Prologue: Awakening

 

            Street Market

            Merinama Prime

            Merinama System

            3,929 Years Before the Founding of the Republic

 

            Waves crashed upon the sparkling black sands.

     The two young boys dashed across the beach, kicking up puffs of dark sand as they ran along the edge of the shore.

     “Look, Nim!” cried the taller, lankier of the two. “There’s something in the water!

     Nimlin’s gaze followed his friend’s outstretched arm, excitement building as they approached a glittering object resting just within the shallows. “I see it, Tark! It must have washed up after the storm!” The squall that had blown through the day before had eaten away large swaths of coastline, exposing additional ruins that had supposedly been buried for untold eons. It was exactly the kind of thing the young boys had come looking for.

     In his haste, Nimlin passed Tark and splashed into the water in front of the object first. The rippling waves obscured it from clear view, but it looked small enough to pick up. Gingerly he reached down into the water and grasped the object with both hands, then lifted. His thin arms, young muscles still developing, drew the thing up from the sand and out of the water. He was surprised at how light it actually was in his hands.

     The artifact glistened in the light as he held it up to study it. It was just larger than his palm, made of a pearlescent yet unfamiliar material, and covered with inscriptions of a strange-looking style. It was shaped almost like a teardrop.

     “What is it, Nim?” Tark asked, transfixed.

     “I don’t know. Maybe a pendant?”

     “Too big, I think. Is it worth something?”

     “You always just think of money.” Nim shook his head, studying the object all over, giving it a little shake. It looked like Tech, but he couldn’t discern any buttons or controls. Nothing he tried worked – either the power supply was empty, or it was activated by some other, unknown means.

     “I’ll take it to Dax,” Nimlin said, “See if he knows.”

     “He probably won’t know what it is. You hang around him too much.”

     “If he doesn’t know what it is, he’ll at least know someone who does,” Nimlin countered. “I’m taking this one back for sure.”

     “Fine,” said Tark. “In that case I’m going to keep looking for real treasure.” With that he took off back down the shoreline in the direction they were heading.

     Nimlin studied the artifact for a moment in wonderment. Could it really be an artifact from before recorded history? There were legends of races and civilizations that had existed eons ago, before the galaxy had been developed, when Ancients had apparently roamed the stars. Many such artifacts had been found on Merinama, as well as other places. But no one had ever found out what they did or to whom they’d belonged to. The possibility of this being another piece of the puzzle was intriguing.

     Turning, Nimlin glanced back toward the shore, in the direction of the city. Above, vast arcologies dominated the sky, towering columns with metropolises resting atop them, partly obscured by puffy clouds. Nimlin didn’t pay them any heed; his home was below, now, with everyone else. He’d long forgotten what life was like up there; he had been too young to remember much before they’d been forced out. Most residents of the city didn’t even notice them up there, anymore.

     Letting Tark continue on with his search, Nimlin tucked the artifact into the pouch hanging down from his shoulder strap and started running back towards the city.

 

                                    *                                  *                                  *

 

He ran into the city known to locals as the Lowers, passing by many residents hanging their morning laundry as he ran past their sandstone dwellings. On street corners, minstrels sat and played their syats and other, more exotic instruments, filling the air with their melodious strings and flutes.

     Like most other street urchins, Nim was dressed in whatever he could scrounge up, just enough to maintain modesty under the sweltering pink suns above. In his case, that meant a pair of short pants for his legs, a simple vest over his bare torso, and a headscarf that he used to cover his head to keep off the sun and absorb sweat. Besides his shoulder pouch, he carried little with him when he went treasure hunting.

     Moving into the main avenues of the Lowers, he found his progress slowed as he hit crowds of people now out and about, most heading towards the large open markets in the city squares. There, one could buy just about anything, from exotic foods and spices to appliances and equipment from all across the galaxy proper. Everyone wore clothing intended to keep its owner as cool as possible. For many, that meant long bolts of fine cloth wrapped around bodies and heads alike. The younger generation, by contrast, kept their shoulders, stomach, and legs bare for the most part. Most Merinama natives, like Nimlin, had dark skin that naturally kept off the sun and didn’t burn easily.

     The Lowers were built on a large hillside interlaced with canals that provided the city with water. Each was enclosed in walls that would hold the water at intervals of each level. Therefore Nim would pass a line of buildings, weave his way through the crowd to cross the street, climb some steps to the next level and across a canal, then pass more open-columned buildings again in a constant cycle. Artificial waterfalls ran down from each canal and flowed under the street below to the next one, all the way to the bottom and the shore he’d left behind.

     Nim kept climbing from street to street, past the waterfalls surrounded by hanging gardens and vegetation, heading ever closer towards his destination. Occasionally, a hovering sled would float down the street over the heads of the throng, advertising this business or that service. Others held rich merchants or dignitaries, often Duros or some other starfaring species, those who lived the kind of life Nimlin could only dream about.

     Still other advertisements claimed to offer passage to the Uppers, those islands floating in the sky above, but Nim hated lies like those. He knew there was really no way to go to the Uppers once you lived in the Lowers. It was a different world up there; the denizens of the Lowers might as well not exist as far as the Uppers were concerned. The promises of ascending to that glorious paradise were all a sham; he had firsthand experience of that fact. Once you were of the Lowers, then you would always be there.

     Finally he reached the crest of the hill, where the city widened out and the massive columns supporting the Uppers rose up in the distance. Buildings gained more floors and the streets became flatter and wider. Nim kept running deeper into the city, until he entered a section of more narrow, winding streets and less-trafficked roads. Shops and markets lay around every other corner, and the smell of spices and sounds of bartering filled the air as he passed.

     Before long, he had reached his destination: a nondescript, four-story sandstone structure along a modestly-traveled street corner.

     Weaving past a group of robe-clad pilgrims and checking to make sure no one was watching, Nimlin deftly vaulted up to the second-story ledge of the building and ducked beneath a hanging carpet to enter the cantina. At this hour of the day there were rarely any patrons – the staff would just begin to set the tables and start the day’s grub to get ready for the lunch crowd. Nim dodged a spindly Yunigal worker mopping the floor and sauntered his way confidently up to the large, squat being behind the bar.
     Dax’s full name was Daxisunumisunamis, or something like that. It was too long for Nim to try and pronounce, anyway. He was a Burkuain, a pudgy race of creatures with folds of tough, greenish-blue skin drooping around their sides, six limbs, and four eyestalks protruding above a wide-lipped mouth and inset nostrils.
     “My boy, do you always have to enter through the windows?” Dax nearly bellowed, though his tone was jovial. “Stairs are too good for kids like you, I conclude.”
     “Good morning to you too, Dax,” Nim grinned, hopping up to take a seat across the counter from him. “Busy day ahead?”
     “Your sister came here again this morning,” Dax sighed, pointedly ignoring his question. “She’s looking for you.”
     Nim grimaced. “What if I don’t want to be found?” he said.
     “How much longer do you expect to hide out in my place?” Dax asked. “You can’t keep this up forever.”
     When Nim didn’t reply right away, Dax gave a loud snort and leaned onto the counter with his lower set of arms. “Playing hero, it’s going to get you in trouble eventually, boy. Word is getting around about you.”
     “I’m not trying to be a hero,” Nim shook his head. “Anyway, I found something today on the beach I wanted you to take a look at.”
     “Don’t tell me you’ve been out treasure hunting again. Another ancient artifact?”
     “This one’s real,” Nim said, glancing around the room and then, satisfied of their secrecy, handed the teardrop-shaped artifact to the bartender. Dax took it in one pair of hands and held it up, scrutinizing it for a moment.
     “What do you think it is?” Nim asked.
     “I’ve never seen anything like this, boy,” Dax said, focusing on the artifact with a squinting eye. “Could be something left over from one of those ancient wars.”
     Nim nodded, becoming excited again. After all, historical records could not be found from over fifty thousand years ago. People claimed that there had been a terrible war that had ravaged the entire galaxy, yet details about that war were virtually nonexistent. One thing was clear: after the war, there had been virtually no technology left in the galaxy at all. From that time civilization had developed from nothing, right up until modern times. Due to the lack of information about it, it was most commonly known as the Dark War.
     But Nim had doubts as to whether there ever was any war at all. Maybe there was no galactic civilization before fifty thousand years ago. Maybe that had just been when the first races started traveling the stars.
     However, scientists had dated some of the ruins on Merinama – like those they’d found on the beach – at over a million years old. If that was the case, then some kind of civilization had definitely existed long before the Dark War had occurred. And due to evidence like that, legends abounded about ancient civilizations older than recorded time. Still, no one seemed to know anything about them, or even what their technology was – much less how it worked.
     “Be careful, boy,” Dax warned suddenly. “Strangers here in the Lowers.” There was a cautious edge to his voice.
     “We have strangers all the time here, Dax,” Nim said. “This is still a hub for space traffic in the sector, you know.” Merinama was far from the most prominent member of the galactic community, but it wasn’t nearly as isolationist as some, such as the Kashi Mer.
     “These are different, boy. Some of those mystics, calling themselves Followers of Ashla, snooping around this sector. Looking for fresh blood, I think. You’d better lay low for a while.”
     Nim took in the news grimly. Dax knew of his abilities, of course – but he was one of the few in the Lowers who did. Though he had a reputation as something of a hero – gleaned from good deeds done here and there – both he and his sister had taken great care to keep their powers a secret. “I’m not worried,” he told Dax.
     “Do at least try to stay out of trouble,” Dax said, waving his eyestalks. “Your sister works hard to make sure you both are taken care of.”
     “Zali and I can both take care of ourselves,” Nim countered. He took the artifact up again and hopped back down off the seat. “I’m going up.”

                                    *                                  *                                  *

Nimlin sat in his private hideout, his one personal place of refuge in the universe. Only he, Tark and Dax even knew that it existed, and the bartender had been kind enough to take Nim in and let him stay there since he was nine years old. It was a small storage space halfway between the second and third floors of the cantina, just above the ceiling of the main bar. There was a small window to the outside though, and Nim was just small enough himself to fit through it. It made an excellent place to hide from ruffians, authorities and his sister alike - which he'd often had to do. The streets were opportunistic and oftentimes brutal. He’d seen many perish due to the harsh reality of life in the Lowers.
     The artifact hovered above the low table on the floor in front of him, held aloft after Nim’s asked it to stay there. Above, a lone, rustic fan hung from the ceiling, spinning just fast enough to circulate air in the dry daytime heat.
     Nim thought about what Dax had said, about the Followers of Ashla. They were an enigmatic group, and conflicting rumors abounded concerning them. Most common folk were afraid of them, blaming them for everything from poor economies to natural disasters. At the same time, it was genuinely accepted that it was the Followers and their amazing powers that had constructed many of the wonders throughout the galaxy - the floating continents on Arc, the domed gardens of Dathron, the planet-sized Space Station Indra -  even the Uppers, themselves.
     Yet the Followers of Ashla must have come for a reason. Tensions were high between the civilized galaxy and the Rakatan Empire, which had been embroiled in an intense civil war for centuries. The Followers were always looking for more recruits to defend their territories in case the Rakatans' war spilled over into the wider galactic community. The mystics had their own agenda; that much was certain. They dabbled in politics, economics, and military affairs. They influenced education and interstellar relations. They were becoming more and more powerful, yet they were still disorganized, divided into many groups, and each one seemed to act independently of the others. The news that some were on Merinama didn’t bode well for any residents with the Gift.
     Nim knew that Zali’s and his abilities were somehow connected to the strange powers of the Followers. Still, they had done everything they could to lay low and avoid getting noticed. The last thing they needed was to get snatched up and embroiled in someone else’s power struggle. That was why he and his sister were living in the Lowers, anyway.
     Five years before, when Nim had been six years old, he and Zali had been cast out of the Uppers when their parents, members of a ruling family, were ousted from power and brutally murdered. After the coup, hostile families had taken control, and the two of them would have been killed, too, if a maid hadn’t hidden them in a garbage chute. Afterwards, with nowhere else to go, they had been forced into exile in the Lowers where they now lived. Nim didn’t remember much about life up above. Zali probably did, but she never talked to him about it. Besides, it was all done, now. Nothing could change the past.
    Turning his thoughts from the subject, Nim studied the ancient artifact floating in front of him. He still couldn’t discern how to activate it, or even what it might be used for. It sat there, covered in strange markings, yet utterly silent.
      He considered trying his powers out on it. He didn’t know if it would work, but it should be worth a try. If nothing came of it, maybe he could always sell it for a nice price down in the markets. Still, something about this artifact intrigued him more than any he’d ever found before. It beckoned him.
     He reached out tentatively with his mind, and willed something – anything – to happen.
     The result shocked him. All the markings on the artifact lit up, glowing with an inner light. Then, looking up, he saw the hologram in the air above his head.
     It was a square of light, covered with a script Nim could not recognize or read, like a series of abrupt strokes laid about in a strange pattern. It looked like no language he’d never been exposed to before. What could it mean?
     Then the artifact broke apart. Nimlin stared in shock as it split itself into a dozen pieces, each floating equidistant from the others, with a glowing yellow core in the center. In surprise he realized that he wasn't even holding the thing up anymore - it floated of its own volition. The artifact whistled softly then, and in his mind he suddenly got a single picture, a clue to what this artifact might do. It was intelligent; he was sure of it. It was as if the thing was trying to communicate with him, trying to be used as it was originally intended, yet Nim had no idea what that purpose could be. Could it be like one of the strange machines people had developed, calling them droids?
     Suddenly he heard a ticking sound coming from the large pipe running up through the floor and into the ceiling, and immediately Nim stopped using his powers. The light faded, and the artifact came back down to rest on the table.
     Hearing a familiar rhythm coming from the pipe, he pulled aside the carpet covering his small window and glanced downwards. There indeed was Tark, glancing up at him from the alleyway below.
     “Toss down the rope!” Tark whispered up at him.
     Nim did as his friend asked, and after a moment Tark came climbing up to sit beside Nimlin in the hideout.
     “Well, did you find out anything?” Tark asked, coiling the rope back up beside him.
     Nimlin hesitated. Should he tell his friend about the holographic projection that had come from the artifact? It had, after all, been activated with Nimlin’s powers alone. Tark would never be able to make it work through conventional means. He wouldn't even understand. “No,” he said.
     “Too bad. I guess we’ll go back out tomorrow for some more searching, right?”
     “Um. Sure,” Nim said noncommittally. He was still thinking about the artifact, and what he’d seen in his mind. He wondered if there were any books he could read that would tell him more about the Dark War, or what had happened before. But he’d already visited all the museums, and no such records existed anymore. It was hopeless; he’d have to learn everything by trial and error. Maybe he’d learn more if they found other, similar artifacts…
     “Hey, are you okay? You look strange,” said Tark.
     Nim shook his head, brushing the question off. “Never mind. Let's find some breakfast; I'm starving.”

 

                                    *                                  *                                  *

 

Nimlin wandered the marketplace, checking the many stalls of the hawkers beneath the massive canvas roof that covered the street. Passerby generally avoided or shunned him and some of the vendors tried to shoo him away when he approached, thinking him a common street urchin. Not that he wasn't, of course. But he also had a code of honor. The plump, juicy-looking fruit at one stall looked particularly appetizing, and Nim knew he could snatch one up without anyone noticing. But stealing was wrong; Zali had taught him that much. So he looked at the few coins that she'd given him - his allowance for the week - and he counted out some and bought the fruit instead.
     He made his way back the way he'd come, munching along as he walked. His thoughts returned to the artifact. It had been a few days now, since he'd discovered it. Every night he would reactivate it, watch it split open again and try to communicate with him. He still hadn't figured out what it was trying to say, but given enough time, he was pretty sure he could. He'd never found a piece of Tech that he couldn't figure out. It was almost intuitive for him. He knew that it was part of his gift, his abilities, yet this one puzzled him. It was a real challenge. He had to find out what it was.
     He emerged from the market's side street and into a busy thoroughfare. The crowd was thick, and he had to stop to try and find a way through the moving bodies. As he watched, a row of shouts suddenly went up among the crowd, and denizens began milling about in alarm. Whistles blared from somewhere in the air, and Nim jumped up onto a raised flower bed to look down the street.
     A group of law enforcement officers were running down the street, pushing their way through the crowd in pursuit of someone. Nim couldn't tell who they were chasing - there were too many robed figures moving frantically around. As the officers passed, he heard one of them shouting, "Thief! Out of the way!"
     The officers passed, but hadn't gone much farther before they seemed to lose their quarry completely. It was understandable; there were simply too many people in the street. A local festival was going on, and beings were everywhere. The officers would simply give up; they looked like security for one of the local businesses, but even if every shop had guards, they couldn't eliminate crime in the Lowers completely.
     Nimlin knew he could help.

     It wasn't that he wanted to be a hero. There was just something that compelled him to act. He knew he had the Gift for a reason, and if he didn't use it, it felt like it would be some kind of cosmic waste to the universe. Besides, his reputation did give him certain advantages that were useful on the street...
     The thief must have gone to ground, hiding. Nimlin closed his eyes and felt around him, looking for the rush of emotion, the surge of adrenaline the thief would be feeling.
     There he was. Across the street, hunkered down around a corner next to a large rubbish bin. As he watched, the figure - wrapped in a close-fitting brown robe with another strip of cloth covering the lower part of his face - turned and began moving stealthily down the alley.
     Nimlin leapt.
     A few in the crowd gasped as he passed over their heads, then landed in the dirt alley between the two buildings. The thief saw him and took off running. He carried a bag of something in one hand, hefting it up as he ran. Nimlin followed, his powers giving him strength and speed.
     The man began weaving though the maze-like side streets, barreling past anyone in the way. Nimlin kept up, his small frame allowing him to deftly avoid crashing into anyone or anything. The thief glanced back at him briefly, dark eyes peering out from beneath his hood. Then he ran around another corner and down a deserted street.
     Nim followed onto the street and then, seeing no one else around, squeezed his middle fingers to his palms, focused on just ahead of the running man, and blinked hard.
     A loud boom exploded just in front of the thief. The man cried out in and fell to the ground, sending up a cloud of dust as he did so.
     Crouching down, Nimlin reached out and asked the bag to come to him, whispering fiercely. The bag left the man's limp fingers and floated its way back to Nimlin. The thief recovered quickly and turned back toward Nimlin in surprise, and Nim willed the bag to hurry up. Once his hands were on it, he grabbed the bag and took off the other way. It was a little heavy, and objects jostled inside, but he hoisted it over his shoulder and ran as fast as he could. He knew the thief would be chasing him, now.
     He quickly rounded the corner again and found himself facing a wall. A sudden idea striking, he crossed his fingers, inhaled sharply and held it, imagining that the wall was instead a normal-looking alleyway. Then he turned to the side and continued running.
     The thief rounded the corner, hot on his heels, and ran straight ahead. Never guessing he was seeing an illusion, the man ran headlong into the wall. Nim heard a muffled grunt, and turned back to see the man bounce backwards and fall to the ground, unconscious.
     Smiling slightly to himself, Nim quickly slid down another alleyway and paused to take stock of what he carried. He opened the bag, exposing its contents to the midday sun.
     Gem-encrusted objects, small containers, and strangely-shaped objects looking like amulets or talismans lay inside. The bag was full of antiques and odd-looking artifacts. His thoughts immediately turned to his own artifact. Even after several days of searching on the beach, he hadn't found anything else like it. It should be safe in his hideout.
     Closing the bag, he retraced his steps to the busy street again. By this time the crowd had returned back to its normal, sedate traffic of dark-skinned beings. Nimlin made his way up the street in the direction the officers had come, and after a few moments found the store that had been robbed, its front glass shattered and several guards standing about. Walking to the storefront, he tossed the bag onto the floor just inside.
     "There's the stuff that was stolen," he said simply. Then he turned and ran off.

 

                                    *                                  *                                  *

 

"Throw down the rope," Nimlin whispered up at Tark.
     In response, the rope came down, but before Nim could start up he saw Tark sliding down the it from above. The taller boy landed beside him with a grunt, then turned and looked at Nim excitedly.
     "Come on, let's go shopping!" Tark said, smiling. He reached into his pouch and produced a wad of currency wrapped tightly with a strip of leather. "Look how much money I got for it!"
     "Got for what?" Nim asked in confusion.
     "That old artifact we found. It was just sitting there doing nothing, so I took it to an antique store to see what it was worth. I never thought we could get this much for it!"
     Immediately Nimlin felt his heart drop to his knees. He knew he'd felt something when he'd seen those other artifacts! "Why did you sell it?!" he demanded.
     "What do you mean? You said it was nothing special. You thought it wasn't worth anything..."
     "I just said that!" Nimlin shouted. "I... It’s worth a lot. It's really important to me." He clenched his fists in frustration. He should have kept it with him at all times!
     "I didn't know," Tark said. "I'm sorry."
     "We've got to get it back," Nim said, looking up at him.
     "How? We'd have buy it back from the store."
     "Maybe they'll take that money back. Come on; show me where you sold it."
     "But... this is a lot of money..."
     "One way or another, we're going to get it back," Nim told him. He started off purposely down the street, pulling Tark along beside him.

 

 

                                    *                                  *                                  *

 

When they reached the store, Nimlin's small hope of getting his trinket back fell into full-blown despair. This store, like the one before, had been broken into, and security was everywhere, walking across broken glass and making a tally of what was missing.
     "I'm so sorry, Nim," Tark said. "I didn't know. I can't believe this happened. It must have been just a few minutes ago. If we'd just gotten here earlier..."
     Nimlin just shook his head. Something was wrong, here. It was too strange that two different stores would be robbed on the same day, at virtually the same time. This was coordinated.
     He approached one of the shopkeepers inside who was sweeping the floor, collecting the glass fragments for disposal. "Do you know who robbed your store?" he asked up at the man.
     The wrinkle-faced man looked down on him with a grimace. "What do you care, street rat?" he snapped. "This has ruined my business for the whole year!"
     "I just want to know who did it," Nim said adamantly.
     In response the man shook his head and spat on the floor. "What difference would it make? Those black-scarves act like they own the whole Lowers. There's nothing can be done."
     Nimlin immediately turned and started walking back down the street. Tark caught up to him after a moment, looking over at him with a confused expression. "What are you doing, Nim?"
     "I'm going to get it back," Nim said, looking straight ahead.
     "What? Are you crazy? You heard what he said; the robbers wore black scarves! That means they belong to the Hand of Dusk!"
     "I know that."
     "We don't even know where their hideout is!"
     Nimlin stopped walking, causing Tark to turn around and look at him. He thought for a long moment. Tark didn't know much about his abilities, and he didn't know that Nim could find someone by feeling their emotions and strong motives. He was sure if we focused hard enough, he could still locate those responsible and track them back to their base. "I can find them," he said.
     Tark just shook his head. "Even if you can find them, we can't just sneak into their lair. They have guards, and weapons."
     Nimlin fixed him with a stare. "Trust me on this, Tark. I can get it back. We're going to find it."
     "The Hand of Dusk isn't a gang you play around with. We could get killed."
     Nimlin considered that. He knew what it was like to be close to death; if not for the kindness of their maid, he and Zali would have died as children. He'd faced a harsh existence as an orphan on the streets of the Lowers. He knew how to handle himself, and he was confident that the Gift - his powers - wouldn't let him down.
     "We'll be fine," he promised Tark. "Come on; I may need your help."

 

                                    *                                  *                                  *

 

Dax was back behind the bar again, cleaning the countertop as always in preparation for the day's clientele, when she entered.
     "Have you seen my brother?" the girl, perhaps seventeen, asked, staring across the cantina at him.
     "No Miss, I'm afraid not lately."
     "I know he's staying here. He's refusing to come back to the apartments."
     "As I understand, he doesn't like it there, Miss."
     "Please, tell me where he is. He needs to stay close so I can look after him."
     Faced with the tone in her voice and the way she looked at him, Dax couldn't turn her down. He knew she worked hard to support herself and her brother.
     "I overheard them talking about some antique they found out on the beach," he confessed. "Apparently they sold it to a shop in the Northeast Quarter and were going to get it back for some reason."
     "I see," she replied.
     "There's a lot of shops in the Northeast Quarter," he told her. "I'm sure he'll come back to his room this evening. You may rather just wait for him here..." he offered.
     "No," Zalaria said, turning. "I'll find him."

 

                                    *                                  *                                  *

 

They paused outside the metal door that barred the way deeper inside the secure business area that took up a dozen square blocks in the middle of the Northeast Quarter. They'd already managed to sneak their way past several guards on the way in.
     Nimlin stood in front of the door's control panel, which was just above head height for him. Sometimes size could be an advantage – other times not. Tark stood beside him, constantly glancing back down the alleyway for signs of activity.
     "This is the most dangerous thing you've ever tried to do, Nim. Are you sure about this?"
     "I'm sure," Nim replied, narrowing his eyes as he studied the glowing panel in front of him. He'd never seen any kind of electronic lock that he couldn't figure out within a few moments...
     He tapped on the screen, and a numeric dial began flashing animatedly in front of him. He knew that the visitor would have to touch the right numbers in the right combination to get in. He let his hand hover over the screen and tried to feel what the mechanism was saying. Before long his eyes had closed completely.
     Almost instinctively his hand tapped the screen several times, and when he opened his eyes the dial began spinning on the screen. Then the door slid open sideways.
     "Unbelievable..." Tark whispered beside him.
     "Let's go," Nimlin said, moving forward.
     They moved through narrow, seemingly abandoned alleyways, always on the lookout for guards. Before long they approached a large square surrounded by squat buildings, inside which a large number of people had gathered. Two large vehicles sat on the ground, and groups of robe-clad beings lounged around - some near a cookfire, some near a makeshift bar behind some crates. Others stood around idly, handing weapons they carried as they watched over the square.
     Nimlin knew this was the place; he could feel the surge of emotion coming from the group. They were members of the Hand of Dusk.
     In the center of the square, between the two vehicles, a group of them were going through what must have been a dozen large sacks like the one Nimlin had rescued earlier. Each bag contained artifacts that the gang was going through, piece by piece, and loading them into one vehicle or the other.
     Signaling to Tark, he ducked through a doorway and let them through an empty building and toward the other side of the square. Then he crouched at a similar entrance on the other side.
     "This is it," he told Tark. "Watch those guards, and if anything happens, run for the exit. I'm going to get the artifact back."
     "How?" Tark whispered. "There are too many guards... You'll be spotted for sure."
     Nimlin shook his head and crawled through the doorway. The building adjacent to this one had a large veranda, and a small crawl-space beneath it. Glancing one more time to make sure he was unseen, Nimlin dove under the veranda and began crawling forward. Muffled voices could be heard from the square, the men discussing their finds.
     Reaching the front of the porch, though still hidden by its shadow, Nimlin watched the men empty the last of the artifacts from the bags. He still couldn't see the one he was looking for. In the center of the group was a tall man dressed in black robes, despite the heat. He must be their leader, Nim thought. With him stood what looked like two bodyguards, one a Duro, the other a large Herglic. The others, doing the work of loading the items, seemed to defer to them. They were nearly finished loading...
     There. Glinting in the sunlight, just like he'd first seen it. It was in one of the worker's hands, just produced from the bottom of the bag. The veiled man turned towards one of the vehicles, the closer one. No one could see what was happening but Nimlin. Now was the time to act.
     Nimlin reached out his hand, fingers clenched, performing his trick just like before. This time the blast appeared in the air beside the man. Immediately the entire gang of thieves went on the alert. Their weapons came up, and they began shouting and looking around in surprise. And the veiled thief dropped the artifact.
     Reaching out his hand, he wished the thing come to him as desperately as he possibly could. The artifact slid across the ground and up into the air, flying towards him faster than a man could run...
     And suddenly stopped.
     Nimlin blinked in surprise, then grimaced and redoubled his efforts. Then, to his complete dismay, the artifact moved away from him completely.
     It settled into the hands of the man in the black robe.
     "Get him!" the man yelled into the air.
     The gang scattered, and half a dozen men started running in Nimlin's direction.
     Run, Tark! Nimlin thought desperately, crawling backwards as fast as he could.
     He made his way for the other end of the veranda, while most of the gang members headed for the other side, from which he’d come. He slid out and ran into another building. Then, weaving his way through several doorways, found himself in a room with a latticework stone wall looking on the outside. He slid down to the floor in the corner, making himself as small as he could and willing himself to be unseen. He crossed his arms and clenched his fists, thinking to himself over and over, Be invisible. Be invisible. Be invisible.

     Men rushed by the door outside, glancing briefly into the room, but moving on quickly. A moment later there were no more sounds of pursuit. His powers had worked, again.

     He had just started to believe they’d made it when he heard the shouting outside. He turned and looked through the openings in the wall and instantly knew things had gone from bad to worse.
    Nimlin watched in dismay as the men pulled Tark bodily to his feet and shoved him towards the center of the square. Gang member followed him, jabbing him in the back with their rifles. Nimlin’s hopes that Tark had gotten away were gone, replaced by the coldness of the reality they had just fallen into.

     Tark was brought before the leader, the man in the black robes. The man looked around, his eyes dark beneath the veil he wore.

     “Come out or your friend will die!” the man shouted roughly.

     Nimlin thought frantically, trying to figure out what he could do. He knew that he’d be able to get out and save himself, but Tark was trapped. He couldn’t just abandon him; he’d been responsible for bringing his friend along. If only Tark hadn’t sold that artifact!

     “This is your last chance!”

     Nimlin knew he had no choice. The gang had his friend and the artifact. He had to go out. Standing, he ran back through the rooms of the building and out the entrance. As soon as he emerged, a dozen rifle barrels turned in his direction.
     Before he realized it, he was standing in the center of the group next to Tark, with the dark-clad man in the center, his bodyguards on either side. The man withdrew his face veil and stared down at Nimlin with dark, harsh eyes. There was a touch of gray to the beard on his chin, and his dark face was lined with creases. He looked like a native of Merinama.

     Tark stared at him in dismay, as if disappointed that Nimlin had actually come out. Nimlin just looked away. They were both caught, and whatever was coming next, he knew the Hand of Dusk didn't have a reputation as merciful to enemies.
     The dark man hefted Nim's artifact in his hands. "You wanted this," he said darkly.
     Nimlin didn’t respond. He mind raced; he couldn’t come up with any way to get out of here, not without abandoning Tark…
     "A Latent, aren't you? Interesting." The dark man interrupted his thoughts again. He gave a smirk. "You probably think you can use magic or such nonsense. But let me tell you boy, I am fully in control of the Bogan. You have no chance to defeat me."
     Nimlin just stared hatred at him.
     "Swear yourself as my slave, and I will let you live. Refuse, and die now." At Nimlin’s stoic silence, he turned to the Herglic guard beside him. "And as for your friend, he is worthless."
     Before he could react, the Herglic drew a long knife from his belt and slashed Tark from hip to shoulder in one powerful stroke. Nim’s friend fell back to the ground, where he began convulsing, uncontrollably. Nimlin stood frozen, staring down in shock. It had been so… casual.

     “What do you know about this!?” the dark man shouted, shaking the artifact at him. “Tell me, or you will die like him!”

     “No…” Nimlin whispered in disbelief. His best friend… Tark… He was still shaking on the ground. A pool of blood spread across the dirt beneath him. “No…”

     He looked up at the dark man, and felt no fear at all. Only total, complete… hatred.

     “NO!” he screamed.

     He felt the power within him swell up, somehow stronger than it had ever been before. It grew and grew, so that what had once felt like a trickle instantly became a raging river, widening more and more, faster and faster. Air rippled around him, flaring the robes of his attackers, then pushing them back under a sudden onslaught.

     So fast! It felt like a chain reaction inside of him. He couldn’t control it! The roaring river of power suddenly inside him emptied… into a vast ocean beyond anything he’d ever imagined. His vision went white.

     Then there was only the explosion, ripping away from him like a tornado.
     Everything around him was annihilated in an unstoppable wall of energy, expanding outward at blinding speed, vaporizing the dark man, his bodyguards, the gang members, the vehicles, the buildings around them – everything. One moment they were there, and the next there was nothing but dust.

     Unstoppable rage pouring out of him, Nimlin stood in the center of an explosion of fire that destroyed a dozen city blocks around him in the span of an instant. The ground shook, an expanding crater sinking down with him at its epicenter. There was nothing left. A cloud of dust surrounded him, and directly above, a blue sky that rested in tranquility.

 

*                                  *                                  *

 

            The spacecraft set down gently on the newly-bare ground, and as the boarding ramp descended, two robed figures emerged from within. They made their way quickly down the side of the crater, to the two small forms huddled in the center.

     Nimlin looked up as the strangers reached them, staring up at them dimly. Beside him, Zali – who had found him just standing there – put an arm around him, placing herself in between Nim and the newcomers.

     “Who are you?” she demanded.

     The leader of the two threw back his hood. He looked middle-aged, his hair long and tied back behind his head. His expression showed neither hostility, nor empathy.

     “We are the Followers of Ashla,” he said, deep voice filling Nimlin’s ears. “You will come with us.”

     “We’re not going anywhere,” Zali said darkly.

     “You. You have Awakened,” the second, still-hooded man said, pointing straight at Nim. Then he turned to his sister. “And so will you, soon. This is no longer your home. Your place is among the stars. With us. Come.”

     With that he turned and started back towards the transport. Nimlin glanced up at Zali, seeing uncertainty in her eyes. He felt… emptiness. All that rage he’d felt before was gone. Tark was gone, too. He didn’t know what had happened, but he knew he’d killed his own best friend, and everyone else. In that instant, everything had changed. He felt a well of power within him, now. It was more powerful than anything he’d ever felt before.

     He started forward, and his sister came, staying by his side. The other robed man followed behind them.

     As they neared the transport’s hatchway, Nimlin caught a glimpse of something shiny sticking halfway out of the crater’s sandy slope. He blinked in surprise. Somehow, the artifact had survived.

     He asked it to come, and it floated across the ground to land in his hand. No one tried to stop him. He carried it gingerly as he, his sister, and the mysterious men made their way up the ramp and into the waiting vessel…

 

 

                                    *                                  *                                  *

 

It is said there are beings known as Avatars of the Force.

Those legendary beings that appear once in a thousand generations.

They say there is no limit to their powers.

Their purpose, they say, can be for good… or for evil…

 

 

Varnusian Productions Presents:

 

           

 

 

            Catacombs beneath the Royal Palace

Vectur, Varnus

            0945 Hours

 

            Jinx ran down the corridor as fast as his Force-enhanced legs could move.

     Walls blurred as he ran, straining to reach the stairwell back up to the Archives. Dark footsteps hammered in his ears; the Jedicon were right behind him. Too many to handle. He had to warn the palace!

     Desperately he flung himself around a turn, bouncing his shoulder off the far wall and ricocheting down the next tunnel. An instant later a flash and an explosion sounded behind him, an energy blast destroying that part of the wall he’d just passed at head level.

     He hit the stairs and bounded up three, four at a time. The sounds of the Jedicon turning the last corner sounded behind him. “Sologan! Shangit comtas!” they shouted in Altarin’Dakor. Jinx didn’t know what they meant; he just knew he had to run.

     Leaping the last couple of meters, he passed through the reinforced doorway that had sealed off the catacombs from the rest of the palace, barely taking an instant to slap his hand against the control panel on the side. The doors began to swing shut, but he couldn’t take the risk they would hold. It might not even close in time. He kept going.

     Reaching at his belt, he pulled his commlink from its belt clip as he vaulted through the archive chamber. “Jinx to Command!” he shouted into the device. “Intruder alert!”

