad beam weapons like the AD fighters use. We’ve also rigged them to use Shockwave missiles. We had to replace the power plant to account for the huge power drain from the weapons, but AD modifications have been more than adequate. We’re also working on the possibility of incorporating AD beam turrets on ISDs and MC-80s,” he added.
“How many World Devastators and Majestic Cruisers do we have now?” Kaler asked.
“We’ve spawned three smaller Devastators from the original Pillager Nine,” Amason answered. “And we’ve added four Majestic Cruisers to Task Force Independence.”
Nico smiled at
the news. The Devastators would be producing countless equipment and TIE Droid
fighters to bolster the weakened NI starfighter
contingent, and they were producing a large number of attack and war droids as
well. The droids idea was another big plan in itself – the Altarin’Dakor were not
known to employ droids per se, but to rely on human interfacing with computers
and computer-automated tasks. If the NI could produce enough war droids, AD
ground forces could be in for a surprise. As for the Majestic Cruisers, they
were
“That’s all I have at the moment,” Dogar said. “Jedi Master Flygras, if you’d like to finish us off with a report on the Jedi?”
“Certainly,” Nico nodded, standing. A brief feeling of nervousness quickly faded. He was used to this by now. He took a breath, glanced at everyone seated, and proceeded. “Grand Master Misnera and I have finally assembled a rough idea of the number of Jedi in the New Imperium. Altogether, we currently have around a hundred Jedi in the Division itself, including myself, some of us here in this room, and those stationed at various locations. I use the world “Jedi” liberally in this case because encompasses everyone. It includes everyone from Initiate to Grand Master, as well as some who are currently missing or outside of the Division and the New Imperium itself. It also includes quite a few who also hold other positions, from cadets and starfighter pilots to Master Gaius, there.” He gave a nod to the man in question. “Therefore, I estimate only 40% of our numbers to be active or deployable on short notice.”
The men at the table exchanged glances, and Stan spoke up. “That’s not a lot.”
“I know,” Nico said. “We’re in a tumultuous and uncertain period. We’ve had a lot of people leave, transfer, desert, or whatever. We also took casualties at Mizar, and in other engagements with Altarin’Dakor Jedicon. So far, we haven’t been fairing well against them in one-on-one combat.”
“You’ve been training specifically to fight Jedicon, haven’t you?” Kaler asked pointedly.
Nico nodded. “That’s true, but you have to realize that the Jedicon have trained their whole lives for this. We can’t just catch up in a matter of months, and Jedi are harder to replace than starfighters or even capital ships. As both a former Jedi trainer and a fleet commander, I understand this, as I’m sure the rest of you do.”
“But that number doesn’t include the Jedicon that came over with Zalaria,” Dogar spoke up. “It doesn’t account for the number of Jedicon on our side. Can you enlighten us there?” He turned to the sole female at the table.
Zalaria was silent for a moment, her face impassive. Finally, she spoke. “I can triple the numbers you’ve just given,” she said simply.
Nico felt his jaw drop, and the rest of the table erupted with surprised comments.
“Why didn’t you tell us this before?” Amason asked.
“The same reason I haven’t told you everything about the Altarin’Dakor, my personal holdings, and other things. There is a time and place for everything, including knowledge.” Her eyes narrowed suddenly. “I brought a good deal of Jedicon back with me, but what good do you expect it to do? They pale in comparison to the thousands at Nimrod’s disposal. And if I had announced earlier that I’d brought three hundred Jedicon back with me, you’d probably have attacked me the moment I appeared with Xar. I also cannot necessarily supplement your Jedi with mine – many of my forces still hate your so-called “Jedi” with ferocity. Working them together would not be prudent; therefore I will employ my Jedicon as best I can in other areas.”
Nico sat down, at a loss for what to say. The presence that Zalaria was giving off allowed no argument. If she was planning to operate independently, she couldn’t have said it much more plainly. Murmured discussion continued at the table for several moments before the Diktat spoke up, commanding attention.
“All right then,” Rytor said. “That will conclude our meeting. Zalaria, what kind of a timeframe are we looking at? If you had to estimate, when do you think the next strikes will occur?”
Her eyes flicking over to where Rytor sat, Zalaria made a grim expression. “Frankly? I expect the next attacks to come within one or two days,” she said. “Provided, of course, they aren’t underway already.”
The tone in her voice made Nico’s stomach turn.
