The Dying Dawn [SWG; Closed]

[Orthodox Gnosticism]

“The greatest threat is that which we can’t see.” Sam said, as he took a small swig from the Mirandian Cider, and leaned back comfortably in Kattn’s guest chair. Reaching across to a small fine block of cheese, he listened to the old man play an old tune from Miranda.

Gently he picked up his left finger and moved it with the timing of the song. “Some would say.” he continued, “That the orbital strikes were the greatest threat, others would say that the Chaos troops are the greatest threat.” he said as he finished chewing the small cube of cheese and swallowed it.

“I see stagnation as the greatest threat.”

[New Dornalia]

Coredian Embassy, Los Angeles, California, New Dornalia Earth, A Galaxy Far, Far Away from The Galaxy Far, Far Away

Ambassador Jacques Farrence raised an eyebrow as he watched the latest news on CNN, the Los Angeles Times and other channels on a big-screen TV set installed in the Embassy. "Chaos trouble in a whole other galaxy...?"

"Aren't we fighting an enemy like that?" Jounin Hitsuki Hiroshi, the Security Chief for the Embassy asked. "The Imperium, if I'm not mistaken?"

"Hmm. There are the rumors going around of demonic monsters being summoned during some of the battles there..." Ambassador Farrence mused. "Hold on."

He picked up a phone and began dialing some numbers. It took a while to connect because the number he wanted to call was almost on the other side of the galaxy, but it was successful. "Mage Corps? This is Ambassador Farrence. Can some of your members tune to Dornalian Channels LAT, CNNs, all the news channels and examine the footage? Compare the footage with known Class B Infernal Incursions in the Imperium frontlines. Okay. I'll wait."

Thirty minutes later, he got an answer back. "Oh, there is some resemblance, but you'll need confirmation on the ground to be sure? Very well."

He then made another call. "Office of the Diplomatic Corps Captain, please. Thank you. Lieutenant? Ambassador Farrence. I think I have something that you might be interested in. It's about the Dornalians and that other galaxy we know they have holdings in. No, I don't think we've actually gone over there. Why am I suddenly interested in another galaxy? Because, Lieutenant, I believe we have a situation brewing that correlates to one we're encountering in one of our war fronts. Tune to the Dornalian news channels. Okay. I'll wait."

Some more time passed. "Lieutenant? Yes, got the same thing from the Mage Corps. Similar signature as the Infernal Incursions on the Imperium front is the prelim assessment, but they need more information to make a proper assessment. I'm interested because I think we might be able to help the Dornalians and at the same time, start making inroads into that galaxy far, far away. Not in a big way, but every bit counts and if we're lucky, we might even be in a position to do more once we finish those wars and turn our attention to expanding our own influence."

"Yeah, that, and having to find the right intergalactic highway. Hope there's pit stops that far out." The Ambassador chuckled. "Okay. Go ahead and give the Dornalians a 'do you need help' kinda thing? Okay. Will do. Thanks."

Finally, he dialed a local number and got a gata operator. "Ambassador Jacques Farrence, Elemental Nations of Coredia. Please patch me through to the Secretary. Thank you."

Now to wait some more...

Secretary of State's Office

The gata secretary filing papers and stapling them properly heard the phone ring. Picking it up, she went, "Secretary of State's Office? Ah yes, please. Just a moment. He's on his way to the Situation Room right now, I'll put you through to him."

With a deft push of some switches, the secretary went, "Mr. Secretary? You have a call on Line One--want me to transfer it to your cell? Yes, I understand. It's from the Elementals. I see. I'll patch you through."

The Situation Room, Several Moments Later

The flustered Secretary of State was no John F. Kennedy. Lacking in style, he looked rather unassuming and plain, and had remarkable calm and tenacity about him with nary a sweat drop in sight. If he felt irritated at the fact the cleaning staff had forgotten to install additional toilet paper in the Situation Room bathroom, he didn't show it. He was just glad to be there, to keep tabs on events unfolding in Coruscant. Nadine and William paid him no heed as he sat back in his chair and picked up some of the food on the table. That was fine by the Sec State. Nadine thought of him as a useful asset for her spooks, and that was all--although he had a sense she didn't much care for anyone in Haggar's Administration. He didn't let the DCI's personality clash affect him. He had a job to do, he was here to stay for the time being (so what if he lacked the charm and liquor cabinet of the outgoing SecState Kennedy? He was more of a Pabst man himself) even if it meant teeth-clenched teamwork, and damnit, someone had to use their Harvard degree to talk to other nations. Besides, wasn't his fault half of his staff couldn't trust SWC, given the fact they were about as confusing as a Rubik's Cube with the stickers taken off. What made the DCI think she had better intelligence?

Anyway, as the Secretary of State sat down, he was on the phone with his secretary, Amanda. The ever reliable Amanda Simons--the only one who could make that damned phone switchboard work and keep a secret at the same time. It was the benefit of being married really, to the lady who organized your files.

"Norton Simons, Secretary of State. What's up, Ambassador Farrence?"

Haggar turned.

"Elementals, Nort?"

"One moment." Cupping his hand over the phone for privacy, Norton said, "Yeah. Amanda patched me through to the Elementals. They needed to speak to me for some reason."

"Must be related to the Expeditionary Force. I'll defer to your judgment, Nort," the President said, with a nod. Norton understood--it was the go signal to negotiate freely--within all ethical bounds of course. Uncupping his hands, he went, cheerfully, "Sorry about that, I'm in the Situation Room right now, watching Coruscant become something out of a level in Doom and my people getting caught in the crossfire. Anyway, you needed to speak to me about something?"

[CoreWorlds]

Secretary of State's Office

The gata secretary filing papers and stapling them properly heard the phone ring. Picking it up, she went, "Secretary of State's Office? Ah yes, please. Just a moment. He's on his way to the Situation Room right now, I'll put you through to him."

With a deft push of some switches, the secretary went, "Mr. Secretary? You have a call on Line One--want me to transfer it to your cell? Yes, I understand. It's from the Elementals. I see. I'll patch you through."

The Situation Room, Several Moments Later

The flustered Secretary of State was no John F. Kennedy. Lacking in style, he looked rather unassuming and plain, and had remarkable calm and tenacity about him with nary a sweat drop in sight. If he felt irritated at the fact the cleaning staff had forgotten to install additional toilet paper in the Situation Room bathroom, he didn't show it. He was just glad to be there, to keep tabs on events unfolding in Coruscant. Nadine and William paid him no heed as he sat back in his chair and picked up some of the food on the table. That was fine by the Sec State. Nadine thought of him as a useful asset for her spooks, and that was all--although he had a sense she didn't much care for anyone in Haggar's Administration. He didn't let the DCI's personality clash affect him. He had a job to do, he was here to stay for the time being (so what if he lacked the charm and liquor cabinet of the outgoing SecState Kennedy? He was more of a Pabst man himself) even if it meant teeth-clenched teamwork, and damnit, someone had to use their Harvard degree to talk to other nations. Besides, wasn't his fault half of his staff couldn't trust SWC, given the fact they were about as confusing as a Rubik's Cube with the stickers taken off. What made the DCI think she had better intelligence?

Anyway, as the Secretary of State sat down, he was on the phone with his secretary, Amanda. The ever reliable Amanda Simons--the only one who could make that damned phone switchboard work and keep a secret at the same time. It was the benefit of being married really, to the lady who organized your files.

"Norton Simons, Secretary of State. What's up, Ambassador Farrence?"

Haggar turned.

"Elementals, Nort?"

"One moment." Cupping his hand over the phone for privacy, Norton said, "Yeah. Amanda patched me through to the Elementals. They needed to speak to me for some reason."

"Must be related to the Expeditionary Force. I'll defer to your judgment, Nort," the President said, with a nod. Norton understood--it was the go signal to negotiate freely--within all ethical bounds of course. Uncupping his hands, he went, cheerfully, "Sorry about that, I'm in the Situation Room right now, watching Coruscant become something out of a level in Doom and my people getting caught in the crossfire. Anyway, you needed to speak to me about something?"

"As a matter of fact, I'm watching the same thing here." Ambassador Farrence said. "It's something I'd like to talk about. You've been helping us quite nicely with our 'splendid little war', so I was thinking we could reciprocate the help on that end. Scratch my back and I'll scratch yours and all. And ever since we learned about that galaxy of yours...well, Coredia always wants new markets, new diplomatic relationships and of course, there's an enemy that looks suspiciously like the ones we've been fighting lately in this galaxy. Not to say they're the same, but my people think there may be a slight connection, or the same overall signature at least. Now, we can't send anything big yet, but we can send a few people, maybe no more than a couple of frigates, to get a prelim look at a whole new galaxy. And...if possible, kick Chaos in the ass."

"We uh...probably will need directions to get there and a travel brochure on who's hot and who's not. We'd get lost if we tried the intergalactic expressway." Ambassador Farrence chuckled.

[Asfaltum]

"Cauterizing the wound." The phrase seemed unreal in this particular contest, yet Preston could not think of a more apt description for what he saw. Already, much of the horizon was obscured by storm-clouds of dust and smoke, an enormous wall of darkness that slowly enveloped and choked all life, illuminated from within by the sickly flashes and distant glow of unnatural lightning. The orbital bombardment was cutting through hab-blocks like a red hot knife delving into butter. Millions were dying and Preston could feel the psychic screams resounding across space and time. He did not know what was worse, the sacrifice of millions in the attempt to kill a few, or the sheer incompetence outlined by this strategy. Surely the concentration of death and destruction, despite whatever damage may be inflicted on ground-forces, would only benefit the worshipers of the Warp. After all, massed executions were a common enough occurrence in their dark rituals. And now, here, someone else was doing the job for them. Preston could already sense the veil between realities stretching thinner, carrion entities of pure hunger gathering to feast upon the unleashed energies. This was madness. And surely it could only get worse.

Mind-melding with the Adamant Resolve once more, he observed events from space, standing beside the avatars of Eastwood and Ryker. "Only 3 ships. Something foul is at play. This reeks of a trap." he said, viewing the macabre battle with disdain. Ryker shrugged. "A diversion, perhaps?" the first lieutenant suggested. "I don't know. But we have other problems now. Is HQ getting a live feed?" - "Yes..." Ryker replied, his features lighting up with a grin. "A battle-group is being prepared for immediate departure." - "Well," Captain Eastwood sighed, "I have a feeling it won't be immediate enough." Preston nodded. "I agree. And that's why I want you to put a request through to the Technoton Guild, for a Blacklist order to be placed on this International Fleet or whatever they call themselves." Eastwood regarded the Cleric with newfound admiration. Here at least, was a man prepared to do what was necessary. "With pleasure." he replied, meeting Preston's gaze. "Also," Preston continued, "I think you'll agree with me when I say, this is a warship, not a ferry. As soon as you dock with that mining outpost, get every civilian off this ship ASAP, along with supplies that will last them a month. Don't waste time unloading the supplies manually, just teleport them to an appropriate location and leave as soon as you can." Eastwood graced him with one of his grim smiles, his curiosity piqued. "And what do you have in mind for us, Cleric?"

On the planet surface, Preston disconnected from the mind-meld in time to see Erickson approaching, perturbed as ever. "We'll need help evacuating. We've got two ships in orbit who can take on civilian personnel, but we may need your services, Cleric, to help get people out." He smiled and gestured at the Pathway device behind him. The shuttle had landed minutes ago, while she had been screaming into her communications device, and the technicians had expertly assembled the portal with utmost haste. The last few civilians were hurrying through it as they spoke. "I think now would be a good time to leave, Miss Erickson." Preston replied. "The shuttle traffic seems rather unsafe with the deadline drawing near, perhaps you and your friend," he gestured at Emma, "would care to join me aboard the Adamant Resolve? I'm curious to know more about this International Fleet you were trying to communicate with, perhaps you could fill me in. And of course you'd be welcome to make use of our communications."

[New Dornalia]

"As a matter of fact, I'm watching the same thing here." Ambassador Farrence said. "It's something I'd like to talk about. You've been helping us quite nicely with our 'splendid little war', so I was thinking we could reciprocate the help on that end. Scratch my back and I'll scratch yours and all. And ever since we learned about that galaxy of yours...well, Coredia always wants new markets, new diplomatic relationships and of course, there's an enemy that looks suspiciously like the ones we've been fighting lately in this galaxy. Not to say they're the same, but my people think there may be a slight connection, or the same overall signature at least. Now, we can't send anything big yet, but we can send a few people, maybe no more than a couple of frigates, to get a prelim look at a whole new galaxy. And...if possible, kick Chaos in the ass."

"We uh...probably will need directions to get there and a travel brochure on who's hot and who's not. We'd get lost if we tried the intergalactic expressway." Ambassador Farrence chuckled.

OOC: GOnna address CW's bit first. The other stuff I owe people needs an OG chat first to knock some things out of the way and establish context.

IC:

Norton nodded, and said, slightly amused, "Well, see, that's why you need directions. The MacIntyre Memorial Hyperspace Expressway System can be a bit confusing for first timers." Getting to some degree of seriousness as he noticed Nadine perking her ears up at the mention of directions, Norton said, "Now, as for getting you directions, sure. Excuse me for one moment."

He looked at Nadine with a look that expressed a feeling of, "Really?" as he continued his chat, relaxing a bit.

"Sorry, Jacques. Anyway, by directions I mean star charts. I'll have my analysts get those to you, promptly, along with a shortlist of who's who. Suffice it to say, there are plenty of big players, the big one of concern at the current moment is the Starways Congress. You've heard me talk about them over cocktails, Jacques. Well, they're initiating their own anti-Chaos program...and its hitting danger close from what we can tell." He wanted to add Haggar was getting pissed off, but tact dictated Nort would best keep his mouth shut about that.

Nort then continued, looking at the monitors in the Situation Room.

"Now, as for anything bigger, you mentioned the ships. Well, we could always use the anti-Chaos help, Jacques. Dornie boys would be glad to see your boys helping them out, even a little. Did you want to place them in one particular spot, or, what were your people thinking?" As he said that, he looked at Supreme Commander Wachowski, and after mouthing something to her, said to Jacques, "Lemme get the Supreme Commander in this chat. She may be very interested in what you have to say."

As the Supreme Commander began setting everything up, Nadine looked at Colby, who shook his head. "Don't interfere," he seemed to say with his dismayed look. He also whispered, "You know State has good Star Charts. Let it go."

[Thrashia]

Coruscant

When the stormtrooper battalion aboard the Thrashian Imperial Star Destroyer had made their planet fall, they did so with the same coordinated and organized preparation as they did everything. Where some less disciplined or overeager forces might have landed directly atop the location of a hostile zone, the commander of the 49th Battalion of the 13th Legion, Major Scarus, had landed the majority of his troops down about thirty kilometers from the Conclave Hall area, established a forward operating base. Several LAAT gunships had swooped past the western Conclave entrances and picked up Baron Soontir Fel, escorting back to the FOB that Major Scaurus had established within the rich residential sector – not to mention the location of the Thrashian embassy on Coruscant. When Fel arrived there, twenty minutes after having left the Conclave Hall and its daemonic incursion, he found the stormtroopers already establishing shielded strong points and using the surrounding buildings to create observation points and sniper nests.

The larties landed in what had been a sky-taxi parking lot. Fel noted wryly that all the taxis had either fled or their left behind skimmers had been unceremoniously pushed into a corner and all but crushed together. It made room for the 49th Battalion’s gunships and the deployment of their few armored assets. Fel watched as a couple of Kathel-class battle tanks moved out from their lander and head immediately toward a perimeter position that their commanders had been designated. “This way sir,” one of the troopers said to him, his voice slightly filtered by his helmet.

The main conference sweet in the Thrashian embassy was crawling with stormtrooper personnel and officers. The usual clerks and office assistants that usually occupied the space had all but run away when the stormtroopers had burst in and demanded the use of the area. A small, portable holo-table had been set up in the center of the room. Standing over it and studying it while simultaneously barking orders into a comlink was Major Scaurus himself.

“Get your tanks onto the main thoroughfare at grid points 13 and 17. I don’t care if there are luxury lims in the way, run them over!”

When Scaurus noticed that Fel had walked in, he came to attention and snapped a swift salute. “Baron, sir, it’s good to know you’re alive.”

“More alive than others,” said Fel sardonically. He looked over the tactical holo. He was a starfighter pilot so most of the little images and lights meant nothing to him, beyond that he saw a firm circle forming around where the 49th Battalion had set down. “Are we secure here?”

“That’s a loaded term, sir,” replied Major Scaurus without preliminary. “But yes, for the moment we’ve established a firm cordon around ten blocks of the residential district. We’ve lost contact with the last of your honor guard that were inside the Conclave Hall.”

“Upload of their helmet records confirmed?”

“Yes, sir,” confirmed Scaurus, after glancing at an aide nearby.

“Good. Send it via holonet encrypt channel sigma-five-alpha, with the code word ‘plums’ in the end message,” ordered Fel. “I’m sure that Grand Admiral Thrawn will already know of what is happening by now, but he will want as much visible information as we can provide.” Major Scaurus nodded and wordlessly passed on the command to another aide.

“Can you bring up the Conclave Hall?” asked Fel, indicating the tactical-holo. Scaurus nodded and started to switch views.

“We have a few bike mounted scouts in the area, watching as things progress. We’ve also gotten tracking from orbit on the landings of each of the enemy drop pods. We had assumed that –.” The major’s words were cut off as the entire building shook. Paintings fell off the walls, the floor moved as if an angry god had grabbed the very bedrock of the planet and decided to shake it, and not a few troopers fell onto the ground.

Alerts began flashing across the tactical-holo. The visual that they had had of the Conclave Hall disappeared.

“THE HELL JUST HAPPENED!?” roared Major Scaurus before Fel could. The major kept his tactical-holo from falling over. The battalion command staff were in uproar as well, sending out comlink hails to all units, the commanders of which were all seeking to communicate with BHQ to get answers themselves.

“Any reports from the scouts?” asked Fel. “You said we had some out there.”

Major Scaurus was talking into his comlink and his face became grim. He cursed and threw his comlink onto a table in disgust. “Eis korakas,” the major swore. It was an old Thrashian expression and one that had been growing in popularity of late within the Imperial Army ranks.

“What?” asked Fel.

“Star Destroyer in orbit just told me that our dear allies blasted a new arsehole into Coruscant. The Conclave Hall and anything that was within a kilometer of it is now nonexistent. Kriffing idiots! That blast took out seven of my eight scouts too.” The major’s face and set of his jaw made it look as if he could chew nails.

Fel grabbed his own comlink from his belt and used his command overrides to patch into the communications net. Not unsurprisingly a great majority of the usual communications network that existed on Coruscant was now disrupted. Military communications – let alone civilian – was disrupted and hazy between the surface and anything happening in orbit.

Fel cursed the same as the major had. To the crows with it, indeed. “If you can, patch through to Commander Tycho of the Galactic Conclave Guard,” said Fel. “He’ll want to know as much as we know about what’s happening.”

“Bet he’ll be pissed,” muttered Major Scaurus, who also ordered the tactical shield generators to be turned on and watched as a large, ten-kilometer bubble of protection spread over the Thrashian positions.

It began to rain, hot and torrential as the atmosphere of Coruscant – usually regulated by weather control stations – was turned on its head. The violence of a fifty-thousand squad kilometer area being turned to so much ash in the span of a few minutes could not be considered a localized problem. The fact that the damage went deep into the metal skin of Coruscant and almost to its surface just exasperated the damage. Quakes and vibrations could be felt across the planet. More than one towering hab building or shopping complex – built to standards for a normally controlled surface of interlocking foundations – fell into so many twisted pits of metal, glass, and concrete.

Of the twenty-nine other daemonically possessed drop pods that the Chaos Strike Cruisers had unleashed, their terrible cargoes continued to wreck a bloody sum. Hundreds of daemons, red-fiery and brimstone bodies moving like quicksilver – flashing in and out of existence as they moved – slaughtered thousands of citizens before them. Very few were able to be killed, stubborn and overly brave GCG officers and patrolmen sacrificing their lives so that Coruscanti citizens could escape to safety.

Allied Fleet fighters targeted these daemons, but without any care for collateral damage or deaths that they caused among the civilian populace. Thrashian stormtroopers, GCG special forces, and other national contingents helped to bring down the remainder of the interlopers through concentrated firepower and close-order drill infantry tactics – such was required when dealing with such unrelenting and brazen enemies as Bloodletter daemons.

Even when all hostiles were reported destroyed, all was still not well.

It was only the beginning.

* * * * * * * *

The battle in orbit of Coruscant was over. The combined firepower of the Allied Fleet destroyed two of the Chaos Strike Cruisers outright, with the third being picked off by the coup de grâce from the Dolorous Hand. Emergency crews were flitting through the wreckage of the battle, picking up life pods from those ships that had been damaged or destroyed. Captain Karderick re-positioned his Star Destroyer in a high orbit track. He was horrified by what he was seeing from the surface.


Bastion | Thrashian Imperial Space


Grand Admiral Thrawn sat alone in his quarters aboard his personal command ship. The lights were dimmed and even the usual holograms that depicted various pieces of artwork from around the known galaxy were turned off. The few rare pieces of actual art that hung in the room were masked in the shadows, no light to highlight their works for study and contemplation. As was his habit, Thrawn held his hands before him with his fingers interlocked and his chin resting upon the bridge formed by his thumbs. His eyes, that notorious glowing red, was all but hidden beneath eye lids closed down to mere slits. None but perhaps a few beings in the galaxy would be brave enough to hazard a guess as to what was going through that alien mind. Thrawn knew more than a few that would pay well to find out.

Thrawn processed his thoughts and ideas like a computer would scan programs and files. Scenarios would spring forth, variables applied, changes made, and any failures scrapped. Every piece of information, from the most trivial to the most vital were considered, weighed, and judged. With a mind made to conquer and a will to do so, Thrawn pondered all that had happened, was happening, and would likely happen. Naturally it was not always accurate. He was not an oracle, infallible thanks to the aid of some omnipotent god – much as some men liked to joke that he was. Thrawn merely broke down the variables, applied the knowledge of species psychology, economics, political nature, military power and capabilities, and a host of things that could change how any being could behave. It was one of the reasons, besides his own personal enjoyment, that he studied the artwork of so many species. It was, as it had ever been, a window into the soul and mind of the being that created it – revealing more than perhaps the artist had ever intended.