     He exited the room and turned into another corridor. The archive floors, down in the basement, were dimly lit; it was still too early in the day for most of its visitors. There was no one else in sight. Jinx glanced down at his commlink and saw that he had no signal. His commlink was being jammed! He stuffed the device into his pocket with a curse as a crash sounded behind, from the room he’d just left.

     Jinx risked a glance over his shoulder and saw three Jedicon stumble from the room and turn in his direction. Fear stabbed into his gut, threatening to slow him down, but he thrust it away, using his military training to keep his mind on the situation.  He ran harder.

     He was almost to the end of the corridor. Another stairway up was coming up on his left, while ahead the wooden doors to the palace library lay shut before him. He looked back again at his pursuers…

     And skidded to a halt as one of the Jedicon leapt into the air. His companions slowed and threw their hands forward, and Jinx felt a surge of the Force as they pushed. The Jedicon launched through the air toward him at blinding speed, covering the ground in a couple of seconds. Jinx started in surprise. Never thought of that one!

     He reacted by instinct. As the Jedicon’s piercing yellow blade came to life, Jinx brought up his own lightsaber and ignited it, trusting the Force to guide his hands. He caught the enemy’s blade on his own and thrust it to the side as hard as he could, but the enemy’s speed was too fast to clear it completely. He twisted his body as the Jedicon tackled him, and a burning pain sizzled his left shoulder as the blade grazed him slightly. Then his opponent’s momentum tore him away from Jinx and sent him crashing through the doors to the library. Jinx shook his head to clear it through the pain. His arm still worked, though. He’d been lucky; it only felt like a flesh wound. Hope no one’s in the Library… the thought popped into his mind.

     Turning, he fled into the stairwell, closing the door and slicing the control panel on the other side. Then he began leaping up the stairs, seeking the ground level. Below him, a shaft of blue light stabbed through the door and began to cut downwards.

     Only two more floors to go. He had to make it and warn the others. There really were Jedicon in the Royal Palace! The sense of dread was almost overwhelming. The invasion they had awaited and feared for so long was finally upon them. If only he had listened to Rynn earlier! Now he had inadvertently tripped whatever trap they had been planning to lay. He had to get to Control and activate the alert, get the defenses ready. He just hoped he wasn’t already too late…

 

                                    *                                  *                                  *

 

            Front Courtyard, Royal Palace

Vectur, Varnus

0945 Hours

 

            The morning sun glinted brightly across the tops of the skyscrapers in front of the Royal Palace. The city was alive and bustling with activity, though not the kind it was normally used to. This was far from an ordinary day in Vectur. There was an air of foreboding, of tension. Of destiny.

     Kiz Thrakus stood atop the long balcony overlooking one of the palace’s front courtyards. From here he could observe the progress that had been made overnight on the defense preparations, which he’d been in charge of. New layers of barricade walls had been constructed on the massive square and steps leading up to the palace entrance. On the front wall, troops had set up defense stations, and quite a number were there keeping watch, already. Further out, in the city, armored vehicles and walkers patrolled the streets, while aircraft kept watch in the skies above. Civilian traffic in the air was virtually nonexistent at this point. In fact, civilians could hardly be found anywhere.

     Much of Vectur’s populace had safely made their way into the emergency shelters the day before, or even this morning. Still, Vectur’s population had been bursting at the seams, what with all the refugees pouring in lately. There wasn’t enough room for everyone, so many were holed up in their homes or in safe rooms, or in hostels somewhere. Still others were hiding in the Royal Palace itself. Hopefully, the fight wouldn’t make it this far. But it still made sense to be ready.

     An enemy attack seemed imminent, now. There were two Titan-class Battleships in the system, making their way slowly, inexorably closer. Kiz doubted they would be the only two they faced before this was over with.

     At least there had been enough time to get everyone ready. Internally, Kiz wondered why the AD had waited so long, giving them time to prepare their defenses. He really doubted it was a tactical error on the part of their commander – this Nimrod was supposed to be a military genius, and unbeatable. That left only one possibility that Kiz could think of: that the enemy didn’t care how ready they were. That thought troubled him most as he stared out over the waiting city ahead.

     His commlink beeped, and he reached down to his belt and pulled it out. “Thrakus here.”

     “Kiz, status report,” Xar’s voice came over the commlink. “Everything ready down there?”

     “We’re all done here,” Kiz replied, staring back out over the city. “Ready as we’ll ever be.” Xar had tasked him with prepping the palace and surrounding areas for an assault. Kiz had set up the defensive positions on the wall, the square, and Star Way, the main road cutting through Vectur. They had just now finished everything.

     Xar’s voice cut back in. “Scanners report the two Titans in the system are moving in, now. Estimate about six hours until they reach orbit.”

     “Sounds like this is the big day, then.”

     “How are the men holding up?”

     Kiz made a wan smile. “If you’re referring to the soldiers, I think they just want this thing to be over with.”

     “We’ll see. With luck, they won’t even have to see combat. The shields should hold up against anything trying to get in.”

     “Copy that,” Kiz nodded. Vectur’s city shield was one of the strongest in existence; it had held up under Titans’ beam weapons before, and was able to prevent both weapons assault as well as landing parties from reaching the city. As long as the shield was there, Vectur was well protected.

     “Get up to the command center when you can. I’ve got a few things to take care of, and without Nico and Alyx, I’m going to need you to take charge if I’m indisposed. Don’t be doing anything foolish, putting yourself at risk if things get hot. I need you in one piece, not burning out in a blaze of glory.”

     “I could say the same thing about you, sir,” Kiz said.

     There was a moment of silence. “That’s all. Xar out.”

     The line clicked off, and Kiz replaced the commlink on his belt, shaking his head. Actually, he was worried about the soldiers tasked to defend the palace. They were holed up here, backed into a proverbial corner, what with the enemy surrounding the whole neighboring space. Now a vastly superior force was marching ever closer, and the men knew their odds of victory were slim at best. He’d been afraid morale would break even before the assault began. Once the actual battle was underway, he hoped they would pull together, but who could know for sure? Kiz understood how they must feel; the division’s Jedi were in the same position.
    He looked down, checking his wrist chronometer. 0954 Hours, he noted, feeling a bit of relief. Lorien Kal and Seydinl would be the Treasury by now. At least that tidbit was secure and taken care of. They would be safe down there in case the palace itself was breached. Or at least, as safe as one could be. Again it really came down to keeping the shield in place. Hopefully they could damage the enemy enough to convince them the assault wasn't worth the effort, and they would leave. But that was probably, he feared, wishful thinking.

     Turning finally, fairly certain that everything was in place, he moved along the balcony and made his way down a flight of stone steps to the ground level. The day was warm and the weather fair, the sky interrupted only by small, puffy white cumulus clouds. The sun shone brightly down onto the stone walkway. As he turned into one of the main corridors leading inside, he noticed more activity, both military and civilian. A couple of palace guards passed through an intersection, on patrol; a few palace personnel were out, running errands; a refugee or two passed by, heading to the mess hall or back to their shelters. Still, it was sparsely populated compared to just a few days ago, when the hallways had been shoulder-to-shoulder all day long.
     As he started down the corridor, he heard the swishing sound of a door opening, coming from the stairwell near the intersection ahead, and a figure suddenly burst out of the doorway, turning towards him. Kiz stopped in his tracks as he recognized Adept Jacob “Jinx” Skipper, barreling down the hallway towards him at breakneck speed, obviously pushing his Force Speed to the limit as he ran. Kiz blinked in confusion.
     An instant later, three more figures burst from the doorway, and Kiz’s blood froze. They wore combat armor, their faces and hands were covered in intricate black tattoos, and they held lightsabers ignited in their hands as they chased after their prey. His danger sense, previously oblivious to anything being wrong, suddenly flared up like the sun. It can’t be… he thought in bewilderment. This couldn’t be happening…
     “Sound the alarm!” Jinx screamed, running closer. “The AD are in the palace!”
     Instinct took over, and, Kiz turned around and ran over to the nearest control panel back near the entrance. He slammed a hand against the screen and quickly typed in his command code. “Red alert! This is Thrakus!” he shouted, his body surging with the adrenaline of imminent combat. “The palace is under attack!”

 

                                    *                                  *                                  *

 

 

            Shield Generator

            Vectur, Varnus

            0950 Hours

 

            Sturm Brightblade stood at the balcony railing, staring down at the streets below, wispy hair stirring in the light breeze. The shield generator tower and dish towered over its surroundings, which consisted mostly of tan-colored, archaic three and four-story buildings. The streets below were deserted, mostly due to their being in the abandoned, ill-repaired Western Quarter, but even more so now, due to the curfew in the city that had taken effect. In the distance to the east, the Royal Palace dominated the landscape, rising above the city like a giant ziggurat. Flanking it was a mass of towering buildings that stretched off to the south almost as far as the eye could see, their tops and decorative spires glinted in the sunlight.
     His eyes searched the scene below, but far more acute were his Force senses, reaching out to discern any signs of life. He could detect nothing, no life at all. Anything bigger than a cat or large bird would have stood out.
     Above him, a pair of massive turbolaser barrels extended from one of the defense batteries. Their job was to keep watch in the sky. Ground patrols and closed-circuit cameras  kept an eye on the ground. Sturm and his contingent were there to watch for Jedicon infiltrators.
     Turning, he left the balcony and went back inside, descending a flight of utility stairs. Ambient light from display panels bathed the chamber in blue, coming out from the control station in the room's center. He came to a stop and nodded to a pair of guards on watch there. Other troopers stood in the doorway, and near the entrance to the turbolift. The low hum of the generators permeated the entire building.
     Melia stood there too, watching the camera feeds. She saluted when she saw him. "The Altarin'Dakor are getting closer," she said. "Command says the two Titans are coming in and could make it here by this afternoon." He nodded, and she turned back to the display, her tasseled braids swinging.
     They continued to wait, the guards keeping track of comm traffic, Sturm listening to the drum of the giant machine which they were inside of. Two more Knights, Lyn Cousto and Darm Sakan, came into the room - both personnel he'd brought along from Ar'Kell. He felt a twinge of frustration at not being with the majority of his House members, preparing them for the impending assault. As Quaestor, he naturally worried whether things would go well in his absence. But he had to trust. He had total confidence in Vykk, and knew he would do just as well in Sturm's absence. Besides, it was important to guard the shield generator, too. It was poor luck that the enemy was moving in during Sturm's watch. He'd only been there less than two hours. That meant at least six more to go before he could rejoin the action.
     His commlink beeped at his belt, and he reached down to answer the call. "Go ahead."
     “Brightblade, this is Command. The Grand Master has ordered all units to Red Alert. Enemy forces have infiltrated the palace. Seems like they came in from underground, somehow. We are sending reinforcements to your location.”
     “Copy that,” he replied. Worried, he glanced at the others. "We'd better double the shift guard."
     "How could they get into the palace?" asked Cousto, exchanging looks with Sakan.
     Sturm wasn't sure. He knew there was a series of tunnels that ran under the palace, and possibly throughout the whole city, but they were largely unexplored. How could the AD have known enough to make their way around? They would have to be more familiar with the city than the people who lived there.
     Melia met his gaze, her dark, pretty eyes gleaming in the light. “Sir, the power generators are located underground,” she said. “You don’t think that…”
     She didn't have to finish; the mere thought was enough to warrant action. He stepped over beside one of the guards and opened a channel to the engineering room. "Brightblade to Engineering," he called. "Status report."
     He waited fifteen seconds. There was no answer.
     Reaching to the controls, he set the main display to show the internal camera feed from the power generator's control room. A window popped up, showing a view of the room's interior. The room was empty, its stations unmanned. Then he noticed something white in the corner, just visible in the image's field of view. It was a pair of legs, belonging to a single, white-uniformed figure lying on the floor. A corpse.
     "By the Twin Suns! Sound the alarm!" Sturm said. "Let's go!"
     "Shouldn't we wait for the reinforcements?" asked Sakan.
     Sturm looked over at him, noting the fear in his voice. Truth be told, he was afraid, too. There must be Jedicon down there. The last time he'd faced one, he'd defeated his enemy, but had been seriously injured in the process. He still had the scar on his side to prove it. Would the Knights be ready? They didn't really have a choice.
     "We can't wait," he told them. "They're obviously here to take out the planetary shields. Without them, the whole city will be swarming with AD. We have to stop them here."
     The room's lights went from blue to flashing yellow and red as a peeling siren began to echo down the corridors. Sturm led the way, dashing across the floor and over to the turbolift. Melia, Cousto and Sakan were right behind him. He reached the lift and hit the button. Nothing. The lights were off inside.
     "Someone's cut the power to the lift," Melia said, incredulous.
     Muttering a curse, Sturm grabbed his commlink and punched in the palace's command frequency. "Brightblade here. The shield generator has been infiltrated."
     A burst of static came out of the device in return.
     "They're jamming us now," Melia said.
     "How are they doing all this?" Cousto blurted out.
     "Enough. The stairs!" Sturm shouted. He pushed open the double doors beside the lift and started down several at a time. The others followed. Sturm went ahead and retrieved his lightsaber handle from his belt.
     They went down fifteen floors before they even reached ground level. Once there, Sturm found another security station, this one still manned with guards. The soldiers held looks of confusion as they unsuccessfully tried to use the comm. Sturm stuck his head into the door. "We've been infiltrated!" he said. "Send a team on foot to make contact with Command. The rest of you, take battle stations and don't let anyone back up here!"
     Leaving them behind, he led the others further down the stairwell. It took another ten floors before they reached the power generators' level, which had been installed deep within the ground in an old security building's cellar. The glowlamps were still on in the stairwell. Sturm came to a halt at the doors, letting the others catch up and take up positions beside him.
     He suspected that the enemy would either sabotage or destroy the power generators. It was the most logical thing to do. The question was whether or not the enemy were still there, carrying out their work. He took a second to reconcile himself to the fact he was probably about to face Jedicon once more. They might not make it out of this one. "This is it," he whispered. Melia nodded grimly.
     Then he pushed open the doors, held his lightsaber at the ready, and snuck into the hallway.
     The lights were still on inside, as well. He moved stealthily down the corridor, checking the first security station on the left. The guards inside were dead, their consoles smashed. There were no burns on the bodies; they were simply lying lifeless on the floor. Not bothering to check how they died, they moved on.
     A few moments later they passed over an elevated walkway overlooking one of the energy transfer conduits. They continued on into a stairwell and descended another floor, moving into the engineering section. Still no sign of the enemy.
     The control room contained the bodies of three engineers; the bodies had been moved mostly out of range of the holocam built into the corner, but one's legs had obviously protruded out too far. Shaking his head in confusion, he walked out on the main deck itself, where the shielded conduits lay separated by narrow, scaffolding walkways. Another dead tech was lying down one of them. This one had a black burn mark on his back.
     "Where are they?" whispered Cousto.
     Sturm shook his head. He didn't know, and that made him even more worried.
     "Look there!" Melia said, pointing.
     Sturm followed her gaze, and he saw it. A large package had been attached directly to the side of the conduit. Sticking out the top and blinking red could only be one thing - a detonator.
     Melia was there in an instant, standing on the railing and inspecting the device. Sturm climbed up beside her, while the two Knights watched back the way they'd come.
     "I've never seen one like this," Melia said. "Have you?"
     Sturm studied the device. It was round and semi-transparent. Inside he could see sophisticated mechanical workings. "This is AD technology," he said, shaking his head. "I have no idea where to even start." A chill went up his spine. If the thing blew, the entire tower might go up.
     "There's another one over here!" Sakan whispered fiercely, coming around the corner from another power conduit. "They're probably all rigged."
     "We might set them off just trying to disarm it," Melia said. "What should we do?"
     "We have to find them before they activate it," Sturm said. "They can't have gone far."
     "Which way, though?" asked Cousto. "Down or up?"
     "I'd say down," Melia offered. "Back the way they snuck in."

     “But how did they get in? We don’t know,” Cousto countered.

     “There must be a hole somewhere, where they blasted through,” said Sakan.
     A sudden premonition hit Sturm then, a hint of danger sense that he hadn't felt up until now. "No," he said. "They went up, while we were coming down here."
     Quickly he ran back to the engineering control room and activated the base's internal comm system, which wouldn't be affected by the jamming. "Brightblade to Shield Control," he called.
     No answer.
     "Come on!" he shouted, running back the way they'd come. They'd been had! He felt like an idiot!
     They reached the stairwell, and the first thing he noticed was that the lights were back on in the turbolift. He hit the call button, and the doors opened immediately, the car sitting there, waiting. He knew they were heading into a trap, but at this point there was no choice. Piling inside with the others, he sent the lift heading back up to the control room's level. He shared a brief, knowing glance with each member of his team. There was fear there, but also determination. This was it.
     The lift came to a stop, the doors opened, and all four of them stepped out onto the deck.
     All the guards in the room were dead. Two more explosive devices were attached to the generator dish's spine, which extended up through the ceiling and outside. Red and yellow warning lights flashed around and around the room.
     And three Jedicon stood waiting for them, lightsabers ignited.
     The one on the left was dark-skinned and bald, while the man on the right had the long, dreadlock-style hair common among Jedicon. Both had faces covered with scrawling black tattoos. The one in the center, however, was strangely absent the tattoos. He had short, white hair, and his face was lined from years of experience. Sturm never seen a Jedicon older than himself.
     "I am Kalaran," the older Jedicon said in accented Basic. "Surrender, now."
     Yelling, Sturm ignited his lightsaber and charged the Jedicon on the left. He sensed more than saw Cousto beside him. Melia and Sakan went for the one on the right.  The battle began.
     His blade crashed against the Jedicon's, driving his opponent back. He swung again and again in a fury, using the Force to enhance his speed and guide his blows. The Jedicon matched him stroke for stroke, keeping up, sweeping his blade to the side to avoid the occasional strike from Cousto, as well. He was good.
     He heard a cry of pain and shoved his opponent back, glancing over to see Sakan stumble back, clutching his side from a cut by the other Jedicon. Melia stepped in quickly before he could finish Sakan off, driving her opponent back with skillful blows.
     "Go help Melia!" he hissed at Cousto. As she turned and ran over to help, Sturm spared a glance at Kalaran, the Jedicon leader. He still had not entered the fray.
     Refocusing his resolve, he found himself under attack from the dark-skinned Jedicon, who howled as he came in, spinning his blade over his head. Sturm fell back, blocking and parrying the blows, turning his opponent's blade aside mere centimeters from his body. He caught one overhand blow and turned it down to the side, barely shifting out of the way as the Jedicon twitched his blade and sliced a chunk out of his robe. Then he threw his blade back up to parry a lightning-fast thrust at his chest, but in a burst of strength the Jedicon pushed his blade to the side and snapped out with a wild kick at Sturm's head. Sturm ducked and rolled forward across the floor, hearing a hissing sound as the enemy's blade struck the floor behind him. He came back up in a crouch, then threw himself into a second roll as a ball of energy flew through the air towards him. He hit the floor again hard, the blast barely missing to scorch a black mark in the metal bulkhead behind him.
     Coming back to his feet, Sturm reached out with the Force and Pulled the Jedicon toward him. The man jerked forward, not fighting it, using the momentum to come at Sturm again. His blade made a twisting form in the air, leaving the afterimage across Sturm's vision as he flew across the room in a split second.
     Sturm drew all his Force power into his body, raising his blade to strike. His arms and legs felt more powerful than they ever could, unaided. The Jedicon brought his blade down in a diagonal strike. Sturm crouched and swung his blade laterally. Both fully committed, no holding back, eschewing any defense. Either one of them would emerge from the engagement, or they both would die trying. In the end, speed, skill and luck would decide.
     The enemy's blade passed just behind him as he ducked and slid forward. Sturm's blade took the Jedicon's leg off above the knee. Blood vapor sprayed into the air.
     His opponent fell screaming, and Sturm spun back towards him, throwing out a hand and Pushing him away as hard as he could. He knew that a Jedicon never quit while he still lived, no matter how grave one's injuries were. His push sent the man flying through the air to slam against the back wall, his blade flying from his hand. He dropped to the ground, unmoving.
     Sturm turned back just in time to see the other Jedicon fall under the combined assault of the other three Jedi. While he was blocking one strike from Cousto, Melia managed to slip under his defense. She caught his blade hand with her left and stepped close, swinging her own blade laterally with her right. The attack cut him in half at the waist. Their second opponent dropped to the floor.
     Kalaran remained where he was, his expression showing neither surprise nor anger. His orange-white blade hung loosely at his side. Sturm noticed a small device hanging from his waist on his left side. The trigger for the detonators.
     He suspected this man would be far more skilled than his protégés. One didn't survive this long as a Jedicon without knowing how to fight. Plus, his lack of tattoos seemed to suggest to Sturm he was high-ranking above them. He could feel the man's Force power level, and knew that it was much more than his own. They would have to do this together.
     "Take him!" he shouted, running forward. The others moved in too, all four of them rushing the Jedicon at once, even the injured Sakan. Their raised their blades, feet pounding across the deck as the sirens continued to blare through the air.
     Kalaran moved.
     He rushed towards the others first, throwing a hand forward. His Force Push sent all three scattering, but took Sakan, his main target, straight on. The man flew backwards, shouting in surprise all the way until he slammed into the far bulkhead. Sturm heard bones cracking.
     "No!" he shouted, surging forward. He drew close, but another Push hit him hard, harder than any he'd been hit with before. He tried to push back against it, but it was like trying to stop a Star Destroyer with his hands. Before he knew it he hit the floor, sliding backwards.
     Kalaran engaged Melia and Cousto at once, his blade snapping back and forth, keeping them both on the defensive. Melia tried to circle around behind him, but the experienced Jedicon was too fast, tying up with her and snapping a foot out to catch her ankles. She slipped but rolled away, somersaulting off one hand and back to her feet a couple of meters away. Then Kalaran shifted away, knocking Cousto's strike upwards in a lightning-fast move and driving his blade through her torso in one smooth motion.
     Sturm was back on his feet and on Kalaran before he could finish off Melia. He flew in, striking wildly and with all his strength. For a moment he drove the Jedicon backwards, then the man pivoted and parried one of his strikes forward past him, then thrust Sturm out of the way.
     Melia came in, shrieking as she struck at the enemy. Kalaran matched her attacks calmly, then at the right second, countered back with a powerful stroke that threw Melia's sword-arm wide. His next blow took her diagonally across the chest, and she fell, dead before she hit the ground.
     In final desperation, Sturm threw himself back at his opponent, attacking with all the skill he'd accumulated over the years. Kalaran blocked his blows calmly, wordlessly, as if expecting anything Sturm could throw at him. Sturm realized he couldn't win. Frantically he locked blades with the Jedicon and pushed in close, grabbing the man’s arm with his free hand. Kalaran grabbed his, as well, and they stood there, staring into each other’s eyes, grunting with effort as they struggled for a moment.

     Then in a burst of strength, Kalaran threw Sturm backwards, a wave of force blowing out from his body, lifting Sturm off his feet and into the air. Then the Jedicon thrust a hand forward, and a massive blast of energy erupted from his hand, taking Sturm straight in the chest.

     Sturm cried out in shock and pain, but his surprise quickly became a sense of relief. The Jedicon was far stronger than he was, maybe even as strong as Xar. But he had hit Sturm with a blast of energy, completely ignorant that Sturm’s natural Force affinity was for the absorption and dissipation of energy.

     The blast still blew him backwards through the air. His clothes still burst into flame; his skin still burned. Pain still tore through him. But Sturm drew that energy into his body, sending it flowing back down to his own hands, and threw them back towards his opponent. He sent every bit of Kalaran’s energy back towards the Jedicon, mixed with his own.

     The blast of force hit Kalaran and threw him into the air as well. He yelled in surprise, flames bursting out of his clothing. He flew backwards and slammed hard into the far wall, falling towards the floor.

     Then Sturm burst through the transparisteel surrounding Shield Control, crashing through the command console and displays. It took all his remaining power to avoid collapsing and push himself back to his feet, waves of agony flowing through his body. He was almost out of strength.

     He looked over at Kalaran. The Jedicon was on the floor, stirring groggily. His clothes were charred and he was wheezing loudly. Gripping his lightsaber, Sturm ran back across the room as fast as he could, knowing this could be his last chance. Kalaran grabbed his blade in one hand and slowly turned back towards him.

     Sturm closed the distance and struck downwards with all his might. Kalaran’s blade came up in a blur of light. Sturm felt his opponent’s blade cut through his torso even as his own blade sliced the Jedicon’s right arm away, cleaving through his opponent’s lightsaber in the process. Sturm cried out and fell away; Kalaran screamed. Then suddenly Sturm was on the floor, fire spreading through his body, his vision narrowing down into blackness.

 

    

                                    *                                  *                                  *

 

            Royal Palace

            Vectur, Varnus

            1005 Hours

 

            Jinx clashed blades with the Jedicon over and over, circling in a deadly dance of light and energy. Thrakus had engaged a second enemy behind him. A third had disappeared somewhere inside the palace after cutting down a hapless worker in the corridors, along with the rest of the infiltrating Jedicon, who had streamed into the intersection by the dozens and dispersed into various side corridors. The situation was dire. Anyone in the palace not a skilled enough Force-user to take on a Jedicon would be slaughtered, mercilessly. Even strong Jedi wouldn't be able to stand against groups of them. By this point they could be on nearly every level, going after the command center or other vital points. Alarms sounded through the corridors. If they find the refugees and the children…

     Jinx longed to finish his opponent and chase them down. An overwhelming sense of urgency spurred him to fight even harder. If the Jedicon couldn't be rooted out of the palace, then this whole assault would be over before it even began, and everyone on Varnus was going to die.
     But first, he had to focus on the man trying to kill him. The Jedicon was good; these were not the average, front-line Jedicon that Jinx had faced before. These were Nimrod's elite warriors. Jinx knew that if he didn't have Thrakus there to help him, he'd probably be dead already.
     He blocked one high strike and parried it right, then struck at his opponent's left, but the Jedicon's blade was already there, blocking that strike and snaking around to stab at Jinx's chest. Sidestepping and twisting to the side, Jinx knocked the strike aside and disengaged. He stepped backwards over the body of a dead soldier, one of a group of palace guards that had rushed to help as soon as the alarm was sounded. The Jedicon had slaughtered the men with Force pushes, blasts of energy and lightsaber slashes, all while still dealing with the two Jedi Adepts. Now it took all the focus that Jinx and Thrakus had to keep their opponents at bay.
     Jinx knew how battle between two master-level Force-users inevitably ended. As long as each kept their defenses up, they would counter each other's stroke endlessly, provided there was little to no difference in power, speed and expertise. The harsh reality was that only when committing everything to one singular attack could one defeat an opponent quickly. However, the risk of being killed in the process was great, which meant duels could often last a long time.
     Today, there was no time to waste.
     Darting back in, Jinx struck twice on the right and then once in a powerful overhead swing. The Jedicon blocked his attack and swept his blade down, then released with one hand and backhanded Jinx across the face. Pain exploded in his cheek as Jinx fell backwards, then the Jedicon was over him, swinging down in a finishing move, his eyes full of hate and rage. Jinx snapped out with a foot, catching the man in the knee, then parried the blow away and down, where it sliced through the body of a dead guard. Then he lunged forward and swept his blade across is oppenent's midsection.
     The Jedicon blinked in surprise, then stumbled forward, clutching his middle. Jinx rolled to his feet, spun, and cut the man's head off in one clean motion. He stared in near-shock as his opponent’s body fell to the ground. He’d won; he had just killed one of Nimrod’s Jedicon!
     The other Jedicon, seeing what happened, rushed at Thrakus suddenly, roaring at the top of his lungs. Kiz, holding his own, backed up a couple of steps and raised his blade. The enemy struck down, hard, but Thrakus stepped forward in sudden strength and blocked the attack while it was still high. He shoved the enemy's blade up, snapped an elbow into his face, then sidestepped and raked his blade across the Jedicon's middle. The enemy toppled, falling face-first onto the stone floor.
     "Come on!" Thrakus yelled, turning from his fallen opponent and sparing Jinx a glance. "We have to stop the rest of them!"
     Jinx blinked hard and came back to his senses. Kiz took off down the corridor, and Jinx followed along right beside him.

 

 

                                    *                                  *                                  *

 

 

            Command Center

            Vectur, Varnus

            1007 Hours

 

            Xar came running back to the command center as soon as the alarms started going off. Within minutes, he had assembled his Cadre, his personal team of loyal elites, into the room with him. They were some of the few that he felt he could really trust – as much as anyone could by trusted, anyway. He stood behind Adept Gui Sun Paan, who was on watch for this shift, both of them staring at the main holoscreen. Behind him were Attrid Xoan, Ralagos Akala, and Nadia Ispen. He'd called Jinx, but couldn't get through due to enemy commlink jamming. They’d be able to talk using AD communicators, if they had them, but all traditional hand-held commlinks in the palace were out of operation.
     Xar stared at the screen in utter frustration. Nimrod’s Jedicon had snuck into the Royal Palace. His palace. It was... unthinkable. Xar's blood boiled at the thought. They had to be stopped, right now, before they did irreparable damage. To think that they’d actually been able to sneak inside undetected…
     "I found them," Paan said suddenly, switching the main display to one of the palace's internal camera feeds. "First floor, main corridor."
     Xar looked at the image Paan displayed. Dozens of tattooed warriors ran out of a stairwell leading down and were fanning out and scattering into different corridors. Some ran down the hallways, attacking everyone in sight like wild animals. Others made for other turbolifts or stairwells. Far down the hallway, he could just make out another pair of Jedicon facing off against two of the division's Jedi, lightsabers clashing in the background. They were too far away to accurately identify. Several bodies littered the floor in the corridor.
     "When was this?" Xar demanded.
     "Two minutes ago," Paan reported.
     "They could be anywhere by now," Xar said, biting back a curse. "They'll probably be here any second.”

     He turned to the other occupant in the room who stood peering over an officer’s shoulder. She stood there, brooding silently as she watched the tactical feed from orbit. He fixed his wife with a stare, looking askance at her. Had she known the attack was coming? How much would she lend her help? Their relationship lately had become… strained. Xar had found out  that his wife had been keeping things from him. They hadn’t slept together the night before, and Xar had barely spoken to her all morning. Now he couldn’t help but wonder, a question that he’d never really asked himself before; did he really trust wife?

     He knew that he had to. Otherwise, there was no hope for himself, or for the NI for that matter. “What now?” he asked.

     “Nimrod had no help from me,” Zalaria said, probably knowing what he was thinking. “I don’t know how they got in.” She looked at him. “Do you believe me?”

     Xar thought about that for a moment. “The Catacombs,” he said finally, ignoring the question. “Somehow they knew the layout. We should have foreseen it, sealed them off.”

     “It’s too late now,” she said simply.

     “We need your help to stop them,” he said.

     “You’ll recall my own Jedicon are… predisposed at the moment,” she told him.

     Xar nodded; she was right. Suspicion had already played its part. Zalaria’s Jedicon and military units were all in orbit because the NI didn’t want to risk putting Altarin’Dakor at their backs. She had agreed to use her forces to supplement the space battle, which they’d all assumed would come first. It had been yet another mistake.

     But bringing them back down would take time, and would require dropping the shields long enough to allow them through – which could also let in Nimrod’s troops as well. “Can you help us stop them?” he asked.

     She considered. “If I show my hand too early, Nimrod may use drastic measures to annihilate us, rather than try and take us by conventional means. But I will do what I can. At the least, I will make sure this command center stays secure. But let me be blunt and say that I believe we will soon be facing an attack from without as well as within.”

     Xar knew what she meant; it was probably only a matter of time before Nimrod’s fleet attacked full on. It seemed like someone had tipped the enemy’s hand, but if they didn’t use it to their advantage quickly, it wouldn’t matter. Zalaria would need to coordinate her own forces with Gaius in orbit, to ensure friendly forces didn’t start shooting at each other. He nodded to his wife, then turned back to Gui Sun Paan.

     “Secure the Command Center and inform me of any status changes in orbit or on the ground using these," he said. He pulled out one of his AD communicators and placed it on the console next to Paan, then turned to the rest of his companions. "Let's go."

     With that he took off towards the nearest door, the rest of his Cadre behind him. He caught sight of Zalaria, watching him leave, and wondered when he would be able to see his wife again.

 

                                    *                                  *                                  *

 

            Shield Generator

            Vectur, Varnus

            1014 Hours

 

            Sturm slowly pushed himself up to his hands and knees. It took almost all the strength he had left. His side felt strange; it had gone cold, along with most of his lower body. His breathing wasn’t working right either; it took great effort to draw each breath, and they were no longer full and satisfying. He didn’t have to look down at his body to know he was probably dying. His opponent’s blade had cut through his right side, slicing through his ribs, cutting through his lung, and coming back out of his back. He figured he had only a few moments left to live.

     He turned his head, looking towards his fallen opponent. Kalaran sat propped up against the wall, body broken from its impact against it. His face was etched in pain and his right arm ended in a blackened stump.

     Sturm managed to grasp his lightsaber handle in his hand and crawl forward. Almost… made it… he thought, etching closer, ever so slowly on hands and knees. He dragged his blade along beside him, it’s glowing edge slowly burning a furrow into the deck plating. He knew that if he could just finish Kalaran off, the shield generator – and the city – would be saved.

     The Jedicon didn’t seem to have the strength to get up. He looked back over at Sturm, his expression becoming strangely placid. There was no hate in his eyes. His lightsaber was destroyed; his right hand was gone. He gave Sturm a slight nod of respect, as if acknowledging their stalemate. Then he smiled slightly.

     As Sturm continued to edge closer, Kalaran reached to his side with his left hand, gripped the control for the detonators at his belt, and flipped the switch.

     Sturm was only a meter away. He was almost there.

     A tremendous explosion rocked the building from below. Then there was a flash of light from the detonators up on the shield dish structure.

     The room went white.

 

                                    *                                  *                                  *

 

            Royal Palace

            Vectur, Varnus

            1010 Hours

 

            Xar and the others ran down the stairway leading from the command level down into the main levels of the palace. At each intersection they saw beings running down the corridors, fleeing to safety. There was no way to know how far the Jedicon had reached;  but they were certain to kill anyone they saw. Xar continued onwards.

     They emerged onto level five, in the areas open to the public, and proceeded through several large, deserted chambers with banners and tapestries along the walls. Xar prepared himself to meet the enemy at any moment. These Jedicon had broken into his palace, the very place where he had grown up, raised as crown prince of an ancient tradition and people. He had walked these hallways as a child. He was ready to fight for his home. There would be no mercy for the enemy.

     They made it into a large chamber and approached one of the large balconies on the west side when the Jedicon attacked.

     “Look out!” Atridd shouted just in time. Xar looked up and saw figures leap off the balcony behind them, screaming war cries and whooping wildly as they glided through the air towards them, lightsabers extended.

     No words were exchanged; the Jedi simply counterattacked. One flew straight at Xar, yelling, and Xar reached out with the Force, grabbed the man in a viselike grip, and sent him sailing on over Xar’s head and out the window on the other side of the room. The man screamed as he fell.

     Then the rest of the Jedicon landed, and the battle ensued.

     Lightsabers flashed to life and crashed against one another. There were no duels; the fights were short and bloody, pitting Xar’s closest bodyguards – and some of the few beings he called friends – against Nimrod’s finest front-line Jedicon. Xar, Atridd, Ralagos, and Nadia clashed against six Jedicon in a whirl of death.