* * *
Palace Eaglespire
Planet
Jengar, NI Space
1440
Hours
Tossing a hydrospanner into its toolbox with disgust, Maarek Stele stormed across the hangar deck, looking for someone to blame for this most recent ruination of his life. Why is this happening to me? he wondered uselessly. Turning away from his gutted TIE Avatar – once a beauty of New Imperial engineering, but now a husk filled with a jumble of wires and spare parts – he stormed out of the hangar, passing rows of stacked supply crates of varying sizes. He quickly crossed the conjoining corridor, turned right at the first intersection, and entered the pilots’ barracks.
“Where’s Balfin?” he demanded, sticking his head through the rec. room doorway.
At the sudden entrance, Rann Wosper nearly dropped the barbell he as lifting over his head. With a grunt of effort, he pushed it up onto its holding rack, then ran a hand through his wiry blond hair. “No idea, boss,” Rann said. “Haven’t seen him in the past hour.”
“I’ll ask Bast,” Stele said, spinning on his heel, leaving his wingman lying across the lifting bench in bewilderment.
Unfortunately Maarek couldn’t find the leader of Flight Two in his living quarters, and on his way back in the corridor Tanya Vinikoro, Inferno Three, hadn’t seen him all day. Thus, Maarek found himself in a turbolift carrying him up into the middle levels of Palace Eaglespyre, home of the Jedi House Ar’Kell, part of the New Imperium’s Jedi Division.
The turbolift deposited him into the hall on the main floor. He turned left and started down the corridor, passing a couple of robed Initiates before lucking up. Narm Greyrunner, the newest addition to the squadron, was coming down the hallway carrying a late lunch back to his room. Maarek stopped him with a wave of his hand.
“Hey Narm,” he said. “Seen Thad?”
“Thad Balfin? The crazy engineer?” Narm said, raising his eyebrows. “Are you kidding? I saw him at the bar just a few minutes ago, doing what he does best. And that isn’t repairing starships, mind you.”
“Right, right,” Maarek shook his head. “He’s still there?”
“Maybe. He was in a big way of saying how he was heading into town, going to City Hall for something.”
Poor fool really is running for mayor, Maarek thought, rolling his eyes. “All right. Guess I’ll go gripe at him before he leaves.”
“Good luck, Commander,” Narm said, his expression looking genuinely concerned. “I hope he’ll decide to listen to you – this time.”
Nodding, Maarek took off down the corridor, hoping he wouldn’t miss the old technician again. He’s not jetting out on me this time.
To both his relief and irritation, as Maarek turned into Palace Eaglespyre’s shadowy, rustic-looking bar, he noticed the large, wide man sitting directly ahead at the counter. At this early hour, only a few other patrons were present, including a couple of insectile Sigmans and a Gand. The man in question was nursing a drink and mumbling something to the bartender Jan, while the latter was attempting to listen in on the daily holonews broadcast.
Stepping closer, Maarek took a moment to listen in on what the reporter was saying. Over her left shoulder was a picture of a spinning planet, and labeled as the Basra System.
“…confirmed
reports today that the
Maarek shook his head sadly. He’d heard similar reports from military sources already. But the fact that there appeared to be no survivors was new and particularly bleak news.
“In other
news, the Diktat announced today that the NI Starfleet will be deploying in
full to safeguard our remaining systems and to escort civilian craft traveling
between systems. There is also the possibility of mandatory evacuations in
high-risk systems. Stay tuned to your local news reports for specific details
related to your location. For the Tralarian News
Network, this is Ardan Tyrus.”
From there the screen changed to a view of the local Jengar news network. Turning away, Maarek sauntered over to the bar and took a seat next to Balfin. At first he thought he wasn’t even noticed, until Thad turned to him with bleary-eyed look and started talking over his glass of whiskey.
“There you are, my boy,” he declared, his breath nearly driving Maarek to get up again. “Can you believe the mess they’ve put me in here? I can’t believe it. Where’s Gohac when you need him?” He paused, squinting at Maarek for a moment. “Say now, aren’t you going to drink something?”
“Actually, I’d rather not,” Stele held up a hand. “Now, Thad…”
“Listen to the predicament I’m in!” Balfin cut him off, moaning like a dying nerf. “I took Sturm Brightblade’s shuttle and was gonna rev it up with the new Mark II engine modifications I designed. But then he tells me he needs the shuttle for a mission. Well, I sent Gohac to fix it, but he thought it was a Sigman variant shuttle, and now the repulsorlifts’ modulation frequency is all screwed up! And on top of all that, I can’t find my favorite hydrospanner! What do you think of that??