While the forces that aligned themselves with and hailed as being of Chaos and all that that entails, there was a pattern to their actions. Everything, Thrawn knew, had a purpose. Whether a being knew it or not, the actions of the few can affect the lives of many. Though they might hide it, Thrawn would find it eventually. He had spent over a day combing through every file that Thrashian ISB and Military Intelligence file that had information pertaining to Chaos. Most of it covered files from when the Chronosian Empire was actively participating in galactic events. There were even a few written by Thrawn himself, when – ages ago it seemed – that he had spoken to Remiel and other of that man’s underlings that believed in the Pantheon of Chaos Gods. Some of it helped, but he was still missing pieces of information that would solve the puzzle before him.

What, thought Thrawn, is their objective? What is their purpose?

The shadows of the room gave no answers.

* * * * * * * *

In the wake of the tragedy that had befell Bastion the whole of the Thrashian Empire began to stir, like a nest of stinging wasps that has had their home thwacked. With the capitol city turned into a battle zone – a week later and crews were still cleaning up rubble and burying corpses – and the murder of Regent Ardus Kaine at the hands of Chaos cultists, the whole of the planet seemed to become somber in its swelling preparations for war. Martial law had been declared even though few believed it was necessary, but procedure was procedure.

Leading members of the People’s Senate were holding press conferences and urging citizens to remain calm, follow official instructions, and report any unauthorized activity to the authorities immediately. Civil and official vigilance became such that the last cell of cultists to have survived from the insurrection and Chaos attack were caught two days after the event, five men and one woman who tried to buy a ticket off planet from a goods trader. News crews had recorded with holo-news droids as white armored clonetroopers took them into custody, steel binders cuffing them and the soldiers themselves being none to gentle – something which none of the audience watching felt was a problem.

The Moff Council had convened at request from Grand Admiral Thrawn and had begun working on choosing a provisional Regent to take over Kaine’s responsibilities until the end of the crisis. None of the ambitious individuals on the council thought for a second that any of them chosen to become provisional regent would have real power, but the fact that the Grand Admiral had sought to include them in the process was a comforting and reassuring measure – just as he had intended it would be. As such, Moff Banston Creed was duly appointed as Provisional Regent.

Those forces that were not absolutely necessary for the defense of all Thrashian Imperial planets and systems were gathering at Bastion. Dozens of battlecruisers, hundreds of Star Destroyers, and thousands of cruisers, frigates, and patrol craft occupied the system. At the center of this massive gathering of force was a quartet of Super Star Destroyers: the Nemesis, Black Ark, and Olympus II Centurion-class SSDs, and the Executor-class SSD Olympus. It was perhaps the most potent gathering of Imperial strength in the entire history of the Empire.

Sitting in the ready room aboard the Olympus II were Admirals Voss Parck, Chiraneau, and recently promoted Dorja. The other two men had warmly greeted Dorja, congratulating him on his actions above Bastion and his recent promotion to full admiral. “I watched the AAR recordings,” said Parck, as he rubbed his growing and greying mustache, “it was quite the near thing.”

“I'm still shocked that we lost the Gorgon Reborn,” growled Chiraneau. Younger than either Dorja or Parck, Chiraneau was nevertheless a talented officer and one who had earned a sterling reputation alongside Baron Soontir Fel in the Imperial Starfighter Corps.

“Admiral Daala was a fool,” said a familiar voice. The ready room's door had slid open and the only being that was allowed to wear the white uniform with gold brocade of an Imperial Grand Admiral stepped inside. The three other men immediately came to their feet and snapped to attention. Thrawn nodded to them in response and motioned for them to be seated again.

“I would hardly say that the blame –,” began Parck.

“Lay squarely upon her shoulders,” finished Chiraneau. “She deployed her task force too closely together and paid for it. The Empire hasn't suffered such losses in...well...never.” Dorja held his tongue but silently agreed with the man. Thrawn gave Dorja a knowing look, as if he had read the thought.

“Indeed,” said Thrawn. “Daala did make a great tactical mistake that cost her her life and a potent amount of the Imperial Fleet's strength. But that is neither here nor now. We've other plans to make.”

With a small click of buttons on his command control set into the desk before him, Thrawn activated a series of hologram projectors. The map was of the known galaxy, but then came to settle upon the northern part, where the majority of the Thrashian Empire's influence was felt.

“As I am speaking to you now,” Thrawn looked at the three of them, “Coruscant is under attack. A Chaos warband has made a daring raid upon the Galactic Conclave itself.”

“How!?” Chiraneau almost shouted, mostly in shock. To think any nation or rogue group would be willing to dare to attack the center of the known galaxy...it just wasn't sane. But then that was probably why it had happened.

“Basic rule of warfare,” murmured Parck, “do the unexpected and do whatever you can when your enemy cannot stop you.”

“So it would seem,” agreed Dorja. He turned to Thrawn. “Is that then why we are gathered? Are we to relieve Coruscant?” The other two admirals looked at the Chiss commander-in-chief expectantly.

“No,” Thrawn stated simply, not even an eyebrow twitching.

“In gods names, why?” asked Parck. He was one of the longest serving members of the Imperial Navy and had known Thrawn for even longer. Of the three admirals, he was probably the only one who had the gumption to ask a reason for any decision from the red-eyed warlord.

Thrawn gave it due consideration. “Because we have no true stake in the preservation or fall of the Galactic Conclave. It is an ancient organization, true, but one that has slowly been declining century after century. I have a strong hunch that this latest event will see the end of the Conclave...or at least the fragmentation of it.”

That quieted the admirals. Few sane men would ignore a “hunch” from Thrawn. The Chiss' ability to see through the quagmire of current events and see not only the causes but the endings of events was legendary, an insightful mind that bordered on the preternatural.

“Instead, we shall seek out the true source of the Chaos cancer that has infected the galaxy,” Thrawn said at length. “We must avenge the deaths of our people.”

The admirals stayed in conference for another two hours, planning and forming various strategies. When Thrawn dismissed them and the trio split up, Dorja walked alone back to his shuttle in the hangar bays. Just as he was walking up the ramp of his Llambda shuttle Dorja suddenly stopped and thought about what had been nagging him at the back of his mind the entire briefing. Since when did Grand Admiral Thrawn begin launching military operations in pursuit of vendettas?

[Orthodox Gnosticism]

(All CRE characters and remarks are played by by ND. Olga and all Warsaw Pact characters are played by me.)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Qw4dhq5SW9s

Centerpoint Command

Images of ash and dust, melted Dura steel and collapsed buildings revealed the damage brought to the engagement zone from the International Fleet gun ships and cruisers. Fire reigned down from melting Dura steel blown into the upper atmosphere down towards the surface like a hellish post apocalyptic scene.

Thick dark clouds began to cover the surface, as long streaks of lighting crossed the sky, as the dirt, debris and other foreign bodies collided, and caused greater friction, adding further to the hellish landscape.

Jamison’s team looked at the images, as part of the Chaos strike force broke apart in a violent crimson flame. There was no sympathy in their eyes, as the estimated initial attack death toll of the planet reached upward to two billion dead in the initial skirmish. Even more homes were destroyed, and reports from the Coruscanti Security forces and Emergency responders told of even more displaced refugees, the sick and dying from the power melt downs at the shield generator, and hundreds of trillions of credits in damages.

On the small screen Jamison looked up to the death toll ticker. Five billion, nineteen million, four hundred and twenty one thousand, Nine hundred and thirteen, lost souls and Raman. Next to it, was another ticker, showing the total population of Coruscant which numbered over three trillion inhabitants.

Jamison took a small sigh as he looked at the number. The total dead civilians in this fight equaled less than 0.0017% of the Civilian population, which was well within SWC International Fleet standards, or any standards. Even the Dornies and their weak stomachs for civilian conflict couldn’t argue that the Civilian Casualty percentages were so low that this could be considered very humane.

Not that it mattered to Jamison or his team. The Xenocide order on Chaos freed his hands and allowed him to do anything and everything in his power. Sure other nations would bitch and complain, but to allow the wound to fester, would have cost more lives in the long run, and potentially allowed the enemy a beach head in the Core, at the worst possible location, the capitol of the Conclave.

The Ansible watched as a large portion of the Strike Cruiser 2, as it was designated began to enter Coruscant’s upper atmosphere, fire burning around the hull, as one final omen of Chaos towards the Northern region about two hundred and fifty clicks north of the Works.

“Looks like we burned them down.” Miranda said, sounding almost disappointed, as she was never used in the engagement. Jamison reached down to the banister and looked down to the young and beautiful woman who commanded one of the various and most destructive weapons in the International Fleet’s arsenal. “Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll be used in another engagement.”

“Don’t lie to me.” she said as she turned around and looked at her commander. “I can’t stand foreplay, with no pay off at the end.”

“That’s what happens when you have the big toy. My dreads had more than enough of a work out.”

“Shut it Duncan!” Miranda said slightly annoyed.

“Don’t worry, I’m sure even though the Thrashians are reporting in all enemies are dead, the Dornies will be sure to call up and claim that a child down there is possessed.” G said trying to reassure the toon leader. “Maybe then you can give the planet the Doctor!”

“Knock it off.” Jamison said, as he turned to walk out of the Ansible. “Begin to land the DT, and confirm that the Varelse are dead. Good job guys, and Miranda.”

Each of the toon leaders stood up, and turned to walk out of the Ansible, each of their computers went dark. “Transferring Ansible Command to General R. Killian; Ending Ansible Transmission.” Coruscant and all around her vanished from the site of the room, returning it to a metallic sphere, as white fluorescent lights replaced the old stars.

Moscow, Warsaw Pact, Economic Union and SWC Influence Sphere

Earth, CRE

Olga Romanov, the Executive Ambassador to the Dornie Controlled CRE, the director of the Warsaw Pact Project, and Tsarzina of the Russian Federation, sat in a gold colored antique chair that dated back to the time of Tzar Nicholas the First. An ancient ancestor of hers, the Tzarzina watched the reports unfold from battle of Coruscant.

Since the battle began, the situation phone, an ancient land line between the Dornie controlled Americas and the Russian federation, rang constantly. The noise alone was enough to give the young Russian quite a headache. Various members of the Dornie State department were calling, each asking for updates, reasons, and plenty of information that the Tzarzina didn’t have. She wasn’t a military commander, and having to pretend to feign that she cared when not two weeks before she endorsed the call to Xenocide.

A young man, with short hair, and a medium build walked into the situation room. He wore the green and white camflogue class B uniform, with the Russian flag sewn on his right arm. “Tzarzina.” he spoke, as he offered a quick crisp salute, not budging for a moment until she commanded it. Her eyes glanced up, as she read the final report from the Thrashian’s and Corellian command forces in the area. Her glazed eyes looked up towards the young man, and with a flick of her wrist, as if she really didn’t care, she acknowledged his presence.

“Yes?” she asked the man as he entered. “President Haggar of the Colonial Republic of Earth is on the line.”

She fought the urge to tell the enlisted man that she was busy, but she knew better. Since the Starways Congress never dealt with Los Angelos in person, it was her job to communicate Vancouver’s will, or that of any of the other planets of the Congress, or even the will of the Congress itself to the Commander in Chief of the Dornie Republic.

Standing up, in her blue dress with a small symbol of the Warsaw pact flag sewn across her left breast, she took in a deep breath. “Of all the days to call.” she thought to herself, as she walked to the panel. Pressing the on button, the machine read her genetic memory, as well as her heart rate, DNA, and retina scans, all security measures to insure that only authorized personal could use this land line. Forcing a smile, she waited for the image to connect to the President.

“President Haggar.” she said, with her thick Russian accent, “As always, it’s a pleasure to speak with you. How are things for you in LA? I hope the smog level is down to a barely breathable level, and the sun is piercing through all of the smog.”

“What can the Warsaw Pact do for you today, Mr. President?”

On the other side of the phone, President Haggar was intently watching the monitors in the Situation Room. As footage of the International Fleet's bombardment streamed from endless guncams of fighters and from the Legation itself, Haggar sighed.

“You want to explain what the hell is going on down there?"

"I'm witnessing what looks like a full scale Base Delta Zero of Coruscant, and my people are in the middle of it."

As Haggar grumbled, ever annoyed with SWC's unique way of handling everything from international affairs to force application, radio chatter could be heard of fighters calling for "evasive maneuvers!" to escape crumbling debris and explosions and Marines generally trying to get out of the way of what was becoming sheer pandemonium, even as some could be seen with babies and women in tow, lead onto waiting medevac ships. "I'm getting radio chatter reporting danger close bombing activity. I'm witnessing orbital strikes falling inches away from our personnel."

"So let me ask you calmly. What the hell is going on?"

Olga looked towards the Camera and sighed. “If that is what you call a BDZ, then I’d hate to see what you would think if you actually saw one!” she said as she looked at the image. “What you’re witnessing is the International Fleet meeting it’s obligations to defend the human race.” she told the Dornie President. “You are well aware of International Fleet programs, and as we leaked to your media, Chaos has been declared a threat to humanity!”

Her smile fading slightly, “It was that action that had the SWC loved by your media not twenty four hours ago. This is how we handle threats to humanity, and I am honestly shocked that so little of Coruscant is burning at the moment. I was fully expecting to see Coruscant destroyed by now!”

Haggar's reply betrayed a distinct lack of amusement. "Well, my people were fulfilling their obligations. We initiated protocols to rescue at-risk civilians and begin sweeps to cleans Coruscant of Chaos infiltrators according to standard protocols. We had and still have Marines down there and up in the skies performing sweeps. Your bombardment is putting them at risk. It's killing civilians in excess of what is required and if this keeps up, I'm going to be sending Marines home in body bags."

“Or what's left of them.”

"Do you see where I'M coming from? Because lately, I'm not so sure if you do. "Our boys are down there combating Chaos as much as yours are. Now, I'm not going to debate tactics and doctrine. What I am going to ask is for you to teach your people to aim straight."

Haggar then paused and looked at Wachowski, who then nodded. "If I provide Marine IFF codes and comm signals, will that ensure they don't get shot? "And can I expect prompt action instead of the runaround you people seem to give us"

Olga looked forward into what were the virtual eyes of the Cre President. “With all due respect, Mr. President, you’re full of shit. I’ve been watching the casualty reports just the same as you, and I don’t see a single report of a single dornie dying in this combat. It is clear that the International Fleet is clearing areas with their bombardment.”

“So why don’t you just keep sitting on the side lines like you’ve always done, and let the men take care of the real work? It’s what you’re best at, Mr. President, or as you Americans say, put your money where your mouth is, and hold a referendum.”

"Then your reports are wrong." Haggar defended himself.

Olga fired back, “Show me where a single Dornie has died? Just one? All we’ve seen so far is your two ERIS agents killing a mountain of Daemons, and some guy from Asfaltum hiding behind your skirts.”

Olga holds up her hand and shows other footage, footage from the Dornie front with the faux chaos, in the Raman-Pokeman/Faux Chaos war.

“The SWC has killed far fewer of a percentage of civilians on this than you did with the Raman. I’m sure your civilian kill ratio is above .0017% on Faith.”

“We’re not talking about kill ratio’s were talking about proportionality!” Haggar snapped back. "And frankly, your people--" Wachowski motioned for him to cut it out, asdid everyone else in the room.”

Wachowski then got up, and sighed, wondering why she was even speaking to the Russian. It was the President's job, after all." Look, I think we are all, what is the English term, becoming distracted from the main issue." Haggar nodded. "The Supreme Commander is right. While we're pissing about casualty counts, we're ignoring the main problem."

“We’re talking about your American hypocrisy as always. Needless to say, neither you nor I have any command with the international fleet. Just be happy to know that those who protect Earth would protect our nation with the same passion and fervor that you’re criticizing today. If you wish for your VIP’s to be picked up, then I’ll ask the Congress to issue a special order to get your people off Coruscant.”

“But don’t try to play innocent with us. You’re not innocent, you’re just an isolationist American hypocrite.”

Nadine sighed and looked at Haggar. "Mind if I take over?" Before Haggar could say anything, Nadine looked at the screen and smiled again. "Apologies, Olga, darling."

"He can be....quite brutish. Now, I think the rescue of VIPs is a grand idea. If you'll permit me to file an attachment with that request, I have some specific ones to rescue, actually. Some of the State Department's personnel.“ Nort looked at Nadine with irritation, and Nadine glared back. "Such insolence with these people."

"Anyway, darling, I think we got off on the wrong foot, to use an Americanism." "The President mentioned we had Marines in country? Would Congress mind if we helped out? I know darling, you don't control Congress, you just have their ear."

Nadine talked at length, Wachowski and the others were floored, and even Bill Colby was astonished.

Haggar whispered to Wachowski, "It's like she wants MY job." Wachowski shrugged, and muttered something in Polish. The bewildered tone of it suggested it didn't need translation. Nadine pulled out a small flask and began sipping, waiting for Olga's reply .


Olga looked at the Coredian across the screen, and gave her a slight nod, “Give Moscow the IFF codes, and I’ll send them to the IFNINT. We’ll get our boys and girls home that you wish. We’ll load them up on the transport, and have them sent to Alderaan. From there they can take the Infinity gate back to Earth, or await transport to where ever you wish to reassign them.” she conceded.

Wachowski nodded and went, "Done and done. IFF codes sent to Moskva."

Olga watched the codes come into Moscow, “Once FSB has verified their authenticity and that they’re clean, we’ll broadcast immediately.

Nadine nodded. "Excellent, Supreme Commander. Now, Olga, dear, to clarify, does this mean we can help your people out? Establishing that you are using aerial bombardment to punish the Chaos Marines, which is fine, there are bound to be stragglers. Our Marines are there. Instead of all this fuss--" Nadine shot a glance at a very annoyed Haggar--"we could put our collective heads together. Our interests are the same in this endeavor. Pacification of Coruscant."

"That's a good name for it, by the way. Suggest that to the Congress. We'll call it that."

Olga sighed, “Pacification isn’t in our Agenda. It can be in your’s all you wish, but Coruscant is the capitol of the Conclave. The Starway’s Congress recognizes this world is shared by all the powers of the galaxy. We seek to cauterize the wound before we have to put it down for good. Coruscant isn’t in rebellion, and thus does not need to be pacified.”

"Good. We all like that over here. Less mess, less negligence suits. Now, I'm going to send you that list I wanted to send. Seeing as how that Erickson girl has become the effective head of operations down there, I'm going to especially give your people her number, or something. They want to coordinate Marine patrols, they'll do it with her." "She's proven herself capable, if a bit hotheaded."

"I wouldn't have screamed into my phone like that."

"Well, I use the word broadly, Olga darling," Nadine said with a nod. "Besides, Chaos forces, between me and your people, are not merely invaders or possessors. They're rather potent insurgents”

"They love going into areas, raising hell. Disgusting themselves as something benign." "Old tricks, but useful ones. That's open source information, by and by, share that with everyone you know."

"And give me credit!" Nadine said the last part with a big grin. "You owe me for that time in Prague, after all.”

Olga’s image looks over her shoulder. “FSB has given it the clear. I’ll send to Fleet and see what they do with it. “And I paid you back in Munich! I still have the photos to prove it. Have a nice day.” Olga said as she shut off the com to LA. She reached for a bottle of Vodka, and took a swig.

Nadine sighed, smiling. "What a card, huh?"

Turning around, Nadine looked to see Haggar about to rip Nadine a new asshole.

"Do you know who you are?" Haggar shouted.

“The one who saved you from a total diplomatic disaster. You didn't hear her at all did you? She mentioned Referendum three times. I just saved you from being declared the worst president in the CRE history. A thank you would be nice!"

Nadine then put her feet up on the table, just to put the point across how much she did not care for Haggar's surly tone. Haggar then sighed, Facepalming,

"Thank you, Director Huntleigh." "It's director Huntleigh-Macintyre." Haggar smiled "I know." Wachowski, eager to defuse the tension in the room, said eagerly, "Let's examine the reports, shall we?"

Coruscant Orbit

There was a beautiful thing about being dropped into an engagement zone. Before you went down, you thought about your girlfriend, your credit card bills, the guy who owed you fifty credits that he lost the night before in a game of sabbacc. Once you stepped into your armor though, and boarded the International Fleet Drop Transport and the turbulence of entry licked against the shields of the IDT, all of that was washed away in the baptism of fire.

Your mind focused on a single issue, completing your mission and getting back home. For IFDTP, Rick Trevor, this was true. He looked across at his unit. Sixteen Glory Class Dark Troopers, three Inquistor Dark Troopers, and thirty two Elite Dark Troopers. It was a solitary job, as he was the only human to physically be residing inside the power armor, and his only squaddie was somewhere in the middle of the SWC, safe and sound from combat. He hated the puppet master, which was the nick name for the man who commanded via ansible. At any time he could turn Rick’s Armor into remote, thus taking control from the driver, in a protocol that was known as Fisting, as it was like shoving your hand up a puppets ass and controlling it.

Rick just thanked the goddess that right now at least the strings were cut, and he wasn’t just along for the ride, and he wasn’t the only one. From his HUD, Rick could see through the satellites, hundreds of IDT’s, and their cargo descending towards the established beach head position, thirty clicks outside of Dead Man’s land. His mission though was sadly not as easy.

The ship rocked from a sudden impact, as a large piece of debris slammed into the left wing. Had he not been strapped in, his body would have flown across the transport, but the shuttle corrected itself. Rick thanked the goddess once more that the the ship had enough shields to survive several direct impacts against such hazards of war, as the door opened. His sealed armor prevented him from feeling the heat of the air, or being hit with the high radiation in the area, as his onboard display indicated that over one thousand Rads were outside the Dornie Embassy. Silently he commanded his unit to exit the IDT. Four by four, Each of the dark troopers ranging from 2.56 M (8 feet 3 inches) to 2.82 Meters (9 feet, 3inches) jumped across the Twelve foot chasm, towards the Dornie Enclave, each slamming down with ease against the Dura steel entry way. Rick barely pushed off, as he jumped, and landed in the area.

Everywhere around him were weapons. From his estimate there was one weapon every 1.5 meters. It was a strange lay out, but something so strange wasn’t to be unexpected in a Dornie run compound. He just checked out each of the weapons to make sure that no IED or explosive was attached to the weapons that could harm him.