     One came straight at Xar, too fast to hit with an energy blast. Xar’s yellow blade snapped to life, and he clashed blades with the wild-eyed Jedicon facing him. Xar drew in nearly all his Force power, the maximum that normal beings had been able to achieve in a thousand generations. With two blows he struck his opponent’s guard down and cleaved his arm away at the shoulder. Then he spun, blocking a downward blow from another enemy. He sent the first flying backwards with a powerful Push to the rear, which impacted the man against the wall hard enough to leave an indention. Then he locked blades with the new opponent and slid in, fast. He took the man’s legs out from under him with a powerful kick from behind, then swept his blade out of the way and finished him with a stroke that cleaved the Jedicon in half.

     He turned as Atridd sliced through another opponent with a yell, then saw Ralagos lock blades with his opponent and grab the man’s face with a huge claw. Roaring, the Togorian ran forward and slammed the enemy’s head into the wall with a crack, then disengaged his blade and stabbed the man through the chest.

     Nadia was still fighting, but she was managing to back her opponent towards the balcony. Xar ran past as Atridd and Ralagos went to help her, then two more Jedicon leapt up from below and landed in front of him.

     His speed enhanced to the maximum with the Force, Xar struck the first one twice on the right, feinted again on that side, then slid past to his left and sliced the man from the other side in a blur. The last Jedicon came straight in, stabbing for Xar’s heart, but he parried it quickly to the side, sliced through the man’s head with his return blow, then ran to the balcony and leapt over the side, his team on his heels.

     A flora-lined second balcony lay below him, two levels down. Xar dropped the whole distance, slowing himself with the Force at the last second, and landed amid total chaos. More of the division’s Jedi clashed with nearly a dozen Jedicon. He saw Amleth Uiara, Sian Rocanon, Ian Durran, Kip Slocum and Val Ricaud, all being driven back before a line of enraged Jedicon. Two dead division Jedi already lay face down on the walkway behind the enemy. Landing behind the Altarin’Dakor, Xar Pulled three of them backwards, cleaving one from behind as he fell.

     Ralagos and Atridd landed next and fell upon the other two, slicing them to pieces within a few seconds. Nadia followed a second later. Amazingly, everyone had survived the first encounter. The odds more even now, and Xar saw his Jedi go on the offensive in earnest. Amleth Uiara lunged at one Jedicon, the enemy’s blade passing just past his side as he rammed his blade through his opponent’s midsection.

     Nearby, Kip Slocum and a red-skinned Jedicon humanoid lunged at each other, each attacking full-on without the slightest hint of trepidation. Both opponents struck downwards, Slocum’s blade slicing his opponent from shoulder to thigh, the Jedicon’s blade landing on the Ho’Din Jedi’s arm and cutting it off at the elbow. Slocum screamed, and a second Jedicon lunged forward and thrust a blade through his stomach, finishing him off. But before he could extract the blade, Val Ricaud was there, slicing the Jedicon’s arm off and then carving a swath out of the man’s chest with his return stroke.

     Atridd and Ralagos made short work of the last two Jedicon, and Xar moved to the balcony’s edge and looked around, taking stock of the situation. His Force-enhanced ears could hear more screams, blaster shots and lightsabers clashing in the background. This was it; the whole palace was in a fight for its very survival. Few soldiers had the skill of Xar and his Cadre, enough to take on a Jedicon and actually survive.

     “All right!” he shouted, rallying his forces with a wave of his blade. “Fan out and help out anyone else in trouble! We’ve got to flush them all out before they can get in reinforcements and---“

     He broke off as a flash of light lit the sky to the west, and he stared in horror as a massive explosion ripped out of the shield generator, blowing the dish apart and expanding to cover several square blocks of ruined cityscape in an expanding wall of flame.

     Then the sound hit his ears, the sound of destruction and the complete shattering of the NI’s chances of keeping the AD from making a ground landing. Xar looked on in complete shock, at a loss for words. Somehow, the AD had penetrated the defenses at the generator. That meant everyone guarding it was dead, too. Now the shields were down, and AD drop-ships would be coming in at any moment.

     “Grand Master!” someone shouted, throwing him out of his thoughts. He looked over and saw Nadia there, staring at him in concern. Atridd, Ralagos and the other stood by, awaiting his orders. “What do we do now?” she asked.

     “Do what I just said,” he replied tersely. “I’ve got to get back to the command center! Go!”

     With that he left them behind, running inside the palace and heading for the stairs. It was only a matter of time, now. And time was running out.

 

                                    *                                  *                                  *

 

Treasury

Royal Palace, Varnus

1011 Hours

 

Rynn ran through the chaos that filled the lower corridors of the palace. People were everywhere: civilians running for safety, soldiers heading to their stations, Jedi hunting for the Jedicon that they said had invaded the palace.
     The Altarin'Dakor had struck so fast! How had they gotten inside? Rynn felt a cold feeling in her stomach as she moved, knowing that she had been the only one to know that this was coming. She had sensed it, in a feeling as though the enemy was under the ground itself, but she hadn't been able to believe it. She didn't know how to interpret her budding new ability, and as a result the whole palace was now infested with Jedicon. People were dying, and she had to do everything in her power to save those she could.
     "Hold tighter!" she said, looking down at the young boy beside her. Derek ran to keep up with her, though thanks to his uncanny Force abilities he hadn't slowed or become winded. Still, talented as he was, fighting wasn't an option for him. They had to make it to the treasury, fast.
     They went though an intersection where people crossed back and forth in a state of near-panic. "Stay calm!" she shouted, though her voice was all but lost in the din. Beings of various species milled about, looking for shelter. There were innumerable rooms in the palace, but few would be safe from a powerful Force user.
     They turned a corner and she finally saw her destination ahead. "There!" she yelled, pulling Derek alongside her. She had called ahead, hoping the door hadn't been sealed yet, but the commlinks had been down. She breathed a sigh of relief to see that they had not.
     Numerous beings were still piling inside, and at the door she noticed at least one familiar face. Bren was there, his tall-shouldered form towering over most of the others, a look of concern covering his face. His expression immediately relaxed when he saw Rynn and Derek coming among the final few refugees.
     "Rynn! Derek!" he cried as they finally reached him. "Come quickly inside! We're just about to seal the doors!"
     They stepped inside, and Bren followed, keeping an eye down the corridor for others seeking shelter, or for approaching enemies.
     "Is everyone here?" Rynn asked, seeing what must be well over a hundred bodies piling their way into the recesses of the palace's massive treasure vault. "All the children are accounted for?"
     "Most got here earlier this morning," Bren replied, nodding as he kept watch.       
     "Will this keep the Jedicon out?" Derek spoke up, his voice sounding far more mature than his small frame would imply. "They can't cut their way in?"
     "This treasury has never been breached, and the walls are strong enough to make it nearly impossible for a lightsaber to penetrate," Rynn said.
     "But if we lose, they'll eventually get in," Derek said. "Nimrod can get in."
     She looked down at him, noticed the serious look on his face. "Yes," she replied, giving him the honest answer. "I suppose he can."
     "It won't come to that," Bren assured them. He took one last look down the corridor, which was now empty. "That's it; time to close us in." He nodded to a young Jedi Guardian standing there, still a teenager and too young to join the fighting. "Close the door."
     The young boy activated the controls and the massive door slowly swung shut with a muffled whomp. The boy tapped a few last keys and the panel went red. "We're locked in now," he reported. "We're the only ones who can open the door electronically, now."
     "Commlinks will still work, so we'll know what's going on outside," Bren said.
     Rynn nodded, then took stock of the mixed group of individuals inside the vault. She gave a nod to Lorien Kal, Thrakus' wife, who gave him a brave smile in return. Their daughter Seydinl was in her arms. She also saw Oriana along with her and Paan's children, as well as Fenora and a host of other women and children, and multi-racial civilians.
     "We'll be safe in here," Bren assured them. "Please have a seat and make yourselves comfortable." Then he looked at Rynn. "We should attempt to use Battle Meditation to help the others."
     "I agree," Rynn nodded immediately. "They're going to need all the help they can get."
     As Derek looked on, she walked over to a section of empty floor and sat down with Bren, cross-legged, each of them facing each other. Then they reached out with the Force and began to focus.

                                    *                                  *                                  *

 

Medbay

Royal Palace, Varnus

1015 Hours

 

Erim Vannik, chief physician of the Royal Varnusian Palace, stood ready in the emergency care ward of the palace's medical facility. With him, spread throughout the room, were all of the physicians and nurses under his authority, standing by. Each had volunteered to serve, even though they knew that if the enemy actually invaded the medbay, they would likely all be killed. Despite that chance, their oath to treat and care for the sick, injured and dying was stronger. He was very proud of them.
     For five years Vannik had served in the palace, seeing beings of innumerable species, treating everything from headaches to severed limbs, heart attacks and cancers to shrapnel wounds. In all that time, he had never grown bored or considered leaving. There was always something new to learn, even for someone well into middle age. That quest for knowledge was what kept him going, day after day. The Force grant that his journey didn't come to an end, this day.
     The entire room had been cleared of all patients to make room for the wounded that would inevitably be arriving. There had been no one in critical or serious condition, so Vannik had ordered all of them into one of the city's shelters the day before, anticipating what was to come.
     Cleared, that was, except for one particular patient. Vannik turned around and stared through the protective transparisteel wall between himself and the quarantine area. Reserved normally for patients with extremely infectious or dangerous conditions, it was the safest place he could think of to store this particular charge. The man lay on a single bed inside, his eyes closed, his expression tranquil. Unfortunately, Jedi Master Nico Flygras had not yet woken up. It reminded Vannik of another comatose Force-sensitive he had treated in that room.
     Just like before, it wasn't a physical ailment that afflicted the patient, but rather a mental one. And though his brain-wave activities appeared as those of a normal, sleeping human, there was something far worse going on inside Flygras' mind. Thus again, Vannik had reached the limits of his medical knowledge, and though it drove him to seek the answers all the more, there was nothing else he could think of to do. Only a powerful Force-sensitive could possibly reach inside his mind and find out what was really going on. Barring that, all Vannik could do was wait for the man to wake up.
     If he ever did.
     As long as Flygras was in Vannik's charge, his life and heath were completely the responsibility of his doctor. And Vannik would do anything necessary to keep his patient alive.
     Turning back to the personnel gathered there, he began one last walkthrough of their stations, ensuring that they were totally prepared. A battle was raging out there, but soon one would begin here, as well: a battle not to end lives, but to save them.

                                    *                                  *                                  *

 

Command Center

Royal Palace, Varnus

1015 Hours

 

"The shield generator's been destroyed!"
     Gui Sun Paan stared in shock at the officer's viewscreen, seeing only a massive, expanding wall of flame filling the landscape where the generator had once stood.
     "By the Twin Suns. We're in trouble now..." he whispered. He turned away, unsure of what to say. It was the worst possible thing that could have happened - the shields had been the main line of defense for Varnus. Though there were auxiliary generators and shields in other areas, this had been the main hub, guarding the zone right over the heart of the city. There wouldn't be enough coverage now to keep the AD out - or to stop orbital bombardment, should they choose to do so.

     He glanced across the main console toward the tall, imperial-looking woman staring impassively over his shoulder, arms crossed impassively beneath her breasts. Zalaria looked down at him and her eyes narrowed. "They'll be attacking in full force soon, now. We must prepare for the ground assault. Ready the city's defenses and launch all fighters."
     Paan's mouth dropped open halfway, and he felt a stab of indignation at being told what to do. The situation was obvious to him, as well. Still, she was right, and he didn't want to risk talking back to her. So he simply nodded, realizing the direness of the situation. This was it. He keyed the main internal palace comm, which would link to all sectors in and around the palace square. Every loudspeaker, both internal and external, would carry his voice. "This is Palace Command. We are at Red Alert status. The palace has been breached by enemy forces and the planetary shields have been neutralized. Activate all defense systems. Ground troops to positions. All fighters, launch immediately and move to prevent ground assault."
     He watching on the various monitors as troops rallied to positions. Most had already started within the last fifteen minutes or so of the alert. Still, with the enemy already inside, he realized just how poorly defensible their location was. This was a palace, not a fortress. There were no heavily-armored security doors to close. There were no automatic sentry gun emplacements in the floors or ceilings. There were only a few guard stations inside, and then the barricades they had built up outside the palace. Hopefully they could keep the enemy from coming in, because once they did, it would be all over. Unless, of course, Nimrod simply decided to bomb the planet from orbit...
     "Don't worry," Zalaria spoke up from behind him. "They'll try and capture Vectur intact, not obliterate it."
     He spun in his chair, surprised how easily she could read his mind. He always kept himself shielded with the Force. "How..." he began.
     "Sir, priority communique from Sector Admiral Gaius!" exclaimed the officer at the main Comm station.
     "What is it?" Paan asked, turning towards her.
     "Sir, it appears the two incoming enemy Titans have disappeared!"
     "Disappeared?" Paan said. "That makes no sense. Are they sure?"
     The officer sat still for a moment, listening to her earpiece with a frown. Then an instant later a warning light flashed on the main control board, and Paan checked the main screen in confusion.
     A line of red enemy blips had appeared in mid-orbit over Varnus, directly opposite the New Imperium First Fleet's position.
     "Sir, multiple Titan-class Battleships have appeared in orbit and are on an attack vector!" shouted the logistics officer.
     "What?!" Paan blurted.
     "De-cloaked," Zalaria corrected him, her voice like steel. "The others weren't really there."
     "What do you mean?" Paan said, staring up at her.
     "This situation is serious," she said instead. "I have to coordinate my own forces." With that she moved to a second holoscreen and console, the same in design and function as the one Paan was using. Paan spared a glance to the back of the room, where two of Zalaria's bodyguard Jedicon - two of the few Jedicon still allowed on Varnus - stood guard watchfully. Zalaria leaned over the console and began speaking in Altarin'Dakor. Paan turned back to his own console.
     On the displays, he could see fighters beginning to launch out of the palace and ground troops starting to hunker down behind the barricades in front of the palace. And on the tactical display, he saw the NI fleet begin moving into position, spilling out fighters by the hundreds. Things were about to heat up, fast. By now the Grand Master had to know what was happening. Paan hoped Xar would return quickly; maybe he would be able to make more sense what in the twin suns was going on...

 

                                    *                                  *                                  *

 

            Titan-class Battleship Nexus

            In Orbit, Varnus

            1020 Hours

 

 

            “All ships to defensive position Aleph! All fighters launch immediately!”

     Sector Admiral Gaius Adonai shouted the command as soon as the Titans began de-cloaking. He ran across the ship’s massive bridge – an act that took much longer than it would have on the Independence. The ship’s massive holo-displays formed a chamber that encircled them, allowing them an unprecedented view of space around them. The ship’s commodore, Awel Kylar, stood there stone-faced, overseeing the situation. Four Titans had already appeared, forming a veritable wall pinning the NI’s First Fleet against the planet Varnus. Then, to Gaius’ dismay, four more Titans appeared, finishing the wall, staggered in a loose formation two high, four wide.

     “What’s going on?”

     Gaius turned from the dismal view of the situation, seeing Fleet Admiral Jann Percy, Field Marshall Rodin Kaler, and Admiral Walt Amason stride out of the conference room in which they’d all been meeting. The three officers jogged up, then went silent as they saw what was happening.

     “Eight Titans?” Gaius said, looking to Kylar. “How did we miss them there? I thought your ships can detect cloaked vessels!”

     The ship’s commodore shook his head. “They must have come out of hyperspace directly on top of us, then de-cloaked. A bold maneuver.”

     “Bold? It was crazy!” Field Marshall Kaler snapped. “And it looks like it paid off. We’re boxed in!”

     “I can see that,” Gaius said. “Sensors, give me a readout on those Titans.”

     “Eight enemy Titans,” the officer spoke up, in barely passable Basic. It made Gaius long to be back on the Independence, where communication could flow much more smoothly, not to mention saving time. Their transponders identify as the Ascendancy, Hegemony, Desolation, Munificence, Fall of Light, Subjugation, Right of Conquest, and Havoc,” the officer reported.

     “Those are all Nimrod’s warships,” Commodore Kylar spoke up. “But we thought that those were all the ships he had posted in Epsilon Sector.”

     “That means he’s drawn in reinforcements,” Percy added. “Must be because we took out one of his ships. He’s hitting us here with everything he’s got.”

     He glanced at Amason, but Walt just shook his head. “We did the best we could,” he said. "Even destroying one was a major feat. We lost all the World Devastators we've been constructing."

     “I know,” Gaius said. “So, he’s committed everything he has here at Varnus…” he began.

     He broke off though, as another warning beeped throughout the bridge. Another ship de-cloaked, lying just to port and beneath all the others. It was black, and impossibly long, dwarfing the others…

     He recognized it. It was the Titan that had single-handedly devastated the New Imperial Starfleet at the Battle of Mizar. It was just over fifty kilometers in length.

     “Another ship! The Cataclysm has entered the field of battle,” the officer reported.

     “That makes nine,” Percy pointed out.

     “This is crazy,” Kaler whispered.

     “Activate shield and weapons!” the commodore shouted. “Launch the Nexus’ fighters!”

     Gaius checked the displays showing the NI First Fleet’s position. It was quite a large force, including the Nexus, the Super Star Destroyer Independence, the Allegiance-class Star Destroyer Defiant, six Imperial-class Star Destroyers, multiple Victory-class Star Destroyers, Mon-Calamari Cruisers, and various other capital ships and support craft. They held a loose formation that stretched across the area above the city’s capital of Vectur. As he watched on the tactical holo-display, the ships began to draw closer, and hundreds of fighters began spilling out of their ships’ hangar bays. It was a formidable force, but next to what Nimrod had committed, it was pathetically small.

     "Sir, perhaps we should consider all our options," Field Marshall Kaler began.
     Gaius glanced back at him and frowned. "We can't retreat," he said adamantly. "There's no where else to go. And I won't abandon the people of Varnus to their fate."
     "Still," the man countered, "Maybe we could..."

     “Naguis’Vox’Donn!” the tactical officer cried out. “Another ship appearing!”

     Everyone on the bridge stared at the display directly ahead. A bright flare appeared in space, slightly below the formation of other Titans. The light expanded, many kilometers wide, even obscuring the other ships from view. Then out of that light came a massive object, a blunt spear sided with circular structures on each side, slowly pouring out of that blinding brightness. The ship kept coming, resolving into a long spine, and a massive body with two giant wings that all poured slowly out of the wormhole.

     The ship came to a rest a moment later. Gaius saw on the readout that the ship was fifty-six kilometers in length. It was the largest ship he’d ever seen.

     “The ship is the Grand Crusader,” the officer said as the portal into ultraspace disappeared behind the huge Titan.

     “The Shok’Thola Nimrod’s command ship,” Awel Kylar pronounced gravely.    

     That makes ten, Gaius thought incredulously. Ten! How is that possible?

     “We’re finished,” the Field Marshall said from behind him.

     “This is far more firepower than Nimrod needs,” Amason said, shaking his head. “What’s his purpose here?”

     “We need to come up with a plan, fast,” Percy added.

     Just then the communications officer said something in Altarin’Dakor, and Commodore Kylar moved over to that position. The man stared down at the display screen, said something to the officer, and a link was established. Gaius recognized Zalaria’s voice on the other end. Both were speaking in Altarin’Dakor.

     “What’s going on?” Gaius said, coming over to the console. Gaius could see the image of the Warlord, who was Kylar’s supreme overlord, in what appeared to the control room of the palace. “What is Zalaria saying?” he asked.

     Kylar glanced at him briefly, then turned back to the display and continued speaking.

     “Excuse me, but unless you’re discussing the latest shock-ball scores, perhaps you could try speaking Basic,” he said, annoyance flaring. He was in no mood for games, and there was nothing they could be discussing that he shouldn’t be privy to, right now. “And while you’re at it, explain to me how Nimrod brought ten Titans here to Varnus to kill us!”

     Kylar eyed him again, then stood back condescendingly. Zalaria’s voice broke through on the Comm.

     “There aren’t ten Titans, Gaius,” she said, staring into the screen. If she was unsettled or upset by the surprise attack, she was hiding it well; her face betrayed little emotion at all besides bland annoyance. “Some of those Titans are not really there. They’re Force Illusions.”

     Gaius’ looked at her in surprise, which quickly turning to skepticism. He arched an eyebrow. “You can’t be serious. No one is powerful enough to fool everyone in the fleet and on the planet as well.”

     Zalaria’s eyes flared. “I’m not just wasting my breath for my own benefit, Admiral,” she said. “Believe what you wish; what I said is the truth.”

     “Well?” Percy spoke up, staring out at the display. The Titans hovered out there, waiting. A couple of dozen smaller capital ships - frigates, cruisers and destroyers, mostly - lay interspersed between the more massive vessels. Though the reality was, the Titans didn’t need any support. They were like whole armadas in themselves. “Which ones aren’t real, then?” Percy demanded.

     “Even I can’t tell you that,” Zalaria said with a shake of her head. “Only time will tell, as the battle progresses. It will inhibit our ability to block the real ships from passing the blockade, and limit the damage we inflict to their ships as well.”

     “Can’t we just fire on them to see?” Amason asked.

     “Even if you do, you might see illusory damage. Even sensors can be fooled.”

     “How can Nimrod be that powerful?” Gaius said, incredulous. What techniques must Nimrod know, that he could fool millions – millions of beings! – while directing an assault on one of the NI’s prime worlds?

     “I think you still do not comprehend the power of a Shok’Thola,” Zalaria chided them. “Regardless, Nimrod knows machinery better than anyone alive. There’s never been a technology we’ve encountered that he hasn’t been able to instinctively understand, and control. Furthermore, his command ship there contains a powerful Force artifact that enhances his ability to perform certain feats. This is one of them.”

     “Is he on there? Is Nimrod himself on that ship?” Percy asked her.

     “I can feel his presence. He will be coordinating his forces.”

     Gaius felt a chill go down his spine, and he shared a wary look with the other officers assembled. “What’s the situation down there?” he asked then, changing the subject. “I heard the palace is under attack.”

     “Jedicon invaded the palace from underground,” Zalaria said. “They will be dealt with, but you must prevent reinforcements or ground troops from landing.”

     “Small chance of that, with the planetary shields down,” Field Marshall Kaler said.

     “We’ll need all the help we can get,” Gaius told Zalaria.

     “I will commit all my forces to the defense of Varnus,” she replied. “Naguis’Vox’Donn Kylar will coordinate mine with yours. My Jedicon are also all in orbit; they will do what they can. Also, I suggest you call in reinforcements from Tralaria.”

     “The Second Fleet? They’ve been tied up with Nimrod’s Titans on the Western Front,” Percy pointed out.

     “They have nothing to worry about if Nimrod has committed all his forces here,” Gaius said.

     A beeping sound came from the communications console. The Comm Officer turned to look at him with a strange expression.

     “Admiral, a message from the Grand Crusader. It says that the Altarin’Dakor are prepared to accept our immediate surrender.”

     Gaius shared dark stares with the other command officers gathered, then looked at Kylar, whose face showed surprise. Gaius looked at him, expecting him to elaborate.

     “It is virtually unheard of for an Altarin’Dakor to surrender,” Zalaria’s voice broke in. “It seems Nimrod is acknowledging that you, as Outlanders, hold different values and may wish survive this engagement and retain your lives. It is, of course, a grave insult.”

     Gaius nodded gravely. He knew it was an Altarin’Dakor’s greatest glory to die in battle for their Cause, their ‘Return’. He sighed heavily, feeling the full weight of his decision on his shoulders. Of what he was about to initiate. “You can tell Nimrod where to stick his insults. And while you’re at it, order him to surrender to us, instead.”

     The officer turned back to his console in surprise, and Zalaria’s image gave a slight smile. “Very well. I have matters to attend to here. Carry on.”

     Her image vanished, and Gaius took a deep breath, preparing to give orders. “Rodin, I want you to coordinate the troops on the ground,” he said, turning to face the Field Marshall.

     “We’re really doing this,” Kaler said, giving a slow, deliberate nod. “Very well; we’ll give it our best.”

     “That we are. Percy, Amason, I need you two here to help coordinate logistics. I have to get back to the Independence,” Gaius turned and started to walk past Kylar.

     “We would prefer that you stay, Admiral,” the man spoke up, stopping Gaius in his tracks. “And coordinate the fleet from here.”

     Gaius narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “The Independence is the command ship for the First Fleet,” he countered.

     “The Nexus is the safest ship for you to be on, now. We have far superior defensive and offensive capabilities. It will also be much easier to coordinate from here, due to our technological superiority.”

     Gaius stared around the bridge, realizing for the first time that the few NI personnel, including himself, were sorely outnumbered. The ship itself probably carried a million Altarin’Dakor crewmembers. If they didn’t want him leaving, then he wasn’t going anywhere.

     “And if the Nexus falls?” he asked, facing the commodore once more.

     The nearest of the Titans began sending out beams of energy from its gun emplacements, which stretched across the distance to impact against the Nexus’ shields. A blue field began to glow around the ship.

     “Then we are all dead,” he said simply.

 

                                    *                                  *                                  *

 

Inner Balconies

Royal Palace, Varnus

1020 Hours

 

Xar reached the center of the chamber and paused. The glowlamps were turned off, and the room was only dimly lit by the sunlight streaming in from the balconies outside. The far corners were bathed in shadow. Even still, he could see them there.

     Four Jedicon stepped forward to face him, angling in on his left and right. They quickly encircled him, and the multicolored blades of their lightsabers snapped to life in a sequence of piercing hisses. 


     "We have been waiting long to face you," one of the warriors said in native Altarin'Dakor. "Defeating you will bring much honor."


     Xar gave a half-smile to indicate that he'd understood them. He could feel their strength in the Force; the Jedicon made no attempts to conceal it, arrogantly broadcasting it in an obvious, open challenge. He knew they were each about half as strong as he was, which would make them the equivalent of a strong Jedi Master. They held the advantage in numbers.


     Unfortunately for them, Force power levels weren't linear, but exponential. And these Jedicon would know that. It would take at least all four of them to equal one of Xar's ability. Yet Xar still held the advantage - he could divide and conquer.


     They started edging closer, watching Xar hungrily, obviously consumed by the bloodlust of already killing anyone they'd come across within the palace. Their clothes, he saw, were stained with blood, and not their own. Xar narrowed his eyes, his anger flaring white-hot inside. It was his people that they had killed. They were murderers. They deserved no mercy.


     So, they thought to force him into a four-on-one duel, did they? Using a technique he'd learned from his old master years ago, he reached out with the Force, sensing the crystals that were essential to a lightsaber's function and operation. He could feel them, vibrating subtly through the Force. Reaching out, he Pulled, jerking them out of alignment. 


     Sparks shot out from the four Jedicon warriors' handles, and their faces registered surprise as their blades were extinguished. But these warriors were too experienced to be defeated by such a simple technique; reacting immediately, they threw their handles up and away, each in a direction away from himself and his comrades. Four small explosions lit up the air above their heads, sparing them from damage, and Xar was again impressed by the fighting instinct that a trained Jedicon, disciplined in war virtually from birth, could possess.


     Then all four Jedicon rushed in anyway, screaming war cries as they came in.

     Letting the blazing anger from within fuel him, Xar drew his Force power in, and time seemed to slow. The warriors were flying through the air towards him, fists raised.

     Throwing up a hand, he sent a powerful Force Push at the two on his left. As the men flew backwards, crying out as they somersaulted into the shadows, Xar threw himself at the other two.


     Even as one Jedicon reared back to strike, Xar's fist crashed across his face full-force, spinning his head wildly to the side. He heard vertebrae crack as the man's neck snapped, and he fell away, killed instantly from the blow.


     The next threw a fist at his head, which Xar quickly slapped to the side. Another punch streaked out, and Xar leaned away, dodging, then caught the man's arm with his hand, pulled him forward off balance, and threw a powerful kick to the man's head. The Jedicon's neck lurched to the side, his head falling at an odd angle, and Xar finished the throw, sending the man tumbling to the side.


     Barely a second had passed, but the first two Jedicon were back on their feet, launching back towards him. Xar sidestepped and caught the one on the right, sweeping his feet out with his leg and shoving him to the side. The man slammed into the wall, sending debris raining down on top of him. 


     The last Jedicon had produced a wickedly-shaped dagger, and came at Xar with a wide, sweeping slash. Xar ducked, feeling wind pass over his head, then his hand snaked out and caught the Jedicon's wrist as he thrust a stab toward his midsection. He pulled the man's wrist to the side, then stepped in and rammed his fist straight into his enemy's solar plexus. Xar heard his sternum crack, and his hand sunk in nearly all the way into the man's chest, his armor caving inwards. The Jedicon's eyes went wide, and his mouth opened, but no sound came out. Xar released him and he fell to the floor face-first. Blood began draining from his mouth and formed a pool on the floor. 


     He turned, and saw the Jedicon who'd hit the wall on his feet again, his face a bloody mess. The man screamed, then stepped forward, hands extended together, and a blast of Force energy shot from his hands, straight at Xar. Light flashed out, banishing the shadows from the room.
     Quickly gauging the strength of the attack, Xar retaliated, throwing out one hand and sending powerful blast of his own straight at his opponents'. The two blasts collided straight on in a flash, then Xar's more powerful attack dispersed his enemy's, continued straight on, and hit the surprised man dead in the chest.

     The man's torso exploded, sending blood and bone fragments flying into the air behind him. The body spun on its heels, chest blackened and cauterized, and fell to the floor, still on fire.

     Xar surveyed the scene, ensuring each of his opponents was fully deceased, then moved on. He took the turbolift up to the fifteenth floor without incident, then used his access code and took a smaller lift the rest of the way up to the command level. Still, his mind raced, adrenaline surging through his veins. He knew there were other Jedicon in the palace, other enemies invaders of his home. He wouldn't stop until every last invader in the palace paid the ultimate price for their invasion.

     As the lift doors whooshed open, he took off running again, eager to reach the command center. He sensed a shift in the situation through the Force, a building sense of unease and panic among the NI forces. Something bad was happening.
     He rounded the last corner in a Force-enhanced blur, approaching the command center doors, and heard the click of loaded weaponry and the shuffling of booted feet as several blaster carbines were aimed his way.
     "Stand down!" shouted one of the officers from within the guard station, the barricade that had been erected next to the command center's doors. Immediately the blasters returned to ready position as the half-dozen stormtroopers stationed there recognized Xar. The leader saluted even as Xar ran past. "Sorry, sir."
     Xar ignored him and passed through the doors as they opened. He found the Command Center just as he had left it, with officers at their stations, Gui Sun Paan at the primary console, and his wife standing nearby watching the tactical display.
     "Status report," Xar barked, causing all heads to turn towards him.
     "Sir!" Paan looked as relieved as Xar had ever seen when he saw the Grand Master. There was a sense of increased tension in the air, and many officers' faces looked ashen.
     Xar glanced at the tactical screen one more time and knew immediately what was wrong. His fierce anger at the invading forces turned into sheer disbelief. "Ten Titans?" he asked.
     Zalaria turned to face him as he moved in front of the tactical holoscreen for a closer look. "I sense that Nimrod is using his powers to create Illusions on a grand scale. An indeterminate number of those ships are mere phantoms, though at this stage it is impossible to determine which ones."
     Xar listened as she continued to explain, with Paan filling in a few gaps on troop movements and the preparations. As they spoke, a sense of dread began settling heavily on him, in addition to the weight that he'd felt all these past few weeks. This was it; the day he had feared for so long had finally come. And with stark realization he knew something else was now threatening to consume him - fear. It was immediate, a sense of impending doom that hung over him. He knew that they were hopelessly outmatched in this battle. Varnus was going to fall.
     "Be cautious," Zalaria said. "I sense Nimrod's influence affecting the minds and emotions of our personnel - including yours."
     Xar reared back in surprise, then shook his head to clear it. He hadn't even realized the subtle touch on his emotions, hadn't imagined that even he himself would be susceptible to such an attack. Now that he knew what it was, he was able to call on the Force and create a mental shield around himself. Nimrod's powers might be vast, but they were spread out on a wide scale, probably affecting the entire city and the NI fleet in orbit. He wasn't concentrating his attack on individuals, yet. With the shield up, the fear faded - mostly. There was still some; undeniably it must have been there already, resting within himself. That wouldn't be so easy to remove. He looked at his wife. "Do something about it," he said. " Fight back. Send out feelings of encouragement. Courage."
     He saw her hesitate. "I will try. It will shield our personnel, but at the risk of..." she began.
     "Forget about tipping Nimrod's hand," he said, gesturing to the holoscreen beside them. "He's throwing everything he's got at us. Whether or not he brings his full power against us, if we don't do something we'll all be dead by tomorrow, anyway."
     He met her gaze, unblinking, and after a moment her expression turned resolute and she nodded. "Very well."
     She closed her eyes for a brief moment, then opened them again. He immediately noticed a shift in the room's atmosphere, a more calm demeanor coming over the officers present. "Done," she said. "Though I can't guarantee complete protection from its effects. It may phase through at times."
     He nodded his thanks to her, then looked back to the screen. He could see the NI fleet moving into a defensive huddle, sheltering itself beneath the wing-like structures extending from the Nexus' hull. Fighters were spilling out of all the ships, including the enemy's, and a couple of Titans were already moving forward, opening fire on the NI vessels. The Battle of Varnus had begun.

 

                                    *                                  *                                  *

 

            Titan-class Battleship Ascendancy

            In Orbit, Varnus

            1045 Hours

 

            Naguis’Voxavit Kamren Thansil rested in his cockpit seat and gripped the comfortable controls of his powerful Punisher-class assault fighter. It was large, yet sleek and maneuverable, and heavily armed, with five full beam weapons and an array of powerful missiles. It was made to destroy any enemy craft it encountered, from starfighters to transports, from bombers to corvettes. It was a thing of beauty, both for its form and also for its deadly efficiency.

     He waited in the quiet, face bathed in soft green light from above, his mind barely registering the reports of his and the other fighter wings coming into readiness. Instead his thoughts were on the coming battle, and on glory.
     Half a span ago, he along with every other warrior in the Ascendancy's vast hangar bays had knelt in solemn ceremony, in prayer to Nimrod that he would grant them swift victory and many slain enemies. It was an honored event held before any large-scale engagement, one that had been repeated through time immemorial throughout the Altarin'Dakor's long history. Today would be another of those days, one that would be known as the last step on the cusp of their glorious, grand Return.

     Once they launched, Kamren would command the fighters of the Ascendancy in a relentless assault in coordination with all the other ships in the fleet. It would be a glorious slaughter of the hapless New Imperium. In this battle, Kamren would give everything, holding nothing back, bringing all his skills and experience to bear in order to destroy as many foes as possible. He must shine, today - after all, as they all now knew, their god had joined them for this final, glorious battle. Victory was assured - the only question was how much glory would be had.