“Well, I guess we’ve all got our little problems today, don’t we Thad?” Maarek said, rolling his eyes.
“I just don’t know what I did with the blasted thing!” Balfin continued, his voice continuing to rise.
“Okay, okay!” Maarek interrupted, his patience at an end. “It’s this kind of crap that I want to talk to you about. What the frizz did you do to my fighter?”
“What fighter?”
“What fighter? My only one!” Maarek practically shouted. “My TIE Avatar that you’ve got sitting on the deck in fifty pieces!”
“Oh, that,” Thad said, shaking his head. He paused to take a long drink, draining the glass and setting it down with a chink. He wiped his mustache with one arm. “I was trying out a new shield system for it. Don’t know if it’ll work yet, but…”
“Hello? Are you
deaf? Haven’t you been watching the news at all?” Maarek thrust a finger up
toward the holoscreen. “Didn’t you hear the AD are
attacking? They’ve already taken Danube and
“I didn’t know about that this morning,” Thad countered, his voice indignant. “Besides if it works, your shields will be ten percent more effective.”
“More likely they’ll simply fail, if they don’t blow me up outright! Now I want you to get down there and fix my fighter!”
Thad arched and eyebrow, then turned to face the bar again. “Sorry, don’t have time today, my boy. Got to go to City Hall to work on my campaign plans.”
Maarek blinked and stared a second in utter disbelief. “Listen, you quack,” he said, slamming a hand on the countertop. “In a couple of days there might not be a city to be mayor of, if you don’t fix my fighter and let me fly! Jengar has almost no defense: there are no capital ships and only a light fighter garrison. Everything worth a spit is right here in Palace Eaglespyre, and I’m useless if I’m not in the air. So you can either fix it, or I’ll take this up with Sturm, and we’ll see if you can ignore a Jedi Paladin.”
Thad Balfin seemed to consider that for a moment. Finally he blinked slowly and nodded. “Stang. First Novitaar, now you. Well, if you feel that strongly about it my boy, then I’ll be glad to do it for you. It’s your loss. Personally I’d go with a ten percent increase in shield power any day, but it’s your decision, and…”
“Thanks,” Maarek said, rising from his seat. “I’ll see you in the hangar in fifteen. After that, we might need to go see Sturm anyway.” He glanced up at the holonews, where a new message was flashing across the screen. “Because they’ve just announced an order for the evacuation of the planet Jengar.”
* * *
C&C
Briefing Room
Titan-class Command Ship Ascendancy
1630 Hours Ship’s Time
“Fear not, Naguis’Voxavit, you will have your chance soon. In twenty hours we will launch the next stage of our attack on the New Imperium.”
Kamren Thansil bowed his head in respect to the Coordinator’s words. Around him, the other Wing Commanders and Regiment leaders made similar gestures. All the military officers and commanders were seated around the central control center in the Ascendancy’s Command and Control Briefing Room. In the center was the ship’s Commodore, Naguis’Vox’Donn Evan Reinal, a tall, dark-skinned human with short, graying hair, a testament to the many years he had commanded the Titan-class Command Ship. Around him were several other command officers, including the Chief of Communications, Head of Tactical planning, and the Coordinator, who would relay the orders of the Naguis’Vox’Indant and Misot’Vox’Indant, the Fleet Commander and Senior Admirals respectively. The Coordinator was an essential and high-ranking position, and those who held it gave their own lives over to the task, allowing their minds to be linked through computer systems back to the Naguis’Vos’Indant as well as all the other command ships in the fleet.
Naguis’Vox’Donn Evan Reinal now took center stage to offer the specifics of the upcoming operation. “We have taken the first two systems in the enemy’s territory, and we are now ready to move on. From here, the Fleet will divide into four primary task forces, each group led by one of the command ships. The Desolation and the Annihilator will both move forward into enemy territory and occupy their attention with strategically planned strikes against their systems. The Hegemony will provide cover for our convoys and coordinate with us as needed. As for the Ascendancy, our next task is to sweep along the fringes of their space and break the backs of the enemy. Our first target is the system they call Jengar.” As with most Altarin’Dakor, he stumbled a bit over the foreign word. “After which, we will continue with the plan that has been outlined by the Naguis’Vox’Indant. I cannot divulge the specifics of our overall strategy at this time. You will receive your orders on a mission-by-mission basis.