Rick turned towards the IDT, as four large saucer shaped drones launched from the top of the IDT, each about three feet in diameter, and took off to scan the area. Rick looked towards the Hud, and could see the residual heat coming off from the bodies of the near by Dornies. Sending the Elite Dark Troopers forward, He levied his rifle, as he walked towards the room. Coming to a sealed door, One of the larger, Inquisitor Dark Troopers balled up his large hand into an iron mallet as it slammed against the thick blast door.

The door hissed, as a woman standing four feet smaller than he looked at him, as the black armored monstrosity walked in, with only the faintest grey symbol on his right shoulder identifying him as part of the International Fleet.

“Ma’am, he looked across to the other two women, and some man who looked like a strange mix dressing like a Coredian, and a Villain from a bad marvel comic. His electronic synthesized voice boomed in the small command area. “DTP, Trevor, International Fleet.” he identified himself, as he and two members of the smaller Elite Dark troopers entered the room. “Looking around at the file sent from LA, he easily identified the VIP in question.

“Erickson?” he asked as he approached the Dornie Director. “We’ve received orders from Moscow, via LA. You’re to be transported to Alderaan, immediately ma’am.” he said to the Dornie. “Get your stuff and any aide you need, but we need to get a move on.”

Erickson looked at the Dark Trooper, and something happened to her. Perhaps it was more of the stress of the occasion. Perhaps it was the unusual sight of the Dark Trooper sashaying casually into the Legation grounds. Either way, the words that came out would be unlike anything the Trooper had heard before.

"Oy!" Erickson turned and looked surprised, fanning herself with her hand before coughing. "Damnit. Your mother ever tell you not to sneak up on people? You're making me all verklempt!"

Kronie and the other Dornies looked at Erickson with a look that told them they had seen this before.

Erickson continued, "Okay, so I'm a VIP. But who from Los Angeles authorized this?"

Trevors voice remained neutral, mostly due to the fact that the voice synthesizer didn’t allow for the stresses of emotion to be said. It was to give a cold, mechanical vibe, as he handed her the order. “I have no idea ma’am, the order was to come and pick you up. Here is a copy of the Order that we received from the Moscow. We’re supposedly doing you guys a favor.”

Erickson nodded, looking at the order. "Ah. Well, you are , truly. A proper mitzvah indeed." the order, she then said, "Alright." Clapping her hands, she called forth the Emmas and coughed.

"Okay, ladies. New orders from Los Angeles. Those farkakte people want guys like this dark trooper here to pick up our VIPs and get out of town. Okay. Consdiering this comes from the National Command Authority, I can't disagree. He may be a nudnik but he is our boss." As Erickson spoke, she made the "crazy" gesture, twirling her index finger around her temples as the Emmas nodded.

"Now, I have to go. But! Considering that major combat operations are apparently part of this order, I'm going to exercise my prerogative as the Tummlerin around these parts. Okay?"

The Two Emmas looked at Erickson strangely. "It means I'm still your boss, ladies, and I want you to stay here."

Emma T nodded and said, "Oh."

"Go help these fine alrightniks out with whatever they gots to do, I'll be in touch." Looking at Trevor, Erickson said, "Hey, Trevor. Fast question--you got a way to talk to my Marines aboard your ship? I need to issue some orders and make sure they do stuff."
Emma T raised her hand. "Um, boss, what happens after we finish cleanup?"

Emma C nodded. "Yeah."

"I'm sure they've got room and I'm exercising my privileges. It's just a bit."
Kornie nodded.
"Well, if that's what you wish. I'm going to continue talking with the Cleric here. We never did finish our meeting. Meyerson, with me."

Meyerson nodded, as Erickson said to Preston, "Sorry. IF has a habit of showing everyone up. It happens.

If the Dornies could see through his helmet, then they’d have seen the Trooper roll his eyes. “Ma’am, I don’t’ think you understand. You’re only privilege is we’re transporting you to a safe zone, as our orders state. Any additional passengers shall be authorized only with the CO of the IFS Crimson Tide, and will under go any security measures that the CO sees fit.

“The International Fleet isn't a Airbus ma'am. Now if you will follow units 12, 15, and 21, we'll get you to the IDT."

Erickson looked confused and was about to say something until the large and imposing Inquisitor model walked closer. Holding it’s hand to the door, Erickson nodded. “I’ll speak to the Captain, til then offer whatever help you can to the Dark Troopers here.” she ordered the two Emma’s.

Trevor sighed slightly, as Erickson walked without much more fuss, back out the way they came, and towards the entry way where the International Fleet Drop Transport was coming down to pick them up. She was a woman who spoke a strange dialect of the Raman, or Rimkin, or whatever language that was. At least she didn’t make a scene, and was quite pleasant about the evac.

He looked over to the two Emma’s who were waiting in limbo. It was going to be a good long walk, and even though they had authorization to go, he didn’t mind making them wait. They were two humans, flesh and blood that he could see, and were easy on the eyes.

The back of his mind, he has a little warning go off, as he remembered how clingy Dornie women could be. He only hoped that they weren’t too clingy.

“Ladies.” he said through his mechanical voice box, “I assume you wish to come on patrol? Come on, but I just hope you can keep up.” It was a challenge he knew, no Dornie could resist. Dornie pride would never allow it.

The Jedi Temple

(This portion was written with the cooperation of Huntaer and Coreworlds)

“I can’t believe we’re helping out these Raman.” Elise said, as she stood outside the hatch, watching the JedI stream one by one single file into the IFS Atlas. Her body covered in camo colored armor, she held out a simple tool that scanned the DNA from the entry person’s breath.

“Orders are orders.” Frank said as he finished producing an ID tag for the youngling. It was a young girl with twin tails on her head, and a lavender hued skin. Elise took her arm and wiped where her brow would be clearing the ash off the visor that kept her sight on the area.

“NEXT!” she yelled, as another youngling approached. She looked down at the child, a young Raman again, this time with two horns that looked like a candy stripe, and an orange skin. “Weapons please!” she seemingly asked, although the child was attuned with the force to know that it wasn’t a request. Reaching down, he pulled the light saber from his belt.

A droid floated near by, gathering skin cell samples from the air as it moved over the Raman’s skin. “DNA Verified.” the droid said, and it’s information transmitted to the Trooper standing outside the cargo ship.

“Name, and Rank?” Elise asked, bored of the same question that she had asked at least a hundred times by now.

“To’Nax Garnet.” the child responded. His voice wrote his own code, and the interface with the JedI temple showed all of the child’s vital information. Elise reached down and took the light saber, and printed out a single bar code, that would be identified to the person in which it belonged. “You’re weapon will be returned to you once you arrive at your destination.”

As To’nax walked through the airlock doors, a second set of scanners scanned the child for any biological viruses, bacteria, or hidden weapons that the child may have hidden inside his person. Aside from the Midiclorian infection which was a common blight in this temple, there were no other abnormalities for it according to it’s species, and it was escorted to the cargo bay.

There were simply not enough quarters for everyone, and the Captain had relief blankets, and small rations, of water and food, enough to allow the Jedi to live until they reached Tython.

Next!, Elise yelled. “Man I can’t wait to get off this rock. I think I have some shore leave coming.” she uttered, as she looked down to her medical equipment. Two thousand rads, it was a wonder these guys were alive at all, as the next one approached. A Male, human looking, about the age of fourteen, he had short hair except for a long pony tail like braid that went over his left shoulder.

“Weapon please!” she said starting the procedure all over again.

“Where do you think you’ll go to?” Frank asked. The Jedi temple began to shake again, as violent earth quakes beneath it, moved the pillars side to side. Ancient and strong, the earth moving wasn’t enough to topple the temple, but the debris from orbit along side the tremor in the mantle could collapse a portion of the temple.

“I’m thinking Zeltron.” Elise said as she took the Padawan’s DNA.

“Zeltron, do you have enough credits? That place is expensive as hell.”

Elise smiled, “And worth every penny. I hear they have this strong brandy that….” the temple shaking interrupted her, as small pebbles of rock long held for millennia now shook and fell to the ground. Elise turned her head to look at the long queue.

Most of the younglings and Padawans had been loaded, while many of the knights, were next. The Masters in classic Jedi fashion, stood in the back, gathering holocrons, texts, and other valuable sources of knowledge to bring with them.

The International Fleet had also authorized a data dump onto the Ansible. The JedI archives were vast, and the download was far from complete.

Elise sighed, as she finished with the next Padawan. “Think we’ll ever get done?”

Frank shrugged, “I really have no idea. These computers aren’t the newest, and these JedI just keep on coming. How in the hell did they feed them all?”

“Not really sure, but I think they probably should have robbed a couple less orphanages. Would make my life a lot easier. What about you? Where you going on shore leave?”

“I was thinking going home to Delaya. I got a girl back home, that I can’t wait to see.” Frank responded, as he held out another tag for a light saber, then tracked it to the person. This child stopped, and was holding a second object, something that looked like a glowing blue box. Elise stopped the child, “Name?”

“Rebecca Ford.” she said, as she handed over her light saber. Elise held her hand out for the box. “No artifacts of unknown origin are allowed in the cargo hold.” Elise told the girl. Rebecca clutched the box tighter. “My Master gave this to me to insure that it would get to Tython. It’s a sacred object, I can’t let it go!”

More than annoyed by the break in the conversation, Elise pulled out her rifle. A team of six troopers were in the hall as they clutched their rifles and began to walk out towards the scared young knight. “You have three choices.” Elise ordered the young woman. “First, is to hand over the box, we’ll scan it, store it and if it’s not dangerous then you get it back. The second is to stop wasting my time, and you can die of radiation poisoning. The Third is keep standing in this line and holding it up, and we’ll kill you ourselves.”

Rebecca’s energy was going to fighting the radiation, but she still began to focus on the force. Three troopers walked out guns held at her head, “Drop that device now!” A steady hand on Rebecca’s shoulder broke her conversation. “It’s ok young one.” a reassuring voice of an older man with a stout beard told the knight. “The force demands we exercise patience, and tests us at times. It will be alright, do as they say.” he said.

“Are you sure Master?” the girl asked, but the troopers patience was wearing thin. “I said Drop it!”

“Do as they say, and remain calm. It will all be over soon.”

Rebecca nodded and gently kneeled down and let the box on the ground. Explosive ordinance droids scanned the blue cube, and found nothing of danger, which annoyed Elise more. Slipping the rifle over her shoulder, she grabbed the knight, and pulled her inside. “Escort this one to the brig!” she ordered.

“Alright!” Elise stood up and shouted, “If you want a ride off this rock and to your new promised land, you will comply by the rules of the boat. It’s that simple. Anyone else not willing to follow our VERY simple requests, will be getting out of line Right now, or will find themselves floating to Tython. We don’t ask much, and you’ll get your trinkets back as soon as…..

The stone pillars shook violently, and the air pressure began to change. First the wind’s direction began to move towards the inside of the hall, sucking in a long vacuum. Then for a brief moment, all was still. Rocks, large and grand, once part of the ancient hall of the JedI, broke apart as they were thrust at the ship. An orange blast, from deep within the temple, pushed the air out towards the simple ship. Before Elise could say another word, she turned to run towards the ship, but the ship’s bulkheads slammed down before she could make it. A hum of the ship’s shields energized as the rocks slammed against the grey hull, pulverizing against the might of the ships shield.

The CiC of the IFS Atlas

His ship was the last one out, and Commander Jacob couldn’t wait to be off this rock. The shields were up, all except for the loading bay forming a protective barrier against the falling Dura steel, concrete, and hot ash. Radiation wasn’t something he was worried about. Space had far more lethal levels than the two thousand rads in this area, and his hull was more than thick enough to protect the crew.

Still it was a bit unsettling, as Commander Jacob watched debris from the battle in orbit, rip through the atmosphere. The burnt red portion of the forward chaos gun crashed into the mid section of the temple, crashing through it with enough force to send the spire towards the temple below.

He looked out his window, at the last line queue. Hundreds of knights and dozens of masters with their artifacts had already taken off, and this line was all that was left.

Jacob reached for a cup of coffee, stale and bland in taste, it wasn’t the good Corellian coffee that he grew up on, but was instead some instant MRE version. It was almost a crime against humanity to serve such slop, he thought to himself.

A flashing red light caught his attention, as the sensors were reading an increase in the seismic activity inside the Temple. The Temperatures soared around the center of the library. This had to be some mistake, as he bent back his middle finger, and flicked the instrument.

“What is that?” his co pilot asked. Jacob was about to say it was a sensor malfunction, or something, but then the ships internal alarms went off. The computer slammed the bulkhead doors shut, and the shields immediately went up. Commander Jacob watched as about the remaining fifty Jedi and twelve of his crew, each scattered about by the force of the explosion.

“What the hell is going on?!?” his co-pilot yelled out, but Jacob wasn’t about to stay around and find out. His large blue engines ignited, and took off towards the skyline. “I don’t know and I don’t care. Time to get out of here!”

The Atlas arched towards the sky, “Plot a hyperspace jump for Tython, we can worry about what the hell happened later!”

[New Dornalia]

OOC: This post was prepared with extensive aid and MSN RPs from OG. Yes, there’s tons of Yiddish. If you need any of it clarified, contact me.

IC:

Outside the Situation Room

William K. Colby couldn’t believe the text he had gotten from Angleton and the message the Chief of Staff, Jess Haggar, passed to him. He needed to check this out for himself. Finding Nadine just outside the bathroom in the situation room, he motioned for the DCI to join him in a broom closet. Upon that, he sighed and crossed his arms.

"Nadine, can I ask you something?"

Nadine looked surprised.

"Yes, William?"

Colby showed Nadine the message.

"Jessica Haggar passed me this message. Chief of Station Bakura copied me on the movement of multiple assets to Alderaan. She says she also sent a copy of this message to you and Angleton."

Looking at it, Nadine smiled and said, "And?”

Colby frowned and asked Nadine a blunt question.

"Is there something you'd like to tell me?"

An awkward pause emerged for a few minutes, before William spoke, calmly, but with an undercurrent of stern annoyance, like a father telling a wayward daughter how to not fuck up again.

"Nadine you may be my boss, but I am not your underling. I deserve to be in the loop."

Nadine nodded and looked at a bottle of drain cleaner, speaking wistfully as she did so, pulling out a picture of a younger Nadine in woodland BDUs, along with a younger Colby with a pencil moustache, wearing BDUs and awkward raybans, and two men whose faces were marked over with a black pen.

"William, do you remember Wroclaw?"

Colby looked slightly confused by the reference to events long ago. "What do you mean?"

"Wroclaw. Back during the War."

Colby nodded. "THe Civil War. Yeah. But what does commanding an understrength force of local partisans to defend against a division of Revenants and Mahdist human personnel have to do with moving assets?"

Nadine grinned, showing him the picture.

"I figured you would ask, William. Did you ever remember receiving explicit authorization to do so?"

Colby shook his head, glumly looking at the image.

"I remember some vague interpretations of general orders--"

Colby stood still for a minute.

"You're acting without authorization of the National Command Authority. You’re going behind his back. That explains that fiddling with the phone you did several moments after that little episode. You’re moving without him knowing."

Nadine shook her head.

"No, my friend. I am merely assisting an old friend. She is shifting personnel without authorization of the National Command Authority. If you have a problem with that, then you should talk to the Tzarina."

William nodded, stoically assessing the situation.

"I see. Have you thought of the consequences? The potential outcomes? Chief of Station Bakura notes you moved 300 SKMONARCH-certified personnel to Bakura, which is not a small number."

"The Pixies?"

"...yes."

"Well, William, it's merely to provide advice and support. Besides, the way I see it, NCA is takng his awfully sweet time in this emergency. I spoke with Katarzyna, she says its going to take time for the regulars to get there. Transportation and suchlike."

William nodded, smiling as he began to probe Nadine’s logic.

"And by advice and support, you mean getting to Alderaan first, so you can prove to the NCA you are in fact, right?"

Nadine nodded. "That makes the whole effort seem petty, but I find the fact ERIS could more flexibly respond before he could suggests I was right. Besides, he did let us do whatever. His exact words. Besides, it's not in the Dornalian tradition to allow Chaos Marines to rape and pillage. Which is exactly what they would do on Alderaan."

William nodded and sighed, his face stoic but once again, his voice betraying his emotion. This time, concern.

"I hope you know what you're doing, Nadine. NCA finds out about this, he's going to sic the Department of Justice on you."

Nadine nodded. "Well, he can try to do that. And then he'll wake up to find my name shooting up in the popularity polls. Dornalians love people who do the right thing and occasionally ignore regulations to do so. Besides, given events on Coruscant, I think it’s rather justifiable I do this, don't you, William?"

Colby nodded.

"Given the fact events on Coruscant managed to overtake us, I suppose you have a point."

Nadine then pointedly said, "Oh, come off it, William, it was a disaster. No one knew what to do, and one of my agents had to run the whole thing. If Nort at State Department had his way, we would have been bombed. Even Katarzyna's lost her edge. Did you see her in the meeting? In the old days, she'd be giving wise counsel--and now she merely nods and acts frustrated. It's sad and I don’t want to see her like this. And I consider her a friend!"

Colby nodded, taking this all in.

"Well, alright. I'll contact the Planning Section and pass the word down the pipe that you're implementing this little venture of yours. It have a name?"

Nadine grinned.

"I'm thinking Leonidas. Affix the appropriate digraph, will you?"

Colby nodded. "I'll make sure our people do that. But, Nadine, may I give some advice?"

"Yes, William?"

Colby walked up to Nadine and sighed, putting his hand on her shoulder and admonished her sternly.

"I know you're pissed off at the NCA, hell, I am too. He lost his cool just now, and it was damn unprofessional. But so is fiddling with your phone and moving people so soon. Now, I'm going along with this because we have done good work together, and i trust your judgment and I will support you. But that being said, I hope you know what you're doing. Because the last thing I want is all those Coredian jokes to be proven true."

Nadine’s only reply was a simple, "Duly noted, William."

"I'm just giving you sage advice, Nadine. Because Willy and Jonas didn't make it out of Wroclaw alive."

Nadine’s face narrowed, and she became curt.

"It will be different."

Colby nodded, smiling.

"I know it will. I trust you to make it so."

Colby walked out, as Nadine sensed the last part was laced with a bit of admonition along with assurance. She then put the picture back in her pocket and went back to the Situation Room, whistling and nonchalant.

***

Mars SSR

Far from the chaos around the Chaos invasion of Coruscant, Terry Tadanobu slept soundly in her Martian mini-mansion, covered in sheets with a surprisingly modest thread count and snoring softly, almost musically. Located a stone’s throw from the Grand National Temple, it was a respite from the hours of negotiations with the Superior-General of the Order. Terry never imagined that forming her own Army would take so much work. Sure, it was easy to get money from Nick Tyrol. Nick was a pretty cool guy, and they had already trusted one another. After all, someone needed to run Tyrol Foods, S.A.. It just so happened Terry, with her obsessive love of charcuterie and surprisingly deep management skills, was the right person.

Now, it was just a matter of getting the Order onboard. The Mastersmiths were eager to perfect their craft, and being the tinkerers and salesmen of the Order, they were eager to invest in a corporate venture. But, the rank and file and the Superior-General herself were a little less eager to part with their money. It was admittedly an unknown venture, and although the Ordermen were do-gooders, they were well aware of all the risks and dangers with any new start up. Especially one whose purpose involved men at arms.

Fortunately, Terry had great allies to help her in this endeavor. Although Henny Collins was officially not to be involved in the organization in any way, shape or form, Terry had found a few phone calls from Henny would suddenly make Ordermen empty their wallets. Of course, as part of the condition of said phone calls, no one ever said the Commandant-Emeritus ever told them it was a good idea to do so. And, Terry's mother had tea, sympathy, and conversation to spare. Especially with the Superior-General.

So, as the wheelings and dealings went on in earnest, Terry took a break to get some z's.

And then, she had a bad dream.


Terry found herself falling, and falling. Flying through the sky without a parachute, she then found herself slamming into one of those trampolines firemen use to rescue falling people from burning buildings.

Looking up, she saw a butcher's shop, and a gray city with tons and tons of buildings. Walking to the butcher's shop, she smiled. There was a smell of finely, freshly cut meats alright. Beef, pork, chicken, nerf, and ostrich.

"Okay, nothing wierd yet."

Terry then walked up to the counter and rang the small bell.

A squirrelly little man walked up to the counter, with a hunchback.

"Caaaaannnn I heeellllp you?"

"I'd like some red hots."

"No red hots. Not here!" the figure cursed, like Gollum defending the One Ring.

Terry grew worried.

"Knockwurst."

"Noo. No knockwurst!"

"Frankfurters with and without casings?" she asked, growing nervous.

"Noo! No FRAAAHNKFURTHERS!"

Terry gasped. She then began rattling off sausages of all shapes and sizes.

"Soondae? Mettwurst? Black pudding? White pudding? Laap Cheong? Longaniza, Portuguese, Spanish and Filipino? Red Souse, HEadcheese? Brawn? Chorizo? Hawaiian Portuguese Sausage?!"

"NO! NO AND NO! YOU GET OUT!!!"

The Gollum Butcher Man then pulled out a sawed off shotgun, and fired at Terry, causing her to fly out of his shop and into the street, where she rubbed her temples and went, "Ooowww."

Then, she saw the city around her. It was burning, and she could hear babies crying. Looking about, she found herself confronted by a Chaos Marine, and gasped. Then, the Chaos Marine shoved her back, and swung a Chainsword at her, begore dying of blaster shot. She turned around, and saw a big, black hulking parody of a Stormtrooper. Terry gasped, and pointed her finger at it.

"Uuu--UBERSOLDAT!"

Tall and imposing, the Dark Trooper had a glowing red set of eyes at it looked at the Portuguese woman. It moved towards her slowly, as if it didn't seem to care that she was there, as it pushed her aside. It's big Phrik coated Durasteel heavy book, slammed into her abdomen. Terry cried out, as the full weight of the trooper pushed into her. Loud cracks and snaps of her lower spine filled t

Terry cried out, as the full weight of the trooper pushed into her. Loud cracks and snaps of her lower spine filled the air. For a moment, Terry couldn’t feel her legs. “What is happening?!? She screamed in pain, as the dark trooper moved on. Her legs were wet, and the stench of blood and feces made her want to gag.