     Kamren wondered if, down there, some expert pilot awaited that would be able to give him the glorious death that all Altarin'Dakor craved. After the last engagement, he had meditated long and hard on the cause of the Return, on its true meaning. Now he had settled things in his mind. Things were clear once more.
     He hoped that Stele was out there, still alive. He hoped that he would be able to face him again. Kamren had bested Stele once, before, but his victory had been robbed from him at the last moment. Still, in Kamren's mind, he had already proved himself superior to Stele. He longed to finish what he had begun at Sigma. Nimrod grant that his prey would not elude him this time.
     Perhaps though, Stele would kill him, instead. This prospect also excited him as well, because it would mean he would fall in the greatest engagement of the war to date. Altarin'Dakor boys grew up hearing the stories of the ancient Battle of Varnus, when an outnumbered and outgunned force of Altarin'Dakor warriors and Jedicon had successfully defended the planet from a False Jedi attack, slaughtering millions of enemy warriors. Though they were eventually killed to a man by a second enemy force, that battle had been cemented in the psyche of all Altarin'Dakor that they were, in fact, superior, and that their claim of ownership to this galaxy was just and righteous.

     Today's battle would be a great symbol to his people. Dying here would be a grand honor. Kamren thought of his wife, and his children. He would leave a legacy that his sons would dream and strive for, carrying them through the ranks to surpass even their father. Perhaps he and Stele would both perish together. It would be the culmination of everything he had worked towards. Yes, things were very clear.
     The order to launch came suddenly. Smiling in anticipation, Kamren ordered all fighters forward. The external lights went out, his fighter was released, and he dove his gray and black-hulled vessel downwards as space opened up before him.

 

                                    *                                  *                                  *

 

            In Orbit

            Varnus

            1045 Hours

 

            Fighters streamed out of the Super Star Destroyer Independence, along with every other ship in the New Imperium's First Fleet. Colonel Rivian von Donitz guided his fighter out of the Independence's hangar together with the first of the squadrons to leave. The fighter wings, every one of the First Fleet's, were under his command. Every one remaining, that was.
     They'd given him a TIE Defender for this mission, a rarity since so many have been lost in the war, and with the transition to the newer, more inexpensive TIE Avatar. The Defender was still the superior space fighter, and he supposed this was the preferable choice of the two. The Avatar was a piece of junk, in his opinion, little more than a cobbled-together Ugly. Still, though the Defender was better, he would miss his own sleek, agile Avenger this battle.
     His craft had been armed with advanced torpedoes for this engagement, giving him much more firepower to get through the shields of enemy fighters and transports. The two ion cannons had also been removed, replaced with an extra set of lasers. That gave him six cannons to fire with, which could be linked for rapid-fire, three-by-three, or full-six bursts. For this battle, they weren't interested in capturing the enemy.
     As Donitz pulled out from beneath the Independence, he saw the larger bulk of the Nexus resting above, one of its giant sail fins extending overhead like a massive ceiling. Fighters flew from her hangers in swarms. Around him, streams of NI Imperial and New Republic-model fighters pulled into formation, racing out to meet the approaching enemy ships that hung like a curtain filling the space ahead.
     The remnants of the First Fleet were assembled in a close formation, in geostationary orbit over the capital city of Vectur. The fleet was tattered and damaged from several serious engagements already, though they had performed hat repairs could be done in time. Surrounding Donitz's Wings of fighters were: the ISDs Vindicator, Trident, Phantom, Stormwatch, Red Horizon, Tsunami, and Fang; VSDs Reaper, Novaprince, and Raider; MC-90 Courageous and MC-80 Retribution, along with dozens of smaller capital ships and support craft including two Escort Carriers, two Interdictors, and many different frigates. Also present were four Majestic-class cruisers, the Iovius, the Repulse, the recently-repaired Scimitar, and the Majestic, the prototype itself. All the stops had been pulled out for this one. Dominating the NI formation were the Allegiance-class Star Destroyer Defiant, the SSD Independence, and the Titan-class Battleship Nexus.
     Above, the Nexus and the other Titans exchanged rounds of blue and yellow beam weapon fire, each thicker than Donitz's own starfighter. He knew they would have to avoid those at all cost.
     "This is Alpha Leader," he called into the fleet frequency. "All wings report in and enter formation. Prepare to engage enemy fighters."
     He listened as leaders Wings Alpha through Psi called in, the wave of fighters swelling steadily at his back. Still, next to the sheer amount of enemy fighters approaching, it looked small. His HUD map was lit up with so many contacts it looked like a massive fireworks display.
     With the recent losses at Moro and Sigma, the First Fleet had been reduced from thirty wings of fighters down to about twenty-three, approximately a twenty-five percent reduction in strength. Vectur and the planetary defense forces held about another five wings, flying under Commander Stele, and the Nexus carried around 1,500 Altarin'Dakor fighters. That gave them just over 3,500 total fighters to commit to Varnus' defense at the moment.
     Under normal circumstances, it would have been a formidable force to deal with. But with the Titan reinforcements that the invading enemy now had, the NI seemed painfully insignificant. Donitz stared at his screens as they reported over 10,000 fighters approaching them, the number still rising rapidly.
     He knew the NI had no chance to win this engagement. They were all going to die.
     "Lead, this is two. There's just too many of them. What do we do?"
     Donitz frowned, but didn't answer. At his flanks were his two wingmates, Gaestial “Gastron” sul Ambrac, and Cousner Nibiuri. They were experienced pilots. He had flown with them for several engagements. They wouldn't normally voice their fears aloud. He didn't expect them to break, even under immense pressure such as this.
     But Donitz was feeling the pressure, too. A growing sense of trepidation had been building inside of him for the last half hour, and now it was stronger than ever. Seeing the mass of enemy forces spread out before them now, a surge of dread and near-panic threatened to rise up in him, nearly paralyzing his arms and legs at the controls.
     He shook his head inside his flight helmet. This wasn't right; it wasn't natural. It was like what he'd felt when they'd begun the Battle of Mizar, only here it was ten times stronger. With a start he realized what was happening.
     The AD were using the Force to affect their minds - all of them. Either all their Jedicon were working in concert, or there was someone out there strong enough to do all this by himself.
     Now that he knew what it was, though, he could do something about it. Using a mental disciplining technique he'd learned long ago, he separated his emotions from the rest of his mind, bringing everything into clear, logical focus. He felt himself settle into a void of calm, regarding everything has one might a simple arithmetic problem. It was something that others had misunderstood about him, thinking him icy, aloof and heartless at times. It had given him a reputation as an insensitive, cold killer. It had saved his life many times.
     Looking around, he saw fighters beginning to waver along the line. Random chatter on the open line had dissolved into whispers of fear and dread. Some pilots were considering turning back, making a run for it, abandoning their duty.
     Donitz keyed his commlink. "Hold the line," he ordered, pronouncing his words clearly, projecting all the calm and authority into his voice that he could manage. "Don't give into the tricks of the enemy."
     His words seemed to have only the slightest effect. Faced with insurmountable odds, he knew that the NI pilots were about to break.
     Then, just as he calmly made the assessment that it was all over before it had even begun, the part of him he had detached in his mind was embed with a sudden surge of confidence. It's all right, a voice seemed to say. It's just a trick. We can do this.
     He immediately recognized this new feeling as not coming from within himself, either. Both were outside forces, and one had just supplanted the other, or perhaps had driven it back to a large extent. He suddenly felt excited, capable, nearly invincible.
     This, too, he shunted aside, with some effort. He didn't need false hope to help him fight. He had made his decision before ever donning his flight suit.
     The other pilots, however, benefited greatly from this much-needed morale boost. Lines steadied, and chatter ceased. He felt resolve solidify in his pilots. He didn't know what had caused this sudden surge in confidence, but he had a good idea where to look. Both the NI and AD forces were the unwitting pawns in a massive game of wits. Both would be used, and sacrificed if necessary, in a battle of much larger scale than that which could be seen in front of them.
     His assessment done, Donitz quickly brought his mind back to the reality of the present.
     About 2,000 Altarin'Dakor fighters were barreling straight for the NI formation. Donitz and the other fighters were quickly heading out to intercept them. This will be the first clash, he realized. The NI fighters outnumbered this particular wave, but he knew that the enemy starfighters would have superior firepower and maneuverability. That, together with the cybernetic link that many Altarin'Dakor pilots held, would make this a difficult match. In fact, this could be the last engagement any of them ever flew. But if that were the case, so be it. Donitz was always prepared for the worst.
     Fortunately, with the unexpected morale boost they'd received, Donitz was fairly confident that the rest of his wing wouldn't turn tail and run. He was about to give the order to attack when his comm channel suddenly chimed in.
     "This is Fleet Admiral Arden Vonture onboard the Independence," a calm, steady voice came over the commlink. "All fighters stand by. We are preparing a barrage."
        Donitz checked his screens and blinked in surprise. The front wave of AD fighters had overextended themselves well out beyond the reach of their capital ships, with nothing between them and the NI Starfleet, and packed as tightly as canned nerf. In such a close formation they were completely vulnerable to the well-trained gunners onboard the NI ships. What had they been thinking?
     Unabated, the AD fighters soared in at top speed, as though nothing at all were amiss. Donitz watched them approach on his readout, imagining their pilots rushing in, desperate to make the first kill of the battle. He watched them approach, even as the Fleet Admiral Vonture allowed them to come into optimal firing range. Then the NI fleet opened fire.
     Thousands of turbolaser blasts shot out into space, flashing past the NI fighter formations in an eyeblink, bolts of green and red and blue streaking out to the interval between the two fleets. Then all Donitz could make out was a bright wall of light as hundreds of enemy fighters were hit and vaporized. His screens showed whole clusters of dots disappearing within the span of a dozen seconds.
     "Incredible," Nibiuri's voice came over the commlink.
     The barrage suddenly ended, and in the wake of destruction Donitz saw far fewer fighters emerge. Still, though the survivors were hopelessly outnumbered, they charged on anyway. Some of the advance NI wings moved in and engaged, though at this point the odds were back in the New Imperium’s favor.
     Donitz couldn't believe that their commander had been so foolish - or perhaps he had been overconfident?
     Then he saw the number of enemy fighters continuing to swell on his screens, and he shook his head inside his flight helmet. No, they had been neither foolish, nor overconfident. Simply assured of their victory. They outnumbered the NI forces so badly that they could afford to throw away thousands of fighters if they wanted to.
     Could they have simply been sending a message? He could think of no better way to strike fear into enemy combatants and destroy their morale than to flagrantly display such apathy towards the loss of their forces. The Altarin'Dakor didn't care whether they lived or died today.
     Suddenly, as if in retribution, at least fifty massive beams of energy shot out from all the Titans in front of them, reaching across space to connect with the ships of the NI fleet. Shields lit up brightly beneath the withering assault, and some smaller ships were immediately overwhelmed, the beams plunging into hulls and slicing them open like a surgeon's scalpel. Durasteel plates melted into slag, then vaporized in bright clouds of glowing hot gas. Within seconds the NI lost three frigates and two strike cruisers, their explosions lighting up the hulls of the surrounding ISDs and sending chunks of molten metal drifting out of the formation.
     Then Donitz turned his attention forward once more. They had nearly reached the halfway point between the two fleets. About a dozen AD heavy cruisers had advanced forward now, escorted by another cluster of fighters. Meanwhile, the Titans continued to advance, spilling out more fighters by the thousands. It was about to get ugly.
     The first rounds finally exchanged, the two fleets began pounding at one another at long range. The NI and AD fleets opened up again almost simultaneously. The battle was on full-force, now, with continuous fire lancing out all around them. The Nexus, Independence and other ships of the fleet spread fire forward at the lead Titans, while the massive behemoths returned fire, pouring energy into the Nexus' force field as well as the shields of the smaller NI vessels.
     "There must be twenty thousand fighters out here by now!" Nibiuri shouted on the squadron frequency.
     Donitz glanced at his screens again. Ten Titans. Fighters continued to pout out into space from them. Twenty thousand fighters was probably a conservative estimate. "Cut the chatter," he ordered. Then, switching back to the fleet frequency he said, "Alpha Leader to all wings. Break and attack."
     NI fighter formations broke up as they moved into range of the approaching AD fighters, the cruisers looming large alongside them. Suddenly beams of energy shot out of the sky ahead, hundreds of them, as the AD ships reached firing range first. All around, NI ships began to explode as they were struck. Soon after, bright flashes of missile launches appeared, flying into the cloud of NI fighters and lending more havoc to the fray.
     Seconds later, the AD ships were in range. Donitz got solid lock on two approaching fighters and armed his advanced torpedoes. He tightened his finger on the trigger, sending out one torpedo towards each. Joining him, hundreds of other missiles and torpedoes streaked out towards the cloud of AD fighters ahead. Explosions lit the space ahead, as missiles lit up enemy shields and sent their craft spinning off course, or penetrated and blew their fuselages to pieces.
     One of Donitz' torpedoes was speared by an enemy beam blast and detonated. The other hit its target in the starboard wing and blew it clean off before detonating behind the fighter. The vessel spun wildly out of control, out of the fight. Donitz forced his sights back on the first fighter again and switched to lasers. He got off a quick shot that missed, then the sleek fighter blew past him to port in an eyeblink, followed by uncountable numbers of others as the two groups of fighters finally mixed into a gigantic furball. He nearly jumped as a random fighter flashed into view and passed him by mere meters. Realizing he had just narrowly escaped accidental death, he wrenched the stick back, starting into a tight loop to get back on the enemies' tails.
     As his craft turned, he saw thousands of turbolaser blasts pouring out from the First Fleet, crisscrossed with fire from the enemy vessels. Just then explosion ripped out of the ISD Trident's forward center, as a Titan's energy beam penetrated her shields. Then the vista floated up and away from him as he dove to gain his target's six.
     He came in at a high angle of attack and opened up with stutter fire from his TIE Defender's six laser cannons. His shots peppered the upper shields of the craft, and the enemy pilot threw his craft into a corkscrew and dove away, finally realizing he had a tail. Donitz stuck to him like glue, his fighter's maneuverability high in the vacuum of space.

     He recognized the enemy fighter as an Aggressor, a sleek fighter as well suited to the atmosphere as in space. Turning tight to the point of nearly blacking out, Donitz pulled lead and squeezed the trigger again. This time he scored a direct hit, his first two blasts battering down the rest of the fighter's shields and the next pair catching the craft in the rear engine housing. Flames shot out the back followed by a flash in the stern, then the fighter broke apart, pieces flying in all directions.
     Donitz checked his screens and noted that he couldn't find Nibirui or Ambrac nearby, then muttered a curse. They hadn't been able to follow his maneuver and had probably lost him in the fray. Explosions blossomed all around him, with dozens dying by the moment. It was total chaos, and Donitz knew one of the biggest dangers was flying into someone unintentionally.
     Then his warning light went off. He glanced to port as a bright flash loomed towards him, an enemy missile coming in. Slewing his ship in that direction, he centered his crosshairs on the warhead and fired a chain of laser blasts. One hit, and the missile exploded, its fragments and expanding gasses passing by to port. Then, realizing that his enemy was banking around onto his tail, Donitz rolled his fighter to starboard and yanked the stick back hard.
     He was just in time. Two yellow beams shot through the area he'd been heading towards. Donitz pulled a tight loop, sensing his opponent match his every move. This ship was a Stiletto, one of the enemy's most advanced fighters. Dodging with all the skill he had, Donitz wove a crazy pattern in between dogfighting ships and laser blasts, realizing a stray burst could kill him as surely as the enemy on his tail. He passed low beneath one of the AD cruisers that was heading for the NI position, watching as a beam from the Nexus came down from above and cut the ship in half.
     As the cruiser exploded overhead, Donitz shot forward in a burst of speed, then cut his throttle back to zero and used the Defender's mobility to rotate 180 degrees to starboard. He saw a flash as his pursuer's blast passed beneath him, too far inside range, and just as the enemy craft loomed large over his crosshairs Donitz released two advanced torpedoes straight ahead. The missiles took the target straight in the nose, punching through to the center of the fighter before blowing it out of the sky in an expanding fireball.
     Spinning back on course, Donitz pulled a tight loop and turned back into the fray. At this point there was little point in using his display screens, since there were so many dots it was impossible to pinpoint the location of anyone. He simply locked onto the nearest enemy fighter and dove in.

     One thing was curious, though. A whole cluster of fighters from the Nexus, one thousand strong according to his computer, had moved out of the dogfight to engage another group of AD fighters about four times its size. The two groups of fighters met one another and blended into one massive furball. Oddly though, it didn’t seem to devolve into utter chaos as the current engagement had. Instead, whole squadrons of fighters seemed to be moving in perfect concert, matching one another’s maneuvers more perfectly than a flock of migrating birds.

     Such uncanny symmetry could only mean one thing: Jedicon were flying those fighters. For whatever reason, both the Nexus’ Jedicon pilots and those of the attacking Altarin’Dakor had chosen to engage one another completely separate from the rest of the battle. Though undoubtedly some mark of AD pride, he supposed it made sense, rather than have Jedicon pilots pick off regular fighters one by one in the chaotic jumble. Still, the odds did not bode well for the NI, at all. What would happen when the Nexus’ fighters were all destroyed? Not to mention that the NI’s fighter strength had just been cut nearly by a third.

     But there was no more time to worry about it. Even though the first furball was still underway, another large wave of enemy fighters was heading in. At the same time, Donitz’ commlink came alive again, this time with the voice of Sector Admiral Gaius Adonai himself.

     “Enemy transport launches have been detected,” the Fleet Commander’s voice came over his own squadron frequency. His voice, usually calm even back during the battle at Moro, had a detectable level of strain on it. With surprise Donitz realized the transmission was coming from the Nexus, not the Independence. “Donitz, I need you to take them out now. They cannot be allowed to land in Vectur.”
     "Roger, Admiral," Donitz replied at once. He hit the fleet frequency again. "Alpha Leader wings Alpha through Epsilon. Break off and intercept enemy transports immediately."

     A round of acknowledgements came in, and Donitz took the lead, turning away from the approaching new wave of enemy fighters, hoping he could stay ahead of them and reach the enemy transports before they hit the atmosphere. He could already see them on his HUD, a long string of bracketed objects surrounded by another cloud of enemy fighters.

     Meanwhile, Donitz could see the NI Fleet ahead once more, pouring turbolaser blasts by the thousands into enemy fighters, capital ships, and Titans. Near the center of the formation were the four Majestic-class cruisers that the NI still retained. Those ships, basically a cruiser-sized mass driver with engines, were firing ultra-high velocity projectiles larger than Donitz’s own fighter at enemy capital ships. When their blasts hit the enemy, even heavily-armored AD hulls broke apart under the impact. As he watched, a blast from the Majestic hit one of the AD cruisers head on, obliterating the front of the cruiser and sending the rest of the ship up in a chain reaction, consuming it from bow to stern in seconds.
     “Sir, we found you!” a voice broke through into his headset. Donitz immediately recognized Ambrac, and saw him, Nibiuri and the rest of his flight coming up to port.

     “Get in formation, Gastron,” he ordered. “We must catch up to those transports.”

     The enemy already had a solid lead on them. Donitz pushed the throttles up to full, passing back through the gauntlet of fire between the NI and AD fleets, which were getting closer by the minute. The fighter battle had pulled back closer to the NI ships now, and to his consternation Donitz saw that enemy fighters were buzzing NI capital ships, now.

     No, scratch that. They were attacking head on. In utter astonishment, Donitz watched as at least a dozen AD fighters flew towards the Independence at top speed, opening up with all their weapons as they got close, and never even moved to turn away. They simply slammed straight into her hull, obliterating themselves on impact.

     It was not an isolated phenomenon. As he passed by the fleet, he saw countless AD fighters ramming NI capital ships head on, sending huge explosions flaring up all over the NI vessels. Again and again fighters crashed into turbolaser emplacements on Star Destroyers, or windows, or flew into hangars, carrying their ships and warheads in a one-time, fatal attack. The MC-80 Retribution’s main hangar was hit, sending a gout of flame pouring back out, and as a half dozen or more fighters slammed home, the ship began to break apart in a growing ball of orange flame.

     “What are they doing?!” came Nibiuri’s voice.

     Donitz ignored him, simply staring in wonderment. Why were they acting so desperately? What could possess those pilots enough to commit suicide to inflict damage on the NI Fleet, even though victory was virtually assured anyway? Shouldn’t the NI be the one taking desperate measures?

     How were they going to stand up against this?

     Then passed by the Independence, and truly saw how far the enemy was willing to go to completely overwhelm and devastate their opponents. The entire superstructure of the Independence’s bridge was swarmed with enemy fighters, more than the gunners onboard could eliminate in time. Fighter after fighter slammed into the protruding structure, wreathing it in fire. Then a squadron flew straight in at the bridge itself. The bridge gunners shot two out of the sky, but the rest slammed into the forward viewport. A wall of fire made its way up the front of the superstructure before it dissipated in the void.

     But all that had been a prelude. Seeing their attack fail to produce its intended result, the largest of the AD Titans opened up with a pair of massive energy beams that hit the bridge structure dead-on. Then all that could be seen was a blinding flash of light as the structure was consumed, the blasts ripping through the bridge and continuing all the way to the other side, obliterating everything.

     At the beams subsided, a massive cloud of superheated gas and smoke poured upwards from the body of the Independence, all that remained of the bridge superstructure. The star destroyer sat there like a decapitated soldier that hadn’t yet realized he had been killed.

     Yet there it remained, still firing unabated. There was no huge outcry of dismay on the comm channels. Donitz knew, as everyone else did, that the whole bridge structure had been abandoned prior to the start of the AD attack. Fleet Admiral Vonture was controlling things from the auxiliary bridge deep within the ship. The loss of life had probably been minimal. There would be no Executor-style fall into the planet hovering below them. The Independence was still very much alive.
     As if to articulate the point, a hundred of the ship’s port batteries opened up on the foremost AD cruiser, catching it amidships. The shields failed and the blasts ripped into her side, chewing through her hull into the cruiser's interior decks. Then a massive explosion ripped out of the middle, blowing the ship in two and sending the two remaining chunks flying off in opposite directions.
     Then they were past, and the transports and their escorts were all that lay ahead. They looked to number in the hundreds, far too many to shoot down before they hit atmosphere. Donitz saw that a couple of hundred fighters had pulled up along with him, having broken off from the main fight. It still wouldn't be enough, he knew. They were just too badly outnumbered.
     Even worse, he saw that one of the Titans, the Fall of Light, was accelerating forward behind the transports, moving as if trying to cut of Donitz's group. If that Titan got close, it would all be over.
     As they approached, Donitz gave orders as needed, commanding different wings to target different points along the line of transports. The leading transports were already entering the planet's atmosphere, though, and some of the fighter escorts were breaking off to engage the NI attackers.
     "Punch through their defense line quickly," Donitz ordered into the comm. "Stay focused on the transports, we must stop them at any cost."
     Then beams lit up the sky as the AD fighters came in. NI ships detonated by the dozens as they were hit. Donitz let off a few potshots at an approaching line of fighters, then picked as spot between groups and led his flight through. They passed through the gauntlet unscathed, and Donitz locked onto the nearest transport and armed his advanced torpedoes.
     Each transport was between one and two hundred meters long, big enough to carry a few hundred troops or an assortment of assault vehicles. As they grew closer, the ships opened up with pulse laser fire, sending out a cloud of bright glowing balls by the thousands. Donitz's craft began to buckle as random blasts hit his shields, too many for even him to dodge them all. He jinked left and right, keeping his target in sight, his twin-ion engines screaming as he came in at high speed. Torpedoes began to stream in from all around, some being shot down prematurely, while others impacted and lit up their targets' shields a bright blue. Then his Defender's tone went solid to indicate a lock.
     Squeezing the trigger, Donitz sent two pairs of torpedoes streaking out, then banked to starboard to avoid running into his target. The transport took a couple of hits first from other attacks, then his own warheads penetrated the shields and struck near the transport's aft.
     The ship's rear quarter exploded - the engines were blown apart from the blast and the rest of the ship broke apart, spilling its contents into the void. Donitz glimpsed clusters of bodies flying out into vacuum before the remains passed out of view.
     "Sir, request for help! My target is still intact!"
     Donitz looped around to see what his flight member was talking about. Ambrac had made a run on the transport in front of Donitz's, loosed his torpedoes and was now pulling back around. Problem was, the transport was still there unscathed, still heading straight for the planet below. "What happened, Gastron? Did you miss?" he asked.
     "No, sir. Direct hit - only no damage! The torps... they went right through!"
     "What?" Donitz jinked to dodge a blast of pulse laser fire, then pulled alongside his wingmate.
     "I'm not crazy, sir. Look! There it is again!"
     Donitz did indeed look. The general comm channel was abuzz with pilots complaining of direct hits, yet their targets were completely undamaged. It seemed as though every two or three transports in the formation that had been targeted were still there, perfectly intact.
     Then, as he watched, a bright flaring torpedo from an NI Avatar shot in from the distance, hit one of the transports - and passed right out the other side.
     "Impossible..." he whispered.
     Then, even as he looked on, the hull of the transport faded, becoming almost transparent, and finally disappeared altogether. One minute it was there, and the next it was just... not there anymore. Donitz quickly glanced around the rest of the formation. Other transports began to fade and disappear, one by one, until in all probably a third of the ships they'd been targeting were simply gone. Most of the others were already entering the planet's atmosphere, leaving only a few stragglers behind in range of the NI's remaining fighters.
     "Sir, what do we do?" Ambrac's voice came to his ears.
     Donitz shook his head, at a loss for what to say. How in the name of the Sith were they to fight like this?
     "Form up," he ordered, his voice still icily calm despite the thoughts racing through his head. "Take out as many remaining transports as you can."
     He threw the throttles forward, straining his craft to catch up with the rearmost ships in the formation. The last transports were entering the atmosphere now, their hulls beginning to glow red from the friction of reentry. Locking torpedoes on target, Donitz fired. His wingmen followed suit, along with what few NI fighters weren't still engaged with the defensive fighter wing.
     Donitz's warheads hit, destroying the rear of the craft ahead, and another pair streamed in from the side to finish the job. Two other transports were hit, one exploding brilliantly off to port, the other taking the assault on with its shields and passing through intact.

     Suddenly a blast from one of the remaining transports took Nibiuri’s TIE Defender straight on, detonating the craft’s ball cockpit and sending its three solar panels flying off in different directions. Donitz swerved to avoid the debris, cursing under his breath.
     Then the transports were in the atmosphere. In order to pursue, they would have to dive in and follow them in, abandoning the rest of the fleet. For a moment, Donitz considered it heavily. His cockpit was already heating up, the tips of his solar panels beginning to glow slightly as his Defender began to skip across the outer edges of the atmosphere.
     But he checked his screens again, and saw the massive Titan growing ever closer behind them. If they went in, they would be cut off from returning to the fleet, and if they didn't do something about it, the behemoth would soon flank the First Fleet and begin assaulting them from both sides.
     Besides, his fighters were still engaged with hundreds of enemy ships, and thousands more were waiting in the wings. There was work to be done here, as well. The planetary forces out of Vectur would be moving to intercept the transports.
     With a muttered curse, Donitz pulled back to engage more enemies and to fight their way back to the First Fleet's position. They had failed to stop the enemy from reaching the atmosphere. But then again, the whole situation had been hopeless to begin with.

 

                                    *                                  *                                  *

 

            Main Hangar Bay

            Vectur, Varnus

            1105 Hours

 

            Maarek spent the morning with his pilots, chatting with them over breakfast. They discussed many things, catching up on their personal lives and their aspirations for life once the war was over. Maarek knew each one well, and spent the time trying to etch into memory each moment he had with them – their stories, their faces, their personalities. He had long since given up trying to stay cool and impersonal with them. They were his Squadron, his own personal squad that he had built and trained himself. They had flown countless missions together, and Maarek had been together with them longer than any other single unit before. They were like family, and truth be told, they were the closest people to him left in the New Imperium. Time had changed things, and aside from his squadron, he didn’t know who he could turn to – or trust.
     Good-natured, fun-loving Rann Wosper. Cool, duty-minded loyalist Tanya Vinikoro. Gentle, experienced leader Bast Vlagen. Kind-hearted jokester Kikitik, one of the few remaining free members of his race, after Sigma. Strong-willed survivor Gren Pabos of the Renastatians. Righteous advocate-fighter Salle Darl. The newest member, confident ace Narm Greyrunner. Maarek loved them all.
     He also missed Petur Kien, a young star that had risen fast, and had fallen far sooner than it should have.
     The squadron cherished the time they had together, discussing pleasant things. There had been no need to tell them of the direness of this mission; they had all been through many life and death situations already. Maarek hoped that they would all come out of this – hoped like he never had before. But the facts didn’t lie; the odds were not in their favor. Maarek knew – as did they all – that some of them might not make it back today. Still, they all knew their duty. They were all committed to the task set before them, and none of them would shirk back from it.
     When the report of the enemy came in, they made their way to the hangar bay to prep their ships, their prized TIE Avatars. Maarek had flown virtually every type of ship that the Empire or the New Republic had ever produced, but the Avatar was currently his favorite. She was as suited to spaceflight as to the atmosphere, and carried more firepower than a TIE Defender with a stronger power plant and shields. The only thing she lost was speed and maneuverability, but in the atmosphere the Avatar was more aerodynamic.
     It was to the atmosphere that Inferno Squadron had been limited, today. Orders from Command.
     They had barely started their pre-flight checkups when the palace alarms had gone crazy, and the announcement of intruders had been made. Pilots had scrambled to their ships, and moments later it was revealed that the Altarin'Dakor fleet was already in orbit. The battle had begun.
     Settled into his cockpit, Maarek had taken a few deep, calming breaths, trying to steel his nerves. The hum of the fighter's twin-ion engines did its best to soothe his worries away. He knew this could very well be the last mission he'd ever fly.
     As he sat there, a terrible feeling of dread had suddenly come over him. I don't want to die today, a part of him thought, trying desperately to make him reach out and open the hatch, to get out of the cockpit and run away somewhere to hide. He pushed that part down, knowing it was probably just his natural, human survival instincts. He tried not to think of things like that too much. But then, as he sat there just waiting, the feeling only got stronger.
     Maarek knew he was considered one of the best fighter pilots alive in the galaxy. His reputation had followed him around wherever he'd traveled throughout the Empire. He'd rarely met anyone, not in the last few years, who could offer him a real challenge.
     But days ago, fighting in orbit of Sigma Prime, he had been bested. Finally, Maarek had encountered someone who was better than he was. And sitting there, in the insane, nerve-wracking waiting that always comes before a battle, Maarek felt true fear once again. What if he met Kamren Thansil again in the skies above Vectur this day? From the moment he'd first seen their impossibly-huge ships, the Altarin'Dakor had scared him in a way that nothing ever had, in the way that all creatures feared the dark unknown, the utterly foreign. Now Kamren Thansil embodied that fear, and today was the day he would have to face it head-on...
     Suddenly, the tension eased. His fear lessened. He felt a reassuring warmth seep into his muscles, and an inaudible sense of someone telling him it was going to be all right. He felt better immediately; in fact, he felt almost giddy at the prospect of going into battle. It was such a sharp turnaround that it immediately flagged his concern.
     Something is messing with my emotions. There was little doubt as to what it could be; they were surrounded by Force-Sensitives. A knot of fiery anger suddenly blossomed in his stomach. All his life, Maarek felt like he'd been a pawn to the Jedi, and he was tired of it. They meddled where they had no right to interfere. They used people's lives like they were playing some grand game of strategy. And now, the AD wanted to use that power to control everyone, everywhere with their power. This time, they would pay.
     Then the announcement had come through - AD troop transports were entering the atmosphere. Inferno Squadron and the rest of the planetary defense force would launch and intercept.
     That had been Maarek's morning.
     Now he pulled back on the stick, banking his TIE Avatar into a climb that left the Royal Palace behind, a massive square of land receding quickly below, along with the huge cluster of skyscrapers stretching off to the south. Supersonic and nearly vertical, he ascended past the puffy white clouds and into the clear blue sky, gunning for altitude as fast as he could. The rest of Inferno Squadron, along with the rest of the Varnusian planetary defense force, was right beside him.
     The enemy was coming down.
     The city's turbolasers were already opening up, targeting the bright spots in the sky growing closer and lower by the minute. The ground fading quickly below, Maarek adjusted his TIE Avatar on an approach to head off the leading transports. As they grew closer, those specks in the sky became dozens of different pinpoints of light, then resolved into hundreds. The larger specks were surrounded by clusters of smaller ones - fighter attack squadrons.
     "Break and attack," Maarek ordered to the whole wing. "Inferno Squadron, on me. We'll take out the lead ships."
      "Copy, Lead," Bast Vlagen's voice came.
      "Understood," Salle Darl chimed in.
     He kept both the wing and squadron channels open, one ear on each to keep abreast of things, then soared in towards the enemy.
     "They're coming in fast, Boss," Rann spoke up.