“Yes, Naguis’Voxavit?” Evan Reinald nodded at Kamren’s raised hand.
“Commodore, will all the Wings be seeing action at Jengar?” Kamren asked, keeping his question brief and to the point.
Evan Reinald nodded slowly. “Each Wing will be performing a different but necessary mission in the attack. I know that you are eager to send the Black Rain into action. Your status and honor as Wing Commander has been well-earned, and you will have a chance to prove your abilities against the outlanders.”
Kamren nodded gratefully, then waited as other commanders and regiment leaders posed their questions. Beside him, Wing Commander Xun Fiar, a Qwi’pthi, leaned close and whispered so that only Kamren could hear.
“I hope your Wing performs as well as you’ve promised, Kamren Thansil. Because my Sun Lancers will be ready to replace you at the first sign of weakness. You may be the best-rated pilot on the Ascendancy, or even the entire fleet, but that won’t protect you from the consequences of failure.”
Repressing the rage that instinctively welled up in him from such biting words, Kamren instead forced a cold smile and looked at his peer and rival. “If you’re suggesting you want to challenge me for my position, you are more than welcome. I hadn’t known you were so willing to change commands.”
“I’m not challenging you at all, Voxavit,” Xun Fiar retorted coolly. “My group has already proved itself in battle with these barbarians. I am simply offering a word of warning – advice that you would do well to heed.”
“I’ll take it into consideration,” Kamren said, returning his attention to the Vox’Donn.
Evan Reinal looked around the room at the gathered officers. “If there are no other questions, the briefing is concluded. You will receive full and specific orders upon your return to your offices. Wing briefings are to take place within two hours. In less than a day, the Ascendancy will strike its next blow into the heart of the enemy, and we shall bring much glory to ourselves and our great empire. Glacia na Altarin’Dakor!”
His battle cry, echoed by Altarin’Dakor warriors for a thousand generations, was eagerly picked up by all the officers present.
“Glacia na Altarin’Dakor! Glacia na Altarin’Dakor! Glacia na Altarin’Dakor!”
After being dismissed, Kamren took the most expedient way possible back down to the hangar – the primary hyperlift. He arrived on the main level just two minutes before the scheduled 1700, and he hurried to the primary hangar, where he knew everyone would be waiting. An honor duel would not be starting late.
Voxavit Jukor and Voxavit Tryn were both excellent and respected pilots in the Black Rain Wing, who had earned their honor through trial and conflict, as all Altarin’Dakor should. Their quarrel was not over a position of command, but over a personal conflict begun with a hasty comment and too much drink. Kamren deeply respected the time-honored tradition of the challenge and honor duel, as long as things were kept in the proper perspective and followed the original intent of its purpose. But some took it to mean that challenges could be made for every petty grievance, and this not only disrupted the normal flow of business on a ship, but in Kamren’s opinion was also a waste of resources and personnel. He did not want to lose either of his pilots today.
Kamren met Vos, his second, waiting by the entrance to the main hangar.
“Good timing, Commander,” the tall man nodded respectfully. “Jukor and Tryn are here.”
“Very well. Let’s go watch them.”
Vos fell into step beside him as Kamren walked purposefully across the deck and mingled into the gathering crowd. Normally the challengers would agree on the type of combat to be used, from hand techniques, bladed or projectile weapons, all the way up to a dogfight in atmosphere or out in space. The art of dueling was all too deadly.
As he and Vos came to the front of the line, they saw both participants just now standing opposite each other, each dressed in full ceremonial garb. For this match, each held a ceremonial long-dagger about the length of fingertip to elbow. Kamren knew both warriors well. Jukor, starting on the left, was a dark-skinned human with black hair, and was known for his short temper. On the right was Tryn, an Ulrian, a near-human species with predominantly purple skin and wavy silver hair. Jukor, the initiator of the challenge, was the favorite to win, but not by much.
The two opponents faced each other and waited for the match to begin. With little ceremony involved, the hangar’s warning klaxon blared once, and then the match was on.
Honor duels usually didn’t last long, and this one probably wasn’t to be any exception. Tryn rushed forward with a roar, forcing Jukor back into a defensive stance. With a loud below, the purple-skinned Ulrian swung his blade down at his opponent’s head, but Jukor threw his blade up and parried it to the side, then sidestepped out of range. He lashed out with a foot, catching Tryn in the groin area, but the Ulrian hunched forward, then rolled out of the way of Jukor’s blade.