Terry looked around and went, "Damn. Oh damn. I'm in a dream and I'm dying oh no!" She began crying and screaming. She then paused. Looking around she coughed.

"Let me try some of that Lucid Dreaming."

Closing her eyes, she got up--only to find herself in a wheelchair.

"Damn."

Then, she heard a voice.

"You know this is just the beginning, right?"

Terry turned to see two large dudes. One of them, a large Chinese-American man with poorly kept facial hair who could stand to lose a few pounds and maybe have his ego shrunk a few sizes, went, "Ah good, I got your attention. Now, you know how people get visions and stuff of bad events?"

Terry nodded.

"You're in one of those right now. Just trippier."

"Ah."

As if on cue, a train pulled up next to the man and went, "Well, I gotta run. I'll let you and the Colonial Author get acquainted!"

"Wait! Don't leave me here with him!!!!
Terry turned to the Colonial Author, and gulped.

"Be gentle."

Fire burned around the dark trooper, as each step it took, left a puddle of blood. The air was thick with smoke and crushed concrete particles, making it hard for Terry to breathe. Terry coughed, as her organs throbbed in excruciating pain.

The Dark Trooper didn’t seem to notice her, or didn’t care as she watched it’s left shoulder plate pull back, and two Plex Missiles launched from it. Her vision was obfuscated through the destruction, but the loud boom, and cries of the innocent filled her ears, as the ground shook.

"You! Stop hurting those people right now!"

Terry got up out of the wheelchair, and ignited her lightsaber. Leaping into the air, she slashed at the trooper's back, targeting his upper left shoulder with a diagonal cut.

Followed by Force Push to knock the Dark Trooper back.

Or rather, knock the affected area back.

No sound or recognition came from the trooper, as it walked like a force of nature around a mountain of debris. Terry watched, wondering what the mechanical monstrosity was about to do, til it rounded the corner once more.

It’s left hand was dripping in blood, it’s large vibro blades attached at the finger tips, had slipped into the eye sockets of a large head. It’s face was scarred, and it’s short hair, gave the decapitated victim an appearance of a solider of some sort. The head was too large to be a normal human. The dark knight gently pulled it’s arm back and tossed it towards the now impotent Terry.

The arch was perfect, and Terry held her arms out of instict, to block or deflect the incoming projectile, but instead it landed in her lap. It’s eyes were gouged out as the dead face stared at her. “I died so you could live.” the head spoke to Terry.

“It’s not too late!” The skull whispered to Terry. “Stop him before he awakens fully!” it yelled out pleading with the woman, “His return will come, at Alderaan!” Terry with all her force, tossed the skull to the side, as fire grew from its eyes to cover the surface of its face. His white skin bubbled, and cracked, and turned to a dark char, that reflected the reality of the world she stood.

Terry fainted, and then, woke up back in her own room, with the Dornie Author's voice in her head.

"Get moving, Terry."

Terry then walked to her kitchen and cooked some Hawaiian Portuguese Sausage, as she turned on the TV to watch Rambo. She found the scene where Stallone pointed his bow and arrow at the mercenary, and uttered in his growl:

"Live for nothing, or die for something."

The words seemed rather apropros.

Mrs. T walked into the kitchen, and saw her daughter.

"Tereza? Is there something wrong?"

"I had a vision, mom. A vision of a city on fire. Of a giant man in a gray metal suit burning it all. And a man's head warning me about Alderaan."

"Oh my." Mrs. T nodded. "That is difficult."

Terry nodded, "The voice said Alderaan is going to be attacked. I have to help stop it."

"Stop what?"

"Whatever brought harm to Coruscant. That other world that was just attacked. You know, the one on the news?"

Mrs. T nodded.

"I see."

Mrs. T saw her daughter's face, and for the first time in a long time ,saw that it was pursed with real fear and concern.

"Tereza, this is troubling you, isn't it?"

Terry nodded, as she began to fry up the sausage.

"Understandable." For the first time in Tereza's memory, she didn't follow it up with an anecdote. Mrs. T then went, "Perhaps you would like to go to Alderaan and do something about it, then?"

Terry nodded. "But the problem is, I'm still building the Ilum Base. I've got bills to pay, money to spend. But it's just.....it's just...." Terry seemed speechless, powerless to express the fear that entrapped her.

Mrs. T however, smiled.
"Do you mind a story?"

Terry said, "Sure, mom."

Mrs. T paused for a minute, and then began to speak.

"I knew a man once. Someone in your position. He was a sickly child. The scion of a New York dynasty. He had asthma. He didn't look like he would amount to much, although he was rather bright. I was one of his tutors. His father expressed fears he would never amount to much. And then one day, his father decided he had enough. He told his son to overcome the limits of his body. The son thought he couldn't do it. The father said, 'Try it.' I saw him work hard, exercise, to throw off the disabilities--well, not quite, you can't get rid of asthma that easily. But in time, he succeeded. Through force of will, and encouragement from others"--Mrs. T winked as she said that--"The boy became a man. A man who later reformed the New York Police Department and went West to make his fortune."

Terry dropped her sausage bit onto her plate, as she was about to chow down.

"You helped Teddy Roosevelt become not weak?"

"Not really. I just encouraged him. It was mostly his doing. He had that drive, that potential. And I've noticed that from you. You have drive, potential. Now, granted, the physical realities of life are no doubt there. Logistical difficulties, discouragement. Fear perhaps, of failure. I sense that right now actually."

"Eh?"

"You're afraid you're not going to be able to stand up to the challenge of Alderaan. That this army you're building is going to be swept aside by the tide of history, by some..."

Mrs. T tried to find the best way to approximate the spectre that plagued her daughter's imagination.

"....daemon with a pen."

"But, mom, it's the Colonial Author--"

"Yes, dear. But he's not your Author, is he?"

Terry nodded.

"True."

Mrs. T then put her hand on Terry's shoulder. "Teddy Roosevelt could have let the Colonial Author write his story. But he chose to write it. And what a story it was."

Terry nodded, smiling.

"Besides, the world needs more stories like yours. Happy stories, with happy girls growing up into happy, beneficent women who make their world a better place. Not like those awful stories on television."

Terry nodded, and Mrs. T added, "Isn't that why you set up this little Army, after all?"

Terry nodded. It was why she made Terry's Army, after all. Not to mine crystals on Illum. But because there was evil afoot.

Mrs. T added, "Never forget also, you have friends who are writing their own stories. Nicholas, for example. He's successful, prosperous--wonderful. A bit of a smart-mouth, but that's forgivable and understandable."

Terry added, "But the Colonial Author writes him."

Mrs. T nodded, "All the more reason not to fear him, then, isn't it? If this entity you fear hasn't driven Nick into the ground, then how can it drive you into the ground? If anything, I'd say Nicholas has benefited under his stewardship, but Nick seems to be one who makes his own luck."

Mrs. T shrugged and looked at the sausage.

"Do you mind sharing?"

"Oh, sure mom."

As Terry shared the portuguese sausage, Terry contemplated Mrs. T's words. Maybe mother did know best. At the very least, it was time to send the army to battle. YEah, they only had some A-34 tanks as heavy armor, but they also had guts and names. And also, Nick's handselected unit of buxom dervishes. The Angels.

Mrs. T perked up.

"Something up, Tereza?"

"I think going to Alderaan would be a splendid idea. Besides, Nick wnats to see his Angels in action. They have 2 names, he says, so they'll live longer."

Mrs. T nodded and giggled.

"Perhaps, dear. Mind if I join?"

Terry looked at her mother strangely. "Um, mom, this would be a war zone--"

"I know, but if this danger is serious enough, then I feel it needs the attention of a Bodhisattva such as myself."

Terry just sat there and said, "I'll think about it," trying to contemplate just what was up.

***

Coruscant

Emma Thorne and Emma C couldn't believe it. They looked at one another, and shook their heads. Was this big giant dude in black armor daring them to come along on a patrol?

Emma T went, her eyebrows raising up, "Sounds like a challenge."

"Easy, killer." Emma C nodded to her. The two began following Rick. To Rick's surprise--well, maybe not surprise, DOrnies never were that surprising--their movements were both quick, and seemingly in the blink of an eye. One brief sprint later, they seemed blink into view behind Rick, covering his left and right rear oblique angles, scanning all around.

Emma C snarked, "Mr. Trevor, it seems we can keep up."

The blessing and the curse of the Dark Trooper exoskeleton, was that no one could ever see your face, hear panic or praise in your voice. All of that which made you human, except for the minor movement here and there of body language was obfuscated by Durasteel, wires, shielding, and in the end, a thin coating of Phrik.

It was a shame to, as the two Emma’s playful moving around, caused him to smile under his helmet. Around the two Emma’s Two of the Inquisitor Dark Troopers walked behind them, their big massive forms would be more likely described as a bi pedal tank than an exo skeleton, while the lighter, and only slightly smaller, Elite Dark troopers formed a perimeter around the Driver and his two escorts.

In the center of it all, was the Glory Class, which Rick himself wore. Rows, two by two, he walked in unison with his units, as the four drones flew over head, scanning and keeping an eye out for the second team member of the unit, the over seer.

Rick didn’t need to look at him, as his camera’s in the drones, and the other suits kept careful watch of all in the surrounding area, but he had to admit, the Dornies had spirit, and were playful, and those were two traits of innocence that he enjoyed to look at.

The nightmare and burned out craters and rubble that was left in the engagement zone from the broken and burned out buildings created a hell of an obstacle course, and from his sensor readings, he could tell the environment in the area was lethal to any human without some form of protection. It was amazing that the two Emma’s could keep up so easily, as radiation washed over their bodies. Hell he wondered if he would fair so well if he didn’t have so much armor, and a shield system that was designed to neutralize artificial and biological energy signals.

“From there we’re to perform search and rescue for any trapped in the rubble.”

Emma C. nodded. "Right. We'll keep an eye out for lifesigns."

Emma T couldn't get much of a read on the big metal man in front of them. She came up mentally against what seemed like a wall of whitenoise--the tell tale signs of an SI field somewhere in the area. Of course, there was the loss of all psychic powers and maybe the rendering of the Daoist-inspired wards and sigils as moot, but those weren't big concerns. Emma T knew that the extensive augmentations within her that allowed her and Emma C to survive the radiation and keep up with Trevors also more than made up for any loss of psychic ability. Besides, she had an AK, and that was good enough for her. THat, and she was busy flash-stepping, keeping up and moving swiftly, as Chief Paramilitary Officer Neidermeyer had taught them.

Emma T went, "I've got nothing here, Emma C. Place looks like Hell."

Emma C. shrugged. "It's what happens when you saturate an area with explosives. Everything within the blast zone tends to be pulverized. Men, women, the monuments to civilization."

Emma T. shrugged.

"Poetry doesn't make any less desolate."

"Hey, I'm just keeping an eye out, kiddo."

"The IF does enjoy making sure our lives are boring." the Dark Trooper replied. "Blast everything down, and send us to talk around like chickens with our heads cut off."

"No kidding." Emma C. said. "Back when I was in the Marines, we had that problem. Join the Marines, they said. You'll see the world, they said. I saw the world, but it was peacetime. So I didn't do much."

Emma T. giggled.

"Jarhead. I went to college."

Emma C. raised an eyebrow.

"That's relevant how?"

"Just saying what I did when you were in the Marines."

Emma C. sighed and spoke to the Dark Trooper.

"Typical Army. Always trying to play catchup."

Emma T nodded.

"Well, at least my ass doesn't ride in Navy equipment."

Emma C turned and shook her head.

"Of course not. It rides on shitty State Department equipment, because we're both working for the Valkyries."

Emma T nodded.

She then stopped and held her hand up.

"I hear something!"

From over head a small heat residue, that was far smaller, than the rest of the ambient temperatures, seemed to radiate from a pile of rubble and ash about five hundred yards away. Silently without a sound, Two of the Glory class Dark Trooper’s jet packs ignited, and the large black monsters took to the air.

Rick turned, “This way, could have a survivor, or just a burning ember.” The drones over head continued their constant surveillance of the area, while the Elite Dark Troopers began to form a defensive parameter around the pile of rubble. The largest of the Dark Troopers, the Inquisitors, stopped moving. Each of Trevors heavy mechanical steps moved towards the area.

His vision switched from thermal, to normal optics, and with his left hand, he gently and easily pushed aside a large slap of Dura steel, blocking the area. To his dismay, more rubble, looked to be several tons of it, covered the area where the heat signature was coming from.

“You two ladies want to help, or are you afraid of breaking a nail?” He asked, in what would have been a playful sarcastic tone, had the voice box not translated it into a neutral tone that diminished all personal feeling and making the speech as neutral as a text or internet typing.

The Emmas dashed after Trevors and went to the rubble spot, beginning their unusually quick movements again. They did not have the ability to fly. What they did have was expertly done parkour moves and gymnastics, and bio-agumented speeds, and with those, they bounded the rocks and rubble to reach the pile. Emma T began moving large slabs effortlessly to get some initial openings, and then Emma C shouted inside.

"Is anyone in there!?"

The last slab moved, a small Twi’lek girl, no more than 9 years old laid their unconscious, her purple blood covering her body. Emma C, gently reached down and scooped the child up. Placing her index finger, and middle finger on the girl’s neck, she could barely feel a feint pulse. Rick bent over, and extended his personal shield around the young raman, to shield her further from the radiation

“You’ll be ok.” he told the twi’lek. Sending a quick med-evac signal, he sent it to the nearest Dornie medical transport.

"This is Dustoff Six-Four. We're comin' down."

With those words, a Pelican flew down proudly, emblazoned with the words "MARINES" on the side and the telltale OD Green paint scheme of the New Dornalian Marine Corps. Bearing, the familiar sun bade of the Dornies, in low-visibility paint, it was a welcome sight to the Emmas. The Navy Corpsmen came out of the back of the Pelican and went, "There's someone to pick up?"

Emma C nodded, saying, "Over here, Corpsman. Twi;lek, age 9. Kid."

The Corpsman nodded and had his people get some medical equipment out and a stretcher, as he said to the Dark Trooper, "Thanks, soldier. We'll take it from here."

Rick stood up, allowing the medic's to come in and take the young raman.

"There wasn't much he could do, he was a basic grunt, and although he did have basic first aid trainning, her extensive injuries were well beyond his battle field training.

"Yes sir." he responded politely to the Dornie Med-evac team, as he watched them take her away to the stars.

He slowly began to walk towards his unit, as they moved from their defensive positions, and began to resume patrol.

"Damn shame." he said as he walked with the Emmas. "It's always the kids who suffer the most in war.'

"You two have any?"

The Emmas shook their heads. Emma C spoke first.

"Nope. Not yet. I am seeing someone on and off, but you know how it is. Foreign service isn't conducive to a long distance relationship."

Emma T. shrugged.

"Maybe. I'm waffling on the issue. I've helped take care of other people's kids."


"Should I have some? Depends on if I can handle it."

Rick laughed, although the sound came out sounding much more dark and sinister, "Kids are like war from what I hear. Even if you plan, the plan's tossed out the window in five minutes."

"But i think you can handle it. If you can handle this, you can handle that."

Emma T nodded. "Perhaps. It'd be nice to have a clan of Thornes. Train them how to be an awesome clan of psychics, saving the world from evil. Like on TV."

Rick laughed, "I wouldn't know, I spend too much time on the Xbox to watch TV. Hell I don't even watch netflix. But from what I've heard, I think you could easily make it on the tube."

Emma T nodded. "The tube, eh? Well, I'd like that."

Emma C laughed.

"Just don't break OPSEC, kid."

'Yup good looks more than makes up for bad acting."

Emma C just laughed. "THat's assuming she has the looks. I know they're looking for more diverse figures, but I'm assuming they want...a little more."

Emma C then made a knowing head nod to Emma T, who blushed and sighed. "Really? Really?"

"Yeah, I went there. It's not wierd or anything, I'm merely stating a fact."

Emma T sighed.

"Hey don't worry. I'm sure that Hollywood has more than enough uses for Duracell here."

Emma T at that raised an eyebrow. "Duracell. Really?"

"Double A's"

"Hey, Duracells last longer."

Emma C giggled, "Whatever helps you sleep at night."

Rick really wished the girls could see his face, as the large black helmet moving up and down casually just wasn't really sufficient."

"I hear that bunny keeps on going."

Emma T nodded. "Exactly. I mean, someone with Emma C's....body type....I'd hate to see that in fifty years."

Emma C frowned.

"The fuck are you thinking about?"

She shook her head.

"Damn. Some people just can't handle good figures."

As they began to approach the unit, large flares in the sky, and a gush of wind began to blow dirt and debris aside, as a large IFDT flew down low in front of the crowd.

A single man, wearing a light blue uniform walked towards the unit. His hand went up, shielding his eyes from the dust, as he approached.

"DTP, Emma, Emma." he said simply.

"DTP, you and your unit is ordered to escort the VIP's to the IFS Red Dawn. Their authorization to board the Corellian Gunship has been given."

Rick nodded his head, "Yes sir, lets go."

The Dark troopers began to pile in, and as the Emmas boarded, he looked back at the lone man who had been following them the entire time. "Sorry sir, you're not authorized to board."

The Shuttle closed it's doors, and took off to the stars, before docking with the Gunship.

The officer walked up and handed the two emma's a single dossier. "We'll be departing for Alderaan in one hour. If you wish to be assigned to a barracks, then you can use barracks 12D. Just a warning, all barracks in the fleet is co-ed."

the large imposing black figure walked behind them. "Don't worry sir, we'll keep them entertained.

Emma T and Emma C looked at each other. Emma C merely looked at Emma T and went, "Well, if you wanted to find some steady companionship and have those kids, now's the time."

Emma T raised an eyebrow.

"That's a bit optimistic."

Rick took a step back.

"I know, I'm messing with you, kid."

"Sir, I think..."

The officer shook his head, "No, DTP, you volenteered for this assignment, it's yours."

"Get out of your armor, and we'll have the chief inspect the units. Dismissed, and treat our VIP's like they're Queen Isabella herself."

"Sir, yes sir."

"Let me get out of this armor, and I'll meet you at the deck." The Deck was the name for the enlisted bar on the ship

Rick turned and walked out towards the weapons and DT armor locker.

The two Emmas walked onto the vessel. It wa a decidedly different experience than what they were used to. Shouldering their arms, they cut a distinctive figure as two very beautiful women with slacks, ties, and shirts, but they figured that'd enable them to get something to drink. Well, sort of.

WIth a nod, they began to Walk to the Deck, whistling.

**

Aboard IFS Coronet

Now, while the Two Emmas were having fun discussing "body types," Attache Erickson was busy. Very busy. And by very busy we mean trying to find a way to communicate wit people. Erickson looked around the Corellian Dreadnaught. As she wandered about, she thought of the ords of Rabbi Gureivich, the leader of the local Chabad house which occupied the real estate next to her family's butcher shop.

"What a world!"

Looking around, Erickson tried to find someone who knew where the communications area was. "Such a ship with an impressive name like 'Coronet'" she thought, "And yet no map? WHat kind of dreck is this!?" Fortunately, that was not said out loud

Anyway, the Dornie VIP found someone and asked.

"Excuse me. Can you direct me to a communication suite, or to someone whom I can talk to to talk to my ship? I'm getting into a shvitz over here. And by my ship, I mean my people, so Ican let them know I'm alright. This situation is getting more insane everyday. For this, I got out of bed."

The woman who Erickson stopped, was short, with striking red hair. The moment the Dornie started to talk to her, it seemed to break her out of her inner thoughts, as she stopped nearly startled. What was more startling was the word she used.

“I’m not sure if you’re authorized ma’am.” Kylie said, as she looked down at the small tablet in her hand. “What is your name, rank, and planet of origin?” she asked.

"Name, rank, planet of origin, okay." Erickson said, confused. "I'm a VIP here. Lieutenant Sarah M. Erickson, Colonial Rpeublican Navy. Military Attaché, Dornalian Legation, Coruscant. I'm from Ft. Casimir Pulaski, New Chicago COunty. And I am authorized to be here. Ask your boss, he should know. Or one of the other guys in the big metal suits. I think they know what's up. They seem to be the yiddisher kops around this place."

She held out her data pad. "For security reason's ma'am we need to take your DNA to identify you, and scan your genetic memory to insure that you are who you say you are, and that you're not an enemy operative who is threatening the ship or crew."

"Once the animus has cleared you, I'll escort you to communications."

"We're in a war zone, and some races like the Shi'ido can mimic form. Or worse, a coredian could have mind controlled you. It's a neccessary precaution, that we all have to live through every day."

She said

Erickson raised an eyebrow. "You're kidding. I gotta take a blood test to remain here? Do I look shapeshifter or a mamzer to you, nu?" Sighing, she remembered what her parents would do and went, "Alright. How long does it take?"

"Justa few seconds ma'am. The Animus doens't take long to scan your past."

"I'm sorry abotu this ma'am, but it's standard for every computer on the ship."

Once her finger touched the panel, about four seconds later, she looked at the results.

"I'm sorry, ma'am for the inconvience. You're authorized to access the holonet, but you aren't authorized to use the Ansible. It should be sufficient to communicate with Bakura though ma'am."

"Follow me.'

The young woman rscorted her to a small train that ran in the middle of the ship. The Metro, as they called it was packed, but it was the quickest way to transverse the 7KM long ship.

After about half an hour, Erickon finally reached her destination.

"There you go Ma'am. If you have any questions inside, I'm sure the Chief of the Station will be more than happy to help you. Have a good day."

She offered Erickson a quick salute, before going back to her business.

Erickson nodded. The Animus--she had heard stories about it. Some kind of wonder machine made by some alrightnik who could read genetic memory from people. She hoped that it hadn't read state secrets. The last thing they needed to see was how she became Pixiefied, after all, or worse.

Walking forward, she approached the chief, and coughed.

"Excuse me? Are you the chief of the station around here?"

"I'm Sarah Erickson, Lieutenant, CRE Navy. I'm a VIP and I've been looking for a way to talk to my people...I understand you can help?"