     Rann was right; was right; the enemy was getting closer with each passing second, resolving into hundreds and hundreds of growing bright spots in the sky. Most were fighters, but the larger ones that were transports were also numerous, and Maarek knew he would be hard-pressed to stop them with just under 400 fighters. Reaching altitude in the upper regions of the atmosphere, he began to level his fighter off, turning onto an approach vector with the leading ships.
     As they closed, beams of energy began striking down from the sky, followed by streaking contrails of missile launches. NI fighters began to take hits, exploding before they even got into range. Seconds later Maarek attained lock on an enemy ship, and he let loose with a pair of advanced concussion missiles that soon joined with hundreds more, firing towards the approaching enemy. The warheads rose into the sky, seeking their targets. Many were shot down before they could make it, but those that got through created a cluster of explosions along the enemy's frontline, sending ships careening off course and destroying others.
     Maarek saw that his target was still coming in, and as the distance shrank further he switched to lasers. As he tried to draw aim, he saw a blast from the enemy flash downwards and begin angling straight towards him. He applied left rudder and skidded to port, missing the attack, but that put the enemy off his crosshairs. As the AD ship blew past him towards the surface, he pulled the stick back and looped back around as fast as he could.
     Altain'Dakor and New Imperium ships met together in a crazy swarm of steel, energy and death. As Maarek turned in the thin atmosphere, NI fighters passed him from beneath while AD ships streaked downwards, and explosions lit up the sky all around him. He made it around, another TIE Avatar flashing by to port as he did so, and angled his craft back downwards. He pulled around onto his enemy's tail and quickly attained lock once more. Though the target was kilometers away by now, he squeezed the trigger, sending out another pair of missiles. The warheads streaked away, quickly gaining the distance, and his enemy apparently finally realized he was under attack and began to go evasive. Unfortunately, his speed had built up to the point where the craft could not turn fast enough, and as he began to pull out the missiles connected, detonating as they struck the rear of the craft and blowing it into a thousand fragments.
     Maarek pulled out in search of other targets, and saw that Rann had stayed close to Maarek while tracking another enemy fighter. As he watched, the ships banked hard to port above his cockpit canopy, Rann turning tight in on his opponent. Green blasts of energy shot from the Avatar's wingtips, catching the enemy Aggressor in the wing and blowing it clean off. The enemy fighter started a tight spiral and plunged towards the ground.
     "Three. One on your six, Lead!" Tanya's voice rang in Maarek's ears.
    Maarek rolled to starboard and banked right and down, hard. He glanced back over his shoulder, just glimpsing the top of an enemy Stiletto's fuselage as his opponent turned in expertly behind him.
     Diving sharply, Maarek banked left and right, twisting his fighter violently from side to side in an attempt to escape. Streams of air trailed above off the edges of his wings, while each time he turned away, beams of red energy punched through the air he had just been in. Even with his inertial compensator dialed way up, the gravitational forces plastered Maarek in his seat, and he felt just one step away from blacking out at any moment. He hoped the whole fighter didn't fly apart under the strain. The numbers flew by on his altimeter; he was falling, fast. Meanwhile, the enemy stuck to him like glue, and Maarek wracked his brain trying to figure out what else to do.  
     "Hang on, Lead. I've almost got him!"
     Maarek didn't bother responding; his teeth were so tightly clenched from the strain that he doubted he could. As he rolled left again and began to bank hard, he saw the Stiletto overhead again just as a missile from Tanya flew in and hit the craft in the craft in the side. The AD fighter was blown to the side by the blast, its shields flaring up from the impact.
     Cutting the throttle back, Maarek pulled a left turn as tightly as he could, bringing the enemy fighter back into view as he fell down past Maarek's Avatar. The enemy had miscalculated and dove right instead of left, passing him right over his crosshairs. Maarek fired, sending a quad-linked burst of fire straight into the ship's fuselage. The fighter ripped open and exploded, the blast shattering the cockpit and sending pieces of both craft and pilot raining down towards the surface.
     Maarek pulled back into formation with Tanya again and saw that Rann was just moments away from joining them. Anxiously he scanned the skies above and his tactical display, searching for the other members of Inferno amid the swirling chaos of blips, and after a moment gave a sigh of relief. Everyone was still alive.
     With Flight Three down to two pilots anyway, he had asked Salle and Narm to join in with Bast's flight, creating a five-strong bond with which to take on the enemy. They were all still in the same vicinity now, and had routed a cluster of fighters away from one of the transports. As Maarek's flight rose to join them, he saw several missiles fly in from Bast and Kikitik, finally penetrating the transport's shields and blasting into her sides. Atmosphere, fire and troops poured out of the openings, and under coordinated fire from Salle, Narm and Gren below, the transport broke up and became a flaming ball of wreckage plunging towards the ground.
     Maarek took a sip of water from his suit's built-in bladder and took stock of the rest of the battle going on. They had descended more than halfway back down to the surface, and yet most of the transports were still there. The NI ships were busy dogfighting AD fighters, and to his dismay he noted the New Imperial forces had suffered heavy casualties already, probably at least a fourth of their original strength. And every minute more AD ships were making it through the blockade above.
     "Form on me," he ordered even as a flaming Avatar plunged downwards in front of him, pieces breaking off in a trail behind the craft. "We've got to hit those transports hard."
     "Four. We're on you, Lead," Bast's voice came in, reassuringly.
     Cycling through targets, Maarek found the nearest transport and dove towards it. All of the large craft were barreling towards Vectur at high speed, desperately gunning for ground. In only a few more minutes they would reach the gleaming metropolis and slow, emptying their contents down onto the city streets. Maarek knew that every transport they destroyed would mean a little easier fight for the ground troops, and fewer casualties as well.
     Gunning the throttles forward, Maarek led Inferno Squadron on a high-speed intercept with the target. Trails of vapor streamed out behind them as they closed, and as the transport loomed larger ahead Maarek thumbed over to missiles again.
     Suddenly, a trio of fighter escorts broke off from around the transport and turned towards the attacking Avatars.
     "Two Flight, take 'em out," Maarek ordered.
     As Bast, Gren and Kikitik broke off to engage, Maarek led Rann, Tanya, Salle and Narm straight at the ship's heart. Pulse laser fire lit the air in front of them, and their shields began taking loud hits as they soared ahead in close formation.
     Fortunately, the overlap from their shields proved strong enough, and as the transport grew to fill the sky ahead all four Avatars unleashed their missiles straight ahead. Then they broke off, each headed away in a different direction, as eight missiles hit the ship broadside in rapid succession.
     The transport exploded, a massive fireball separating the front and rear of the craft and sending the pieces falling below, even as the cloud of fire and smoke expanded upwards.
     Banking around, Maarek moved to assist the rest of the squadron with the three enemy fighters, but as he did so he saw the last enemy fighter, a Dirk, blown to pieces by laser fire from Gren Pabos. The debris rained down into the clouds as Gren's fighter soared past above.
     "Nice work, team," Maarek said, smiling victoriously. There was nothing quite like being part of a tightly-knit unit, where each member knew one another so well that they hardly had to speak at all, yet could act completely as one.
     Glancing at his status display, he saw that his shields needed a few minutes to recharge after the last barrage. Furthermore, he was down to only a few missiles. "We'll have to rearm soon," he said over the link. Meanwhile, the fight was still raging around them, and had finally moved into the airspace above Vectur itself. Despite their best efforts, the enemy had reached the city, and he saw transports begin to disappear behind the tall buildings of the city center as they made their landing.
     "Kriff it all," he cursed under his breath. "Commander Stele to NI pilots, pour it on. We cannot allow another wave of transports to land. Secondary objective is now to provide air support for the ground troops. We must not allow the enemy to achieve air superiority."
     Then he banked his Avatar in a wide turn towards the city, realizing even as he spoke that the task set before them was virtually impossible. More enemy ships were coming down, and with the fight over and around Vectur itself, things were about to get far uglier. This was going to be a very, very long day.

 

                                    *                                  *                                  *

 

            Balconies

            Royal Palace, Varnus

            1125 Hours

 

            Jinx sprinted across the front balcony, coming up to face the latest enemy Jedicon. His opponent, heading towards a group of guards stationed on the wall, saw Jinx and abruptly started towards him, instead. Jinx brandished his lightsaber, yelling as he came in.
     They clashed blades in a burst of light, Jinx's momentum driving his opponent temporarily backwards. The Jedicon stepped to the rear, then quickly jumped and pulled a backwards somersault as Jinx stepped in and swung, his blade passing centimeters underneath his opponent.
     The Jedicon landed on his feet and drew his blade in a complex spiral, weaving a pattern of light that left streaks in Jinx's vision. His opponent smiled. Jinx stepped in with a roar.
     They clashed blades again and again, the Jedicon matching him stroke for stroke. Jinx stepped back, riposted and came back in, striking high twice in rapid succession. The Jedicon parried and blocked, then in a show of strength locked blades and drew Jinx's down until they were face to face.
     The dark-skinned Jedicon extended his tongue, growling in thirst for blood, and with a roar pushed Jinx back, disengaged, then rushed forward with a powerful overhead strike. Catching his footing, Jinx brought his blade up and met the blow straight on. Then, drawing deeply on the Force for strength, he forced the enemy's blade around to the right and down to the wall's edge beside them. Their blades dug into the stone, and before the enemy could extract his weapon Jinx reversed, swinging his blade to the left and cleaving through the Jedicon's torso in one powerful stroke.
     He quickly jumped back, avoiding the enemy's blade as the man fell dead, blood vapor setting on the wall and stone floor below.
     I can't believe I'm fighting in the palace, he thought. Just days ago it had been a place of safety, a fortress of security for refugees throughout the Quadrant. Now he wondered if those refugees had come to their deaths, here.
     He turned to survey the rest of the scene. The battle was raging out here on the balconies as well as inside the palace itself. Dozens of Jedicon had infiltrated, but so far the combined force of the whole Jedi Division seemed to match them nearly evenly in strength. Members had fallen on both sides. But the Division, of course, didn't have as many to spare.
     So far, the more adept Jedi had done the best they could to keep the less-experienced Jedi from facing their opponents alone, but they had not been entirely successful. Eric Donos lay in a pool of blood on the stone floor at Quaestor Neres Warjan's feet. As Jinx watched though, Neres finished off the opponent, batting aside the blue-skinned Jedicon's blade and sending a blast of energy from his hand, taking alien in the chest.
     Nearer to Jinx, a Jedicon penetrated Knight Jaren Dunt's guard and thrust his blade through the young man's midsection. Jaren fell, but before the Jedicon could fully extract his blade Kiz Thrakus was upon him. Thrakus swung twice, and his enemy fell in several pieces on the ground.
     Finding a momentary lapse in the fighting, the Jedi outside took a moment to regroup. About a dozen of them were there, and Jinx jogged up beside Thrakus, who was leaning out over the wall and looking towards the city.
     Jinx followed his gaze and saw that the AD were finally landing transports in the city. Meanwhile, a fierce dogfight was raging in the air. Fighters dodged in and out of the clouds as sonic booms reverberated throughout the city.
     "This is bad," Neres panted, coming up beside them. He was covered in dirt and sweat, but otherwise appeared unharmed. Jinx nodded agreement - he felt like Neres looked - but before he could speak Thrakus broke in.
     “Look there!" Kiz shouted, gesturing to the right with his glowing blade. Transport coming in towards us!”
     Everyone else turned to look, and Jinx saw something approaching them from the west. A flight of fighters seemed to be flying directly in front of the approaching transport, taking the brunt of the defensive turbolaser fire from the city.
    As they watched, one of the fighters was shot down, followed by another, blasting into a thousand pieces. The rest continued to approach rapidlly, and split away just before they reached the palace. Turbolaser strikes hit another one and sent it crashing towards the ground in flames. Then the transport itself was visible. As it soared overhead, it abruptly slowed, passing directly overhead the palace and the Jedi position. Jinx let the Force enhance his vision, and what he saw immediately mortified him.
     “What are they doing?” someone blurted.
     Figures were pouring out of the open hatch on the transport’s underside. Dozens of beings dropped down into the air, simply freefalling straight down towards the palace itself. It was crazy; they had no chance of surviving, and if they deployed some type of parachute, they would be easy targets for the troops on the ground.
     But the falling figures used no such equipment. As they fell, they moved closer to one another, clustering in groups, and their momentum suddenly began to slow. As they neared the surface, they were no longer falling, but merely descending. Shots rang out into the air as soldiers on the ground took aim and fired, but just as quickly blades of light snapped to life and batted them back down towards their attackers.
     Jedicon reinforcements were arriving.
     "Get ready to regroup!" Kiz shouted, his voice wavering as he stepped away from the wall's edge and began moving towards the enemy's likely landing spot. As he went, he spared a glance back at Jinx. "We'd better warn the Command Center."
     "I'm on it," Jinx said, then turned and ran towards the nearest wall comm.

 

                                    *                                  *                                  *

 

            Main Courtyard

            Royal Palace, Varnus

            1150 Hours

 

            Dropships were landing in the distance, coming to within a few meters above the streets and dropping large, hovering platforms bristling with weapons. Others touched down and extended their boarding ramps, disgorging hundreds of shock-troops onto the city streets.
     The man known as Jac Railler stood with his men, hunkered down behind one of the massive durasteel and ferrocrete barricades they had erected in front of the Royal Palace's main entrance. They wore white armor plating reminiscent of Imperial stormtroopers, but not as extensive in coverage. Rather than the deaths-head helmets of their predecessors, they sported simpler helmets with clear faceplates, allowing much higher visibility. It didn't make him feel very safe, but then again, no amount of personal armor could likely stand up to what the AD would throw at them.
     Star Way sat directly ahead of them, cleared of traffic, abandoned. He could see several kilometers, all the way down to Star Park at the other end. That street wouldn't be empty for long, he knew. This was the front line of defense.
     Railler had been in situations like this before. He had worn many types of armor before, also - everything from a stormtrooper's to an Imperial Sovereign Protector's. For what the troops didn't know was actually his real name, one that he'd tried to leave behind for good.
      Kir Kanos.
     This was a war he hadn't counted on. Before this, he had always been the instigator, exacting revenge in the name of a leader he no longer believed in. That had all changed a few years ago. It was almost unreal, how meeting one's adversary and understanding him for the first time could completely shatter everything. Kanos had given up on his quest for revenge, only to find an emptiness remaining. It was as though all the hate and vengeance had grown to fill everything inside, and once that were gone, he found in himself only that nothing else was there. Leaving only one burning question: what else did he have to live for?
     He hadn't found that reason - it had found him, instead. Seeing those Haveners slaughered and rounded up like cattle to be slaves... He couldn't believe humans could do that sort of thing to each other.
     Now the day of reckoning had arrived.
     He looked up at the sky, saw hundreds of shiny objects twisting and looping in a dance of death, each one trying to blast the other out of the sky. The city's cannons spat fire heavenwards, and as he watched, an enemy fighter came down in flames, disappearing behind a building where it crashed to the streets below.
     Soldiers surrounded him, watching and waiting. Some of the men with him were ones he had trained himself. Others he barely knew, or didn't know at all. But soon they would all be close comrades.
     They heard the enemy before seeing them. Transports had disappeared within the city moments before, and they'd heard booming crashes and muffled explosions. Screams pierced the air occasionally.
     Then, coming out of a side street, a massive battle platform turned the corner, coming into view. It was wide, covering over half the street, and bristled with weapons. Kanos heard muffled curses from the soldiers around him, heard their drawn-in breaths.
     It was too late to run away, now.
     Armored tanks and AT-ATs were the first to open up, pouring fire down the street towards the enemy. In response, blasts of plasma, beam weapons and hypersonic projectiles flew towards the NI vehicles. Stray blasts hit the ground and struck buildings, sending debris flying through the air between the combatant forces.
     Durasteel armor was just simply not strong enough to withstand the advanced weaponry of the Altarin'Dakor. The front-line AT-AT was holed by mass driver rounds, the projectiles slicing through the armor as though it were hardly there. A pair of beam blasts hit the vehicle's head then, sending an explosion up from the cockpit and melting the rest into slag. The massive beast tottered, then fell to the right and crashed deafeningly, sending up a cloud of dust.
     Combined fire from several NI tanks flashed out and struck the lead AD platform dead in the center, blasting into the armor. But the front of the craft was too well-protected. They couldn't penetrate.
     The platform fired again, sending a thick beam of energy into the lower section of one tank. Flames burst out beneath and the craft dropped, then the beam swept upwards, slicing inside and sending up an explosion as its ammunition detonated, destroying the vehicle. Seconds later, a well-placed mass driver sent a projectile into a second tank, stopping it in its tracks and sending it crashing to the ground, disabled.
     Kanos started to wonder if this would be over before it even began, when out of the sky a pair of warheads flew straight down and connected on the top of the AD battle platform. A gout of fire and smoke erupted upwards and pieces of the platform were blown high into the air. The craft sank, then hit the streets below, carving up chunks of ferrocrete as it slid forward for another fifty meters, then stopped.
     "They got it!" someone shouted, sending up a cheer among the gathered soldiers.
     A round of secondary explosions burst out of the vehicle as it continued to burn. It had effectively blocked off the street, making it difficult if any other craft tried to pass. NI reinforcements began to file in from the streets adjacent to the palace's front gate, moving to the corner to guard this position. Perhaps they would be able to hold out longer than he'd thought.
     "Wait, do you hear that?" someone called out. He looked around wide-eyed, then stood up to look over the wall.
     Kanos felt a sick feeling in his gut; he heard it, all right. He moved to the wall again, peering over the top of the barricade with the rest of the troops.
     The NI troops looked out, seeing the momentary lapse in armored vehicle and artillery fire. As the dust settled in the streets, they could see that Star Way was filled from one side to the other with a mass of hundreds armored bodies, all charging forward, filling the air with as near-deafening battle cry.
     Here they come, thought Kanos. "Weapons up!" he shouted. Blasters were raised. Men took position.
     Then all hell broke loose.
     The scene exploded in enemy fire, blasts filing the air, chewing into the barricades, ripping up the streets beneath them. AD shock-troops ran forward, screaming, the forward line pouring out shots with animalistic fury. Large, double handed mass drivers sent bolts blasting into the barricades, while handheld beam cannons sliced into them and through armored bodies as well. Pulse-laser fire sent hundreds and thousands of green bursts into the air, while smaller, automatic rail guns sent out rapid-fire projectiles that pulverized whatever they hit.
     Men fell screaming on all sides, even as a torrent of blaster fire opened up on the approaching invaders. Kanos ducked just as a blast hit the barricade beside him, blowing off chunks, then stepped over to one of the openings and lined up his sniper rifle onto the enemy line.
     Through his scope he could see the shocktroopers taking dozens of hits, with some soldiers taking multiple hits in a row. Astonishingly though, few were falling, and some that did were rising to their feet again. Their tough armor was taking blaster bolts quite well, far more efficient than what the NI had to offer. Enemy troops were going down, but it was taking far too many hits. Whereas a single blast could fell an NI soldier, it seemed to take five or six before AD armor was penetrated fully.
     They'd have to aim carefully to make their shots effective. Kanos drew a bead and fired. His first bolt hit an enemy in the waist, sending him to the ground. As the first man was trampled by those behind, he took aim at another. This time his shot blew through an enemy's faceplate, collapsing him instantly.
     Then he had to turn away as the firefight intensified, and mass driver pellets flew though  the opening with the sound of miniature sonic booms after they passed. Explosions hit the street from mortars, and one cluster of NI soldiers was blown off their feet from a near-miss.
     Facing away from the storm, Kanos saw that they weren't the only ones taking the heat. Flashes lit up different areas of the palace, and every few moments a pair of dueling figures would come into view, lightsabers visible over the external walls as they clashed together again and again. Other troops were stationed along the walls, pouring out fire at the approaching enemy. In other areas, troops were engaged with enemy Jedicon, although those men weren't faring too well.
     He saw a Jedi and Jedicon lock blades and slam against a railing, then both figures toppled over, falling out of view into a courtyard below. Shaking his head, Kanos turned back to the front, as a barrage of fire tore though his troops. A beam shot overhead, slicing through one man’s body and severing half the head of another peering over the edge, while another soldier took several rounds of mass driver fire, blasting holes out of his back and sending blood all over Kanos and the others. Roaring in defiance, Kanos stood and leaned up against the barricade once more.
     "Hold the line!" he shouted at the top of his lungs, as an enemy missile struck the turbolaser atop a building overhead, blasting the emplacement apart and sending debris raining down towards them.

     NI troop fire redoubled. Soldiers lobbed thermal detonators. Another mortar hit at the corner of the nearest building, scattering a cluster of soldiers in a blast of fire and blood. Someone behind Kanos fired a grenade launcher that hit the AD front line, blowing a score of enemy troops and their constituent body parts into the air.
     It was truly a war zone. And from here on things were only going to get worse.

 

                                    *                                  *                                  *

 

Royal Palace Command Center

            Vectur, Varnus

            1155 Hours

 

            “Jedicon reinforcements have landed!” Jinx’s voice came over the comm. The words caused an immediate stir in the control room, the dozen or so officers present turning from their stations to stare worriedly at the main display.
     “Copy that, Jinx,” Xar replied from his seat at the main console. He turned to look at his wife, standing beside him. Her expression, as was often the case, was absent any telling emotion.
     Xar shook his head. The battle was full-on, now, encompassing the palace, the city streets, the skies above, and in orbit. So far the NI had given nearly as good as they got, but the tide was turning in the enemy’s favor. The fleet was starting to accumulate damage, fighters numbers were dwindling, and every fallen Jedi was a precious resource lost. Soon the momentum would build, and things would be very bad for the New Imperium. The situation was dire. “We’re in the thick of it, now,” he told her grimly.
     "We could really use some help out here," came Jinx's concerned voice.
     Zalaria said nothing. Xar turned back to the comm. “We’ll be there soon,” he promised Jinx, then closed the connection. The room was quiet, full of an air of expectation.
      “We’ve got to get out there again,” he told Zalaria. “I need your help. Forget about what your brother might do,” he said, repeating his former argument.

     She looked away, and he didn’t know quite what to think. Their relationship had become strained by recent events. In fact, the truth was they were having problems. Zalaria did things without asking Xar, things that he didn’t approve of at all. Putting his friend and Deputy Grand Master into a coma. Lying to him about her dark past.

     He was angry at her, and she knew it. Maybe she was angry at him, too. But for some reason she had clammed up, refusing to share her feelings or move toward some kind of resolution. The rift between them was growing wider, and the truth was they didn’t have enough time to mend it, for now. What have I gotten myself into, he wondered. He’d married an Altarin’Dakor Warlord over a thousand generations old. They weren’t just from different worlds, they were from different times. How could they possibly hope to understand each other?

     “Sir, there’s a communiqué from the Diktat’s office on Tralaria,” the Comm officer spoke up.

     The words pulled Xar out of his thoughts, reminding him that there were more important things to worry about than his wife, right now – such as the enemy inside his own palace and assaulting his homeworld. “Put it onscreen,” Xar said immediately.

     After a second, Gene Rytor’s face appeared on the holoscreen. He looked tired, and the gray in his hair seemed to outnumber the rest, these days. The Diktat was fully dressed, however, despite the fact that it was the middle of the night on Tralaria. Xar didn’t think the man would have waited to dress before calling in.

     “Sorry for the delay,” Rytor said, staring into the screen. “I only just heard of the attack on Varnus. What’s the situation there?”

     “Not good,” Xar replied. “We’re overrun, and we could use some reinforcements from the Second Fleet as soon as possible.”

     “I wish I could,” Rytor said, turning apologetic. “I’m afraid we’re under attack, as well. Seven Titans have entered the system and are approaching Tralaria, fast. We’re vastly outnumbered and will be under attack within a couple of hours.”

     “Seven!” Xar exclaimed. He turned to stare at his wife. “I can’t believe Nimrod would have so many Titans here in the sector!”

     Zalaria had a curious look in her eyes. “They’re probably experiencing the same effect that we are. What are the names of those Titans?” she asked, stepping beside Xar in front of the screen.

     “I’ll get them for you. Hold on.” Rytor glanced off-screen, presumably at another data screen. “They are the Fall of Light, Munificence, Subjugation, Right of Conquest, Havoc, Ascendancy, Hegemony, and the Desolation.”

     “That’s impossible,” Gui Sun Paan blurted from the other console.

     “Your scanners are fooling you,” Zalaria told the Diktat. “Some of those Titans are not really there.”

     “How do you know that?”

     “Because those are the same Titans attacking us,” Xar answered. Nimrod is using Force Illusions to trick us both. I can’t believe he can do it in both places at once.”

     “That’s astonishing,” Rytor agreed. “So, how do we know which ones aren’t real?”

     Xar glanced back up at his wife. “We’ve got to do something about this, now,” he said. “You helped negate the effects of Nimrod’s emotional attacks. Can’t you do the same thing with these Illusions?”

     Zalaria shook her head sharply. “This is not simply his powers. His flagship, the Grand Crusader, is built around a powerful Force artifact.”

     “There must be something we can do,” Xar countered. He looked back up at the screen. “Gene, can you give us a video display of those incoming Titans?”

     “Just a minute,” Rytor replied, then gestured somewhere offscreen. A moment later the palace’s display showed each Titan for several seconds. Each was an identical match to the ones orbiting Varnus right then.

     “Even the previous damage is the same,” Paan noted beside them. “It’s perfect.”

     “Not quite,” Xar said, eyes narrowing. Yes, the ships looked identical, but it was their names, not their appearance, that caught his attention. As well as which Titans weren’t supposedly there.

     “What are you thinking?” Zalaria asked him.

     Ignoring her, Xar stared down, his mind racing. It was a big gamble, he knew, because Nimrod could have very well outthought them at every turn. But they had to do something, now, and they couldn’t second-guess themselves forever. Xar was sick and tired of being outsmarted and at the Warlord’s mercy.

     “The Grand Crusader and the Cataclysm, are only here,” he said. “Those are definitely real. What Titans have been most active in this Quadrant?” he asked, already thinking he knew the answer.

     “The Ascendancy, Hegemony, and Desolation, sir,” someone in the room reported.

     Xar paused, nodding in agreement for a moment. “Then those are here, as well. Nimrod could call in reinforcements from Mizar, and bring in his own ship. That’s enough Titans to defeat us. The others are at Tralaria. They’re the ones Dogar has been engaged with, are they not?”

     On the screen, Rytor nodded. “Dogar and Sanders are in orbit organizing our defense now. He confirmed that those other ships are the ones that have been driving them back all the way to here.”

     “Then you’ve got five Titans bearing down on you,” Xar said to Rytor. “Five Titans for each target.” It was still a lot. Too many. They would both still lose these battles.

“Thanks for the information,” Rytor replied. “It helps, at least a little. Hang in there, Xar. We’ll get through this somehow.”

     Xar nodded, then reached up and closed the channel. “Paan, signal Gaius and tell him he can ignore those other five Titans.”

     “Will do, sir.”

     He turned to look at Zalaria. “It’s time to turn this thing around. I’ll flush them out of the palace; I know the halls better than anyone else. I need you to help stop the army outside.”

     Xar knew it was a risk, ignoring those other Titans – as was going into the fray of battle, anyway – but he was willing to do whatever it took to drive the Altarin’Dakor off his world. He would fight until every last one of them was dead, even if he had to kill them all himself. They would pay.

     He locked eyes with his wife for a moment, and he wondered as he often did what she was thinking inside. She might be able to read his mind quite easily, but to him she was as closed as a book he could never open. Finally she spoke.

     “It is pointless to go out there now,” she said.

     Xar felt as though she had just slapped him. “What do you mean? This is our last chance to save Vectur!”

     “Nimrod has still not committed fully to the battle,” she explained calmly.

     Receiving no further explanation, Xar just stared at her incredulously. She just sat there watching the screen, as though everything were proceeding according to plan. Xar shook his head. Men were dying out there. His men.

     “You don’t care, do you?” he asked suddenly.

     She met his gaze, and Xar felt something dark pass over him. Suddenly his anger flared, surprising even himself. “You really did kill your own people, didn’t you? And now you’re going to let everyone here die, too.”

     Shock seemed to cross her face for an instant, but Xar dismissed it; how could he believe her when he couldn’t even read her emotions? She was a master of subterfuge and manipulation.

     “You don’t understand…” she began, her voice softening.

     “I understand enough,” he countered. “What are you waiting for? For Nimrod’s troops to march right in?” He pushed himself out of his chair, rising to his feet as he kept his eyes trained on her. “Whose side are you really on, anyway?” he felt himself say.

     “Xar!” she said, reaching out for him. “Listen…”

     “Stay away from me,” he said darkly, pulling away from her. “How can you act so inhuman? I don’t really know you at all, do I?”

     Her expression turned suddenly cold, her eyes flaring in anger of her own, or perhaps indignation. “What made you think I was human?” she asked softly.

     He stared at her mutely for a moment, nothing more to say. He turned to Paan. “Take care of things here,” he ordered. Then he turned and made his way towards the exit, the fire inside of him burning to find a way out.

 

                                    *                                  *                                  *

 

            Balconies

            Royal Palace, Varnus

            1200 Hours

 

            Jinx ran forward into the jaws of hell, knowing he was about to die.

     Facing them now was a fresh sampling of Nimrod's finest Jedicon, all in a frenzied state of bloodlust. The group of Jedicon had blocked off the Division's Jedi down a narrow balcony ledge, with a short ledge leading to a drop of the wall on one side, and large windows leading to an interior hallway on the other.
     Flanking him were Kiz Thrakus, Neres Warjan and the leaders of the other Jedi Houses, including Draken Ar’Kell and Amleth Uiara, plus Atridd Xoan, Ralagos Akala, and more. The best Jedi fighters the Division had to offer, this was the day their fate had arrived. 


     Duels were raging all across the palace balconies and walls, and Jedi and Jedicon were falling in rapid succession on each side. The Jedi were outnumbered now, though. Untold numbers of Jedicon were wandering around the interior by now. The whole palace was in dire danger of being overrun.


     Jinx had been fighting for two hours straight, now, and he was tired. He had successfully killed five Jedicon so far, more than he’d managed in his whole career to date. His body hurt from half a dozen burns, cuts and bruises, and his shoulder felt like it was on fire. It seemed a miracle that he was still alive, yet now even that feat seemed painfully insignificant. And while they fought on the tops of the walls, dogfighting starfighters streaked overhead, while the sounds of artillery and infantry fire filled the air around them. 


     The fighting was brutal and quick. Jedicon crowded forward, even shoving at each other to try and get to the Division’s Jedi first. The two sides met, and only death and destruction ensued. Blasts of energy shot back and forth between the two groups, felling warriors on both sides. But the close-quarters combat at the wall was the bloodiest.
     Templar Sian Rocanon surged forward and engaged a black-skinned Jedicon with pale tattoos, a notable change. Both warriors screamed and swung their blades, their attacks meant for killing, not dueling. Rocanon’s saber split the man's head in two at the same time the Jedicon’s blade cleaved the Mirialan Jedi’s arm away at the shoulder. Rocanon passed out and collapsed, but the next Jedicon in line ran him through before he could hit the ground.
     Atridd Xoan struck blades with an enemy, then caught the opponent’s wrist, wrenching it up, and slid his blade across the Jedicon’s stomach. Beside him, Ralagos Akala blocked an attack, grabbed his opponent with his clawed hands and tossed him over the wall to the ground below. On a nearby ledge, Ken "Nova" Nandos was clashing blades over and over with a large, muscular Jedicon, while Draken Ar’Kell was being driven quickly backwards by another opponent. In front of him, another dark-haired Jedi that Jinx's didn't recognize was beheaded by a blow from the advancing Jedicon line. Everywhere around, a rainbow of multicolored energy blades clashed, sending their light reflecting off the walls and windows. Blood vapor wafted through the air, collecting on faces and uniforms, but there was nothing to do but breathe it in as the Jedi fought for their lives.

     Parrying an attack, Nova stepped back and thrust his palm forward violently. His opponent, caught with his blade overhead, launched backwards, thrown through the air over the heads of his comrades where he plunged off the palace wall. Nearby, Draken blocked again and again, doing everything he could to stave off the Jedicon assaulting him. As they clashed again, the Jedicon’s blue blade forced Draken’s to the side, then struck hard downwards. Draken’s lightsaber fell from his hand, and he gave a yell as he quickly ducked a swipe from his opponent’s saber. The Jedicon followed through with his swipe, spinning around and sending a back-fist across the Jedi’s face as he rose. Draken stumbled backwards, then just before the Jedicon moved in for the final blow the Jedi launched himself over the wall and down towards the courtyard below.
     Then Jinx lost sight of them as he hit the line, with Thrakus right beside him. The one had that killed Rocanon struck at Jinx next, and their blades locked in a flash of light and whining energy. At his side, Thrakus’ swing met his opponent’s blade, pressing it down into the wall beside them. The Jedicon dropped his blade and pulled out another, igniting it right in Kiz’s face. Thrakus dodged back just in time with his Force-enhanced speed, but the blade still caught him on the arm, cutting shallowly but enough that the Jedi gasped and fell back.
     Still locked in with his opponent, Jinx quickly reversed his blade’s momentum and forced his enemy’s to the side, then spun his wrists and came down, cleaving the Jedicon’s arm off at the elbow.
     Beside him, Kiz dropped his own lightsaber and thrust his good hand out towards his opponent and unleashed a blast of energy. It hit the enemy square on in the chest, and the Jedicon was blown backwards into two of his comrades, one of whom speared him by accident from behind.
     The loss of his arm barely phased Jinx’s opponent. The Jedicon lunged forward inside Jinx’s grip, closed his other hand around his neck and squeezed. Jinx choked and fell back, the enraged Jedicon opening his mouth wide as if to bite him in the face. Jinx's vision went dim almost immediately, and he cartilage cracking. He tried to bring his saber hand up to defend, but his arm was blocked by the Jedicon's body and he couldn't seem to bend it around enough. Then a shaft of green light passed through the side of the man’s head. The Jedicon's eyes glowed for an instant before he collapsed at Jinx’s feet, dead. Neres stepped into view and reached out to steady Jinx, who nodded his thanks.
     Thrakus stepped back from the front, nursing his injured left arm, and Amleth Uiara slid past him to fill in the gap. Leaning around, Kiz used his right hand and send severak blasts of energy at the enemy line. Men dodged or blocked with defensive shields around their hands, but some connected, sending several enemies down to the floor.

     In front of him, Ian Durran struck at an opponent but missed, the Jedicon spinning away from the blow and back around to slice Durran’s head clean off. Yelling, Amleth jumped forward and batted the Jedicon’s blade aside, then split the enemy from shoulder to hip in one huge swipe.
     Jinx saw a massive saurian Jedicon in the thick of it, towering head and shoulders over even the largest Jedicon, waving a massive lightsaber back and forth and driving the rest of the Jedicon forward. Beside him was a shorter man with wildly spiked hair rising over his head, and several small tattoos on his face.

     Jinx had faced this particular Jedicon before.
     Nobien’s eyes widened in recognition as he saw Jinx, then it was full-on. Moving as fast as he could, Jinx backed away from one Jedicon, extended a hand and released a blast of Force Destruction at the wild-haired man. Nobien dodged to the side, his body a blur as he moved, and the blast ripped through another man behind him. In response, Nobien put his hands together and fired a slightly larger blast in return, even as Jinx rushed forward, his blade singing overhead.
     Jinx dove to the ground and rolled, the blast passing above his body and singing his robes. He came up and swung his blade at his seemingly unarmed opponent – but Nobien’s weapons were his bare hands. The Jedicon leapt over the first blow, and even as Jinx brought his blade around and down diagonally as fast as he could, Nobien was faster still, pivoting sideways to miss the attack by centimeters. Then the Jedicon leapt backwards out of Jinx’s reach.
     Before he could react, Templar Vern Mavrik jumped forward to fill Jinx’s place. Jinx shouted for Mavrik to stop, that he was out of his league, but it was too late. The Jedi swung hard at Nobien, but the Jedicon ducked under the blow and surged forward, bringing his arm back and, in a blur almost too fast to see, sending his fist straight through the Templar’s heart.
     As Mavrik fell, Jinx jumped over his body, yelling, bringing his blade straight down at his enemy’s head. Nobien lunged forward as well, his bloody hand now surging forward and catching Jinx’s wrist and arresting his momentum before he could connect the blow. Jinx grunted as he struggled against the Jedicon’s grip, then Nobien reached out with his left hand, gripped Jinx’s robe by the belt, and with a cry of effort lifted him up into the air and threw him straight at the window on Jinx’s left.
     Jinx cried out as he crashed through the transparisteel, the window giving way to his Force-strengthened body. Pieces of the glass cut him all over, and he hit the floor of the corridor on the other side and rolled away as Nobien dove through the opening after him.
     The fight on the balcony, however, was far from over. More bodies rushed to fill the space left by the dueling warriors.
     Kiz Thrakus, having retrieved his blade, ducked under a quick blow and with his good arm cut off one Jedicon’s leg just above the knee, moving past and leaving him for his comrades. Another one came in screaming, locking blades with Kiz and forcing his lightsaber to the side. The enemy’s foot snapped out and caught him in the chest, and Kiz flew backwards several paces to the floor.
     By this point, a near river of blood had slicked across the stone walkway, making footing precarious. Loria Sornen slipped, proving a fatal mistake as her opponent took advantage of her stumble and skewered her through the chest with his bright blue blade.
     Thrakus pulled himself to his feet, but before he could make it his opponent rushed forward to finish him off. Kiz knew he wouldn't make it in time, and he brought his blade up in his good hand to try and defend. But before the enemy could reach him, Ralagos Akala's blade slashed in, batting the Jedicon's away, followed by a clawed hand that raked across the enemy's face. The man lurched back, falling against the wall, screaming as he reached up to his ruined face where the skin was peeled away, bone visible underneath. Then Ralagos drew his blade across in a massive swipe, ending the man's cries forever.
     Further down the line, the saurian Jedicon towering over all the others sauntered forward, hefting a massive lightsaber twice as large as anyone else’s. It came up behind where Huan Knor'lian stood locked in a duel with one long-haired Jedicon. Brushing the Jedicon aside, he stepped forward to fill his place, bringing his huge blade around in a huge, horizontal swipe at the Jedi. Knor’lian’s brought his blade up and blocked, but the Bothan Aedile had sorely underestimated his opponent’s strength. The attack wasn’t particularly fast, but Knor’lian’s blade offered little resistance the Jedicon’s saber swept it right along and sliced the Bothan in half at the chest.
     Then Val Ricaud was there, striking fiercely at the Jedicon to avenge his fallen Aedile. He moved fast, his blue-tinted blade a blur as he came in high, low, diagonally, catching the reptilian’s blade with a flash each and every time.
     The Jedicon defended, stepping back as he parried a blow, and pivoted – Kiz thought he was going to run. That was when he saw the lizard’s long tail lash out. At least two meters in length, the leathery appendage swept out like a whip and cracked the Duro across the head with a loud snap. Ricaud stumbled back, dazed, and the Jedicon pressed the advantage. Striking out, he caught the Jedi’s guard high, then lashed out with his tail again, this time catching the Jedi across the ankles. The Duro’s feet were swept out from under him, and as he fell, the saurian brought his blade down vertically. Ricaud fell in two pieces.
     “Fall back!” Kiz shouted. “Regroup!” He knew they weren’t going to last much longer out here. He suited actions to words, moving back down the balcony and allowing some NI troops to distract the Jedicon for a moment by taking potshots at them.
     Out towards Star Way, the street was filled with enemies, running the gauntlet leading up to the front of the Royal Palace. By now, the streets parallel on either side were full of enemy troops and tanks also. The defenders were taking extremely heavy fire down there. Stray shots flew through the air, and Jedi had to bat away blasts fired at them from the distance below.
     A slim woman with long blonde air was striding out on one of the forward walls with an air of near impunity. She wore tight-fitting clothes that left her skin exposed in various places – between her breasts, over her biceps, thigh and calf, as well as other spots, and underneath Kiz could see vivid red tattoos that appeared to mark her entire body. Her attention seemed to be on the troops below.
     The woman raised her hands, and red lightning shot from them, tearing into the New Imperium troops from behind. They never knew what hit them. Those bolts didn’t electrocute – they seared, and cut, slicing through armor and sending men down screaming. In response, the woman laughed, a rich, evil sound that overlay the sounds of war around her.
     “Thrakus!” a voice shouted from nearby, jolting Kiz’s attention elsewhere. He turned and found himself face to face with Atridd Xoan, the large, dark-skinned man an imposing figure staring down on him.
     “Get to Medbay,” the man ordered. “We’ll hold out here as long as we can.”
     Kiz stared at him incredulously. “I’m not abandoning my men!”
     “At least take the time to heal yourself – this isn’t over by a long shot. We need reinforcements!” Behind him, Ralagos Akala was fiercely engaged with two Jedicon at once, and holding his own. Some of the other Jedicon were no longer visible – probably they’d penetrated the palace, now. Kiz shook his head – how powerful were the people in Xar’s cadre? The Division was fast running out of Jedi to defend with; could Xar’s personal few make up the difference?