This time Jukor stepped in and struck. Tryn came up and blocked the blade, locking weapons with Jukor for a brief moment. For a moment they pressed hard on one another, then Tryn abruptly grasped his opponent’s wrist with one hand, deflected Jukor’s momentum to the side, and brought his blade across horizontally. Jukor danced back, but not quite fast enough. Tryn’s blade cut a gash across his right arm just below the shoulder, but Jukor didn’t even wince in pain.
As Jukor stepped back, blood dripping down his sleeve, Tryn apparently saw his opportunity for the kill. He rushed forward, clashing blades with the other man, then forced it to the side and swung wildly at his opponent’s head. Jukor ducked at just the right moment, instead slashing down to cut into the Ulrian’s thigh area. Then as Tryn stumbled, Jukor turned back and slammed his pommel into the back of Tryn’s head. His leg collapsed, sending him crashing face-first onto the deck.
Jukor stepped over his fallen opponent, then raised his blade slowly, clearly anticipating the kill and the end of the match.
“All right,” Kamren said sharply to Vos. “Sound the alarm.”
He’d waited until there was a clear winner, but he wasn’t going to let Jukor finish off his opponent. Not only was it a stupid thing to die over, but Tryn was a good pilot, better spent in battle against the true enemy than in an honor duel such as this.
Vos said a few words into his communicator, and the klaxons went off again, this time in a lower pitched, repeating tone designed to call all pilots for mission briefing. Kamren knew that some might resent his timing on this, but they would have to live with it. If he’d stopped the fight sooner he probably would have had both pilots angry at him and a lot of ill feelings from the others as well, but this way the conflict was resolved without an upset caused by Tryn’s death.
The blaring alarm sent a ripple of exasperated sighs and groans from the crowd, and for a moment it looked as though Jukor would ignore the warning entirely. He stood there, glaring down at his stricken opponent. But then as the klaxons refused to abate, he lowered his blade and started off in the opposite direction.
“All right, everyone,” Vos spoke through the hangar’s loudspeakers. “You heard the signal. The match is over; all pilots report to the briefing room within fifteen minutes. Those who do not will be subject to reprimand by the Wing Commander.”
As the crowd began to scatter across the deck, Kamren couldn’t help but smile. Fifteen minutes would give Jukor and Tryn just enough time to change and make it to the briefing, while preventing them from gloating or causing more trouble in the meantime. In the meantime, Kamren had to return to his office and obtain his specific Wing’s orders for the upcoming mission. After Kamren finished briefing his Wing, not only would the emotions of the fight have cooled, but his pilots would all have something much more important to be worried about.
* * *
Training
Room 201
Planet
Varnus
1530 Hours
Jedi Adept Kiz Thrakus crossed his arms over his chest and watched the five Jedi sparring on the map. All Jedi Knights - Kip Slocum, Zine Orab, Sutel Cloke, Baden Wren, and Zep Prings’nyl - and this time, they weren’t using stunsabers, but real Jedi weapons. Opposite the five warriors were two also very real Jedicon, Naguis’Dakor in service to Zalaria. Naguis meant that they were the mid-level, the equivalent of Jedi Knight in the Altarin’Dakor system, or so Kiz understood. Vormav and Zopar were their names, if Thrakus had their pronunciations correct.
He shook his head in growing consternation. They had increased their odds, but it still took five Jedi Knights to hold their own against two Jedicon. Guess it’s better than the first time though, when one of them knocked ten Jedi Knights senseless, he thought.
It’s wasn’t a matter of obtaining enough Force power – that depended on each person and was uniform across both galaxies. Jedicon weren’t inherently stronger than Jedi in this galaxy. But there were two main areas that Jedicon had advantages in, and both stemmed from their lifelong studies to become what they were. First, they simply knew more and seemingly lost Force powers, and generally had a better knowledge of fighting techniques. Secondly, they had more experience using both the Force and personal combat. Kiz didn’t want to guess how many each had killed by simply rising through the ranks.
Vormav and Zopar were among a very small population of Zalaria’s Jedicon who were actually willing to train the NI’s Jedi. Most refused to even come onto the planet’s surface, and hated the so-called “false outlander Jedi” with a vengeance. Even Vormav and Zopar refused to mingle with the other Jedi or have even passing relationships with any of them. This aloofness kept both sides wary of the other, and made Kiz more than uncomfortable around them. How were they supposed to fight together when they couldn’t even stand each other?