Erickson walked into a large room, filled with lights, and terminals, with two crew members inside. One of them sat back, and lazily was watching Fuzzy Porn, since the ship was still under the control of Command at the time. The other was monitoring communications down on the planet.

The man looking at the porn turned his head, to see Erickson talking, but quickly turned his attention back to the strange and almost fiction like things Fuzzy did with various objects that bordered on unnatural. The other man turned to her, and stood up. He was 6’1, and thin yet muscular build from years of PT that he never needed to use, as he sat at the desk most of the time.

Looking down at his console, he nodded, “Yes Ma’am, I’m Chief Henderson. I can allow you limited access to the holonet, although it is a secure console. Please follow me, Ma’am.” he said as he walked across the long room, and nearly tripped over a excited mouse droid, as he took her to a simple terminal.

“Who would you like to get in contact with first?” he asked

Erickson replied, "I'd like to get in contact with the CRS Oriskany, if you don't mind. It's one of the big ships over there, the Battlestar kibitzing about."

He looked over and started to look over the records, “Ma’am I’m sorry but I don’t see any identification tags in for a battlestar named Kitibiz…. Or whatever it is you said.”

Erickson raised her eyebrows. "No, no. It's the CRS Oriskany. That's the Battlestar over there." Erickson wondered why the man was confused. Surely he had seen some TV or whatnot to let him know the definition of the word kibitz, yes?

The Chief shook his head slightly in frustration. "I'm sorry, Ma'am, I just don't speak Raman. I'm sure you have to though as you were a diplomat on Coruscant. IN the fleet we speak Proper.”

"Proper?" Erickson was really confused now. "What makher decided--" Erickson sighed. "Calm down, Sarah. You're a guest in someone's house, you are making a scene." She then said, "Right. The CRS Oriskany."

"Yes ma'am. Come over here and sit down. Touch the screen here, and the Animus will scan you, to insure you're authorized, then the request will be sent to the Battlestar."

"If you need any more help, I'll be right over there."

Erickson sat down and did as requested. As she did so, she asked the Chief, "Chief. This Animus thingy. What's it do? Some kind of scanner thing? Apparently, some girl outside was saying I needed to enter my personals into it, so I'm not a mamzer or a dybbuk that wants to tak your soul."

"It's an intelligence and security device ma'am." he said as he leaned back and looked at her. "It's designed to keep spies out, to insure that no one is controlling you, and to insure you are who you say you are. Someone at SWCINT reviews your life history, and the life history of your last 3 ancestors to make sure you're no threat to the fleet, and transmits the ok back."

he paused as she started to talk some more. "Ma'am I don't speak Raman. I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Please speak properly. This is a human ship, not some slug ship from Nar shadda"

"Ah. Sorry, I keep forgetting not everyone speaks New Chicagoan Yinglish. Subdialect of Dornie English.""Filled with funny expressions from a langage known as Yiddish.""Anyway."

“What is that, some Rimkin planet?"

"It's a whole County within the CRE. I'm from Ft. Casimir Pulaski.""It's capital world. Grew up in a neighborhood in it."

He smiled as he leaned back, "You could have just said yes." he said playfully

"I like to talk. Just not too much. Besides, this farkakate machine is taking forever." Erickson looked at it. "How long does it take to scan a life history"

He just gave her a look. "A second."

"The reviewer is probably done, looking for key ppints in history that wouldn't be authroized."

THe screen popped up.

"Or they could just be laughing at how you're speaking Rimkin." he said pointing to the camera "We don't get many humans who love Raman enough to bother learning their speak!" he said with a smile."So you have many Varesle or Raman out there?"

Erickson chuckled. "Now you're the one talking all crazy. Can you clarify?"

"I'm jsut speaking Proper." "Do you have many aliens that you can communicate with, or can't communicate with?" "You know, the Fourth's and Fifths?"

"We have aliens we talk with, and those we can't, well, we get interpreters and robotic translator thingies," Erickson noted. "Like those lizard people from Simpsongrad. Those guys. We put some machine on them that makes their click-speech turn into English."

"Not the Ssi-Ruuk, we dealt with them. Or contained them. You didn't hear that on the record," Erickson said with a blush.

"Nope, of course not."

"Well I never met a Third before. So after you're done talking to your ship, I get off shift in about an hour. Want to go to the chow hall and grab something? I hear they're having Nerf Burgers and Redlinks tonight." 'I'm curious about what it's like living out there on the edge of society. Must be very exciting, with all the gun slingers, and Raman running around."

Erickson lit up. "I'd like that. I'll regale you with the tale of Reb Saunders, the Lion of Judah. Fastest hand in the county. Could take down men at 400 yards with a Colt Peacemaker and do it in time to study Torah. All in a leather duster."

"Not sure what that means, but sounds like a great story. We'll talk more at dinner, I need to get this done, since Sam over here is too busy downloading Fuzzy's greatest hits." "The captain will have my balls if I don't finish my report. i just hope the Fleet stops fisting us so I can actually finish my work by then."

He looked over to see an annoyed man on the other end of Erickson's computer. "Ma'am, looks like your call is through!" As he pointed to the screen

Erickson smiled and said, "Hello! Captain Levine, this is Erickson. Yes, I'm alright. The National Command Authority had me board their ship. No, it will be fine. No, I dunno why either. Tell the NCA I'm perfectly alright, and I'm onboard. Have you heard anything from the Emmas? Ah. Yes, they should be onboard with that big metal dude by now. Abein gezunt. Yes. Thanks, Cap. Oh. A message from the DCI? Oh. Sure. I'll pass it to them."

Erickson turned to the Chief.

"Apparently, my people will be joining us over on Alderaan."

"Is that what that meant? I could have sworn you had something caught in your throat.""But that sounds good.""I hope to meet some more thirds. You guys are so unusual, and interesting."

"Unusual and interesting, Hmmm. FUnny, I'd say the same about you guys. But yes, it will be quite interesting," Erickson said with a grin.

[Thrashia]

Coruscant
Twenty-Four Hours After the Attack

Commander Tycho was in a semi-state of shock. Anger overrode most of the more crippling aspects of that condition however and allowed him the necessary energy and drive to go about his duties in the interim. The day’s events had been taxing to say the least. He stood now waiting to be interviewed by every major holo-news agency in the known galaxy. Voices from just behind the curtain he was standing next to were quiet, somber, and fearful. Panic had been kept from growing only through very careful measures.

An aide stuck his head through the curtain. “Commander, we’re ready for you.”

Tycho nodded and stepped through the curtain. The lights from hovering holocam droids was a bit glaring, but otherwise the crowd in front of Tycho seemed somehow diminished from past experiences that he had had when faced by the media circus of Coruscant. Being the single most politically important planet in the galaxy for millennia had bred a certain arrogance in its news persons – a fact that Tycho had hated in the past. Now he just felt certain that he needed them almost as much as they seemed to need him. Their faces looked expectant and hopeful.

“Ladies and gentle beings, please be seated,” Tycho said, his voice gravelly and deep, slightly rougher than his usual soft bass. The assembled reporters did so and their attention seemed to focus even more.

“The events that have taken place in the last twenty-four hours are, to put it lightly, are devastating. In my position as Commander of the Galactic Conclave Guard it is my duty to report on the current situation…

“Firstly, I can tell you that the raiders who instigated the assault on our planet were known as Chaos Space Marines. Some people may know of them if they’ve ever studied galactic history in connection to the Chronosian Empire. However, our sources indicate that today’s raiders were not from that nation. From what we understand they are not affiliated with any known nation within the known galaxy. Suspicion seems to indicate that they may be extra-galactic – from outside our galaxy. The threat they pose is disproportional to the numbers of them it would seem, but we are all witnesses to the devastation they have wrought today.

“Secondly, we now face a political crisis unknown in history,” Tycho continued, his voice becoming angrier sounding as he bit out each successive word, “since the unilateral actions of the Corellian International Fleet has seen absolute physical destruction of the Galactic Conclave Hall. Estimates are still being calculated and the Coruscant Emergency and Medical Service are working as I speak on confirming the dead, but an estimated five million, six hundred thousand, and four hundred and seven beings were killed in the orbital bombardment that took place.

“Over nine hundred of the casualties were diplomatic delegates from the various known sectors of the galaxy or of empires and nations. More than that, the entire political leadership of the Galactic Conclave have been killed. In accordance with Emergency Decree 110, Sub-section four, article six of the Galactic Conclave constitution, I have been given emergency powers of executive authority to oversee the crisis. I want to assure you, my fellow Coruscanti citizens and of those worlds loyal to the Galactic Conclave that I will do everything in my power to make this right. I have been in close communication with the Mayor of Coruscant and he has also ceded me emergency powers.

“As such, the following actions are being taken. All Coruscant Guard Reserve personnel are to immediately report to the nearest GCG offices, level headquarters, and barracks for duty. I have also activated the Galactic Conclave Guard emergency stocks – which will see ten million B-1 Battle Droids that were in safe storage be deployed. Coruscant Detective and Intelligence services have freedom of action to stop and detain any being under suspicion of illegal activities. Police officers have been granted Cassus Beli rights to take immediate and terminal force in the pursuit of their duties. The Coruscant System Fleet has been gathered as well. As I speak there are over seventy of our GCG warships in orbit to help relieve the crisis.” Tycho looked from face to face among the crowd of reporters. “I’ll begin taking your questions now.”

Instantly the voices upshot in volume as various reporters raised their arms and voices to be heard.

“Is it true that International Fleet personnel were directly responsible for the attack?”

“What about allegations of sabotage in the planetary shield generators prior to the attack?”

“How will the GCG handle food shortages in the event of a standoff with the Corellians?”

The voices continued to escalate until Tycho pointed to an Ithorian in the foreground. The reporter hooted in his native language, but a nearby protocol droid translated into Basic. “How will you oversee the reconvening of the Galactic Conclave? Rumors have been flying about of various sectors declaring themselves independent of any political authority that Coruscant and the Conclave once had.”

“What you say is indeed true,” said Tycho at length, grudgingly. “We have received the formal declarations of several government sectors that they shall not be sending delegates to participate in any subsequent Conclave elections. Many have already submitted their formal withdrawal from the Galactic Conclave.”

The reporters exploded again into a wide range of shouting voices. Tycho answered a few more questions for the reporters when he had the chance, but nothing else was really discussed. He ended the conference shortly thereafter. He had bigger problems to handle than the worried and angst filled questions of various reporters.




Outer Rim Territories | Trailing Edge of the Galaxy

It was like a bubble being burst and unleashing the trapped oxygen within it, the Bastion System unleashed the horde that was the Imperial Fleet across the trailing Outer Rim. Less than an hour after it was confirmed via hyper-coms that the Galactic Conclave hall had been obliterated and that Chaos had been found responsible, Grand Admiral Thrawn had unleashed his forces. The plan was simple and straight forward, the kind of campaign that was good for letting the bad blood out of the system, to relieve anger and hatred toward a foe. To hunt.

Over the course of a single day, all sectors that bordered the Braxant Sector had submitted. Few sector governments argued when a full battlegroup of Imperial Star Destroyers showed up in orbit. Admiral Chiraneau led twelve task forces through the trailing edge-most systems of the galaxy, gaining the compliance of the Veragi, Dalonbian, Chopani, Mieru’kar Sectors. Each major planet or system, and every sector capitol, was invested by the Imperial Army. Prefabricated Imperial bases and full garrisons were landed. Those planetary governments that did not fully cooperate had hostages taken from their respective families and Imperial Commandos kept a close eye on them. Using the impetus of their movement throughout the upper edges of the Outer Rim, Vice Admiral Belisarius of the Praetoran-class Super Star Destroyer Resolute managed to achieve the northern task groups primary objective by occupying the Vinsoth system within a week of the campaign’s start.

Those forces under Admiral Voss Parck drove down the lesser trade routes straight for Agamar and Shaum Hii. Not every occupation was opposed. Many systems were happy to see the Imperial forces in their skies and landing – news of what had happened on Bastion had given the Thrashian Empire a sympathetic outlook across known space, with many peoples empathetic with the cause of fighting against an enemy that so obviously threatened everyone. Citing strategic needs, the Nemesis pushed further along the Celanon Spur and connected with the forces under Belisarius.

In his own wake, Admiral Dorja left willing and helpful systems in their desire for protection and order. Entralla, Yaga Minor, Borosk, Ord Cantrel and many more. Except for Muunilinst, which had not been invaded or otherwise occupied, each system had been happy to see the reassuring presence of the Imperial Fleet. To see that the security of not just the Empire, but of the whole Outer Rim, was being taken under the aegis of the Empire was reassuring to many. The Imperial propaganda machine was quick to capitalize on all of this good will towards the empire and sympathy for the losses at the Tragedy of Bastion – as it was being called by the spin-doctors.

Like so many dominoes falling in a row, practically every system west of Vinsoth, east of Esfandia, and north of Ord Mantell had submitted except for those that had intergalactic governments that the Thrashian Empire wished to entreat with, in one form or another, to the hundreds of Imperial task forces that swept the space lanes and took up the mantle of sovereign protector. In the name of creating a buffer protection area that the Thrashian Empire might use to combat the rising threat of Chaos. The Imperial Security Bureau in short order coopted every local intelligence service in the newly absorbed sectors, searching for any signs of Chaos influence or presence.

And now, standing on the bridge of his Executor-class Super Star Destroyer Olympus, Admiral Dorja was pondering this last strategic objective within his given orders. The dozens of destroyers and tens of dozens of frigates and escorts that flitted around the system of Bilbringi seemed tense, if tension could be read in the way that ships would be arranged in battle lines. Ahead, dozens of ships were boosting away from the system and quickly jumping into hyperspace. Those would be the criminal types, Dorja knew. Smugglers who didn’t think it would be a good idea to be boarded by stormtroopers and easily overzealous junior officers looking to get noticed by their superiors for making an arrest and confiscation of smuggled goods.

As per his standing orders Dorja motioned for the comms station to begin. The deck officer in charge of their section nodded and began issuing softly spoken orders, melding into the background hubbub of activity that pervaded the bridge. A prepared message was played across all com-bands and holo-receivers:

“Attention, this is the Imperial Fleet of the Empire of Thrashia. Under executive orders from the Ruling Council of the Empire and by charge of Grand Admiral Thrawn, this system is hereby and henceforth to be under the protection of the Empire. Your local government and appointed officials will be briefed about the transition. No special wartime taxes will be levied, none of your young people will be drafted involuntarily into the Imperial Military, and no customs or practices will be interfered with. The Empire is here for your protection. Any and all cooperation during this transition phase will be looked upon with favor.”

The message repeated three times. By the end it was finished playing Admiral Dorja had finished his own holo-communication with the planetary governor. He had practically fallen over himself in his eagerness to please. Such a servile personality only made Dorja contemptuous of the fat blob. Well, not that it mattered much since the man wouldn’t be in charge after the transition period.

“Send a message to Grand Admiral Thrawn,” ordered Dorja as he stopped by the communications crew pit, “and inform him that all primary objectives have been achieved. Bilbringi is currently in our control. Then send a message requesting updates from Task Force Huss and Task Force Tanbris.”

“Yes sir, Admiral,” the chief comms officer replied.

It was alarming in some respects, Dorja thought. In the span of a week, the Empire had blitzed across the Outer Rim and taken possession of twenty-five other sectors in the trailing edge of the galaxy. More was yet to follow as well, as Imperial forces were now moving into a section of the Mid Rim. Dorja was leading the task force at the very extent of the area that Thrawn had designated as their target territory. It would now be up to two of Dorja’s subordinates, Vice Admirals Luther Huss and Jorj Tanbris to coordinate their task forces to consolidate the territory between the Entralla Route and the Namadii Corridor hyperspace lanes. It was up to Dorja to act as the brunt end of anything or anyone that tried to make headway into these designated areas and keep a tight rein on the two vice admirals.

[The WIck]

“The greatest threat is that which we can’t see.” Sam said, as he took a small swig from the Mirandian Cider, and leaned back comfortably in Kattn’s guest chair. Reaching across to a small fine block of cheese, he listened to the old man play an old tune from Miranda.

Gently he picked up his left finger and moved it with the timing of the song. “Some would say.” he continued, “That the orbital strikes were the greatest threat, others would say that the Chaos troops are the greatest threat.” he said as he finished chewing the small cube of cheese and swallowed it.

“I see stagnation as the greatest threat.”

Kattn put his fiddle down as he considered the words from his guest.

"Stagnation isn't a threat. It is a state of being a condition."

Kattn held up a glass of water,

'Water is the stuff of life. Our bodies are mostly made of it and without it there is only death. Consider what happens if we let this water lie still, if it is not allowed the freedom to move freely it becomes contaminated. It will no longer sustain life but it will bring sickness and death."

What's the true threat then? The water was once pure but now its not? Is the threat then the germs and undesirable organisms that poisoned the water? Or does the fault lay with whomever let the water become static. Those that allowed the stagnation to occur? If our Galactic Conclave is but stagnant water than who is to blame?"

Kattn fiddled about with a small palm sized device before putting it onto the table. It was data from the Jedi Temple. It showed visuals of not only of the fleeing Jedi from one of their oldest bases but also of the empty halls of that temple. Perhaps more of a concern for his guest would be the visuals gained from inside the Starways vessel, that showed the Jedi being processed. Kattn was of a half a mind not to reveal the information they were gathering and as it would reveal some cards, but perhaps full disclosure was at hand.

Or perhaps not.

"So the exodus begins. The Jedi are part of the problem that the entire Conclave suffers from. Coruscant has long been the center of their influence, a world that contains trillions of souls in need of protection. Yet the Jedi can't even protect themselves and even worst now when this planet is dire straights they decide to run, like cowards."

Kattn's words were as cold as ice .

“They are just a single pathogen that taints the water there are more its a large stagnant pond we find ourselves in.”

He finally told the man from Coreilla what he invited him here to hear,

“I do not know what your nation shall do but as for mine we are done with the Conclave. We will not be dragged down into decline with it, as of this moment the Confederation of Free Systems stands independent.”

[New Terminus]

Outer Rim Territories | Galactic Plain South

The Holo Net was never slow to pick up on the latest news almost as instantly as the Thrashian government start moving fleets into neutral sectors there where stories ranging from praise to anguish depending on what the local governments did in reaction to the Empire shifting its military might around. Those what where watching the Holo feeds would have seen them all over the headlines along with what happened to Coruscant. Admiral Zordain flicked through the feeds a smirk running across his lips. The big boys where stirring so most of the attention was on them not on the Conglomerate fleets who had already began doing what the Thrashians where several days earlier. The Conglomerate wasnt a major player in galaxy as a whole in the southern Outer Rim it held sway and influence but it never really gained much media coverage for anything that happened. Sure there where local holo net feeds reporting on what the Conglomerate was doing but on a galactic level it was totally over shadowed by the Thrashians.

Zordain sat back and nodded to himself not even realising he did it until it was to late. This could only be a good thing with the lime light off of the Conglomerate there wouldn't be as big of a back lash during the end game. Since the Conglomerate navy began Operation Stabiliser they had pushed out of the Kallea sector and up the Hydian Way and the Correlian Trade Spine. Securing the Secotrs of Subterrel and Sojio had taken but a few days With Conglomerate presences in those sectors their appearance had been hailed as a god send no local government having the ability to fully protect their interests or citizens. Since then the Cegul, Dalicron, Seitia and Atravis Sectors had stepped into line. It hadn't all been as easy as the first two sectors some had put up resistance the planet of Manpha was under marshal law occupied after the Vice Admiral Kril had dropped several Elements onto the planet and proceeded to sweep across the world securing it in the name of the Conglomerate.

Now the rest of his fleet the fleet was sat around Berrol's Donn. His command was the Third fleet split over several battle squadrons most of which where resupplying for the next step phase of the operation Currently 120 ships sat in orbit over the world whilst more continuously poured into the system or jumped off to take up positions for the assault. The Third fleet had been tasked with securing Bespin and its sector. The Tibanna Gas it produced would be used to unscale blaster production and allow the Conglomerate to expand its fleet at a quicker pace than before. That in conjunction with the First Fleet spear heading even further north and taking Sullust would allow the conglomerate navy to expand its numbers tenfold in a much quicker time frame, allowing it to secure its new holdings long before any semblance of order returns to the galaxy.

The door chimed a soft tone alerting the admiral that there was someone waiting on the other side. "Enter." he said

The door hissed open and his X.O stepped into the room. She was a human female with chocolate brown hair tied up into a bun and dark brown eyes that went by the name of Clara Henderson. she snapped off a quick salute when she entered the middle of the room.

"Are we ready to proceed with the next phase?" Zordain Asked.

"Yes sir all elements have arrived and resupplied as ordered, The 17th and 2nd Strike Squadrons will be staying behind to keep the sector secure from any possible insurrectionist or chaos movements. CSI had several reports of minor disturbances and found evidence of Chaos movements some some of the more out lying systems." She replied with all the grace that befitted her rank.

"Excellent... how is the crew doing?" Zordain asked finaly looking up from the Holo Net News Feeds.

"Sir?" She asked.

"We are about to initiate operations against one of the larger powers in Galactic politics, everything up to now has been a walk in the park We will be the first Fleet to meet any true resistance untill Admiral Zorl and his fleet reach Sullust, so how are the crew doing?" Zordain asked again.

"... ready and raring to go sir" She replied managing to hide the uncertainty in her voice. "Morals high everything so far as bolstered their confidence and the experience they have gained will be invaluable in the future."

"Excellent, ensure that moral doesn't fall, I plan to hit the Hunterians hard and not stop until we push them out of Bespin and all the way to Javin is that understood Henderson?" Zordain asked placing a reassuring smile on his face. In all honesty his crew was pretty green apart from his very competent command staff the rest of the crew had not seen any real action baring anti piracy patrols. The same went for a lot of his fleet as well if this part of the operation was to succeed he needed to ensure that his command staff kept crew in line and on top of their game he couldn't afford for any hiccups.

"Will that be all sir?" she asked stiffening up reading to snap off another salute.

"Give the order for the fleet to move into position if you would I will follow you in soon." Zordain answered saluting back as she snapped off another salute and left the room. A lot of young officers like her where probably going to die in the next few weeks.