     “Go!” Atridd shouted. “Find Xar!” Then he turned, joining with Amleth and Neres and moving away to assist Akala.

 

                                    *                                  *                                  *

 

            Royal Palace Command Center

            Vectur, Varnus

            1215 Hours

                                                                                                                             

            We are all going to die, Gui Sun Paan realized grimly as he watched the viewscreen.

     On all fronts, the NI was losing fast, while the enemy was gaining momentum. The fleet in orbit was being battered. Air forces weren’t enough to prevent enemy landings. The Palace grounds, the central target of the enemy shocktroops, was about to be overrun. And with the Jedicon reinforcements, it was only a matter of time before they overwhelmed the Division’s Jedi and killed every one of them, Paan included.

     The entire First Fleet in orbit hadn’t been able to even slow them down. The second force attacking Tralaria was more than strong enough to take the NI capital. They were simply facing an enemy far, far beyond anything they had ever known, and they had no chance of stopping them.

     The New Imperium was about to be destroyed. It was over.

     “Please, help us,” he said to Zalaria, looking at the woman as she stood quietly in front of the other console.

     She barely spared him a glance, instead staring forward at her own viewscreen. Paan watched her for several seconds, then finally looked away, afraid she might know he was looking.

     What was she doing? She seemed to be keeping track of the fleet battle in orbit, and making instructions for her own forces. But was that all she was doing? How hard was she really trying to help them defend Varnus?

     “I have been too lenient with him,” he heard her whisper.

     Startled, Paan found his eyes on her again. As he often did, he found himself intrigued by her presence. She was, undoubtedly, the most physically beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Her skin was flawless, her body perfectly proportioned, her eyes holding immense intelligence and wildness at the same time.

     He realized that he really had no idea how old she really looked. Her poise and regal bearing often made her seem far older and more mature than he, yet physically he wouldn’t have placed her a day over thirty. No – in fact, the longer he looked, the younger she seemed. Maybe twenty-five? That was impossible. Did her appearance actually change?

     Suddenly apprehensive, he looked away again. Her words hung in his head, generating a thousand different questions in his mind. What did she mean? Hearing her and Xar arguing had been disconcerting, to say the least. They should have been the closest now, in the face of danger. Instead, the whole room had been full of tension as long as the two of them were together. The anger had been palpable; it felt like the whole room was going to burst into flames. This would not help the morale of the troops at all.

     In fact, it created a truly frightening question in Paan’s heart: If even Xar didn’t trust her anymore, how could anyone?

     He felt like the hairs on the back of his neck were standing up, and he glanced back towards the Warlord. Her eyes were boring straight through him. Paan shifted uncomfortably in his seat. The truth was, he was scared to death of her. Paan swallowed hard – could she really read his mind? Did she know everything he was thinking?

     “What do you want?” she asked abruptly, almost confirming his fears.

     “We…” Paan stammered. “We can’t survive this without you. Please, help us,” he pleaded.

      She stared at him a moment longer, then turned her head, staring distantly away. “Quit whining,” she said.

      Paan opened his mouth to respond, but a sudden chill shot through him, along with a feeling of dread. It felt like he was in grave danger, and he had no idea if the source was the enemy outside, or the woman beside him. He kept his mouth shut.

     He spared a quick glance around the room, where the staff were all busying themselves in their consoles and displays, pointedly avoiding looking in his direction.  Zalaria’s two burly Jedicon bodyguards stood at the room’s flanks, keeping a watchful eye over everything. Paan suddenly realized that he was the only Jedi in the room. And not only was he outnumbered, he knew he was outmatched beyond all hope should something untoward happen.

     Trying to ignore them all, Paan turned his attention back to the displays. The situation was continuing to deteriorate.

     “Sir, we have a problem,” one of the officers spoke up suddenly. “Our cameras are showing more and more Jedicon inside the palace, now.”

     “What areas?” he asked.

     “They’re spreading out to wherever they can go. They’re just – destroying everything they come across,” the woman reported. “They go into the rooms, and if they don’t find anyone there, they just trash the whole place before moving on.”

     “What if they do find someone?” Paan asked, feeling panic set in.

     The officer just looked at him sadly. Rising to his feet, Paan ran over to her station. One look at her console screen told him all he needed to know.

     “There are civilians still loose in the palace!” he exclaimed. On several of the cameras he could even see figures running around. On others, Jedicon ran though the corridors in a crazed frenzy. “They’re trapped! We have to help them!” Paan looked over at Zalaria. The woman stared back at him, but didn’t say anything.

     What was she doing? Was she even on their side, or did she simply deem them unimportant? Maybe Xar was right after all.

     “I’m going,” he announced. “If we don’t stop them, the Jedicon will slaughter every last one of them.”

     “If you go, you will die,” Zalaria said, her soft voice undercutting the hubbub in the room. She watched him, and Paan felt her gaze like a weight on his shoulders. He shook his head, realizing one thing – unlike her, he was a Jedi. Sworn to protect and defend.

     “Take command,” he told the woman officer sitting next to him. Then, to Zalaria, he forced a grim smile to his lips. “Join me later if you want. I’m a Jedi, and I have a job to do.”

 

 

 

                                    *                                  *                                  *

 

            In Orbit

            Varnus

            1240 Hours

 

            Donitz was hot on the tail of an enemy fighter, pulling tight with his opponent and about to pull the trigger, when his quarry abruptly disappeared.
     Sithspawn's carcass! Again! How was he supposed to fight when half of his enemies didn't really exist?
    Hissing in frustration, he pulled his fighter around in a loop, heading back towards the main battle. The NI fleet was in dire shape. At first they had held up well, fighting back hard, but as the enemy numbers continued to swell, the damage was beginning to take its toll. Huge chunks of debris floated among the fleet's formation, pieces of ships that had already been obliterated.
     "This is Gaius to all fleet ships," the Fleet Commander's voice came over the comm. "Be advised that some of the enemy Titans are also phantoms. We have conclusive evidence to indicate that the Titans labeled Fall of Light, Subjugation, Munificence, Right of Conquest, and Havoc on your transponders are illusions. They are not actually there.” A pause. “Yes, you heard correctly – it sounds impossible, but they are indeed fakes. All ships are instructed to disregard those vessels as targets. Fire from those ships will not cause damage to our ships. Out."
     Donitz glanced at his commlink, knowing his eyes were narrowed in skepticism. Fighters and transports were one thing, but five entire Titans? How powerful were these Jedicon that the Altarin’Dakor had? Nothing, even myths and legends he had heard growing up, compared with what he had been seeing here, right now with his very eyes.

     Nevertheless, the NI forces were following orders. No more fire was headed towards the Titans in question. Attacks were focusing on the remaining five Titans. Meanwhile, AD fire continued to pour into the NI ships, most of which had lost shields by this point.
     Donitz’s engines sang as he crossed back into the main field of battle. As he grew closer, he saw the final death throes of the ISD Phantom as thick beams of energy carved through her hull broadsides, turning whole areas into slag and cutting deep into her decks. The whole ship appeared to be aflame, and as beams from one of the nearby Titans - the Cataclysm, he noted - tore into the ship, they hit the Star Destroyer's solar ionization reactor. An explosion blossomed within the ship, blowing out through the breaches in her hull, then a chain reaction devoured the ship in a massive explosion that lit space up like a small star. A shockwave wiped out dozens of fighters around the vicinity, and a ring of blazing hot gases filled the star-studded view in front of Donitz.
     It wasn't the only casualty of war. A dozen other NI vessels were heavily damaged, on fire and leaking atmosphere and smoke, leaving a thick cloud that partially obscured the fleet. The Defiant was taking heavy fire, her shields down now, her entire port side a blackened char with fire and gas pouring out of her. Meanwhile, the enemy line remained constant. Though numerous smaller capital ships had been destroyed, the Titans stood resolute, mercilessly wiping out the NI fleet ship by ship.
     Then, as he glanced at the enemy lined, five of the Titans – all those that Gaius had mentioned – suddenly wavered like ripples in a pond. Then they disappeared, too.
     Donitz blinked for a minute in near disbelief. Gaius was right, he realized. That meant the attacking AD force was only half as strong as they’d thought. Unfortunately, they were still more than enough to defeat the NI defenders. And perhaps even more telling, Donitz realized they had been outwitted. The fake Titans, in a position to cover the transports as they landed, had stopped the NI from preventing ground landings on Varnus. Now Vectur was under attack and in bad shape.

     The remaining Titans were pouring on the assault, almost as if dropping the illusions freed them up to attack even more aggressively. The two largest Titans, the Grand Crusader and the Cataclysm, continued to hang back, firing with impunity into the NI formation. Two others, the Ascendancy and the Hegemony, were moving closer to the fleet, picking the NI ships apart. The Desolation was the only ship not unleashing one devastating beam weapon blast after another. All the forward batteries on the ship’s nose had been neutralized, some from a previous engagement, the rest more recently from precision fire from the ­Majestic-class cruisers.

     “Sir, two bogeys incoming at ten o’clock high!” Gastron shouted.

     Donitz looked up and to port, spotting two sleek craft diving towards them. Losing Nibiuri earlier to the transport attack had left the two of them flying alone for the time being.  Pulling back on the stick, he moved to engage. “On me,” he told Gastron. “Take the one on the right.”

     They pulled up, beams of energy flashing past underneath as they angled in. Gastron began firing at the starboard bogey, and Donitz let his crosshairs drift over that way, as well. As they came together, he fired several blasts at the same enemy, causing the craft to pull off. At the last second Donitz pulled his Defender back up towards the second enemy, but he was too far inside to draw a bead. The enemy Stiletto flew past behind him, and Donitz rolled to starboard and dove after him.

     The enemy was looping to port, thinking that Donitz was tailing him the other way around. Instead, they were turning in the same direction, and the Defender got lead on the AD craft much earlier. Donitz squeezed the trigger, sending bursts of fire from his ship’s six laser cannons. The Stiletto’s shields lit up under multiple hits, and suddenly the enemy pilot veered his craft in the other direction, heading away as if trying to escape.

     “Sir, he’s gotten around on my tail!” came Gastron’s voice.

     Donitz noted his wingman’s position, saw that he would need help soon but knew he could finish this opponent off first. Switching to missiles, he got lock almost immediately and sent an advanced torpedo after the enemy fighter. In a couple of seconds the warhead crossed the distance between them, then struck the Stiletto in its tailpipe, blowing the fighter out of the sky.

     He turned back and pushed his throttle to full, heading after the other enemy Stiletto on Gastron’s tail. He spotted them quickly, two bright dots reflecting the light of Varnus’ sun. The enemy fighter was matching the Defender’s evasive maneuvers expertly. Centering his crosshairs on the enemy blip, Donitz heard his tone go solid, indicating a lock, and launched his last torpedo out after the enemy.

     The Stiletto went evasive, pulling off of Gastron’s tail, but he couldn’t avoid the warhead traveling much faster than he was. The torpedo hit, flaring his shields and sending the fighter into a wobble. Soaring in with twin ion engines screaming, Donitz drew aim and fired, knowing that at this speed he would only get one quick pass.

     His blasts hit, tearing away the rest of the shields and hitting the fighter’s portside wing. The whole left side of the fighter exploded, sending the rest of it into an uncontrolled spin towards the planet below.

     “Thanks for the save, Sir,” Gastron said, his craft pulling back into formation.

     “Copy. Set heading one-oh-four,” Donitz replied, bringing them closer to the NI fleet again. He could see AD fighters swarming around the fleet, many of them actually still ramming themselves into the NI capital ships. The tactic was beginning to take its toll. The SSD Independence herself was on fire from countless impact points on her hull, and other ships were either out of commission or in the process of going up, one detonation after another. One of the frigates was hit by several suicide impacts, some of which must have been carrying warheads, because the ensuing explosions tore the ship apart and sent debris raining down out of orbit.

     New Imperium and Altarin’Dakor fighters were still swarming around in a cloud out between and amongst the capital ships. Donitz estimated that the NI had lost fifty percent of their fighters already. Though they had perhaps taken out as many AD fighters as they had lost, it put the NI forces in an even more hopeless situation. With casualties continuing to rise, he wondered how much longer the NI could hold out.

     Suddenly he noticed a large group of AD fighters descending from an engagement in a coordinated swarm. It didn’t take long to realize that these were the enemy’s Jedicon fighters, the victors of the exclusive little furball they had been having with Zalaria’s Jedicon. In amazement, Donitz noted that not one of Zalaria’s forces had survived. They had all been wiped out to a man. Having won the engagement, the remaining AD fighters were now descending upon the rest of the NI fleet, which would be helpless to defend against their Force techniques. As he watched, a cluster of the fighters began buzzing around some of the NI capital ships, blowing away any fighters that dared to approach them, cutting through the hulls of the larger ships while managing to avoid return fire. The MC-90 Courageous fell to a swarm of Jedicon fighters, hitting weak points, destroying shield generators, communications hardpoints, and weapons emplacements with expert aim. The cruiser was quickly incapacitated, and still the enemy continued to cut up the doomed ship like a surgeon’s knife. Other fighters went after the SSD Independence, their pilots amazingly able to dodge the turret gunners virtually every time.

     Still other Jedicon fighters were headed down into the atmosphere, to help finish off the NI defenders and help the ground assault. They passed the NI formation and quickly began entry, still holding their uncannily perfect formations.

     Donitz knew better than to engage with any of them. The only thing they could do was take on what fighters they could, protect the NI ships from further suicide attacks and follow orders as they came down, whether that included covering a retreat or fighting here to the death.
     His scanners showed another squadron of enemy fighters set on a collision course with the ISD Vindicator. Signaling to the other craft around him, he pulled around to intercept them, wondering how much longer his luck was going to hold out. He was out of missiles, and NI losses continued to mount. He might be able to outfly any enemy pilot, but as the numbers began to mount against him, statistically his chances of survival were growing slim. Still, if that were the case, he would continue to do what he could, for as long as he could. Fate would take care of the rest.

 

*                                  *                                  *

 

Bridge

            Titan-class Battleship Desolation

            1255 Hours

 

            Naguis’Vox’Donn Gerim Chothas stood on the bridge of the Desolation and watched as the other Titans continued to destroy the enemy fleet, ship after ship.

     The Desolation deserved to join in the honor, to take her share of the glory. She should not have to sit here like this, her forward guns destroyed, unable to exact revenge upon the Outlanders for their defeat on Varnus millennia ago. Every Altarin’Dakor child grew up hearing stories about the great battle on Varnus. Now countless warriors were out there taking part in the honor, many destroying themselves in glorious form as they rammed their ships into the enemy line, sacrificing themselves. This was history being rewritten before their very eyes, and one inconsequential formation should not prevent this grand command ship’s crew from partaking in this glorious event.

     Chothas turned his graying head – a testament of his years of service – towards the navigation officer. “Turn us to port,” he ordered. “Prepare a broadside barrage against the enemy command ship. No, not the Nexus – the other one.”

     The words had barely left his mouth before the communications officer spoke up. “Sir, a priority communiqué from the Grand Crusader,” the officer reported. “We are ordered to stand fast and not face our side towards the enemy.”

     “What?” Chothas barked out. “How could they?” He blinked at the display holos in shock and outrage, mixed with more than a little awe. The order had come as soon as he considered turning; they must have known what he was going to say before he’d even said it! The Great Lord was truly in full control, this day. And yet why prevent them from joining in the battle? Was it punishment for the damage they’d received at the Moro System? The order seemed senseless, but the Great Lord always had his reasons.

     The holo showed the other four Titans were pouring fire into the enemy fleet. Return fire was becoming weaker by the moment. There was virtually nothing the enemy could do, no obvious danger that needed to be avoided. Chothas seethed with the desire to kill, to unleash a barrage of fire that would destroy these Outlanders once and for all. With the Desolation’s help, the battle would be won all the faster.

     He stood there for a moment, brimming with excitement, torn between sense of duty and the desire for glory. So what if disobedience cost him his life? The glory earned from so many kills would surely serve his eternally in the afterlife. What did it matter, if they turned broadside? The enemy didn’t have enough firepower to destroy the Desolation. Seeing how much more devastating their assault would be, the Great Lord might even be pleased, might even reward him.

     “Turn to port,” he commanded. “Track all starboard batteries on the Independence and open fire.”

     “Sir…” the communications officer started.

     “Silence!” Chothas snapped. “Tell them our receivers are damaged. Turn this ship and open fire!”

     “Yes, sir!” the navigation officer answered.

     Slowly, the starfield around them began to shift, and the massive Titan began to turn.

 

                                    *                                  *                                  *

 

            Titan-class Battleship Nexus

            1300 Hours

 

            The Nexus took another hit from the Grand Crusader’s powerful forward cannons, and the deck shook slightly beneath Sector Admiral Gaius’ feet. A chime sounded from somewhere else on the bridge.

     “Our shields are down to thirty percent,” Commodore Awel Kylar reported crisply. “Attacks are beginning to penetrate and damage the hull.”
     Gaius stood resolutely, staring at the battle unfolding all around them thanks to the Nexus' holographic walls. He watched as the ISD Fang went up in a series of explosions, ripping out of her engines, up through the bridge superstructure, and chewing through the ship’s body, ripping her hangar apart and sending the rest of the vessel pitching forward, a drifting hulk on fire.

     "We've taken over fifty percent fighter casualties," Fleet Admiral Jann Percy spoke up from the tactical station, his voice tense.

     Standing next to Percy, Field Marshall Kaler shook his head. “This battle is over. It’s only a matter of time, now.”

     The Fleet Commander ignored him. There was no need to state the obvious. The NI couldn’t win this battle; only a miracle could save them, now. The question that Gaius knew was on his shoulders, however, was whether to sacrifice everything in defense of Varnus. There were millions of lives down there at stake; at the same time, Tralaria was under attack, as well. If the combined NI fleets had amassed all in one place, they might have saved one of the two targets. Yet those kinds of decisions were impossible to make – besides, even if one of Nimrod’s fleets was defeated, the other would surely come and exact revenge later.

     The decision had been reached long ago. They would fight here until they could fight no longer. Whoever survived would then flee NI space and try to warn the rest of the galaxy of the impending invasion. For once the NI was defeated, the AD would march on an unsuspecting galaxy ripe for the taking.
     “Gaius, what’s that Titan doing?” Walt Amason’s voice came from across the bridge.
     Turning to follow the man's outstretched arm – it was good having extra sets of eyes when on a near 360 degree view of the battle – Gaius saw the Desolation beginning a sweeping turn to port, bringing it out of line with the other Titans. The Desolation, her massive bow a blackened, ruined char, had been unable to fire at the NI fleet in any significant capacity. But if she brought her side batteries to bear... They could have as many as a score of new fusion beams emplacements to worry about, he realized.
     "They're going to broadside us," Gaius realized.
     They all watched as the Titan continued to turn slowly, thousands of viewport lights becoming visible along the ship's spine.
     "Admiral," Awel Kylar spoke up from the tactical display nearby. "The Desolation has lost her forward shields. Those on the starboard side are still intact. However, in approximately thirty seconds we will have an opening through the forward shields to strike anywhere along the ship's starboard side."
     Gaius immediately caught the meaning of his words: they would have an unprotected target for a matter of a few seconds, but they would only get one chance at it. Though they might not have a chance of winning this battle, they could certainly take as many of the enemy with them as possible.

     “Order to all ships: train all batteries on the opening in the Desolation’s shields. Target all vital systems that you can, especially the bridge. We might be going down, but by the Force we’re taking her with us!”

     He watched as the tactical holo counted down the seconds to the Titan’s opening. As they dropped to within five seconds, Gaius raised his voice, trusting that the whole fleet could hear his orders.

     “Fire on my mark,” he said. “Three… Two… One… Fire!”

     The NI Fleet opened up just as the Titan's turn reached the perfect angle, and at that moment all the fleet's batteries turned towards that one, single target. Thousands of green and red turbolaser blasts shot out, passing through the opening in her shields and impacting against the Desolation's hull, melting armor into slag and blowing huge chunks into the ship's interior. The Nexus' beam weapons joined them, cutting into the ship's vital areas.
    The four Majestic-class cruisers, having hovered safely within the Nexus' protective shield, opened up with their transport-sized mass driver rounds. Each fired her rounds even as a beam from the Hegemony penetrated the Nexus' weakened shield and sliced into the Repulse. The beam cut through her just aft of the cannon's barrel, tearing through the ship's body and causing an explosion to rip out in its wake, blowing the ship apart and sending the barrel drifting forward away from the ensuing fireball.
     Nevertheless, the four blasts hit, easily penetrating the shields to strike around the presumed bridge area. The mass driver rounds punched through the Desolation's hull before detonating their armor-piercing, explosive rounds. The shots hit at an angle, blasting massive craters into the Titan's side in a series of huge explosions. The Desolation seemed to shudder under the impact.
     Then the turbolaser blasts began to light up the Titan's shields once more. "The opening in the Desolation's shields is now closed," Awel Kylar reported. "We can no longer penetrate her defenses."
     Gaius nodded, masking the frustration he felt inside. They'd brought all their firepower to bear, inflicting incredible damage on the enemy ship, and yet she was still standing. What did it take to destroy a Titan? They had eliminated a dozen more beam turret emplacements, but the ship still had more remaining. Had they damaged the bridge?
     "Keep up the attack," he ordered finally. "She's the weakest target out there. We're not going to hold back until that ship is space dust."
     He hoped their attack had been effective enough. If not, then they would find out soon enough. Whatever happened, they would keep firing until either their guns overloaded, or there was no one left alive to fire them at all.

 

                                    *                                  *                                  *

 

            Titan-class Battleship Desolation

            In Orbit, Varnus

            1300 Hours

 

            It seemed as though they had been in darkness forever.
     In reality, though, it had probably been only two or three weeks, and only about a week since the newcomers had arrived. Meals had been sparse, only once a day and consisting of bland, grueling porridge that probably had no nutritional value. Water had been precious, too. They were probably all dehydrated and malnourished at this point, and their unwashed bodies doubtless smelled rank and intolerable by this point.
     Still, the thing they missed most was the light.
     Only when meals were passed in and brought out, along with their bodily wastes, would some light spill into the pitch-black room. It seemed blinding every time the small slot would slide open, yet it was welcomed like water in the hottest desert. Without light, humankind would probably dissolve into insanity and dementia. Only the company of their comrades had kept them going this far. They were all tired, hungry and weak. Without the Force, they had no way to pass the time through meditation, no ability to boost their physical condition, no method of contact with the outside world.
     And that darkness, the absence of that sense of life generated by all living things in the universe - that made the darkness even more complete, and final.
     Suddenly, unexpectedly the ship lurched and shuddered violently, sending the captives scrambling to keep their positions on the floor. It the first time they'd felt anything like it on the Titan, anything more than small vibrations and muffled whoomps. Those telltale signs had alerted them to the continuing battle, but they had no more information about it than that. This time, though, the movement was so violent, Roger Macreed knew that if anyone had been standing, they probably would've been thrown off their feet.
     "We just took a big hit!" someone exclaimed, and Macreed recognized Domi's voice.
     Then suddenly, Macreed could feel the Force around him again. Even though they were all still in pitch-black darkness, it was as though a light suddenly came on in his mind and soul. The room went silent in an instant, and he knew that everyone felt it, as well. It was like stumbling upon an oasis in that desert. It was like waking up from a nightmare.
     Whatever had been keeping them from touching the Force was gone, now.
     The Grand Master wasted no time. Macreed felt a surge in the Force, and suddenly the cell door was blown outwards off its hinges. Light flooded into the room, blinding them temporarily. Macreed drew in the Force, feeling it flood him with light, and his eyes started to adjust and send him information.
     For one thing, the hallway outside was lit by emergency lighting strips at the ceiling. Power loss, he realized. The ship must have taken a major hit to lose vital systems. What could damage a Titan so badly?
     "Come on," Misnera urged them, stepping into the doorway and waving them forward. "We've got to get out of here while there's still time."
     Macreed pushed himself to his feet, swaying unsteadily. He had no idea how long it would take for the AD to notice their escape, but he knew that the Grand Master was right; this was their only chance at escape, and they had to move fast.
     The room's other occupants followed the Grand Master into the corridor, and one by one they emerged from the cell. Macreed was second out, behind Misnera.With each step he found himself getting steadier and stronger, thanks to the Force. Following him were Vykk Olyronn, Colin Moore, Jontaar Domi, Mrax Satai, and Rilke Darcunter, and finally Brajo, who had been in just as long as Macreed himself. Brajo's eyes were wide, and he looked as though he were seeing things for the first time in his life.
     The corridor was empty except for them. Turning right, Grand Master Misnera led them at a trot down the hallway. They had a fifty-fifty chance that the control room would be this way. It turned out that they chose correctly.
     They came upon a guard station lightly guarded by several unsuspecting troops. The Altarin'Dakor, concerned with the power outage, had apparently not noticed that the Jedi prisoners had escaped. They looked up just as the whole group barged into the room, Grand Master Misnera leading them.
     Misnera moved swiftly and decisively. The guards were behind their control stations, trying to get their systems back online. As they saw the Jedi approach, several went for their guns, but Misnera ran forward and threw out a hand, and the whole group of them were blown out of their chairs. They slammed against bulkheads and consoles, cracking helmets open and crushing bones with sickening crunching sounds.
     Out of a side corridor, two more guards appeared, hefting pulse blasters and aiming right for the group of Jedi. Macreed turned towards them, together with Vykk and Domi, and all three sent out a Force Push as strongly as they could. The two soldiers flew backwards, their guns misfiring into the floor as they flew into the wall and fell to the floor, unmoving.
     Then suddenly a Jedicon leapt into the room, lightsaber igniting with an unmistakable snap-hiss. He leapt over a retaining wall and across the control room, flying straight for Misnera. The Grand Master, however, made no move to avoid the attack. Instead he leaned back, drawing his hands together, and Macreed felt a rush of the Force flowing within him. Then Misnera threw his hands out, still together, and a blast of energy leapt from them and connected with the enemy. The warrior took the hit straight in the chest blowing his chest armor to bits and sending him in a complete back-flip before landing face-first on the floor, sliding up against the Grand Master's feet.
    The whole ordeal had taken only seconds. With no one left visibly alive in the vicinity, the Jedi moved into the guard station. They checked the consoles, which were just coming back to life on auxiliary power, but as all the readouts were in Altarin'Dakor, Macreed could make no sense out of them at all.
     "Where to now?" Vykk asked, glancing at a schematic map overlay of the detention area. A red light was now flashing over one of the cell bays, presumably the one from which the Jedi had escaped.
     "Out," Misnera replied, coming up beside him. He apparently could read some Altarin'Dakor - perhaps from studying after some had joined with the NI - because he glanced down at the controls intently, as though looking for something. "Where... There it is. Security doors. Closed, it says." He glanced up at the other Jedi. "Let's try 'open', shall we?" He tapped something on the screen. A second later, a reverberating hissing noise echoed from down the hallways, sounding oddly as though a whole lot of doors were opening at the same time.
     Misnera grunted in satisfaction. "That should keep security occupied. Now, let's see... This area of the map says its a storage unit. We need our gear back - or if we can't get our own, we at least need some weapons. Come on."
     They found the storage locker down a side corridor, unoccupied. Breaking into the crates and units with the Force, they were able to locate their personal items, which had been locked down, and they were able to procure at least six pulse blasters that Misnera spread out among them. Rilke Darcunter even located a cache of what appeared to be stun grenades.
     Macreed brandished his newly-acquired pulse blaster and experimentally switched his lightsaber on and off. It seemed good as new. Beside him, Vykk, similarly equipped, gave him a grin. "Now we can do some real damage," he said.
     They made it back to the guard station and found utter chaos. Prisoners were running everywhere, flowing out of the detention cell area through the security room and into the hallways beyond. The dead guards' blasters were gone; Misnera guided others back into the storage unit so they could acquire even more supplies and weapons.
     The prisoners were a mixed sort: many humans and humanoids, some other mainstay races such as Bothans and Duros, and a few Sigmans, but most were of species Macreed couldn't recall ever seeing before. Many were gaunt and emaciated, but they moved with desperation and purpose. All wanted to escape. Misnera shouted as loud as he could for them to flee, that the ship was under attack and taking damage, and that this was their best chance to escape.
     Then as they were watching the escapees file past, Colin Moore started and pointed at one human running along the far wall. “Hey! That’s the pilot of our ship!” he exclaimed.
     The heads of several other Jedi snapped to follow, and instantly Vykk, Satai and Darcunter were leaping over the consoles after him. Within seconds they had the man cornered, and Satai and Darcunter grabbed him by the shoulders and pressed him against the wall while Vykk stood before him accusingly, shouting at the man amidst the din.
     "What's going on here?" Misnera yelled, coming up beside Vykk. Macreed and Brajo, unsure what was going on, followed close behind.
     "This was our pilot, Master!" Satai said, giving the man a shake. The Altarin'Dakor, human man was staring at them wide-eyed, but he looked just as malnourished as the rest of the prisoners.
     Misnera put a hand on Vykk's arm and moved him aside. "This man was a prisoner, too. Why is that?"
     "Maybe it's to trick us again," Darcunter offered, glaring at the man.
     Misnera arched an eyebrow. "I hardly believe that, considering they didn't know we would escape."
     “He betrayed us, sir!” Vykk's face was flushed with anger.
     “How can you be so sure?” Misnera asked him. "We only know that our AD guide betrayed us, and he isn't here. Our pilot left us as soon as we got off the transport. He may have had nothing to do with it."
     "I..." the man spoke up for this first time, his Basic broken and Altarin'Dakor-accented. "I did not betray you. They... captured me."
     Macreed sensed truth in the man's words. Misnera nodded, then motioned for the others to let him go. "Well, we're free now. So tell me, are you on our side or not?"
     "I serve the Shok'Thola, Zalaria."
     Something dark came over Misnera's face. Macreed had heard the story of their capture, and knew that they were close to blaming Zalaria for the whole thing - as a setup. There was still not enough evidence, though. Yet.
     "Let me phrase it another way," Misnera said. "Will you help us? We have a mission here, and we need a guide who understands fluent Altarin'Dakor. Will you help us destroy or disable this ship?"
     The man blinked, taking a second to comprehend the Grand Master's words. Then nodded. "I will help you."
     Meanwhile, all eyes had turned to Misnera. "Sir," Domi spoke up. "How are we going to stop this Titan when they're going to be looking everywhere for us?"
     Misnera kept his gaze on the AD pilot. "Do you know how to get to the bridge?" he asked.
     The man nodded slowly. "The ship, it is damaged, I think. We can go to the bridge, maybe take another way. You can take control of the ship there. But the bridge is heavily guarded." He thought for a moment. "Or you can to go the engine room and try to destroy it."
     "Which one is easier to get into?" Misnera asked.
     "Maybe the engine room. But I think engine room is very difficult to attack."
     "Why?" Vykk asked.
     "It is very large. Maybe larger than one of your Star Destroyers."
     "Well, scratch that," Satai snorted. "We'd never be able to take out something that size, there aren't enough of us."
     "Okay, that settles it," Misnera nodded, backing away and motioning for the others to give him space. "Take us to the bridge, then. We'll fight our way through or die trying."
     "Most Titan ships have a cargo transport system," the man said. "Not many people riding."
     "Good. Lead the way."

 

                                    *                                  *                                  *

 

            Skies above Vectur

            Varnus

            1315 Hours

 

            Fighters swarmed in the sky over Vectur, dogfighting in a swirling mix of metal and fire. Every few seconds another one would fall flaming from the clouds down to the surface, adding to the fires already burning both in the outskirts as well as the downtown district.


     Maarek pushed his throttles forward, skimming across the top edge of a cloud, then rose and turned sharply to port on the tail of an enemy fighter that was pursuing a friendly TIE Avatar. The gravitational forces whipped him back into his seat, sending a surge of adrenaline through his body. His HUD painted green brackets around the AD Stiletto as it tried to attain a lock.
     “He’s on me tight, sir!” the Avatar pilot called out over the commlink. Maarek didn’t know him personally, but he was in the defense force, he was an NI pilot and that meant he was Maarek’s man.
     “I’m on him,” he replied, keeping his voice as steady as possible. “Give me fifteen seconds.”

     The enemy fighter jinked and turned tightly, hot on the tail of the other Avatar, firing blue and yellow beams of destruction that kept missing by mere meters. So focused on its target, the Stiletto didn't seem to notice Maarek, who gained speed and pulled a bit closer to his opponent. His crosshairs came over the target and he squeezed the trigger, firing a burst from his quad-lasers.