The Jedicon looked very wary, now, as the five Jedi Knights moved forward, carefully testing their opponents’ defenses with thrusts and jabs from their blades. The object of this exercise was to disarm one’s opponent or drive them off the mat without causing a serious injury. No special Force powers beyond the fighting instinct were allowed – other groups were practicing special Jedi powers and energy manipulation in special training grounds outside Vectur.
Suddenly three Jedi rushed forward on Vormav, and the Jedicon’s blade became a blur of light as he parried blows from three opponents. The other two Jedi took the opportunity to go after Zopar.
Vormav’s three enemies were driving him back before their combined attacks, and Thrakus watched the action with growing enthusiasm. Perhaps the NI Jedi had gotten a little closer, now. Vormav was totally on defense, blocking multiple strikes with his azure, Altarin’Dakor lightsaber. Meanwhile, Zep Prings’nyl and Baden Wren were holding their ground against Zopar, the three combatants’ blades humming through the air and coming together with a series of hiss-crashes.
Suddenly Vormav gave a small cry as he stumbled off the edge of the mat, falling to his back. Sutel Cloke came down too, his momentum carrying him forward and out of bounds. In respect to his opponents, Vormav shut off his weapon and moved away from the edge. Cloke had to follow suit, having stepped off by accident.
Then everyone’s
focus was on the other match, where Zep and
“Nice work, teams,” Thrakus said, applauding. He was overjoyed at the outcome, more because no one had been killed or lost a limb than because the Jedi had won. Other matches had not ended so fortunately. A week before, Jedi Knight Brajo had lost his left hand and had required a prosthetic replacement. It was hard training, but the order to do so had come straight from Xar himself. As much as he might inwardly disagree, Kiz was forced to obey, and obey enthusiastically.
“Good teamwork on
Vormav, people,” he said, continuing to point out the
strengths and weaknesses of the fight. “Sutel, don’t
overextend yourself and watch your balance. Zep and
Zopar nodded. “Yes,” he agreed in accented Basic. “In a real fight I do not let go of my weapon. If I lose one hand, then I will take hold with my other hand, and you would be open to attack,” he finished matter-of-factly.
Thrakus eyed the Jedi Knights with an intense gaze. “You see, that is the resolve and determination of an Altarin’Dakor. You must be just as determined as they are, or you’re not going to survive your first real fight with one.”
The other Jedicon trainer gave a nod of respect. “I was forced back, but not disarmed. Follow up on your attacks and do not let your guard down.”
The Jedi Knights took the comments respectfully for the most part, except for Sutel Cloke, who seemed to be chaffing inside at the correction Thrakus had made. He was of the new, more radical philosophy headed by the Jedi known simply as ‘Nova’ and other young Jedi who had passed through the accelerated training program. Thrakus realized he should have an eye kept on him. Use of the True Force might eliminate some of the old dangers of Jedi instruction, such as some of the dark side snares, but it also had its own dangers. Let anger and aggressiveness dominate for too long and it would still lead to problems.
“All right then, dismissed. Thank you, Vormav and Zopar, for your assistance in this exercise.”
The Jedi and Jedicon made ceremonial bows, then parted to go their separate ways. Thrakus turned toward the main exit when he noticed a familiar figure standing there, leaning against the doorway.
“How are things, Jacob?” he asked. “Congratulations on your promotion to Adept, by the way. We’re even once again.”
Jacob “Jinx” Skipper smiled and shook his head. Cutting a stark figure with his black hair and silver lock, Jinx, Magistrate of the Moro System, had recently returned from there on a mission to evacuate his people, the Renastatian refugees, and secure House Vortigern’s holdings. He was a staunch supporter of Xar, Misnera, and the faction against Nova and his upstarts. Thrakus didn’t sense much mirth in the man’s attitude today, and knew something was bothering him.
“Thanks, Kiz” Jinx said. “Care to walk?”
“Okay, lead the way,” Kiz replied, falling into step beside the other Adept. “What’s going on?”
“Where are we headed, Kiz? The whole Division, I mean.”
“In terms of what?” Thrakus thought he already knew what was bothering the man.
Jinx shook his head as they strode along. “It’s the same problem that occurred as soon as Grand Master Misnera took power. There’s a pretty vocal group of Jedi who didn’t support him in the first place, and they certainly aren’t for all these new baby-sitting missions overseeing refugees. And they resent his taking position as Commander of Special Projects on th