(OOC: The Rest of the battle for the Javin Sector will take place in its own thread so not to big down this one ive discussed this with Hunt and he is okay with it)

[The Ctan]

Duat – Supreme Crownworld of the Great Civilization
Mictlan System, Milky Way Galaxy

The fate of Bastion could not be ignored.

On Duat, it could also not be repeated, at least not while the huge structure that stood over the Council Buildings stood; Tephet-Sheta’s closest Pylon hung over the edge of the city like a tower to match the distant skypiercers that occupied its core, or the smaller Triarch Palace structures. Crafted of smooth rock, it formed a foreboding monolith, the nearest other one visible miles away peeking between the mountaintops. The structures were but one of many defences that existed on the planet; the whole world, indeed the whole system, was affected by null field matrices that interrupted the flow of the warp, and roaming machines held gloom prisms. Upon its surface lived more full-fledged pariahs than any other place in the known universe.

Duat was home to a people that rejoiced in the title of the oldest enemies of Chaos, and here, in the council chambers of the Artalsa Vacta-Athal, that endless campaign was planned.

Guards stood all about, though in deference to the psykers among the council these were but necron lychguards, rather than the pariahs who guarded the council’s dungeons, tesseract vaults and facilities across the galaxy that were shrouded by nodal grids and other security mechanisms, technical and even psychic.

Discussions in the last week had been of the Ky’Telestin issue, but the Bastion Event had changed that. Now that the council were aware of it, it had become their highest priority. Information had, until now, been sketchy, but with the well documented attack on Coruscant, and the demons on the very floor of the Conclave, there could be no underestimating the threat.

Around the council room’s table, a dozen beings sat, most of them councillors, appointed based on knowledge and experience as an apolitical body to make the highest level decisions concerning warp entities and events, while some were invited guests. Ranisath was a permanent member, his only state appointed ‘job’ that would continue after the upcoming inauguration,

On the table and around it was projected a holographic image of the khornate demons, laced with static from the interstellar relays through which it had been sent from Coruscant.

“I think it is clear,” he said, “that we must act.”

There was of course an eldar present, Catumen Thallia Ad’resq. She nodded, “The trade links with Skyriver mean that anything that threatens it could spread, even beyond the obvious necessity of opposing the Primordial Annihilator wherever it exists.”

“Then we must send aid, that much is clear,” Helia said, the human woman sitting nearby on the side of the pentagramically warded table, leaning on her arms as she watched the bloodletters fight, one eyebrow lofted a little.

“We must mount an expedition, our duty to our states in that galaxy is clear, and therefore to our allies,” Eratan said, his hologram of a higher quality, broadcast from the Axtran system in the Firefist Satellite galaxy, unexplored by most of the Galactic Conclave’s members.

“I agree,” Ranisath said, “It will be my recommendation to the Military Council that we send an expedition at once. I think to be led by Arnran and the Thurasids.”

Mictlan System, Milky Way Galaxy

The President-Elect soared past the rings of satellites and stations at the geostationary orbital band, halting in position with a pulse of graviomatic force, he knew full well that they didn’t want him to go, however, Telissat felt more than a slight link to the people of the Skyriver galaxy, as the C’tani called it, a name derived from Nagai myth.

The living-ship feathered its drives; it was not male in the same way a human might be, gender identity was more an affectation despite its total affection for its human wife, the vast AI could as easily choose a female avatar if it wished.

Such interpersonal matters were not on its mind, though, instead, Telissat was fully devoted to the matter of the tactics at hand. On the ground, perhaps, Arnran would command, but no one could doubt that Telissat was the most suited to lead the war in space; he had the greatest experience and by far the best contacts, and even as he began taking on supplies, he was interfacing with vast communications relays in the Mictlan System to speak to those same.

In some ways, he looked forward to it, but if someone could somehow obtain a system log for the vast spaceframe, the number of tests on the inertialess drive, that scientific wonder created by the C’tan of old, whose properties were incomprehensible to any culture without numerous artificial intelligences of great advancement, would betray his haste to go. Had Telissat been a horse, he would have chomped at the bit; he was not, and therefore he waited with as much patience as a being with a consciousness that could perceive individual picoseconds could muster.

The Moon of Prindar

Imbrar sat within his meditation room, two eyes closed, one open. He opened his mouth, and soft streamers of purple smoke coiled from his mouth; he had vinhaled the soft-burning dust into his lungs directly, their elaborate chemical composition and the biological husks of the dust he had inhaled giving it an effective ignition temperature below his body’s and giving him mild relaxation of the lungs; the effect was not euphoric, but rather let him attain a deep and consuming trance. Naturally, the damage to his lungs was substantial, and required a regrowth cycle every six weeks, but it was entirely worthwhile.

The vistas of the warp he experienced in this crystalline focus were such that could send men mad, but he forced himself to regard them the better to avoid doing so at other times. It was only through ruthless and rigorous self-conditioning that one could practice his art. To steer a ship through the warp without the aid of demons or to silence a demon with a gesture took not only power, it took incredible focus.

Only as he swam up from the trance did he hear the message that had been sent to him, a repetitive chirp at the side of the room.

He read it, and frowned.

Within the armoury attached to his quarters in the fortress-palace, spindly machines prepared polished armour and accoutrements, while outside the main complex, the hangars prepared a series of small vessels, House Astraeus Warp Cutters, the smallest warp capable vessel produced in the Great Civilization; the eldar were capable of smaller models, and some of the Imperium of Man, but the design was intended to resemble more the Tormentum Malorum which was reproduced in minute detail in the Ancestral Worlds Museum on Duat, as other vessels of renown such as Star of Venam, the only human craft to be mentioned by name in the Asuryata, and Wandering Star whose infamous journey was a thing of small legend. Like them, it concealed its warp vanes as wings to appear as sublight atmospheric craft. They were all but unarmed, carrying turrets of a kind one might more often see on tanks or fighters, and could pass for the kind of bombers carried by some ships were it not for their sea green and royal blue Astraeus heraldry.

It seemed that they were going to war again. Imbrar had no qualms about this, it was what he was bred for, for his talents his ancestors had suffered in whatever genetic charnel houses had forged the Navigator Gene to bestow him on a unique gift. His people had seen the fall of the ancient nations of the Age of Technology, Merica, Jermani and others, the rise of the Imperium, and past it, to the Great Civilization, which though it numbered only billions, and was without the same need of them, did well by his family and thus the duty he owed them extended to its campaigns. Such a thing was without question.

Imbrar took up a pistol, not truly a warrior’s weapon, its frame was truly ancient, and had been crafted thousands of years ago, while the furnishings and frame were pale tyranid-ivory. It sat in a holster that he positioned to his left, securing in place.

He would be ready.

It was not the only transmission that was released.

Transmission Source: Lygngarma nos Dunnaealc, Master of the International Department of the Great Civilization.
Destination: Galactic Conclave Member Governments
Subject:Attacks on Bastion and Coruscant
Security:Public Key Encrypted Holonet Release

As a result of chaos attacks on states within the Conclave we are preparing an expedition to join forces engaged with chaos forces attacking Conclave Member governments. We have some considerable accumulated considerable tactical and strategic lore in dealing with this enemy, which has been enclosed in this message, including known tactics, equipment, abilities and more.

---

[Extract from attached files #1]

Countering Chaos Forces – Logitistics and Strategy Overview

This document is intended to brief allied strategic level commanders in the essential aspects of operating and running a counter-chaos force. It is not intended to cover every specific tactic or technology that could be developed, or might be useful (psycannons, etc) but rather to outline how to use widely available galactic standard military forces to combat chaos forces. These will focus on cost and immediate applicability of adaptations required to successfully wage ground warfare against chaos forces.

What is Chaos?

The forces of Chaos, also known as The Primordial Annihilator, and The Archenemy are forces loyal to sapient interstellar storms in an alternate dimension referred to as The Warp and several other names. This dimension is empathically resonant that is to say, it takes on the emotional characteristics of the beings it is exposed to. In the aggregate, the reflection of the emotions of billions or trillions of beings forms these sapient storms in this other dimension.

While this process is, of its nature, benign, the majority (and greatest) of these storms use every means available to them to increase their supply of reflected energies, creating groups of followers and hiving off sub-selves to act as their agents.

Chaos Cults and Cultists

The choice mechanism to increase their harvest of emotions is via religion. The sapient storms are known for promoting the notion that they are ‘gods’ or more specifically ‘The Gods of Chaos.’ Despite this, they did not create mankind or any other race save their own demons, and do not provide any meaningful life after death, although often their followers believe this; instead the Gods of Chaos integrate the warp-reflections of their followers into themselves, dissolving all identity for most species.

Because of this there is little spiritual dimension to the beliefs of most followers of chaos, many seeing it as a bargin they strike with beings of great power, or tempted with the prospect of being converted into a lesser type of warp entity known as a demon prince. Due to its limited spiritual dimension, chaos religions generally thrive in times and places where secular strife and oppression are dominant; the more stable and prosperous a society, and the more engaging its local religions, the less likely it is for chaos religion to find purchase. This is because the power offered by chaos is immediate and temporal gratification or release, and only in strained circumstances are most sapient beings prepared to risk associating with dangerous practices such as sapient sacrifice.

Chaos Cultists pose little threat to a military force on their own and are primarily dangerous as a terrorist threat. This can be countered like any other, however it should be noted that an operational chaos cult will in many cases, require regular sacrifices to conduct its rites, and therefore the cult can be tracked by profiling of disappearances in an area; any uptick in murder or disappearance rates should be investigated.


Demons

The archetypal chaos rite is to summon a so-called demon. The sapient warp storms called ‘gods’ are sustained by the promotion of the emotion they resonate with, to this end they create smaller representations of their power which constantly strive to enter the material world in order to promote those interests and emotions, as well as to serve the military goals of the chaos forces.

The quality of demons as troops varies enormously, but all have a form intended to leverage religious instincts and cause fear. These atavistic forms often include snarling, bestial faces, horns, tails, and so forth, although some are perversely beautiful in an attempt to create simultaneous lust and fear.

With the exception of areas where the warp directly intersects real-space, however, demons cannot exist for long without a constant sustaining source of ‘food’ in the form of emotional resonance, often this is created by killing. For this reason to draw a demon into realspace typically requires the sacrifice of sapient beings. A demon can only sustain itself so long as mortals are being killed; otherwise they suffer from ‘demonic instability.’

Most demons are roughly equivalent to humans, and specialized in close quarters combat. We advise our allies to be merciless in exploiting this; where a large force of demons is identified, especially without support from Chaos Marines and other forces, engaging at ground level is to be avoided; withdrawing troops and civilians from the area and engaging from the air will result in the demons being forced both to deal with their inherent instability when not killing a target, and with bombing.

This is not of course, a viable option in close packed civilian areas, or where demons are supported by other forces, instead it is important to consider their inherent and unavoidable nature as empathic beings. Their nature is bound to what they are, and generations of summoning rituals have given the tools used by cultists – fire and blades – to summon them, a distinct power over them. Demons are most profoundly affected by fire and stabbing weapons, and use of incendiaries, flamethrowers, incendiary oxy-phosphor-gel ammunition and other such weapons is to be preferred to mundane bullets, conventional blasters or other forms of smallarms; demons are typically ‘warded’ against these, reducing their effectiveness considerably, while such flame weapons are generally fully potent against demons, affecting them as they would any other opponent wearing a loincloth.

We have designs for single-shot incinerator units that fit all standard rail attachments for smallarms and other weapons, as well as the abovementioned ammunition in all calibres, which have been made available to all Galactic Conclave members and other allies. Troops expecting contact with demons, and where possible all troops engaged in the campaign, should be armed with such weapons. Given the complimentary vulnerability to bladed weapons, bayonet drill may be considered; but demons are highly capable in close quarter combat and so this should be considered as an option of last resort. At the higher level, vehicle mounted weapons including flamethrowers, and rockets and mines using explosively formed penetrators should be considered.

It is advised the infantry be appraised of the nature of demons, and that their forms are deliberately chosen to inspire fear; being aware of this as a ‘trick’ is likely to partially undermine the morale effects caused by demons, improving combat effectiveness.

Tactically, demons are fast moving for leg infantry, but they are ultimately leg infantry. Despite this they are eager to engage our forces and Manoeuvre oriented tactics can typically disperse them over a large area if one is prepared to utilize the advantage provided by armoured or airborne units, when used correctly this allows them to be spread out and destroyed in detail, however civilian casualties should be considered before playing ‘rope-a-dope’ with demons, as any access to civilian forces allows them not only to murder civilians but also prolongs their combat efficiency.

Chaos Space Marines

The chief forces of chaos to reckon with are Chaos Space Marines. These heavily augmented soldiers come in several varieties and generations, from original legionaries from an alternate timeline through many small renegade warbands to those created by the Chronosians, they are broadly similar regardless of their history.

Space Marines (Also known as Astartes) function as small but powerful shock troops. It is popular to compare them to special forces such as ARC troopers, but in truth this is not an apposite comparison for most legions. Special-forces are often specialized around a role for which great patience and stealth are required.

All space marine equipment is designed around one mission; delivering the marines themselves into battle in the shortest possible time. This goes so far as compromising the front armour of their heavy IFV compared to its predecessors to add an ‘assault ram’ to speed up deployment from it. At range, your mission is to stop them from doing this. The most powerful asset in this field is the humble snubfighter; while a space marine thunderhawk transporter is substantially larger, it is not necessarily resistant to proton torpedos. Sadly chaos marines are generally better equipped with fighters than their cousins, fielding helldrake demon engines and various other combat craft in some numbers; however these are still at a numerical disadvantage compared to the fighters and gunships most militaries are able to deploy. A typical battle barge may carry as few as three thunderhawk gunships and the availability of craft such as helldrakes and helltalons varies wildly but is rarely consistently high, nonetheless the transports such as thunderhawks, stormbirds, drop pods and boarding torpedos are a substantial weak point.

For weapons on an infantry level, it is imperative that every soldier expected to resist marines be equipped with the firepower to put one down permanently, their modus operendi banks heavily on the durability of their soldiers. We recommend use of DC-15A blaster rifles or similar full-size longarm blasters such as BlasTech T-21 or DLT-19 models to reliably penetrate power armour; it should be noted that while single shots may not always suffice, semi-automatic from weapons in this scale will reliably defeat most chaos space marine personal protection. Weapons such as rail detonators, especially with heat-seeking ammunition, as power armour relies on a portable atomic power source, should be issued to troops where available. By that same token probe droids and mines such as sequencer charges can be configured to specifically target marines by their unique heavy infantry profile and thermal emissions. Details are enclosed.

Quantity and quality of military speeders and armoured vehicles should be considered as the primary advantage most Galactic Conclave militaries enjoy in ground combat…

---

[Extract from attached files #2]

Strategic Implications of Chaos Warp Witches and Travel
By Praetia Astraeus, Heir Apparent to House Astraeus

The chief fear of many naval commanders in dealing with chaos forces is that their tie to the gods of the warp might give them a strategic advantage. It has several times been my duty to reassure them that this is not the case.

Chaos vessels are dependant on the Warp for interstellar travel, like those of many more civilized cultures. Uniquely, chaos forces are prepared to traffic with demons in order to get to their destinations. This provides them with many advantages; it is considerably easier for them to navigate warp storms or without a fixed frame of reference such as an astronomicon or a pharos,

However, it does not give them a reliable ability to travel any faster, nor does it make the warp safer. Any sorcerer, if you wish to speak with them, will tell you that demonic pacts are inherently unreliable; all the more so in the warp where the demon is in its element and where no bindings can be affixed on tis host. If anything, statistics show that a Gellar field and a navigator are far more reliable than trusting to multiple demons to lead your vessel around in the warp.

This is not so surprising, the control of the Gods of Chaos is not in fact, total, from unaligned demons such as furies to krell and other malign creatures, and even benign (unless they bite you) crotalids. Many navigational menaces exist for which a demon can do nothing to aid one more than steer, such as riptides, time elipses, sargassoes and crosscurrents.

The notion has also been suggested that chaos vessels enjoy a decisive advantage in exiting the warp within a star system; the effects that prevent a ship dropping out of the warp directly in orbit of most inhabited planets are not in fact navigational, but rather related to system gravity disrupting the translation process itself, It should be stressed that this is not impossible even for a navigator; on the other hand the chance of the stresses ripping a ship apart mean it is unwise for both warp witches and navigators to attempt it.

With rare exceptions such as within warp storms, limitations on speed and tactical manoeuvring that apply to any warp-driven ship apply broadly equally to our own and chaos vessels. Those exceptions include…
[Except Ends]

[The Ctan]

Garm, Mictlan System

The macrofactory hummed below. The planet Garm was like the other primary habitable planets of the Mictlan System, shared, in this case the other party was the Tsalinothins, a pactifistic people who had been granted settlement rights on Garm’s Isalera continent. They formed their own society, and Rissa’c enjoyed watching them from her orbital position.

Like most shipminds the vessel had its eccentricities. They were built around a robust psychological profile that averaged them out among the personalities of their countrymen, as the country’s citizenry had expanded, the nature of its newer AIs had changed, but even as a member of the old guard, Rissa’c, whose name meant Lady of the Stars, had her foibles. Within the partly-submergted cities of the Tsalinothim, hewn into the living rock of the mechanically delved planet, half a dozen of her avatars played half a dozen different string instruments, they would be in harmony, had anyone been at the different locations they sat with friends and associates simultaneously, but even on their own each harp, mandolin, guitar and lute was pleasing to hear as they played through a tune.

The Rissa’c was the largest of the ships in the expedition fleet; a flat crescent topped with staggered stepped pyramids that could hold star destroyers; it was not as long as some equivalent vessels, but it was for the most part, more massive, and certainly there were far fewer rivals for a tomb ship in terms of armament than there were in size, for its engines held the power of caged suns and its generators were complex beyond reckoning.

Across the system forces were gathered in. Not all came from the capital system of course, and not all warships, not yet. The more important ships came first. Logistics transport vessels.

The Tsalinothin settlement her seventeenth avatar sat in, watching dancing and draping herself on a lounge-seat with a sleekly archaic guitum to strum and pluck at, gave her a view of one of the vast macrofactory complexes that dotted the landscape of the C’tani homeworlds. She could fly her true body down it, if she had wanted. Nearby, vast pipes reeking of coolants mixed CHON and additives into precursor mix, as shrouded tubes pumped sprays of nanites invisibly into those main tubes. The material would form an even mix when complete and settled in its tanker-tainers, that could be induced with simple chemstructions to change into dense waste residue and lighter liquid phosphorescent incendiary fluids that could be easily run-off into bricks or tubes of more importantly an even powder that could simply be loaded into any multi-purpose bomb-casing; tanks of other substances would allow bombs to be grown in-situ and simple valve couplings would allow any bomber they cared to arm with the weapons to be resupplied thusly.

It made her smile, a little; even peaceful people aided the war effort.

Belicas

Antaramo Erenquar nos Galdor was one of the most respected of his kind, for he was the first. The foreboding gothic environment of the quarters he had taken in the complex that had once been a Space Marine fortress monastery were lightened considerably by the elaborate tapestries he had brought with them, and he found the overwrought skulls motif to be in some ways amusing. He smiled at their gauche grimness as he passed them by.

Its original inhabitants had been slain to a man by the necrons who had once occupied its catacombs, and they in turn had been purged by a revenge attack, the necron tomb had been decommissioned though restored, and the original monastery repopulated as an outpost by the Astartes of the Fire Lords chapter. They had in their turn been exterminated after the Great Shift when the necrons had once more attacked the world; the remaining gene seed that had been in the monastery’s vaults had later been taken from its stasis bottles and gifted to the Silver Dragons, leaving the complex without masters until Erenquar had claimed it above and the reconstructed tomb below its endlessly delved catacombs.

Under his rule it was stronger than it had ever been under its former owners; where about a thousand had once dwelt, now stood ten thousand, where marines had once dwelt, was now a home to Necili.

It was hard to say, sometimes, where the Great Civilization’s military began and ended. Certainly the undying core of their ground forces were the necrons, but there were others. Paramilitary groups, privateers, state level self defence forces, the military holdings of protectorates, the list was complicated. Necili de-facto were another part of that web of military force, their culture was such that it was unquestionably so, and their abilities made not reckoning them among such forces farcical.

They had been made millennia ago, on a part of Earth that resembled the fiercest of death worlds, where island-gigantism and relic species had diverged significantly to create an ecology of terrible precision. The Menelmacari’s ancient enemies had come there, and tampered, melding man with carnosaur to create something that was both and neither, structured in certain ways by instinct and by design. They had the form of man, or their natural, towering and frightful forms, the ability to move between the two the most enduring gift of their creators, something akin to the shape-shifting of any number of races from clawdites to changelings, but more limited and painful.

The lineage of humankind, from the Elder Kin such as Erenquar, to the Necili and Navis clades and many more, was more diverse than any other sapient species currently extant. From warp mutants to half-aliens and beastlings, the extended kin of humankind, even within the Great Civilization was vast, and not all of it thought in precisely the same ways.

It was often a matter of wonder how humans had come to be in the distant Skyriver galaxy. Some said their homeworld was Coruscant, but Erenquar was most learned in such matters, and knew more. The ancient Tuangs that had occupied that world were its indigenes, and the tens of thousands of years ago when mankind had emerged there were likely to coincide with events on Earth. It was still a mystery, and might ever remain so, but that bothered him not at all. He was known as an expert on the ways that the minds of necili worked, and it was him that had formalized the system of rainaresta, the living style which was part hedonism, part feral tribe, and part asceticism that called for settlements such as this.

The Necili mind was predatory to a fault, a human mind, where all the dark things that lurked, the fears of a hundred thousand generations of small primates, had been cut away and replaced with something stronger, harder than any default human could hope for. Some psychologists characterised the instinctive drives in the human mind as the ‘id,’ out of touch with reality, that was the primary fact of its existence, its unreasoning emotional impulse. Necili were different, for their creation had let them inherit something that belonged with their presapient ancestors; their drive to belong, as pack hunters, was stronger than wolves, and it was utterly focussed on their pack and position within it, on predation. Necili – drakes as they were also called – did not experience nightmares or night terrors or similar things naturally; they were fearful themselves, and the few apex super-predators that could prey on their ancestors were rarely a threat to a pack. The higher intelligence of the puzzle-solving primate had been blended with a fearless curiosity of an armoured predatory beast in their mind, and made them rarely unwilling to question; though it had its disadvantages, and most Necili were only comfortable when they had an immediate superior. Like all else, their psychology affected this, too, and they almost pathologically worshipped strength.