     The advantage of energy weapons was that virtually no lead was needed on a target. Maarek's lasers crossed near-instantaneously to the enemy fighter, hammering at its shields. If the AD pilot noticed the attack, he didn't show it, for he kept on doggedly pursuing the Avatar in front of him. Pulling back a bit, Maarek switched to missiles and acquired a lock. He hit the trigger, sending out an advanced concussion missile that streaked across the sky.
     “He’s got lock! I’m ejecting!”

     Just before the warhead connected, the AD pilot's persistence paid off. Turning tight on the Avatar's tail, it fired its beams again, this time connecting, shearing through the TIE diagonally from port wing to starboard engine. The fighter's aft end exploded, engulfing the whole ship in flames. Maarek felt his heart skip just before he saw the pilot rocket out of the canopy on a trail of flame, and he gave a sigh of relief.

     Then Maarek's missile hit the Stiletto in the left side, and the fighter exploded. Pieces rained down towards the ground below, following the Avatar's remains in their wake.

     "Scratch one more," Maarek announced, pulling a loop around the smoke and debris. He saw the ejected pilot floating downwards, heading towards the towering spires of the city's business district. "Need a pickup in Sector Three."

     Maarek cursed under his breath at failing to save the other Avatar. That left one fewer ship on the NI's side to fight, and more AD ships were constantly entering the atmosphere. They had lost well over half the planetary defense forces and were outnumbered, now. But despite the odds, the Vectur Defense Force had performed admirably. Maarek had trained most of them himself during his tenure here, meaning that he knew a lot of them, some close enough to call comrades. That made it that much harder every time he saw another one shot down.
     AD fighters were picking NI ships out of the sky, proving their superiority in both equipment and, often, in piloting. Now not only were more ships coming down, but the ships entering the theater of battle seemed to be growing more and more powerful and heavily armed. New ship designs, ones that he'd never seen before, had arrived and were destroying NI ships far more efficiently than those they'd engaged with previously. That fact put a sinking feeling in Maarek's gut, making him wonder what might come down next. There was one kind of fighter that he never wanted to see again, and every passing minute gave him more cause for worry that the next fighter he faced might have a Jedicon inside.

     Maarek had done everything in his power to keep his pilots in Inferno Squadron together and alive. They were fighting off fatigue as best he could after hours of flying. Sweat covered him inside his flight suit, and he drank constantly from his built-in water canister, thankful that it kept him from passing out from dehydration. He’d already rearmed his craft with missiles once, and was getting low again, already.

     He spotted a flight of three enemy fighters diving down from above, going not after him but head-on against a flight of TIE Avengers from the VDF. "One Flight, form up," he called, pulling back on the stick and trusting Rann and Tanya to join formation in time to help out. The other Inferno pilots were out there engaged, but not too far away.

     He watched as the enemy fighters grew closer. One big difference fighting in atmosphere versus space was the speeds at which things happened. In space there was no resistance, but down here in the atmosphere, there was the constant friction of air to worry about, limiting the speeds at which you could turn and testing the integrity of each fighter's construction. For Maarek, things seemed to be happening much slower than he was used to. His fighter reacted just a little less responsively than normal, frustrating him sometimes with the bulky solar panels on the sides of his wings. Plus, shifting winds and pressure variations made him constantly have to adjust his pitch and aim. It was a trade-off he had to deal with down here.

     Inferno’s Flight One pulled onto the enemies’ tails just as they made a head-to-head against the Avengers.

     Both sides fired; the TIE Avenger in the center was hit and blown to pieces, and the other two scattered to either side. One of the AD fighters turned to starboard, while the others to port in pursuit. Inferno's flight followed those two, Maarek taking one while Rann and Tanya dogged after the other.

     Both pilots seemed to notice their pursuit and broke off their attacks. Maarek stayed on his target, the wind buffeting his craft as he kept it in his sights - then he attained lock and fired a missile. The warhead burned across the sky on a trail of smoke and hit the craft in the underside, flipping it halfway over. The enemy pilot, reacting quickly, turned the move into an inversion and dove toward the ground. Maarek inverted also and followed, switching over to lasers. The enemy ship had slowed, and Maarek realized at this angle he was going to overshoot. Pulling in tightly, he slammed on the reverse thrusters, giving him a split second for his crosshairs to pass over the other fighter's fuselage, and he fired.
     "Lock attained!" Tanya Vinikoro's voice dimly registered in his ears.
     "Firing!" he heard Rann Wosper say.

     The hail of green lasers crossed over the enemy fighter, knocking down its remaining shields and ripping into the fighter's armor. Then they hit a critical component and an explosion ripped out, blowing the fighter in half as Maarek passed by overhead.
     "Scratch another one," he announced, righting his craft and looping back around. He watched the stricken fighter's front section - cockpit and all - flipping over and over as it fell  downwards. Then out of the corner of his eye, he caught another flash of light and looked over to see another expanding fireball.

     "Boss, this is Two. Make that both of us," he heard Rann say. "Three and I double-teamed him."

     "Good work." Maarek joined back into formation with them and took a second to take stock of the battle. What looked like hundreds of fighters were crisscrossing the sky both above them and below, with all of Vectur as the backdrop, the battle below raging just as heavily as that above.

     As he watched, a group of three NI fighters made a run on another descending AD troop transport. The ships came in, guns blazing, the transport returning powerful pulse laser fire back out at them. One Avatar got hit dead on and exploded in mid-air; the other two flew past the fireball and continued in. Another Avatar and an X-Wing, they launched torpedoes and pulled out and their warheads flew true in to the target. Explosions ripped across the spine and aft of the transport and the large craft began to sink, plunging down between the buildings towards the street below.

     "Kriff it all! Vectur's getting wasted!" Rann shouted.
     "Lead, this is Four," Bast Vlagen's calm, professional voice broke in. "We've got more incoming at my twelve o'clock high. Looks like they want to engage us."
     Maarek saw the other five Avatars in Inferno closing up with them from below and to starboard; Bast's flight included Kikitik and Gren Pabos, while off their six in Flight Three were Salle Darl and Narm Greyrunner. Maarek pulled into line with them, turning in the same direction, and looked up. A cluster of black dots were growing larger now, directly in front of them. He checked his scanners; they included Aggressors and another class of fighter that Maarek hadn't seen before, sporting hook-shaped wings.
     "Those new craft look like heavies," Rann spoke up.
     "Flight Two assuming Star Pattern Delta," Bast reported.
     "Inferno Squadron," Maarek ordered. "Choose your targets and engage at will."
     Within seconds the two groups met. A few blasts lit the air from the oncoming enemies, but Inferno had scattered into its respective flights, making them too hard a target to hit. Then they blew past each other in a blur, sleek AD fighters streaking between the formation of the TIE Avatars.
     "This is Seven," said Salle Darl. "I'm turning left - coming around to engage."
     "I'm on your wing, Seven," Narm exclaimed.
     Maarek brought his fighter around, blue sky changing in a blur back to clouds and ground, seeing beams crisscrossing the sky against the backdrop of the city. He picked one target trailing right and opened up with his lasers. In response, the ship dove, pulling a split-S and heading back the other way a thousand meters lower.
     "Lead, two incoming to port," Tanya spoke up.
     Maarek glanced left and saw the bogeys in question. "Roger, engage." He pitched the fighter on its side and turned into the approaching enemies. He pushed the throttles up, pressing him back into his seat. "Split up, Delta," he ordered.
     The three fighters of Flight One spread out from one another into a loose triangle. The pair of AD fighters flashed by between them, barely visible at these speeds, and began banking upwards. In response, Maarek twisted to the right and pulled back on the stick hard, bringing his fighter in a tight loop. He knew that Rann and Tanya were doing the same, bearing back towards the pair of bogeys.

     One of the enemy Stilettos appeared in his sights, curving back towards him for another head-to-head. Maarek attained lock first and squeezed the trigger, sending another advanced concussion missile streaking out. The missile had barely left before a flash came out of nowhere, missing him to port by mere meters.

     Immediately Maarek snap-rolled to starboard, then dove. The enemy fighter that had attacked him flashed by overhead, and Maarek felt his heart skip a beat. If that blast had been just a little closer…

     “Target down,” Bast Vlagen’s voice reported.

     He pulled back on the stick, making a quick loop and heading back the other way. Halfway there he could see another Stiletto target, missing a wing from a missile hit, spinning slowly downwards.

     “Watch it, Lead! One on your tail!” Rann shouted.

     Maarek rolled and dove, going evasive. A second later his missile alert went off. He glanced overhead and saw another Stiletto, along with a glowing missile heading straight towards him.

     He turned tighter, heading straight downwards and releasing countermeasures. The maneuver worked; the missile flashed past, leaving a trail though the air ahead. Maarek brought his craft back up, still working to evade the enemy craft still on his tail. “Little help!” he shouted into the comm.

     “Almost there!” Rann came back. “I’m still about ten seconds out; can’t make lock!”

     “Lead, break hard right!” Tanya’s voice came.

     Maarek reacted instinctively; trusting his wingman without question, he rolled out to starboard as hard as possible. His enemy turned to follow, right into the path of Tanya’s lasers. The AD fighter’s shields lit up under the impact, and the pilot turned away, going evasive.

     “Thanks, Three,” Maarek said.

     “Anytime, Lead.”

     “Lead, request for help. We’ve got a problem over here.”

     Maarek turned his craft to find out what Bast was talking about. There he saw them, a cluster of craft intermingling directly in the airspace over downtown Vectur. Bast’s flight was being pursued by several of the hook-winged fighters and a couple of Aggressors. The heavy fighters were firing multiple beam weapons at once. As he watched, another Avatar from outside Inferno was hit and exploded brilliantly.

     Bast snap-rolled his fighter, a maneuver matched by his wingmen. Behind and all around them, enemy fighters copied the maneuver, keeping behind.

     “We are completely evasive now.”

     Bast’s always-calm voice held an edge of strain that Maarek could detect. “On my way, Bast,” he replied, pushing the throttles forward and leading his flight closer.

     He realized he wasn’t going to make it in time, however. As he watched, one of the heavy fighters homed in on Inferno Five, firing a barrage from its beam weapons. Kikitik dove, missing the attack, and descended quickly towards the surface, where streams of turbolaser fire were still streaking up though the atmosphere.

     The AD fighter dove in pursuit, hot on the Sigman pilot’s tail. The Avatar slowed, jinking back and forth, keeping the enemy from attaining a solid shot. If he could get closer to one of the ground batteries, they might be able to take the heavy out.

     Then, to his surprise, the heavy fighter opened up with a different weapon. Maarek’s cockpit speakers gave a sharp buzzing sound, and streams of air shot out from the heavy fighter’s wings as it fired supersonic mass driver rounds down towards the NI craft. The projectiles passed straight through the TIE’s shields and chewed into the craft. The port solar panel was hit first, shearing into a thousand pieces, then more rounds hit the fuselage, punching straight through to continue down to the ground and leaving huge holes in their wake.

     Finally something vital was hit, and an explosion ripped out of Kikitik’s fighter, and it began to dive in a trail of smoke.

     “Five! Bail out!” Maarek yelled out in alarm, fearing that the hero of Sigma would soon follow the fate of his people. But Kikitik had proved himself an excellent pilot on countless occasions. Inverting his craft, he managed to bank out and put his ship on a course that would take it away from the city. Then his cockpit canopy flew off and he blasted out on a jet of flame. The fighter continued to plunge downwards, heading towards a series of grassy hillocks that surrounded the capital city of Varnus.

     Then Maarek’s flight caught up with Bast and the rest of Inferno. They opened up with missiles and lasers, impacting on half a dozen of the pursuing craft, then buzzed the formation, forcing several to break off. Maarek took his Avatar straight through the group of enemy fighters and was past in an instant. He glimpsed one of the heavies up close, seeing the craft practically bristling with weapons mounts.

     “We’ve got to take those heavies out!” he shouted as he pulled a sharp turn, then saw a friendly X-Wing blown out of the sky by an enemy missile hit.  
     Maarek blinked in surprise; the AD pilots were getting more skilled, too. The first ones had seemed haphazard, even suicidal. They'd come in hot and fast, making wild maneuvers and often firing until their guns overheated, almost as though they wanted to die. As if the glory of fighting and dying in battle was all they had to live for. Matched against that, even the desperate defense mounted by the NI forces seemed to be lacking the zeal to win.

     “This is Seven,” Salle Darl’s voice broke in. “I’ve got him. Engaging now.”

     Looming into view were Salle and Narm’s Avatars, pursuing another heavy fighter that was itself on the tail of Gren Pabos. Maarek checked his range and realized it would take several moments to get into position.

     Two missiles streaked out and hit the heavy fighter in rapid succession, lighting up its shields. The fighter broke off its attack and dove, and Maarek heard a muffled curse from Narm Greyrunner at seeing the enemy fighter survive.

     “Got good tone. Firing!” Salle yelled.

     Two more advanced concussion missiles shot out from her craft. They soared through the intervening air between her and the bogey, angled in for the kill, and impacted simultaneously on the enemy target. This time they penetrated the shields, and the Altarin’Dakor fighter detonated in a huge ball of flame, sending tendrils of fire and smoke streaking out and down towards the ground.

     “Good shooting, you two,” Maarek complimented. He turned, automatically seeking out another target. Despite their efforts, the enemy numbers continued to swell.

     “Thanks, Lead,” Salle’s voice came back. “Looks like they’re not invincible after all.” Another heavy fighter flashed by to starboard, and the two of them pulled around to follow.

     “Lead, I’ve got a pick-up ordered on Five,” Bast reported. His Avatar came into view ahead and above of Maarek, and he pulled up into a better formation with his flight leader.

     Maarek opened his mouth to respond to Bast, then stopped as he saw another cluster of enemy fighters descending from orbit and entering the field of battle. “Hang tight,” he said. “We’ve got more incoming. Let’s see if they’re more of the same…”

     He broke off then, his breath catching in his throat. The sensor profiles on these new incoming showed sleek, small fighters with round cockpits and four protruding wingtip structures jutting out all around it. It was a type of fighter that he’d encountered only once before. And that time, half of Inferno Squadron had been shot out of the sky.

     “It can’t be…” he whispered. There were too many of them – dozens, at least. Any one of them would have been enough to take out an entire squadron. Maarek felt his blood go cold, his limbs go suddenly numb. Sweat broke out all over his body. He opened his mouth to comm Inferno to form back up, to get ready, but the words just wouldn’t come. There wasn’t anything they could really do.

     All was lost, now. The enemy’s Jedicon fighters were finally entering the fray.

 

                                    *                                  *                                  *

 

            Corridors

            Royal Palace, Varnus

            1321 Hours

 

            Paan paced through the corridors, searching frantically for sign of any more refugees or survivors. So far, he’d found three clusters of hiding civilians in rooms still untouched by Jedicon activity. He’d guided them out and into safer areas, rooms that had heavy, lock-equipped doors that could withstand a lightsaber better than most. He hoped that if the Jedicon had trouble getting into one room, they’d simply give up and move on to the next one.

     He’d encountered a variety of inhabitants in the palace; Weequay, Chadra-Fans, Sigmans, and humanoids of various races. There were families, women and children that had been taking refuge here in the palace, and simply hadn’t had enough warning to make it to shelter in time. The attack had come too suddenly, too brutally.

     So far he’d helped those, and had avoided contact with any enemy Jedicon. But his good luck, he realized, was about to run out.

     He was down in the Palace’s lower areas now, around ground level. The corridors here were wide, well-lit and decorated. Ahead was a large intersection that seemed empty at first. Then he heard a whimper carrying faintly through the air, and Paan put on a burst of speed to find out what it was.

     In the corridor was a young woman and a child. And to Paan’s horror, standing over them was a long-haired Jedicon, lightsaber ignited in his hand. He hadn’t sensed the opponent – the AD were still using their Force Masks, which made it impossible to detect them if you couldn’t see them. There could be any number of them inside the palace by now, preying on the innocent victims of this conflict – just like these two, here.

     Paan reacted instinctively, both adrenaline and the Force taking over. He pushed his Force Speed to the max, practically flying down the last few meters of the corridor. The Jedicon noticed the commotion, turned back towards him, hair flying over his shoulder…

     Time seemed to slow. Paan brought his blade up and down in a powerful stroke. The Jedicon’s own blade was suddenly there, parrying the blow and sending Paan past his body. He planted his feet, arresting his momentum, and struck again, catching the Jedicon’s blade once more. The Altarin’Dakor warrior was ready for him, instinctively ready for battle, and strong in the Force as well. Though everything else around was slowed, the two trained Force users spun in a deadly dance that was all too fast.

     Paan struck hard with all his skill, driving the Jedicon back for a second. Then his opponent turned the tide and drove Paan back with lightning fast swings that he barely managed to block. The enemy warrior moved with catlike grace, his blade an extension of his body. He had trained for this since birth.

     Desperation kept Paan from panicking. He summoned up all his strength in the Force, using it to enhance his speed, strength and cognitive abilities. Somehow he managed to stop the enemy’s advance and begin matching him, stroke for stroke. The enemy made no mistakes, and it took everything Paan had to stand head-to-head, the very fact that this was happening here in the Palace an surreal moment of destiny stirring within him.

     Clashing blades with the Jedicon for a final time, Paan ducked under the enemy’s next swing and swung his blade laterally, stretching out as far as he could. His blade sliced through the Jedicon’s midsection, and as Paan sidestepped and disengaged his opponent doubled over and fell face-first to the floor, dead.

     Time returned to normal, and Paan gasped for breath. The entire fight had lasted but seconds, yet he had won. Switching off his blade, he looked down at the woman and child, who were still crouched on the floor, staring up at him wide-eyed.

     “Are you okay?” Paan said once he caught his breath. He extended a hand down.

     The woman nodded briskly, still shaking uncontrollably from fear. Her child clutched her arm intensely. She reached up her other hand to grasp Paan’s. “Th… Thanks…” she stammered.

     Then her eyes went wide as a shaft of red light erupted from Paan’s stomach.

     At first, there was no pain; Paan stared down in disbelief, not sure what he was seeing was real. Then he felt a hand on his shoulder, and the blade was removed, passing back out his back. Leaving a blackened hole straight through Paan’s middle.

     The numbness started in his legs and moved up, quickly. When it reached his middle, there was fire. Paan collapsed, dropping his lightsaber. As he fell to his knees, he managed to turn halfway back and look upwards.

     Overhead was a bald Jedicon with scrawling black tattoos, bringing his blade back around for the final kill.

     “Paan!”

     Suddenly someone else was there. A blur of robes and glowing blade drove the Jedicon back. The sizzling crack of blade on blade sounded in Paan’s ears again and again. Squinting through the blurriness caused by the pain, Paan recognized who it was.

     Kiz Thrakus, fighting one-handed, was fighting the Jedicon at an incredible speed. His blows were quick and deft – not powerful, but fast enough to drive the enemy back on the defensive. Their feet scuffled across the floor, the only other sound besides the crashing blades was the men’s heavy breaths.

     Then the Jedicon lashed out in a counterattack. Shunting the enemy’s blade to the side, Thrakus brought his blade under and upwards, slicing the Jedicon’s arm off at the elbow. The enemy’s lightsaber fell with it, and his momentum continued to carry him forward. Thrakus shifted his stance, brought his blade around, and his return stroke took the man’s head off.

     Then he was right there over Paan, staring down at him in shock and concern. Paan felt his strength draining from his body; he fell backwards from where he sat, but came to rest against something soft. The woman sat behind him, holding him, crying softly.

     “Hold on, buddy. We’ll get you to medbay.” Thrakus said, putting one hand on Paan’s shoulder and another over the wound in his stomach. Paan felt a gentle tingling of the Force through him, and Thrakus’ face took on a new level of worry.

     Paan reached over and put a hand on his Thrakus’. “I don’t think so, Kiz.” He gave a soft smile as he looked up at his friend. “Tell Oriana and the kids I love them. Take care of them for me…”

     “Paan, no…”

     Shaking his head again, he squeezed the man’s hand with the rest of his fleeting strength. “It’s okay. She’s a strong woman,” he managed. “There’s a bright future ahead for her.”

     His vision began to dim, but from somewhere within, a warm feeling began to spread throughout his body. Paan smiled again; this was what the Force had shown him, what it had guided him towards all these years. It was time to join with it, to pass that threshold and begin a new journey, now. This was the destiny he had been waiting for, and he was unafraid.

     Paan’s eyes closed for the last time, and he breathed a final sigh out, his spirit becoming one with the Force.

     Kiz stared down at the man’s peaceful face for a long moment, his friend’s hand still clenched tightly in his own. “Goodbye, Gui Sun,” he said finally.

     Then, stooping down, he slid his good arm around the man’s chest from behind and gingerly lifted the man’s body as best he could. The young woman moved to help, grabbing his feet and hefting his lower half a bit awkwardly. Little by little they carried him to one of the doorways set along the length of the corridor. It opened as they approached, and inside Kiz found what appeared to be a study of some sort, untouched by the enemy. Leading them across the room, he nodded to the sofa in the center, and together they lay Paan’s body there.

     Retrieving the man’s lightsaber, Kiz turned back to the woman and her child, who had watched the whole ordeal in wide-eyed bewilderment. “Follow me to medbay,” he told them. “If you want to live, that’s the safest place now, I’d bet. As long as they haven’t destroyed it, too.”

     Kiz turned and led them down the corridor in the proper direction.

 

                                    *                                  *                                  *

 

            Courtyards

            Royal Palace, Varnus

            1322 Hours

 

            “Another wave coming in!” shouted one of the sergeants behind the barricade.

     "Get down!" Kir Kanos yelled.
     Suiting words to action, Kanos joined the rest of his squad as they ducked down beneath the barrier, another hail of fire passing by overhead. Mass driver pellets blasted craters into the duracrete, while beam weapons melted parts of the barricade into slag. They'd already had to abandon the first line of defense, and were now behind the second tier of barriers. The bodies of hundreds of NI troops littered the ground behind the first tier, as well as the main courtyard facing the Royal Palace's entryway. Bright sunlight poured down from above, illuminating the blood that had stained the streets red all the way out to the enemy line.
     Altarin'Dakor shock troopers filled the street, continuing to pour fire at the NI defenders behind their barricades.
     We can't take much more of this, Kanos realized starkly. Pretty soon they, or one of the other garrisons of defenders at the palace's east and west front corners, were going to be overrun. Then it would be hand-to-hand with the enemy.
     He peeked back out of one of the sight-holes in the barricade, seeing the enemy grow another dozen meters closer.
     Snipers, hidden in the windows of the tall buildings to either side, had taken out one soldier out of another, targeting the higher-ranking officers with precision shots. In response, instead of hunkering down for cover, the AD troops continued to march on, letting loose with their weapons almost randomly on the buildings themselves. Handheld beam weapons shot beams that cut through windows and floors, and rocket launchers blasted holes into buildings that sent debris raining down on their own men. Despite their haphazardness, the attacks proved effective enough; there were fewer and fewer snipers left up there to take out the enemy.
     Kanos raised his own scope to his eyes again and fired, blasting another shock trooper through the faceplate. The soldier fell, but another moved quickly to fill the space.
     Then one of the NI's stormtroopers fired a portable rocket launcher that sent a missile streaking out towards the enemy forces. It hit the street in front of them, blowing men everywhere, blasting another crater into the street. A second later, two enemy rockets answered in return, and Kanos ducked back behind the barrier, for all the good it would do.
     The first warhead hit the barricade across from him and exploded, blasting away most of the duracrete structure and sending a dozen men flying backwards. The second shot passed between them, cruising through the air to impact against the wide steps leading up towards the palace entrance, blasting a hole into the steps and sending stone chips flying into the air in all directions.
     Up on the balconies beyond, he could still see Jedi fighting against Jedicon, dueling with their lightsabers and other arcane Force powers that Kanos had never tried to grasp for himself. They leapt and rolled, clashing blades, then separating and releasing blasts of energy from their hands that seemed as powerful as the rockets that had just hit the NI line. Every few moments a duel would end with one side felling the other. Sometimes the Jedi would win. More often it was the Jedicon.
     Though the years, he had experienced certain things, done feats that seemed just quite beyond a normal man's abilities, things he couldn't quite understand.
     Could he ever have been like those warriors above, moving almost too fast for the eye to follow? Skywalker had told him that he was Force Sensitive. That had laid a piece of the puzzle in Kanos' mind, but it was something he had never desired for himself. It was not the life he was meant for. It was far too late for that.
     Still, with the entire planet locked in the fight of its life, he felt an affinity for the Force-users as he never had before. Perhaps it was because of their sheer numbers here on this world. Maybe it was just the NI's Jedi Division, who seemed more balanced, more focused than any Jedi or Sith Kanos had ever knew. Or maybe the sheer destiny of the moment was beginning to put on him a new mantle of understanding about things.
     For an instant, two dueling figures appeared along the top of a wall, jumping there and clashing their blades violently against each other. He thought he recognized this particular Jedi before from somewhere. But from the looks of it they would never have a chance to meet formally. The Jedicon came at a rush, throwing the Jedi down to his back. He was about to be defeated.
     Swinging his rifle up to his shoulder, Kanos sighted the Jedicon, raised his aim to cover the man's back, and fired. It was a long shot; much further than the approaching enemy line. But Kanos had years of sniper experience.
     His bolt flew true, straight for the enemy’s back. But if Kanos had wondered if the Jedicon had some kind of danger sense like that the Jedi used to protect themselves, his questions were answered. The Jedicon spun even as Kanos fired, his blade a blur of light as it came around and batted the energy bolt away into the distance.

     Then the Jedi lunged forward and swung, and a line of light passed through the man’s waist from one side to the other.

     Dropping his blade, the Jedicon toppled from the edge, splitting into two pieces as he disappeared from view. The Jedi looked around, but not knowing where the saving shot had come from, he rolled back off the wall and fell out of sight.    

     Then his sergeant’s yelling brought Kanos’ attention back to the front.

     “They’ve broken through on the east side!” the man roared, fighting the sound of blasts firing and explosions all around them. “Here they come!”

     Kanos’ eyes went wide as he saw a full squad of shock troops come running down the street and begin vaunting over the barricades. Dropping his sniper rifle, he reached behind him to his pack, pulling the double-bladed shaft weapon that hung collapsed back there. He pulled it around and activated it, its length extending to full, over a meter and a half long, and he charged.

     White-armored stormtroopers and Royal Palace guards clashed with black-clad Altarin’Dakor shock troops at close range in front of the palace steps. Guns blazed, blasting armor to pieces, while AD beam weapons sliced men completely through. Then both sides ran up to each other, swinging blades, rifles, and fists in a fury.

     Kanos ran to engage two shock troopers coming directly at him. Feinting right, he shot to the left, avoiding a flurry of pulse blaster fire from that direction. The other troops brought up some kind of vibroblade at him, but Kanos rolled forward beneath the attack and swept out his spear, slicing off the man’s leg at the knee.

     As the first one fell, he was up and at the second even as the man turned around. A swipe with one side cleaved the enemy’s gun hand clean away, then he reversed directions and spun the blade back up in a one-two slash, cutting through the man’s armor like flimsy and sending a gout of blood out of his torso into the air. The man fell backwards, dead.

     He turned back, stabbing downwards to put the first man out of his misery, then ran forward to save the sergeant from an enemy wielding a vibrosword overhead, coming in with a wild scream. Kanos lunged forward, approaching at a ninety degree angle, and swung hard with his blade’s length advantage, taking off the attacker’s head before he even realized Kanos was there.

     The headless trooper fell at the sergeant’s feet. Not bothering to say thanks, the officer raised his blaster and fired straight over Kanos’ shoulder. Kanos spun back and saw the faceplate of the shock troop that had been approaching from behind shatter, flame and smoke pouring out of the hole as he collapsed.

     “I think that’s got ‘em!” shouted the sergeant. “But there’s more making a run straight down the main way!”

     Kanos glanced around briefly, saw that the whole squad had been dispatched – with almost an equal number of NI dead – and then turned back to look down Star Way. Taking a deep breath, he planted his staff on the ground, that end’s blood-soaked blade biting into the stone at his feet.

     A hundred more soldiers were rushing down the street at full speed, roaring as they came in. This time they were going to be outnumbered, and badly.

     This would be the perfect time for some great hero or squadron of friendly fighters to zoom in, dispatch the enemy and save the day. But Kanos had been fighting far too many years to believe such stories happened in the real galaxy. What was coming was going to be bad – and this might be the end.

     Raising his double-bladed staff again, he prepared for the onslaught.

 

                                    *                                  *                                  *

 

            Skies Above Vectur

            Royal Palace, Varnus

            1326 Hours

 

            Fighters exploded overhead in a continuous rain of fire, speared by beam weapons with more accuracy and cunning than Maarek had ever seen.

     Inferno Squadron had scattered to escape the entry vector of the approaching Jedicon spacecraft, breaking off from their engagement with the other AD squadron and diving towards the deck. Overhead, Maarek could see countless fighters swirling overhead, the dogfights continuing heatedly. But whenever a Jedicon fighter entered the fray, it dispatched even the finest NI pilots with ease.

     In fact, whenever a Jedicon was in pursuit, the NI craft simply began flying straight on, as if completely conceding the fight, giving up. Then the beams would spear his craft, turning it into an incandescent fireball.

     Maarek held no illusions that the Jedicon weren’t using the Force. It was completely unfair – and a completely unstoppable battle tactic. Every NI pilot who wasn’t a Jedi would be indefensible against them.

     The ground spun below him as he corkscrewed downwards, evading another one of the AD heavy fighters following close behind, lining up for a shot. Though he couldn’t do his signature trick in the atmosphere, he still knew his Avatar could outfly his opponent’s craft. Jinking right, he slammed on the reverse thrusters, and the enemy pilot couldn’t react fast enough. He shot out ahead of Maarek, Rann and Tanya.

     “Fire!” he shouted.

     All three Avatars opened up with their lasers, pelting the enemy craft with dozens of hits in a second. The shields were overwhelmed, then the blasts chewed through the armor and the fighter was blown apart.

     “Boss, what do we do?” Rann spoke up. “Those Jedicon are getting closer.”

     “We’re losing more pilots every second,” Salle Darl added.

     “Keep evasive!” Maarek said, hearing the desperation in his own voice. There was no more use in hiding it; he was terrified, flying on pure instinct. This was his worst nightmare; being thrust into combat with another pilot, and being stripped completely defenseless before them. It was in the air and space that he lived and breathed – where he came alive. Now his most prized place, that most familiar friend had been taken from him.

     Glancing downwards, he saw Vectur itself, the shining crown jewel of Varnus, now bruised and battered, a hundred different plumes of smoke rising through the air, huge fires raging in a dozen different locations. Enemy forces filled the streets, engaging NI ground forces in intense firefights, or one-on-one combat. The palace itself was shrouded in smoke, off in the distance.

     But the spires of the downtown district still stood, and from some of the rooftop turrets, turbolasers still fired up into the sky.

     “Head for the skyscrapers!” Maarek shouted. “We’ll hide out there and try to ambush them when they come in!”

     “Lead, Eight,” Narm Greyrunner chimed in. “All due respect sir, but that sounds nuts. We won’t be able to maneuver down there!”

     “Neither will they,” Maarek said, bleeding more altitude. “Dive, now!” He saw Seven and Eight already a klick or so beneath them. “Take us in, Salle! Stay out of visual contact and wait for them to pass. If they come in, we’ll take them out!”

     “We can’t just run, sir!” Salle countered, her voice pained. “Our people are all dying out here! If we don’t stop them, they’ll overrun the city!”

     “Just do it, Salle!” Maarek shouted, feeling guilt wash over him. This was it; the moment of truth had arrived. He could avoid the truth no longer.

     Maarek realized he wanted his squadron to survive, no matter the cost.

     He didn’t want anyone else’s death on his hands.

     “Lead, this is Four,” Bast Vlagen’s voice came in. It held an analytical air as always, but this time his words were far from calming. “We’re not going to make it to the buildings.”

     “What?!”

     “We’ve got two Widowmakers at nine o’clock high. Coming in fast,” Bast added.

     Maarek spotted them, two very small fighters diving straight down towards them from above.

     “Lead, I’m on your wing,” he heard Tanya’s voice in his ears.

     “We’re with you all the way, Boss,” Rann said.

     Maarek took a deep breath, fighting the panic. This wasn’t what he was trained for; he was a soldier! He would not be ruled by fear!

     “I’m going in,” Bast reported. “Get low as fast as you can!”

     “Bast!” Gren Pabos shouted.

     “Lead!” Salle shouted. “Let’s go!”

     Maarek watched Bast Vlagen’s fighter angle upwards in horror. “NO!” he yelled.

     “Sir!”

     “Get the squadron down, Salle! That’s an order!” Maarek shouted. Then he pulled back on the stick, climbing.

     “We’re on your wing!” Rann yelled.

     Bast’s fighter was a good klick ahead of them. Rising, he released two advanced concussion missiles skyward, straight towards one of the small, heavily-armed Widowmakers.

     A quartet of beam weapons flashed downwards, hitting first one warhead, then tracing across to touch the other one. Two explosions lit up the sky, the missiles exploding prematurely.

     “Get out of here, Lead!” he heard Bast shout, as the man’s Avatar opened up with lasers, flashing up into the sky.

     It was the last thing he ever heard him say. Another set of beams opened up from the other Widowmaker. Bast sent his fighter into a wild evasive upwards corkscrew.

     He might as well have not bothered. The beams were tracing through the air before he even got there, anticipating the maneuver exactly. The Avatar flew straight through those four bright blue beams – and exploded.

     “BAST!” Maarek screamed.

     Shoving the stick forwards, he pulled away, clenching his eyes shut.

     “Sir!” Tanya’s voice echoed in his ears.

     Then, suddenly, a strange sense of peace settled over Maarek then. He opened his eyes – and blinked in surprise.

     He was home.

     He was sitting at the kitchen table at his family’s private residence on Kuan. His mother Marina had her back to him, preparing something on the kitchen stove. Delicious smells wafted through the air, and Maarek felt – and heard – his stomach growling. It seemed like days since he’d last eaten.

     “Hey there, Son,” a new voice spoke up. Maarek turned, and saw his father Kerek standing in the doorway, a gleam in his eye. “Come help me with something while your mother finishes up.”

     “Okay,” Maarek said, rising. He ducked through the doorway and followed his father into his small private laboratory they had set up in the house. Looking at the displays on the screens there, and seeing the jumble of equipment on his father’s work desk, Maarek knew that his dad was working on some new, hair-brained idea. If the Imperials ever came into this sector and realized just how valuable Kerek’s research really could be… Well, they would either be rich, or else they might just disappear under a veil of government secrecy.

     “What’s all this, dad?” Maarek asked, stepping down into the room. On the wall to the left he saw a standing model of an aerodynamic-looking racing swoop – just like the one Maarek had saved up so much to buy in real life. It was sitting down in the hangar, now, waiting for a new round of repairs so he could fly it again in the races next week.

     “Over here, lad,” his father said, grabbing his attention once more. Maarek traversed the room and came to stand next to his father, looking down at what Kerek held in his hands.

     “I want you to take as look at this,” his father said. “This could be something big, here. Something that could change our little system forever. Maybe even end the whole war between our peoples.”

     Maarek blinked. Those words – they sounded strange. Did he mean the war against the Bordali? That had ended years ago – when the Empire had shown up.

     Right after Kerek had been kidnapped by the Bordali, so they could use him against his own people.

     As Maarek stared down at what lay in his father’s hands, he couldn’t quite focus on it. The object was blurry – he couldn’t make it out. In fact, the blurriness grew, covering his whole vision, until Maarek couldn’t see anything clearly anymore. In fact, he couldn’t think very clearly, either. How was his father here? How were they back on Kuan? How could he be reliving these events again, when they’d happened years ago?

     This wasn’t real.

     He brought his hands up, rubbing at his eyes, hoping to clear the blurriness that still filled his vision and had started to completely disorient him.

     He removed his hands.

     And saw the streets of Vectur looming upwards to meet him.

     Yelling, he pulled back on the stick as hard as he could, slamming on the reverse thrusters. His fighter plunged beneath the level of the building tops around him, the Avatar shaking violently as it struggled to bleed off speed. Maarek activated the repulsorlifts and threw them on full, still pulling back desperately on the stick.

     The fighter angled out of it slowly. His angle drew up until he saw buildings ahead of him, then the repulsorlifts slammed him into his seat. He skimmed meters above the surface of the street as the Avatar barely leveled off. He kept pulling back, and the craft shot skyward again, blasting a row of parked hovercars off the street and crashing them into the surrounding buildings.

     He gained altitude and looked around, gasping for breath, still in shock. So that was it: his mind had been taken over! Another second and he would have been dead. It had been like before, simulating against Xar – but this time it had been real.

     Then his terror and sense of dread suddenly came full circle. What about his wingmen?

     His eyes searched the skies desperately for them. Then he saw them – two sleek Avatars, plunging straight downwards out of the sky, already passing below the city’s tallest buildings, just as he had seconds before.

     “Rann! Tanya! Eject!” he yelled into the comm.

     There was no answer. The two fighters continued to plunge downwards. There was no sign that they had heard, or were even awake at all. It was like watching an unreal dream unfolding before his eyes.

     “Can you hear me!?” Maarek screamed.

     The fighters impacted, Rann’s first on the roof of a high-rise apartment complex, then Tanya’s directly onto the street below. Twin fireballs blossomed out, reaching for the sky.

     Maarek’s own scream was the only sound he could hear on the comm, mixed with a burst of static from the vanished starfighters.

     And with a sob he dove again, sending his craft down among the cluster of skyscrapers that held his only chance of protection – and solace.

 

                                    *                                  *                                  *

 

            Corridors

            Royal Palace, Varnus

            1330 Hours

 

            The blast of energy hit the floor and exploded, blowing chunks of stone and tile into the air. Jinx dove forward and rolled, missing the attack by a meter or so, then came back up to his feet.

     Nobien was on him in an instant, grabbing him by the shirt with both hands and driving Jinx backwards through the hallway.

     Jinx fought, gripping the man’s arms and struggling with all his Force-enhanced might. Face to face, they snarled as they spun round and round, tugging and pushing, locked in a match of wits and strength.

     Jinx hit the wall behind, crushing fabricrete behind him. He grunted in pain, his Force power high enough to avoid serious damage, and got his footing under him again. Countering, he launched forward, driving Nobien back across the hallway on the other side. He slammed the Jedicon’s back into the wall, creating an indention in the wall in the shape of the man’s body.

     “I am… enjoying this!” Nobien roared, his Basic broken but understandable enough. Jinx grunted as he was thrown backwards once more. A wave of Force threw him away from the Jedicon and he slammed into the wall again, much harder this time. Chips and dust rained down on him.

      He looked up just in time to see the Jedicon’s fist flying towards him at a blur, so fast a corona of air surrounded it. Only his Force speed let him move in time. He ducked as the man’s fist hit the wall, burying his arm in the wall nearly to the shoulder.

     Spinning, Jinx threw a sidekick into the man’s stomach, then followed it up with a powerful hook punch across the man’s jaw. Nobien grunted and fell back, his movement extracting his arm from the wall.

     Jinx struck as fast as he possibly could, his own motions a Force-enhanced blur as he threw kicks and punches at his opponent. He landed two more fists across the man’s face, sending a tooth flying off into the distance, but Nobien quickly caught up, and soon Jinx found every strike being blocked with an arm or leg as tough as durasteel.

     Catching Jinx’s leg as he threw another kick, the Jedicon spun and threw a backfist across Jinx’s face. Stars exploded in front of his eyes, and Jinx dove away to gain distance again. He ran forward, hearing his enemy’s footsteps rushing behind him.

     A doorway loomed ahead. Sending a blast of Force ahead of him, Jinx blew the door off its hinges and dove inside just as a booted foot hit him in the back.

     He flew threw the air and landed on a sofa, flipping the furniture over and spilling him onto the floor on the other side. Jinx pushed himself back up to his feet, noticing with a glance that they’d stumbled into someone’s apartment.

     Then Nobien was coming through the doorway. Launching forward, Jinx threw another punch at the man’s face, but his opponent was too fast, dodging his head just in time. Catching Jinx’s arm, he stepped forward and swept Jinx clean off his feet. Jinx felt himself being hurled through the air and then straight down.

     He slammed through the low glass table that sat at the sofa’s foot, shattering the table and slamming into the floor. Another fist rose to meet him, but Jinx snapped his foot out, catching the man under the chin and sending him stumbling back.

     He rose and cast about desperately for something to use as a weapon. Nobien recovered and came in again, his right fist flashing out again. Jinx caught sight of a metal bust of someone’s head resting on a columed stand, grabbed it and brought it around to intercept the man’s blow.

     Nobien’s fist hit the iron trophy with a ring that sounded throughout the room, and he screamed, clutching that hand. Jinx snapped out a kick that hit the man in the chest and sent him back into the overturned sofa, then threw the trophy at his opponent as hard as he could before turning away again.

     The Jedicon came in again, roaring in a frenzied battle rage. This time Jinx brought up a ceramic-looking vase as the man’s other hand came in, but this time he wasn’t as lucky. The man’s left hand crashed through the vase and caught Jinx right across the face. The blow hit so hard he was flying across the room before he even felt pain from the impact. He blew through a dining room table and chairs, sending them twisting away, splintered and broken.

     Lunging left, Jinx found himself in a narrow kitchen. The Jedicon launched himself over the divider between the living room and where Jinx was, laying his hands on the Jedi once more. Jinx pushed him off, grabbed a random object, and crashed it across the Jedicon’s face. The small appliance shattered as it hit, ripping the man’s face and sending blood splattering into a nearby refrigeration unit. Hardly phased by the blow, Nobien sent a left hook into Jinx’s stomach, doubling him over, and crashed his broken right hand across his face again.

     Jinx fell over the unit’s sink and spit out blood into the drain, along with one of his own teeth now, as well. Then he pushed away just as the Jedicon’s elbow came down where his head had just been, shattering the tiled structure into pieces. Jinx punched again, striking the man in the back, then grabbed his ridiculously long, spiky hair and slammed his face down into the counter.

     Somehow the Jedicon spun under his grip. Jinx felt another blow explode into his stomach, sending the air out of him, then Nobien leaned back on the counter and snapped out a kick into Jinx’s chest.

     Jinx flew through the air, out of the kitchen and straight for the glass door that opened onto the veranda. He burst through the transparisteel, shattering it into hundreds of pieces, and hit the balcony on the other side, hard.

     Struggling to catch his breath, he pushed away to the side to get out of the way, just as a blast of energy shot through the air where he’d just been. Nobien appeared through the doorway, and Jinx took a potted plant that had been sitting nearby and slammed the vase end straight into the man’s face.

     Nobien stumbled back, dirt raining down over his shoulders and down his front, and he roared as he lunged forward again, grabbing Jinx in a deathgrip. Jinx’s eyes widened as he felt the man’s Force power, spiking over and over. He had to be drawing in every tiny drop that he could, and yet still the fight raged on.

     They struggled on the balcony, oblivious to the sound of the explosions coming from the city beyond, and the air above. They leaned against the balcony, pressing their Force-enhanced strength and body mass against it, and suddenly the balcony gave way and the two men fell away into the air.

     As they fell, Jinx caught a glimpse of the pavement rushing at them from about ten floors below. Then he pushed Nobien away and drew the Force beneath him, hoping to cushion his fall as best he could.

     He landed softly enough, crouching down, then stood up again and cast about for his opponent. They were in an alleyway somewhere between the main palace building and one of its courtyards, and behind him was an electrical panel box of some sort. Stone walls rose over their heads above.

     Nobien was to his right. The Jedicon had recovered quickly as well, and came in without a second’s hesitation. Jinx dodged the man’s wild swing, and shoved away from the wall as just what he’d expected happened – the man’s fist slammed into the electrical box.

     The Jedicon’s hair stood even more on end, if that were possible, and he shook for a second as the high voltage electricity coursed through his body. But that wouldn’t be enough to kill a powered-up Jedicon like him.

     Without hesitating, Jinx drew up all his power and thrust both hands forward, sending a blast of energy straight into the man’s torso. The blast took the man in the chest and exploded, blowing the Jedicon off his feet and away from the panel. His clothes caught fire, and he screamed as he flew backwards through the air, propelled by all the Force pushing power Jinx could muster.

     There was a crash as Nobien crashed through the stone wall at the far end and disappeared on the other side. Jinx let out a sigh as he released the Force, and he sank down to his knees in sudden exhaustion. He’d never fought anywhere near as intensely as he had been for the last half hour or so. He and Nobien were close enough in strength that it took all their strength to damage each other. He just hoped that last attack had been enough.

     His hopes were dashed as he saw a silhouetted figure rise through the hole in the wall. Shaking his head in exasperation, Jinx watched his opponent stumble back through the opening and stand up once again.

     It wasn’t over yet.

 

                                    *                                  *                                  *

           

 

            Titan-class Battleship Desolation

            In Orbit, Varnus

            1405 Hours

 

            "So what's your name?" Alyx asked the Altarin'Dakor pilot.
     "Nerif," was all the man said. Every few seconds light flashed across his face as the transit car sped them down the service corridor.
     Alyx nodded, then settled back to wait some more. Reaching up again, he readjusted the coat of his Altarin'Dakor officer's uniform, which was a bit too large for his frame. The guard station they'd raided hadn't had a lot to choose from.
     Situated around him in their cramped vehicle were the other seven escaped Jedi: Roger Macreed, Brajo, Vykk Olyronn, Colin Moore, Jontaar Domi, Mrax Satai, and Rilke Darcunter. At least each had managed to acquire a uniform as Alyx had, though none really looked the part. Alyx doubted the deception would last long if they ran into a real guard patrol.
     For the last hour they had traveled through the ship as stealthily as they could. The whole ship seemed to be in a state of near-chaos, both from the recent damage as well as the hundreds of escaped prisoners roaming around freely. Their guide, Nerif, was unfamiliar with this particular ship, but with his experience as an Altarin'Dakor pilot he had enough general knowledge to get them around. They'd seen countless officers and crew running around throughout the ship, but so far they'd managed to avoid any guards.
     Nerif had wanted to avoid taking one of the main transit systems through the ship to the bridge, so after some searching they'd eventually found a service tunnel meant for transporting supplies and tech crews. They'd made their way to the nearest station and caught the on-duty crew and guards by surprise, quickly dispatching them with the Force and then stealing some extra uniforms from the storage locker.
     At first, Alyx had felt bad at killing some of the ship's unarmed crew members. But he reminded himself that they were the enemy, and in this battle, every Altarin'Dakor would try and kill them if they had the chance.
     Besides, anytime you destroyed an enemy capital ship - with a torpedo or otherwise - the crew members onboard died, whether they were mechanics, doctors, gunners, or just civilians. Nobody mourned that fact - so it shouldn't matter when they had to do it up close and personal.
     "We are arriving," Narif's voice broke through Alyx's thoughts.
     Checking his lightsaber on his right hip and the stolen pulse blaster at his left, Alyx nodded.
     "Get ready, everyone."
     Their ten kilometer ride towards the Desolation's bridge finally complete, the car came to a halt at the last stop and the doors opened. The crew looked up with expressions of surprise as eight Jedi launched themselves out of the vehicle. With the Force they quickly choked off any outcries of alarm, yanking them to the floor and finishing them off as quickly and silently as possible. Visions of dark-side Jedi Force-choking their victims flashed through Alyx's head, but he shunted them aside. They were not murderers, killing in a mindless rage; they were soldiers, dispatching the enemy as efficiently and humanely as possible. This wasn’t personal – it was war.
     They quickly stuffed the bodies into that station's storage locker, then proceeded down the next corridor and into a service lift, which they took back up to the main deck levels. From here on it was going to be tricky, Alyx knew.
     "Form up," he said just as the doors were opening. "Let's try and at least look like real guards. And no talking."
     At the next corridor Narif studied a map inlaid into the wall for a moment before starting off again. Alyx and the others had no choice but to follow, hoping he knew where he was going. They weaved through several more wide corridors,
     The lack of any security checkpoints confirmed something Alyx had been considering for a while: as militaristic as the Altarin'Dakor were, their social order seemed to be highly structured. Officers knew their rank and position and tended to be united in mind and purpose towards their goals. Titans were such powerful fortresses that an enemy was never expected to make it inside in the first place. And Alyx had heard that although duels and coups were commonplace, whole mutinies were rare. Thus as Alyx and the team marched briskly along in double-file, all the other crew, officers and guards barely spared them a glance as they passed.
     They weaved their way through the mazelike interior, their boots ringing off the polished metal floors. They took two more lifts up, then turned down a wide corridor and up a broad staircase before they reached the entrance to the bridge. It was there that Alyx knew they could hide no longer.
     There, standing in front of the bridge's massive, sealed doors, were two Jedicon in full heavy body armor, including helmets.
     "Attack!" Alyx yelled. Rushing forward, he headed straight at the one on the right. Virtually everyone else took the one on the left, only Narif staying behind to watch the fight.
     The two Jedicon noticed the intrusion and responded immediately, igniting their lightsabers. Throwing a hand forward, Alyx hit his target with a wave of Force, launching him backwards off his feet to slam against the gleaming metal doors to the bridge. Then, with his other hand, he sent a powerful blast of Force energy straight at his opponent. The Jedicon took the attack with both hands forward, and the blast dissipated against an invisible Force shield right in front of them. Then, dropping to the deck, he sent a blinding return blast straight back at Alyx.
     Batting the blast aside with a shielded palm of his own, Alyx rushed forward and ignited his lightsaber, bringing it down to crash against his opponent's with all his might.
     The sounds of saber combat filled the chamber as the combatants clashed. Alyx struck fast and expertly, and though his opponent matched his every move, he stayed on the defensive before the Jedi Master's attacks. Then, feigning right, Alyx reversed direction and slammed the enemy's blade aside, then sidestepped and swept his blade across the man's midsection.
     Nothing happened. The blade scraped off the surface and passed without even leaving a mark on the opponent's armor. Realizing he'd underestimated his foe and his beskar-equivalent armor, Alyx ducked just in time to avoid a decapitating strike from the Jedicon, then stepped back just as his opponent sent a powerful Push slamming into him.
     Alyx flew back and rebounded off the doors, then ducked out of the way as his opponent's blade crashed against the spot where he'd just stood.
     Elsewhere in the chamber, a pained yell sounded, and Alyx turned to see Brajo fall down to the deck. The younger Jedi had been too weakened from his longer captivity, and the Jedicon had capitalized on it.  Somehow, the other Jedicon was managing to take on all seven other Jedi at once. As Alyx watched, he received hits from several lightsabers in a row, striking his arms, legs, body, and neck, but to no avail. The armor’s coverage was just too great; it even had neck guard that extended up to join with the helmet. Only their faces were exposed.

     Taking another hit on a gauntleted forearm, the Jedicon pushed Domi’s blade aside and struck down again with his own, cutting through the dark-haired man’s midsection. Domi collapsed to the deck.

     Catching his opponent’s eye again, Alyx saw a smile form on the enemy’s face. They thought they were going to win.

     That was enough for Alyx. It was time to show them what a Jedi Master was capable of.

     Crouching and clenching his blade in his hands, Alyx opened himself up to the Force completely, drawing it in as hard as he could, letting a growl emanate from his throat. The Force surged within him, quickly bringing him to full power, and the air around him seemed to swirl like a wind surging up.

     Sensing Alyx’s power, the Jedicon’s smile vanished, and he began powering up, as well. But Alyx gave him no time. Dashing forward at a blur, he launched himself at the Jedicon and crashed his blade against his opponent’s in a flash of light. He struck again and again quickly, overwhelming the enemy’s ability to concentrate and counterattack.

     Drawing on the Force in a burst of strength, Alyx knocked his opponent’s blade out of the way. Then, disengaging the blade, he jumped forward and grabbed his opponent by the shoulder, jammed his handle’s emitter nozzle straight into the man’s face, and ignited the blade again.

     The glowing blade shot out the back of the enemy’s helmet. Letting the body fall, Alyx removed his blade and turned to face the other enemy.
     The others were still holding their own. Switching his blade off once again, Alyx extended his free hand and summoned up the Force. Then, when the way was clear between him and his opponent, a blast of energy leapt from his hand.

     An explosion blew the enemy off his feet as Alyx’s blast hit the Jedicon in the back, destroying his armor. His lightsaber flew away through the air. The opponent hit the deck front-first, and a second later the remaining Jedi pounced on him as a group, finishing the job with their lightsabers.

     Clipping his lightsaber to his belt, Alyx nodded as the rest of his team turned to face him. Roger Macreed dropped down to check on Brajo, then shook his head sadly. Domi was still alive, but barely. Satai and Darcunter both crouched down and helped him up to a seated position.

     “Did… we make it?” asked Domi.

     “We got them,” Satai nodded. “We made the bridge.”

     “Good…” the man replied, his voice but a whisper. “Get everyone out of…” he began, but his voice broke off. His eyelids fluttered quickly, then closed, and he let out a long breath.

     “He’s gone,” Darcunter said.

     Alyx turned away and looked forward. The bridge doors stood before them, and so far no alarms had sounded. Narif joined the group from his safe spot, and walked over to the controls next to the entrance.
     "Open the doors!" Alyx ordered, hefting his pulse blaster. Inside, a cold fire had settled. The Force still raged with him.
     The bridge doors opened, and they walked into a room that already felt full of confusion and tension. Bridge officers were standing at their stations, furiously typing in or speaking out orders and relaying communications. In the center of the room, where the commodore's seat appeared to be, lay the body of an older, balding man wearing an obvious uniform of rank. There were no marks on the body; he simply lay there, eyes staring lifelessly at the ceiling, an expression of horror on his face.
     The officers all looked up from their stations at the team's intrusion, and the noise level died down to silence. Alyx didn't need to understand the situation in order to act.
     The team opened fire. Green blasts filled the air.
     In moments it was over. With a combination of the Force and pulse blaster fire, everyone on the bridge was dead, either lying on the floor or sprawled over their consoles. Behind them, Nerif closed the doors and tapped a few buttons on the side console. "It's sealed," he reported.
     "Let's make sure," Vykk spoke up, then walked over and fired a bolt straight into the controls.
     Narif ran over beside Alyx at the main command console. Looking down at the controls, Alyx shook his head. "We really need you now, Narif. I can read a little of this, but don't have a clue how to operate this thing."

     The pilot began running back and forth, checking displays and consoles, some of which had been damaged by the blaster fire. “First,” he began, “I can tell you that we are sitting still. We are not firing. Defensive shields are good, but the ship is damaged on many levels.” He looked up at Alyx. “Maybe the New Imperium found an opening in the shields… I think that is what helped us escape.”

     “Show me a display of the battle,” Alyx said.

     The man ran over to another console and typed in a command. A moment later the holograms forward of the bridge zoomed into the battle taking place before them. Alyx heard muffled curses and cries of alarm at what they saw, and he felt a jolt in his gut, as well. There were four other Titans out there in addition to the Desolation. Furthermore, the entire NI First Fleet was sitting between them an the planet, and they were getting ripped to shreds. The Nexus was there, and below her sat the Independence, though Alyx could see the ship wasn’t going to last. Smoke billowed from half a hundred hits, some of them big ones, obscuring much of her bulk from view. Surrounding her were debris from other destroyed ships, including several huge chunks of what had to have been the Defiant, her pieces still glowing hot out in the void. She must have been destroyed mere moments ago.

     What good did it do to come here and take over this Titan? Alyx wondered to himself. There were four Titan-class Battleships more out there. Given these odds, Alyx knew there was no way the First Fleet could stop the enemy. Varnus was going to fall.

     “This is crazy,” Colin Moore broke the silence. “There’s no way we can win this.”

     Alyx looked back over at Narif and this time saw on the screen a layout of the Titan, zooming in towards the bridge area. After a moment, Narif opened his mouth again. “There are Altarin’Dakor reinforcements coming here, to the bridge.”

     “Great,” Macreed spoke up from behind Alyx. “How long?”

     “Not long.”

     “Are we safe here? Can they get in?” Macreed asked.

     “The bridge is sealed,” Narif replied, his voice tense. “But they can eventually get in, I think.”

     “Then we need to act fast,” Alyx put in, thinking about their options. Every few seconds, he noticed that the floor seemed to shake slightly under his feet. “What’s happening? Are the NI ships still attacking us?”

     “Yes,” the man replied. “But only with something big, making explosions. Something is penetrating the shields.”

     “The Majestic-class cruisers,” Alyx explained. “Well, we need to get them to stop if we can. No, wait a second – what about our weapons? Can we fire on the other Titans? That’ll let them know something’s wrong.”

     Narif looked down at the controls, then frowned. “The bridge has control over the weapons systems, but it is limited. We can fire, but it can be stopped from other stations.”

     “So it can be overridden manually by the gunners?”

     “Correct.”

     “Fine,” Alyx said. “What about self-destruct? Can we blow the ship up?”

     Narif shook his head immediately this time. “I do not know how to do that. I need the commander’s access codes. Perhaps the ship does not even have a self-destruct. Titans are controlled by very advanced computer systems. Very smart.”

     “Like artificial intellgence?”

     “I think so, yes.”

     “Sounds like we’re pretty helpless up here,” Vykk supplied, coming to stand next to Alyx. “What good is it to take over the bridge, then?”

     “Stow it, and think for a minute,” Alyx chided him. He considered the situation. They couldn’t destroy the ship, and their ability to attack was limited…

     “Okay,” he said finally, his plan of action springing to mind. “You’re a pilot. Can you fly this thing?”

     Narif walked over to yet another station, this one a good ten meters away. Alyx assumed it was where navigation was controlled.

     “I can move the ship,” he admitted after a moment. “But not as good as a full crew.”

     “I understand that,” Alyx said, walking over to join him. He stared down at the controls, a maze of foreign symbols he hadn’t yet learned, then turned his gaze down to the Altarin’Dakor pilot. “I want you to aim this ship at the nearest Titan and ram into her as hard as you can.”

     Another startled cry sounded behind him from the others, and Narif looked up at him with an expression of obvious shock.

     “You heard me,” Alyx said firmly. “Can you do it?”

     “I…” the man began, looking skeptical. But he broke off when he saw Alyx’s face, and realized that the Jedi Master wasn’t bluffing. He looked out at the forward bridge holograms. “Which… Which one?”

     “Whichever’s nearest,” Alyx repeated. He caught sight one on long, dark-colored shape nearby, a ship with a ring that surrounded the ship at the spine. Though it was not connected to the ship by any means Alyx could see, it remained in place, spinning along its center at a moderate pace. From that ring a near-continuous beam of fire was streaming out towards the First Fleet, cutting through the New Imperium’s remaining starships. “That one,” Alyx pointed, feeling a tugging through the Force as he said the words.

     Narif typed into the controls for a moment. “The ship’s autopilot will not allow a collision with another large ship,” he said finally. He looked up at Alyx. “But we can fly it in manually.”

     Alyx knew what he meant; they would have to stay onboard right up until the two ships collided. “Do it,” he ordered. “If we have to, we’ll take her all the way in. We can’t lose this chance to destroy or incapacitate two enemy Titans.”

     He looked back at the others, who had all gathered around the commodore’s seat and were watching the exchange. All held serious faces, but no one protested. Domi’s body lay behind them on the floor near the entrance.

     “Take us in,” Alyx said. “Full power.”

     Narif's hands moved over the controls once more.
     Slowly, the Titan began to move. Engines flaring brightly, the ship began turning to starboard, bringing its nose back towards the remnants of the NI starfleet. Their commander - probably Gaius - must have noticed, because the fire coming into the Desolation suddenly intensified. Turbolasers by the hundreds came at them, somehow finding a way through an opening in the shields and tearing across the Titan's armored surface, turning plates into slag, ripping breaches in the hull and destroying more weapons emplacements. Huge mass driver rounds slammed into the ship, blasting gaping holes that now penetrated deep within the ship.
      The bridge had gone from rumbling occasionally to a near-continuous shaking, and Alyx gripped the handrail in front of him as he watched the torrent of fire pouring in at them. He was pretty sure the massive ship could take it, but still he longed to signal the fleet and call them off. They were wasting precious seconds on the Desolation when they could be assaulting the rest of the enemy fleet. Still, he knew he couldn't. If they tipped their hand, they might never make it to that other Titan.
     Nearby, an incessant whining chime began sounding from one of the other consoles. "What's that?" Alyx demanded.
     "Looks like the communications console," Roger Macreed answered, hoping over the dead officer's body that lay in front of the station. "I can't read it."
     Narif spared a moment's concentration from navigation to look at the holographic image displayed over the console in question. "It's the command ship," he said.
     Dimly Alyx realized again how helpless they would have been without a native Altarin'Dakor's help. This mission never would have had a chance otherwise.
     "Doesn't sound like they're very happy about what we're doing," Vykk added.
     "Keep her steady," Alyx called, watching as the elongated hull of the Titan Hegemony loomed into view. "How long to impact?"
     The Altarin'Dakor pilot studied his screen for a moment. "We are gaining speed," he said finally. "Maybe two minutes."
     The bridge had stopped shaking once more, the NI's attacks now hitting harmlessly on the port shields. But smoke poured from the bow of the Desolation, drifting over the main body as the ship picked up momentum. Alyx watched the Hegemony growing larger and swallowed.
     "Go to the Naguis'Vox'Donn's ready room," Narif broke into Alyx's darkened thoughts.  "He should have an escape vehicle."
     Looking up in surprise, Alyx exchanged glances with the rest of the team. "Check it out," he ordered.
     Macreed and Vykk took off towards the doorway across from them, and disappeared inside when the doors whooshed open. Alyx was about to join them when Narif suddenly called out.
     "Something is trying to engage the autopilot!" he exclaimed. "It's trying to steer the ship away!"
     "What?" Alyx ran quickly over, coming to stand beside the man. If they turned away, then the mission would be a complete failure. "Is it the ship's computer?"
     "No. It's - I think it is someone on the command ship!"
     "Controlling the ship remotely?"
     "Yes! I must change to manual," Narif exclaimed, his hands moving on the controls.
     "Can you fly this thing on complete manual?" Alyx asked incredulously.
     "I do not know! But we are only going straight ahead..."
     He broke off as a holographic image materialized over the communications console, at least two meters in height. It depicted the waist-up visage of an armor-clad figure, night-black in color, with a winged helmet and mask from which glowed a pair of piercing red eyes. It was terrifying, right down to the core of Alyx’s very being.
     Narif shrieked and dove for the floor immediately. Alyx stood transfixed; he had seen this image before. It had been during the briefing about Nimrod's empire and the forces he commanded. But this was not a recorded still-image. The figure turned slightly, as if scanning the bridge, seeking out those who were still alive.
     The eyes came to rest on Alyx. It looked as though he were staring straight at him. Instantly he knew that this was the Warlord, and this was no recording. It was real-time.
     Yelling, he stood and threw out his hand, sending a blast of Force energy directly at the console underneath the hologram. The blast hit and exploded, blowing the console into a thousand pieces.
     The image abruptly vanished.
     "Get up, Narif!" Alyx said, gasping as he realized he'd been holding his breath for too long. He pulled the man to his feet, looking back to where the console had been, where flames licked the shattered remnants of the console.

     A warning klaxon began sounding throughout the bridge. In front of them, the view of the Hegemony filled all visible space to either side.

     “How long?!” Alyx asked.

     Narif seemed to come back to his senses and looked down at the screen. “Less than one minute! You must go!”

     “We’re both going! Come on!” Alyx shouted.

     “No!” Narif shook his head, putting his hands on the controls firmly. “I must pilot the ship! Go now! Goodbye!”

     With a last, futile glance at the man, Alyx turned and ran towards the commodore’s room in a Force-enhanced sprint. He burst through the room, barely noticing the opulent office with its luxurious wooden furniture. At the other end stood an open doorway, and Roger Macreed waving him forward. Alyx joined him, running down a short airlock and into a waiting transport. The others were already there, and as soon as they were in the doors sealed behind them.

     He could already hear the engines’ whine rising in pitch throughout the ship. In the cockpit, Vykk sat in the pilot’s seat and turned back to give them a thumbs up. “Prepare for takeoff!” he shouted.

     Alyx took a seat, watching Macreed slide into the copilot’s seat. There was a click as the docking clamps were released, and suddenly the transport shot forward through the small personal hangar. The doorways loomed ahead though, still closed, and as they launched Vykk hit a button and a pair of beams flashed out, striking the doors. The entire assembly blasted apart in an instant, bursting outwards from the pressure of space’s vacuum. Then the transport shot from the hangar and into open space, burning away at maximum acceleration.

 

            The Desolation plowed straight into the side of the Hegemony, one thirty-kilometer vessel slamming into another with unimaginable force. The Desolation’s nose first hit the rotating ring around the other Titan, ripping it apart and sending its pieces flying off in all directions due to its centrifugal motion.

     Then the two Titans touched. The nose of the Desolation collapsed under the impact, but the inertial force of the whole Titan behind it sent a shockwave blasting through the Hegemony. That Titan began to crack beneath the impact, and as the Desolation pushed itself inside the other vessel, the Hegemony broke in half, both pieces bending back towards the assailing ship. Fire ripped out of the vessel, washing over the Desolation, sending up thousands of secondary explosions in both ships.

     The rear half of the Hegemony exploded first, the detonations working their way back to the engines and causing a chain reaction that blew the ship apart in an explosion that rivaled Varnus’ own sun. The shockwave and expanding blast tore through the Desolation as well, and a host of explosions blossomed all over the ship, building and combining with one another until the entire vessel was consumed in one massive fireball that stretched for dozens of kilometers, and a shockwave that passed through the entire battle arena.

     The explosion dominated everything else in the field of battle, wiping out an entire side of the Altarin’Dakor offensive line. And for a moment – even for a brief, fleeting moment – the New Imperial forces were able to revel that they’d dealt the enemy a hard blow, a blow that could not be ignored.

     The New Imperium wasn’t quite finished, yet.

 

                                    *                                  *                                  *

 

            Treasury

            Royal Palace, Varnus

            1430 Hours

 

            Bren sat across from Rynn Mariel, watching as she focused intently on the Battle Meditation. “Keep at it,” he encouraged. “You’re getting close. I know you can do this, Rynn.”

     Young Derek sat next to them, his gaze passing from Rynn’s face to Bren’s, his desire to learn more never completely satisfied. In the corner stood Cozeeke, the curious droid that had been given to Grand Master Xar and had been recording everything that happened around him ever since.

     The rest of the room was packed full of civilians and refugees, as well as those members of the Division who were too young or inexperienced to fight. Also present were the wives and children of quite a few Jedi members. This room was the last line of defense, its treasures not only the Force artifacts inside, but the also precious lives that were at stake. It had to be protected at all costs. If only he and Rynn could help out everyone above, somehow.

     “I can’t,” Rynn finally said, shaking her head and breaking their connection through the Force. “I can’t concentrate enough on the other Division members. All I can feel, sense – see – are the Altarin’Dakor. They’re everywhere; above us, beneath us, all around us. It’s just too strong… I’m sorry.” She blew out a sigh of frustration and looked away.

     Bren hung his head, feeling failure finally set in. It wasn’t Rynn’s fault; she just hadn’t had enough time or training in Battle Meditation. Bren himself knew the technique, but he wasn’t strong enough to bolster the entire Jedi Division at once. He needed help, and Rynn was the only other person who had considered it important enough to devote significant time in study.

     “I wish I could do something,” Derek said beside her.

     She spared him a glance that held genuine gratitude in her eyes. “It’s all right,” she said. Bren knew the offer wasn’t just empty words – Derek had more Force Potential than anyone they’d ever known, but he was just eleven years old – they didn’t want to push him too hard, too fast. He still had a lot of growing to do, though most of it physically.

     Something that Rynn had said had struck a familiar chord in Bren’s memory somewhere – he just couldn’t place what it was. There was something that he was forgetting, something that he would have known in his past life, but something that just wouldn’t come to the surface where he could grab it. There were still many holes in his memory, lots of gaps. And a lot of what he did remember, he wished he never had, in the first place.

     One of the room’s other occupants walked over to them and sat down cross-legged next to Derek. He was tall, and dressed in simple, dark clothing – an imposing figure, but Bren wasn’t afraid of Icis Novitaar. He was another refugee in here, now, simply waiting for the battle overhead to play out, however that might be.

     “Mister Novitaar,” Derek greeted the man with a smile. “Maybe you can help us.”

     “I’d like to, Derek,” Icis said, tousling the boy’s hair in a playful gesture, “but I’m afraid there’s not much I can do anymore without my Force Powers.”

     “I can tell that,” the boy replied, his tone implying more maturity than any eleven-year-old should normally have. “What happened? Why did you lose your Force Powers?”

     Bren watched Icis, the boy having iterated a question Bren had often wondered, himself. People didn’t just go around losing their Force Sensitivity by accident.

     Icis smiled, but it looked a little sad to Bren. “That’s a pretty long story, actually,” he said. “I don’t know if this is the best time for it.”

     “We don’t have much else to do right now,” Rynn told him, spreading her hands out to indicate their current location.

     “The short of it is, my own people branded me a traitor for helping the New Imperium out,” Icis said, glancing from her to Derek.

     “Why would they do that?” the boy asked.

     “They don’t take very kindly to interfering in others’ business,” the man explained.

     Bren listened thoughtfully. He’d heard Xar mention that Icis was part of a group calling themselves the Travelers, who recorded events but never interfered with the affairs of those they observed. He was fairly confident that what Icis had done for the NI would classify as interference.

     “Anyway,” Icis continued, speaking to Derek. “I think you might be able to help them much more than I can.”

     “Derek’s not getting involved in the fighting,” Rynn spoke up before anyone else could. “He’s too young, and I won’t let anything happen to him. The Grand Master and I have already been through this.”

     “Hear me out, I’m not suggesting he fight.” Icis raised his hands in front of him in a placating gesture. “I agree, he’s too important to risk right now. But his is very powerful in the Force. If he can lend his strength to you two, it might make your efforts more effective.”

     “You know Battle Meditation?” Bren asked him.

     “Yes” Icis nodded. “Well, at least I did when I had Force Powers. Which bring me to Rynn. What’s keeping you from successfully concentrating on the flows of the Force around our Jedi?”

     “It’s just that special ability everyone keeps telling me I have,” she admitted. “I can’t really feel anything but the AD, right now. I’m afraid it’s handicapped my ability to sense the Force. It’s just gotten stronger and stronger, and now I feel so useless. Have you heard of anything like this before?”

     Icis made a thoughtful hum, but shook his head. “Can’t say that I have.”

     “This is so frustrating,” Rynn sighed.

     “While we’re on the subject, how did you come to learn the technique?” Bren asked Icis.

     The man seemed to consider the question a moment before responding. “I’ve been around a lot longer than some might think.”