Little was stronger than they. Erenquar was such a being; although he had originally been no physical match for them, arcane might, when demonstrated and used well, impressed as much as physical, and so when explorers had discovered them over a thousand years ago, Erenquar had been one of those who had gathered a following. Now, the system of clans and alligance to Hierarchs in his own image, of which there were close to a hundred in this building, had spread from Menelmacar, where it originated, to the Great Civilization.

He came to the Penitorium. When Belicas had been occupied by astartes, this had been the dungeon they had confined their own who had committed infractions within. Today it was reinforced. Few hierarchs had facilities quite as extreme as this, for imprisonment was unpopular as a punishment in the Great Civilization and even less to Erenquar’s role. Nonetheless, there were times when discipline required it; it was not actually locked per se; the prisoner could leave at any time, but doing so would be a failure of himself and his clan.

When they had difficult cases, many Hierarchs sent their problems to Erenquar. That was only natural, he had a reputation. He opened the door, inside the diamantine and adamant doors had been scratched, parallel rows as though power claws had been used. Erenquar knew full well that the man kneeling within, eyes closed, attempting to shut out the environment. He had vented enough frustration on the interior of the ‘cell’ to destroy an AT-TE, but he had not left it. That was good. That was progress.

Necili were inherently quite claustrophobic, and the challenge of mastering the confinement, and transcending it was as much a test and an exercise in self-mastery as it was a punishment.

“Gaur, you’re coming with me,” he said.

The prisoner, if he could be called that, looked up, surprise in the cold blue eyes of his kind. “My Lord?”

“You are an arsehole, but you are on the military duty list,” he said, “Therefore you are coming with me. Time to put that rage where it belongs.”

Gaur had been a problem because he did not take victory well; he was one of the most powerful of his wing, and had a tendency to cross the line. Referral to Erenquar had been the alternative to actually calling law enforcement. “Where is that, Lord?”

Erenquar extended a living metal hand, long ago he’d lost his right arm and the entirety of his shoulder to a Necil, in circumstances not unlike this, in fact. Caidero was still here, though; and the fact that he’d won the fight after that had done wonders for teaching Caidero some discipline. Few elves used augmetics rather than having their flesh rewoven, and that he wore such an extreme scar so prominently helped win respect among this martial breed. “Into some chaos bastards.”

[Thrashia]

Coruscant | One Week After the “Massacre of Coruscant”

Commander Tycho wasn’t having an easy time of things. In the past three days his Enforcer units had been forced to put down twelve different food riots in levels six, eight, and even as high as level three. The rioters themselves were not starving, but the mere potential of foodstuffs suddenly lacking was enough to get beings angry and violent. In the wake of the Massacre stores and markets had raised prices threefold. Average income families living at levels that were normally considered to be quiet and peaceful were suddenly turned into worried, angry, and scared masses that were easily manipulated into herd actions by agitators that wanted to make a name for themselves. Checking his clock and then looking back at the datapad in his hand that held the latest intelligence reports that his precinct houses were reporting, there had been over 12,000 arrests in a single hour. That was eight times the standard that had been in existence a week before and the numbers were still growing.

Due to the declaration of an emergency Tycho was now the supreme executive authority on Coruscant, issuing orders for martial law on all levels. He’d coopted the mayor of Coruscant, a portly human male by the name of Raban Feist who was almost as stupid as his appetite was large, into rubber-stamping his edicts. They had helped to stabilize the majority of what could have gone bad. A strict curfew was in effect, forcing all citizens not working in an emergency services capacity to remain in their homes from 20:00 to 06:00 hours.

The destruction of several key shield generators had caused the most dire situation in the aftermath of the battle. Radiation clean up droids were working around the clock, absorbing and disposing of radiation like so much dust that a sweeper boy might get off a kitchen floor. Those areas near the explosion had been severely affected, including the Jedi Temple. That was another situation that Tycho was lacking information on. For lack of a better word, all the Jedi on Coruscant that had been in the temple had been subsequently taken off-planet and out of the system by International Fleet personnel. He had been told after the fact that it was a mercy mission to help them.

“I’m still not sure about what is happening, Master Yoda. None of the Jedi that were on Coruscant are still here – they were all removed by the International Fleet. I am attempting to get into contact with the Dornalians, in order to get a better picture but I’m as mystified as you are,” Tycho said, speaking to the diminutive hologram figure.

“Troubling this is, aware of these events I was not,” said Yoda. The Jedi Master was transmitting from the home temple on Ossus, half a galaxy away. “Instruct my Jedi to return to Ossus I will, and aid to Coruscant will I send.”

“Any aid the Jedi Order can give would be a benefit to us, but mostly we require more secure shipments of food to stabilize things. I am already in negotiations with various merchant houses for this, but they are prevaricating at a time when I cannot afford such inaction,” replied Tycho, bowing his head in thanks to Yoda.

“Troubling this is,” Yoda repeated. “No warning did the Force give. Surprised the Jedi Council is.”

“I think it took everyone by surprise,” growled Tycho. “In the meantime, I plan to focus on Coruscant. I have no plan currently to try and revive the Galactic Conclave. Too many delegates died that were influential in keeping their respective sectors in the organization. Now that they are dead and a clear threat to galactic peace is happening, each sector and other nations are looking to their own borders or ambitions. I cannot be expected to, nor do I have the resources, force them back into a renewed Galactic Concalve.”

“Work with your interim government the Jedi Order will,” said Yoda. “Discover the reason behind the missing Jedi and their evacuation by the International Fleet, I will. A Jedi Master to assist you on Coruscant, I will send.”

“I appreciate your help in these dark times,” replied Tycho. He bowed and cut the transmission to Ossus.

Tycho turned back to the two officers in his office. The man was new to Coruscant, having been sent by a friend that Tycho had on Corellia from his younger days. “Inspector Horn, I’m expecting you to do a miracle.”

“I can’t say I won’t try at least, Commander Tycho,” Valin 'Hal' Horn smiled. “Things are crazy as they are now on this planet and I don’t know the area well, but I will do my job – as any CorSec agent would. Although I guess I’m not CorSec anymore.”

“Indeed you aren’t,” grinned Tycho. He gestured to the third man in the room. “Lieutenant Jax Pavan here will be your coordinator and also get you familiarized with the way Coruscant works and all the haunts that you’ll need to dust out to find information. He’s a bit touched in the head I believe, but results are results – isn’t that right Lieutenant?”

“Couldn’t agree more sir,” nodded Lt. Pavan. “Not that I’d be happy to drag a Corellian through the sumps these days. Anti-Corellian sentiment is at an all-time high. Not to mention the fact that the International Fleet members have been seen on the ground.”

“So keep him out of trouble and give him a GCG uniform. Won’t know him from your average Coruscanti cop,” ordered Tycho. “You know your job. Track down the shipment that mysteriously entered and then disappeared into the wilderness of Coruscant. We know it is somehow connected to the Chaos attack, but we need to know more.”

“We’ll find it,” promised Horn, a grim determination setting in his eyes. “You have my word.”

[The Ctan]

Flutterplume, Cularin System

The tiny freighter sat on one of the landing platforms that hung high above the forest. The planet was a conflicted place, and rivalries in the past had ended with the political compromise that required an absolute minimum square footage for cities to accommodate the natives’ desires; some cities were floating structures as might be found in the system’s gas giants, while others were merely erected on webs of gossamer supports and broad tree-trunk like boles of durasteel that plunged down to the bedrock. The wind was pristine, and the forest canopy below chirped and hummed with a thousand birds. Ethril leaned against the rail, looking down, “I think they’ll go for it,” he said, as he heard K5 approaching. The emancipated security droid was, as ever, carrying the heavy blaster rifle he was usually found with; if anything it was even more essential now, given the news.

“Good,” K5 said, “the message you sent has got a reply. Your employer is on the holo.”

Ethril straightened up, wondering what K5 saw through his half dozen photoreceptors as he looked at the forest. He knew the ‘droid could see in infrared, but what else he could see, he resolved to ask.

The cockpit was empty; Sirenna had given him the privacy to make the call, and he sat down, looking at the figure as it shimmered into blue-white view. “Overseer Eratan, a pleasure, as ever,” he said, a subtle gesture, the Sign of Eternity, passing as a salute; an extravagant greeting, but one that seemed more important in these times.

“Yes,” the overseer said, his voice was not wholly human, for Eratan was a C’tan, rare though the actual beings themselves were; there were but five or so in existence, not counting those yet imprisoned as shards, and as a race they had their foibles. “You contacted me, it is fortuitous, I was about to contact you.”

“About the incursion of the Primordial Annhilator,” he said.

“Yes, it was a mistake to release such things on the holonet, but that will be a problem for the future,” the ancient being said. “You wished direction. We require a voice at the summit on Alderaan. That will be you.”

“Not yourself?”

“No, I have work to do, we are summoning an expedition force, to counter this menace, I must be aboard it, a diplomatic task is not something I am needed for. You will represent us.”

“I see,” he said, “how am I to get there?”

“I have advised them that you will be aboard the Flutterplume,” the cowled figure in its static halo, the holoprojector unable to read its shape, said, “you should be treated as any other diplomatic ship. You will find a Compact Courier there who will have further details for you.”

“As you wish then,” Ethril said, his duty was clear enough, “I will report when I have arrived. There is something you should be aware of also.”

“Yes?” the C’tan asked.

“I have taken the opportunity to speak to the local mayor here about harbouring refugees, with certain future trade concessions attached.”

The C’tan looked at his emissary, “They have approved this?”

“Yes,” Ethril said.

“Your persuasiveness continues to surprise me. That is good news. I will factor it into our plans at once.”

The same salute passed as Ethril ended the communication, and stood, turning back from the cockpit, passing the gun station where K5 stood. No doubt the ‘droid had heard every word, but it hardly mattered, there was nothing secret about it.

He looked in on Sirenna, pausing only to tell her the new destination that they were getting paid for; the rate Eratan paid was quite generous, and no one objected to a trip to Alderaan.

The personal quarters were right in the back of the Flutterplume, sharing their space with part of the cargo that overflowed from the main bay and was stowed along the centreline. As they’d offloaded the room was mostly empty and there was plenty of space to get about, only a few spare water bottles and other such sundries in the way, stowed up by the back bulkhead. Ethril’s cabin, not being the most recent, was at the back, and he stepped in, locking the door behind him before he pulled the trunk from under his bunk.

It was obviously designed by a different technology base to the Flutterplume. While the ship had many user serviceable components and panels, the C’tani object seemed almost to be carved of inky-black stone that glistened as if wet. The rows of circular golden sine-script decorated its upper surface, while circuit-cuneiform glyphs ran along its sides. Hand holds along its sides allowed him to lift it onto the bottom of the bed, and he held his hand over it, in a gesture of opening, before pressing his hand to the surface.

Many smugglers would give their eye teeth for something like this, when the trunk was closed, the contents ceased to truly exist in a conventional sense, becoming something like a memory within the living metal itself. Many things could be laid into such an object and it was by the haptics that were implanted below his skin, invisible fronds of augmetic nerves that wended their way back to his consciousness, that the casket knew what to retrieve. It had within it other things, medical equipment a weapons suite, a full suit of body armour, a set of scarabs, and other artefacts, but as it opened it showed something more prosaic. Deep brown and dark teal clothes sat folded within it, just as they had been the years ago he had placed them there. An object as long as the casket laid across them, and he held it up, feeling the lacquered wood that surrounded it, his hand finding its hilt before he placed it down.

He took the contents out, closed the box once more, and when he opened it, something silver oozed between his fingers as he took it out.

He undressed, and began to adorn the garb of his people.

Below all, the skinsuit. These were not commonly worn but very commonly to be found in private ownership. He would not normally have worn such a thing to a meeting, but the Conclave had been attacked, it seemed appropriate. Like a wetsuit it had to be pulled on, but like quicksand it flowed onto him, recognizing the authorized user; an unauthorized user would have been lacerated for the trouble by its vivi-metal surfaces. When worn it seemed like a wetsuit of some sort, but when folded it became a solid block; likewise when worn someone might think it hugged the skin beneath, that was an illusion, it gave an element of muscular definition to the shape it created, but it was over an inch thick across the chest, while places like the small of the back held embedded off-sphere shapes. It pooled down the back in ripples that gave the appearance of exaggerated shoulderblades, tightly folded living metal holding the coif that could be brought up to cover his head and even form a sealed face-plate pumped from aveolic tubes that snaked across the chest and below his armpits to filtration scrubbers of immense complexity that scrubbed carbon and recycled his breath, potentially for days. On both women and men they were subtly flattering, adding mass to the right places, though the female version was more obvious in that it was a single tight fitting chest-plate rather than the kind of catsuit look many imagined it would be from its name. Across its surface small circular depressions could anchor other armour, but it was not the full suit that Ethril wore for the skinsuit was dual use. It served as a more advanced form of the bodyglove worn by stormtroopers, and likewise served as a concealable form of armour. He made the Sign of Activation, speaking an activation verse as he brought his hand up with two fingers pointed; “No serried band, no firm array, the fury of their charge could stay,” he chanted, the verse a couplet from a much larger epic. The armour responded, becoming not just alive but vital, in an animal way, sensors within it mapping his nervous impulses and responding to them in flawless unison with the muscles beneath.

It was richer in style and quality than he had worn even as an informal diplomat, three layers of robes the innermost of which was spun of a silk that clung to the frame and provided an inner, breathable layer, adjusting to the body heat of the wearer. Metal clasps of copper fastened around one another as buttons far to the right of his chest, and further still around his waist, it had pockets, and he carefully transferred a few items from his trousers into them before adding another layer.

The next layer out was akin to a coat, heavier, built for all weathers, it was decorated across the chest and had long sleeves that pinned with cufflinks, in this case they snapped together on touch however. While the innermost layer was a rich bottle green this was a more subdued sea green, with cracked brown leather that came uparound his shoulders and rested there, providing a more masculine profile, combined with the skinsuit giving the impression of great upper body mass. The outermost robe was the most decorated, the dark military-green of the necronyr with sine script in bronze; sine-script could not be read without a special eyepiece by humans, for when it had been devised by necronty ancestors implants within the brain had been universal, and a halo of trace magnetic fields surrounded him, and only via magnetic field imaging could one truly gather all the data in the dense scripts.

As with many other decorations, they were poetry, harmonic mathematic-poetry, the numerical elements a sub-channel in the text that informed the balance between emotions and players within. To become a poet of such scripts was a celebrated skill. Old Seroic script clung to the rolled back edges of long sleeves draped like a stereotypical wizard about his forearms a little way up, the design of the robes was Menelmacari originally, and the commonality with the images of mystics was not coincidental.

Menelmacari and C’tani dressed very similarly, for though fashions changed, the two nations were beyond close, they were so close that the differences were no greater than those between a shashka sabre was from the straight sword on Ethril’s bunk; different styles of the same thing for very subtly different roles.

Across the robe’s back a partial image of the Sautekh Glyph was rendered, for his full name was Ethril Ricartayl ita Sautekh. He transferred some more of his belongings, and placed a ring on his forefinger; it was gilt living metal, inscriptions through the dull gold plating of its surface glowing very faintly blue, sine script again. Such rings were equipped with genetic and ossuary scanners, and would only function for their assigned user, allowing them to verify their credentials to the wearer of any other ring, or hosts of similar systems.

He buckled a belt over it, fastening the straight effector sword and its sheath onto his offside and replaced the plasma pistol on the stonrger side; the sword was all but ceremonial, after all, the gun was not.

As he stepped back onto the cockpit, Sirrena raised an eyebrow. “What’s with the getup?”

“Apparently I’m a diplomat now. Should be interesting.”

Sirenna took another long look at the outfit, her mouth twisting into a little smirk, and pulled back the hyperdrive levers, shooting them off to their new destination. Alderaan.

[Orthodox Gnosticism]

OOC: Hunt and ND’s characters are written with their permission, and the Farstars portions were discussed and agreed to over MSN.

Imperial March

Byss, the City of the goddess

Nothing pleased her more than to watch the sun set over the Lukurian Mountains. The crimson hue of the sun’s last light, before the coming darkness was one of the natural beauties of this world. Her long white dress gently draped around her thin body, touching the floor reminiscent of a cathedral gown. She had given up so much, sacrificed almost everything, and now she was so close to her goal.

Closing her eyes, she could feel night fall. Not just around her, but around the galaxy as a whole. The jedI were blind, and she was the last woman in the galaxy who carried the title Sith. Everything was working perfectly within her plans.

Turning her back to the sun, she walked down an opulent archway, through the center of the Imperial palace. White washed ivory walls surrounded her, as her bare feet touched the cool marble tiles beneath her. Slowly a door hissed open, and the large Dura steel blast door rose quickly.

The room was dark and cold, with only the hum of mysterious machines obfuscated from view to tell that there was anything in the room at all. Taking a first step in the room, a center globe appeared. The light shining from the hologram, was the only light source in the room, but the blue ambient light was enough to reveal the accurate map of the galaxy, chiseled in onyx, with a gems of various colors to represent the systems of the galaxy. The gems were smooth under her bare feet, as she approached the Central hologram.

The globe in the center was large, and put to scale, it would be over three thousand kilometers in radius, and it was one the bigger than any project since before the time of the Sith Empire. The woman in white could barely remember a project this grand since the construction of Centerpoint, over one hundred thousand years ago.

“Recognition: Master.” the electronic voice of an HK unit said, as he approached out of the shadows. By now she was used to how stealthy they could be. They were the perfect assassination droids. “Yes?”

“Statement” The meat bag Chancellor of Ator has sent a message. He is very pleased at the humiliation of Coruscant by the International Fleet, and your Child’s Empire.” the HK unit replied. The woman in white thought for a moment of her daughter, Eve, the Empress of Huntaria. She was proving a good empress. Conniving, subtle, most dismissed her, but she worked well in the background moving the great cogs that moved the galaxy. Eve was walking in her own mother’s footsteps.” she mused to herself.

“I assume he has lived up to his end of the Bargain?” she asked, her voice sounding a bit of a mix between a childish tone, that was subtly dark.

“Statement: Why yes, my Master. The parliament of Ator voted, and has agreed to join the Starways Congress. They were most pleased at how effectively Coruscant lost it’s status as the center of the galaxy and grip on the Core. I bet the Thrashian Meat bags are sore that their puppets on Coruscant have failed so utterly.” A slight smile came to the woman in white’s face, as she watched ships from Coruscant arrive on Tython. “I trust the Jedi are safe and sound.”

“Statement: Affirmative. They are landing safely on Tython now, without any unforeseen accidents.” he said, with his red eyes glowing like embers in the darkness. “Rhetorical Question: Although I am confused. I thought that you were at war with the meat bags. Why did you wish to save them? Have you grown soft in your hatred of the force?” the HK droid asked.

“Blind hatred and desire for Jedi genocide has always been the downfall of the Sith.” The woman in white said as she stared at the globe in front of her. “The Jedi are a power, a power that most in the galaxy dismiss right now. They are a useful tool for me, and one that I will reshape into a potent weapon, now that they are out of the Thrawn’s frog muppet‘s hands.”

“Statement: I can see you are as delusional as ever, Master.”

The woman in white took in a deep breath, as she turned towards the droid. Taking a step closer to the mechanical monstrosity, she looked at the Dura steel frame around it, mixed with cortosis weave plating. “This is why I keep you around.” she said as she turned to walk away.

“Query: You enjoy my mocking you? Surprised assumption: Why master that is wonderful I will have to endeavor to increase my sarcastic responses.” the HK unit replied. “No, but you are useful to stoke my hate. If I ever find the body of your programmer, I will enjoy turning him into a nightmarish monster, and putting him up on display at the zoo of Ator.”

“How goes the Conference on Alderaan? She asked the droid. “Response: It is going splendid. The mini-meat bag child of yours is currently mating with the prince of Alderaan. He has agreed to all of her demands. Statement: The Dornies have also agreed, and tomorrow the Prince of Alderaan will announce the reformation of the Conclave. Query: What purpose does this move have in your plans?”

As the woman in white walked to the door she turned back and looked at the droid. “Keep monitoring the Ansible and holoband, it’s time to begin the next phase of our plans.” She pressed the side panel and the door hissed shut.

Coruscant Orbit

Most of the international Fleet was jumping to hyperspace, which made Lt. Commander Haskins a bit uneasy. He knew the Rimkin and Raman on the world below were angry, angry at the attacks, and the utter failure of the Thrashian Cancellor for protecting them, and the Thrashian puppet masters of the weak minded were stoking the anger and the flames towards the international fleet.

He looked at his scant fleet, or what was left of it. Five Corellian gunships, two hapian Nova Cruisers, and a handful of Dark Trooper Transport ships. Command sought that they were to leave a small peace keeping force behind, flexible in it’s mission.

“Sir.” a beautiful sounding woman said behind him, “The Dornies have agreed to take point in ground hearts and mind campaigns. They are requesting our aid in food distribution, and the use of several of our transports to move food and medical supplies around the world as needed.

Haskins looked down to the world below. If this was a Alien world, then he could have cared less, but humans lived here to. He gave a slight nod, “Tell the Dornies that they have the lead on the humanitarian aid mission, and that we will assist them in every way we can.”

“Yes sir, transmitting that to Dornie command.”

Haskins looked down to the world below. So many were upset, angered by the defense of this world. It was a boiling point that he knew humanities enemies would soon try to exploit.

Alderaan
Aldar City

Prince Thul gently roused from bed, as the spring rain gently wrapped against his window. Stretching out his arms forming a long Y, he looked out to the beauty of the world. His naked form silhouetted in the window reflection, he looked out to his world, the heart of humanity.

Rustling in the sheets behind him, caused him for a moment to look towards his resting spot. Eve’s bare arm lapped over the thick red comforter, as her brown eyes slowly opened. It was a night of ecstasy as he recalled her naked form on top of his, moving up and down in a rhythmic motion. Her perfect breasts seemed to hold in place.

“Morning he told her, as she offered him the faintest smile. “Good morning” she said, as she sat up in the bed. Rolling over towards the side, she didn’t say another word, but that didn’t stop Henry from enjoying watching her get dressed. Nothing was more satisfying than watching another foreign leader do the walk of shame down the long royal hall. Neither one of them spoke to the other, as she slipped on a long black dress, adorned with a gold platinum emblem of Huntaria.

Slowly her hand reached for the brass knob, before Henry felt the urge to speak. “I’ll see you again tonight?” he asked, but only the small feint teasing sound of the Empress, “I’ll see you at the treaty signing.” she told him without turning away.

In a moment, she was gone. He turned back towards his view of Alderaan, with it’s sharp mountainous peaks, and snow covered caps, even in the hottest of summer days. What world was more perfect for the re-unification of Humanity?

Walking into the shower, Henry Thul, washed the sweat off from the night’s fun and fevor. It was a night he knew that he’d have to tease her about in the speech, but without our right saying. Yes, “Strenuous negotiations.” was the term he decided on, as he got out of the shower, and dried his body before getting dressed.

As he opened the door, two assistance were waiting for him, each with a legal tablet in their hands. Walking down the hall, this was one of the worst parts of the day, running the Alderaan system without even so much as a cup of coffee, or a biscuit before starting the day.

“Your Grace.” a short brunette on his left with one of the nerdiest pair of glasses one could imagine said. He wondered why she wore glasses, with modern technology, they could surely correct any astigmatism or nearsightedness she might have had. Perhaps it was a personal quirk of fashion for her, the Force knew that there was enough of that in Aldar. “The preparations for the speech and ceremony are going perfectly, although the Empress of Huntaria has filed a complaint that there isn’t enough security.

Henry cleared his throat, “Not enough?” he asked. “We have HRD’s in the crowd, and spy drones in the air. Dark Troopers are stationed around the clock, and anti air turbo laser batteries are on stand by. We have the Law bringer, Virtue bringer, and oath keeper stations on high alert, and round the clock squadron flights around Aldar. Any and all of the city’s riff raff, and political radicals have been rounded up due to the ceremony. Every person entering the city are scanned with the best border security the Farstars Confederacy has to offer. What else does she want?”

“She wants you to ask the Fleet to move the a second fleet from the shipyards at Delaya, and putting them on alert.” Henry shook his head, “That woman wants us to spend too much, what does she want next, the planetary shield generator, or Prison planet activated?” he said with a laughing shrug. “Her fleet and the returning fleet from Coruscant will be enough. She is perfectly safe here at Aldar.”

“I’ll relay the communication to her majesty then, your grace.” Another woman, beautiful and blond, with all the right attributes as if she was built by a nerdy man to be the perfect specimen of woman held the other pad. “Your Grace.” she said, with a slight accent reminiscent like so many were in the Core, of a british sound. “We have just received word from Mon Calamari. Daneh has stated that although the Confederacy is unable to re-join the upcoming treaty signing, that they will work with us as they always have to defend the galaxy from it’s enemies, and protect humanity to it’s fullest. They are looking forward to working with us, to help stabilize Coruscant’s blunders and make the galaxy a more peaceful place.”

Henry sighed. He would have loved to for the Far stars to have joined in this treaty, but Daneh’s assurances were a good sign. The blond woman then continued, “They also are offering assistance in the New Coruscant Project, and wish to buy a single sector of the new capitol. Three hundred and sixty seven trillion Far Stars credits, topped by the support from the Dornies and Huntarians, were one of the best signs of support he could ask for. “Thank Lady Daneh for her support, and let her know that we will always stand shoulder to shoulder with the Confederacy, as we have done for over a millennia.

Three Hours later

Out in the court yard, overlooking the mountains, security was as tight as it could possibly be. A small mouse droid rolled around, with a holographic communicator, showing the image of the Dornie president, President Haggar. The mobility allowed the intangible image the freedom to move around, as they all gathered at the signing.

Placing his thumb print on the tablet, Prince Henry Thul signed the treaty, followed by the Empress of Huntaria. A moment they waited, as the tablet containing the treaty recognized the President of the Colonial Republic of Earth's digital signature.

With his final stoke, the ceremony was complete. The Conclave was now transformed into the first Galactic Imperium, and the virtual Ground breaking ceremony for Project New Coruscant would begin.

[The WIck]

Lukurian Mountains
Planet Byss, Deep Core
Starwars Galaxy

Darkness was falling over the City of the Goddess as it set west over the backdrop of the Lukurian Range. He had been to Korriban and Dromund Kass both were barren and dying planets corrupted to their core with an ancient magic that was woven into their being. Byss was on a similar scale as those planets but it managed to retain its natural beauty. The planet was in many ways much like she was, a pretty and alluring form on the surface that blinded many to the dark seed that lay in the core. It wasn’t the planet’s fault it was forged a certain way and aged throughout the eons in an environment that made it what it was. If his target was called the Lady in White if people remembered him at all it would be as the Man in Black. His uniform was completely black when it’s active systems were not engaged. The only color at all on it was a white skull pattern on the mask he wore. It was a uniform that only the most threatening enemies of the Confederation witnessed and it was something they only saw once in the last fleeting moments of their life.

He watched as the Lady in White turned her back her dress flapped gently in the wind as she began to move back inside the compound. She was confirmed now as being here in this place and that was guilt enough in his own eyes to justify his actions. She was not supposed to be here, she was supposed to be six feet in the ground many many light years from this place. He had questions and he felt an indescribable anger building in his gut. It was an elemental thing a force of nature that he couldn’t control, bile seeped into his mouth and all he wanted to do with ever fiber of his being was finish his mission. It wouldn’t take a thing, just a push of a button and not only would the Lady in White be dead again but that whole compound would be flattened into so much slag.

“Raven Two-One, Raven Actual.”

“Actual go ahead.”

“Im mobile. Going to initiate contact with target. You have the ball, If I go silent you know what to do.”

“Solid copy Actual.”

And that was all they exchanged. There was no pointless discussion about violation of their orders which were quite specific in nature. They were the ones on scene and as such they had the ultimate authority as to how best accomplish their mission. The Brother in charge gives an order it is to be followed without question.

Raven Two-One could only see his brother move into the city of the Goddess on his FLIR optics. He had at a sprint run off the side of a mountain and was now as he watched gliding silently into the city much like the bird they took their name after.

“Operator as fuck.”

+ + +

In the Bedroom of a Goddess

The Lady in White entered her personal quarters. He thought the room was much like her and judging by the surroundings it contained only a few of the possessions he thought was fitting to her. The floor was a smooth marble that she almost glided across and in the center was a four poster bed with silk drapes.

She stopped in place as the distinctive sound of a sword leaving its sheath filled the dead silence of the room. If she remembered her past she would know it was a sound they were trained never to let their enemies hear.

“Ho there….Hera.” The voice was rough...scratchy. If she turned around she would see him in the corner the man in black, his face like that of a skull and his sword pointed at her.

[Orthodox Gnosticism]

Star Wars: Evanescence; Bring Me to Life

Byss

The sound of a voice, a real voice had long been from her ears, as she turned to face the man of death. His white skull paint, his dark clothes, the man looked like death itself had come for her. Longer had it been since she had heard her name, her real name, as she looked down at the would be assassin.

How had he come here, avoided the orbital scans and defenses, and snuck into her room? How had she not known that he was here? Mentally she sighed to herself, “The Darkside always betrays.” she remembered from her lessons as a child, and her lessons again when she was trained on Miranda. It was why she hated the force. The force had betrayed her again, and she knew that after this day, it would not be the last time it did so.

She looked down at his sword, it was an actual sword, not one of the childish glow sticks that jedI, sith of old, or Dornies loved, but a well crafted sword. Her eyes could see the forge marks in the metal, the careful dents of the hammer, that were barely obfuscated. This was a Warden of Miranda.

The Wardens of Miranda were one of the more dangerous foes, masters of the sword, and trained from a young age to complete the mission, no matter the cost. Who ever this was, the sheeth sound was no accident, no warden would have been that careless.

She couldn’t see or sense another person, as the man spoke to her. It was another illusion. No Warden operated alone. Could they have been in a double blind cloak? If they were, then this Warden would have a ship that could strike before the shield generator could go up. She knew the Mirandians weren’t so careless to stay in high orbit, where a planetary shield generator could protect the world. They were here, either on the world, or above the city.

“Ho.” she said as she looked at the man. He obviously wanted her to know he was here, in her bedroom. She wore no weapon, as her simple white night gown gently draped down to the floor like a ghostly apparition. She knew though that the Warden wouldn’t take any comfort in the fact that she was unarmed. He knew her name, her real name, which implied that he was familiar with her background, her history, her training. This man in black also knew enough to know that she wasn’t dead, and didn’t stop looking for her. The back of her mind raced to think of who that could be.

Atrox had searched, along with Mary for years, but eventually the Sith Lord gave up. Cassie had never given up the search, but as a Huntarian, they could be exceptionally single minded when they wished to be despite their ADHD that infected the entire population. Neither of them would be able to wear the armor or have a Mirandian sword however, and it was easy to tell that this was a man, not Cassie. Cassie would never hire anyone anyway.

Her daughters believed her to be dead, and Eve would never search for her. Since she was alive, she would clearly be a threat to the throne, and again the huntarians would never have the uniform of Miranda. Her mind limited the possibilities of who this could be. It wasn’t Christopher her son, although her son could be on the ship, or land side base ready to wipe her out if need be. Hawkins wasn’t alive as far as she knew, but stranger things happened in this galaxy.

That left only one person who would be foolish enough to make such obvious slips, unless their orders weren’t’ to kill her.

Gently she turned to walk towards her bed, where she gently slipped into a comfortable position as she sat on the edge of the bed. Her hands gently slipped to the side, proping herself up, as she looked at the man who was keeping her at sword point, putting herself in a position that could not offer resistance. There was only one Mirandian she thought this could be, but his voice was masked, and she couldn’t reach out with the force. The force was betraying her, again. She would be a fool if she relied on it.

“It’s been so long since I’ve seen a Mirandian Warden.” she said, as she cocked her head to the side, and offered him a slight smile. “I would have thought you had long given up looking for me.” she told him. “You seem to have me at a disadvantage, might I ask your name?” she asked quietly of the masked man in front of her.

[The Ctan]

[Co-written with Menelmacar]

Oshur, Tof World, Firefist Satellite Galaxy

The war had been going on for years, generations before the necrons had become involved, merely years since. Nagi had been retaken by the necrons and its original inhabitants, but there were many worlds held by the aggressive Tof who had conquered the Nagai homeworld in the first instance. Tof soldiers disappeared in the background like waxen statues caught in a furnace as gauss flayers lashed out at them. Eratan did not need to participate of course, but he found it pleasurable. The Tof squad that occupied the bunker had no real way to know what it was that was facing them. He held a hand over the bunker, which shuddered and crumbled as entropic fields weathered the firing surface a thousand years a second, fusion formed solidity giving way to dust. Eratan pushed through it, his claws pressing into it as though the bunker’s hard surface were some soft confection. Appropriate, he thought, as treats were inside. The savage warriors shot at him, of course, he felt the blaster bolts, letting them divot the white robe of his form, living metal turning silver where they hit him. He lashed out with his claws, cutting five of them down at a moment. With the other hand he pointed at one of the enemy as their comrades fell, drained husks dessicated and mummified, an artistic choice he liked, even if it was not original. “That one is your enemy,” he said.

The four others left in the chamber fired at the comrade he pointed to, the impulse of betrayal overwhelming all sense.

“Ah,” Eratan said, as a thought occurred to him, “stay there,” he said, “I have a call to attend to.”

He shrank visibly, to a humanoid size, robe becoming more solid as he drew back his cowl, features coalescing into something elven, pale white hair and eyes of starry black looking at the nearest Tof, who seemed eager to escape, running past him. The C’tan turned, forming a blade from his hand, “I didn’t say you could leave,” he said in their guttural tongue, reaching out, his arm became a spear of silver that impaled the runner, sucking the essence from the enemy in a moment. His other hand took out a small object, a hologram forming, “Lady Validhreniel, Elsila,” he said, an abbreviated version of a traditional Menelmacari greeting.

“Elsila, Eratan,” answered the Menelmacari vicereine, seventy thousand light years away in Harnaidan on Muunilinst, in the Skyriver galaxy proper. The elf smiled as the holo-image displayed hints of the carnage in the background. “I hope I am not interrupting anything particularly entertaining.”

“All orcs taste much the same,” he said, flicking a glance toward the others, pretense of sport gone, the survivors perishing in a moment, “I assure you I’m not taking too much time away from real work,” he said, “How goes the real war?”

“Mm, it didn’t start particularly well, even if this ‘international fleet’ stumbled onto one of the better tactics out of sheer bloodthirst,” answered Validhreniel, “but things seem to be well in hand. A few cults popped up in the CSA, but we crushed them. There may be others outside our holdings, but we have no way of knowing as yet.”

“I would recommend having a good look at the underside of Alsakan now that it has joined the fold. We have found that chaos cults tend to flourish best where there are hive-like conditions to exploit. Denon too.”

“Denon has been swept carefully already,” she answered, “but I’ll make sure Alsakan is next on our list.” She smiled, appreciative of the advice. “Particularly with its history of disaffectation with the authority of the week, which has usually been Coruscant, it may be fertile ground.”

“With your leave I will send one of my people to speak to their local leadership also, perhaps their motives are influenced by factors they do not yet understand, or perhaps they are genuine. I imagine the feeding frenzy,” he stepped out of the bunker onto the battlefield, now behind the C’tani lines, “even if in outer rim sectors, has a lot of them scared quite out of their wits.”

Validhreniel nodded. “You would be welcome to do so,” she answered. “Our peoples are as close as family; I would be remiss in rejecting your help. Who would you be intending to send?”

“Ethril perhaps, I believe you know him,” he said.

“Ah!” said the vicereine, “Yes, we’ve met. Smart boy. A good choice.”

“I myself will go to Colla IV soon,” he said, “I think it would be prudent, in lieu of the feeding frenzy, to close the deal with the Colicoids. Which will probably be a feeding frenzy of another sort,” he said.

At this she lofted an eyebrow, “In this we are thinking alike, they were in fact high on my own priority list. A joint mission perhaps?”

“Certainly, you may have noticed they have issues with many of their neighbours; indeed they are quite fond of their ‘droids. This is promising to my mind.”

“I have, yes, and I, too, am quite fond of their droids,” she answered. “At least, what I’ve heard about them. Securing the Colicoids’ allegiance will be of great help.”

“Would you care to join me?” Eratan asked, “it should be quite fun, if a little like one of those restaurants where the waiters come around with endless barbequed meat. Colicoids are the only carnivores I’ve met who have such a highly social eating culture.”

Validhreniel grinned, and nodded, “It sounds wonderful, actually. I’d love to go. I’ll also place some orders with the Ring of Plenty for several freighters full of meats from home. That should get the Colicoids’ attention.”

“There are some promising avenues among the Xi Charrans too, naturally anyone who regards precision engineering as a religious duty is someone we are interested in. If you’d like to join me for that leg of the tour too.”

“I would indeed,” she answered. “Those sound like our kind of people, really.”

“In the mean time, I think we need to look at turning the chaos tactics against them, and form a strike fleet of our own,” the C’tan said, “something that can respond to a crisis as it emerges, nothing with a slower than class one hyperdrive, though. And troop ships.”

“I’d like to go as fast as possible with the hyperdrives,” she answered, “for a proper rapid response unit, even if it involves aftermarket upgrades. Everything here is vastly slower than our own ships. But from what I’ve seen of troopships here, the Acclamator-class seems one of the better options. There’s a newer Assault Transport, too, that Rendili is releasing soon, a little bigger on the punch, though less troops.”

“Good, there’s a little gem in the Centrality fleet too, carries only seven hundred men but provided you don’t mind a little redlining should be able to keep up, we need to find men to put in them, and I have just the thing. I’d suggest putting them in a holding position outside Brentaal, and then when the enemy sticks its head out next, we can respond rapidly. The better to break their momentum. WIth the right ships in the right place we could put a whole pile of juggernauts in their path.”

“While Brentaal is not in our authority,” Validhreniel answered, clearly a bit irritated that that bit of Menelmacari plans had not panned out, “several systems both coreward and rimward of it on the Perlemian are, and we can base the fleet at any one or more of them.”

“Perhaps, though a deep space rendezvous point would be more useful, I think, we would have to supply the fleet in situ but we don’t want anyone on leave when the beacon lights anyway,” he said, using a Menelmacari idiom.

She nodded at this. “What do you propose?”

“I suggest gathering the strike fleet at a point a little way along the Hydian way, and that way we can jump off down the Perlemian or Hydian as necessary,” the C’tan said, “It will take some time to gather the necessary forces of course. And our own ships could be somewhere else perhaps more geographically central,” he added...

[The WIck]

"Good to see you remember our ways. I'd hate to think you had forgotten them as you have me."

The Man in Black told her.

"Have you also forgotten that a Warden's blade once drawn must take blood."

He advanced toward her slowly. Hera, the Lady in White, Darth Sunshine, or Empress. She was known by many things to the beings of the galaxy, but he only knew her by one title. She sat on her bed in front of him unarmed perhaps but hardly defenseless. He would strike hard and fast the evidence was here and clear as day.

" The dark side always betrays those who think they control it!"

He yelled at Hera

"Fear not in your last moments because there is no death only the force."

While the Wardens did not hold true to much of the ancient and dogmatic beliefs of your typical Jedi order they did believe in several self obvious statements such as he just told Hera. It was only for philosophically inclined perhaps. Though Wardens were seen by some as using some abilities that the Jedi made use of that was about where the similarities ended. Wardens had a much more pragmatic and perhaps open view of the whole idea of the Force. They saw it as a living force a being that was powerful and unknowable, on Miranda they called it the Creator. But...

The time for any games or monologues was over. The Wardens have done their homework a powerful Sith was setting events in motion and they would eliminate the threat before it could do the Confederation harm, just as they have done any dozens of times protecting the galaxy from true threats as the Conclave squabbled.

A deep throated scream came out from him as he advanced quickly Hera would have fall onto her back forced into the position as the Warden's sword came all to close to her chest . At the last though it's point pushed not through Hera's sternum but into the mattress. The Warden's off hand gripped his blade just above it's hilt. His fingers curled around it as he dragged it down it's edge. His blood flowed down the Damascus tempered steel of his blade.

The Man in Black stood not over the most dangerous woman in the galaxy but knelt at her feet. His body rocked as he could be heard audibly weeping.

"You silly girl. The force didn't betray you. No the Creator brought me to you. Have you also forgotten that I could never hurt you...my love."

Herzer Herrick The Man in Black, the Destroyer of Worlds, He who stood against the Night , the most feared man on Miranda and along the Rim placed his head in Hera's lap.

[The Ctan]

[Joint post with Menelmacar and Crystal Spires, who plays Arnran's kids.]

Menelmacar, Arda (Earth), Milky Way Galaxy

The living room was more modest than the others in the house, plushly decorated, the house was not an especially big one, but desirably located, forest visible from its smallish garden with a broad, low fence that opened directly into the woodlands beyond a clear pond filled with fish of bright hues. In the distance a Fëanorian Parrot was cawing and croaking a mating call, its crimson plumage showing up clearly among the leafy boughs. Arnran stepped to the edge of the room; which opened into a wood-framed hall the joists of which were decorated with the rose in crystal sigil of House Fithurin, carved by hand, visible as he looked up at the stairs. “Daveth! Rohjer!” he called, “Come down!”

“Just a sec!” Rohjer called out as he put away all of the books he had been thumbing through and Daveth looked over at Rohjer for a moment and followed behind. “On our way!”

“Wha’chu think we’re going to be lectured for, Rodge. My lecture senses are pinging. We’re in trouble for something. What did you do?” Daveth whispered.

“Oi! I didn’t do anything, I swear it wasn’t me. Look, if a banana peel ended up in the wash, I had nothing to do with it. I didn’t remember it was in my pocket. I just was used to it.”

“A banana peel? Those things reek after a while. No one is going to believe ya on that one, Rodge.” Daveth chuckled with a bit of resigned composure as he headed toward Arnran who was at the edge of the room. “Yessir?”

“Come and sit down kids,” Arnran said, waving to an extended, L shaped couch wide enough for two people to sleep on with their heads together and easily keep their feet on it, lined with puffy cushions in red and white trim.

Daveth was careful not to place his feet on the couch, as he recalled that was an easy way to get a whipping, and he sat back. Daveth was adopted and his orphanage patron was neglectful at best, and could be abusive at worst, and Daveth was cautious not to test the boundaries of acceptability anywhere. His life taught him that adults each had their own box of rules that they arbitrarily followed, and when he crossed a line, he’d get threefold of punishment. One punishment with words, bodily harm, and abuse that could not be seen, but only felt in his mind. He’d feel guilty or fearful, where there was no need at all to do so.

Rohjer was a bit less cautious as tempering the emotions of a mageling often had disastrous consequences, and thus the boy was kept at a distance and treated like fragile glass that could break at any time, thus he was permitted far less boundaries than a normal child or even a normal adult would have. Rohjer thus slacked back and flomped on the couch, before Daveth sharply whispered.

“Dude, be careful with that.” as he had Rohjer sit correctly on the couch.

Idhrindiel laughed as she wandered into the room, “It’s a couch, Daveth,” she said, “it can take a lot more punishment than you think.” She made a show of flumping onto the couch herself next to Arnran, and scooched over to lean into him.

“Yeah, but you’re not supposed to put your shoes on it, not supposed to sit too hard on it, or you break the base or springs, or worse, you end up having no ability to fix it, Rodge.” He said making a point to squish down on the couch with his hand to see if there even were springs.

There wasn’t any signs of squeaking from springs, but the couch seemed to have been gamely standing up to the abuse so far.

“They’re quite fine,” Arnran said, naturally the greater weight of his metal endoskeleton was accommodated for by the furniture, “So, boys, I have some important and unhappy news, I’m afraid.”

“Are we in trouble?” Rohjer asked as he still had the banana peel on his mind.

Idhy shook her head. “You’re not in trouble, dear.”

“I’m not surprised, look. I understand why you think we’re a handful, if you want to send us back, I understand. It’s just… you guys are great folks, and I don’t think I can measure up. I’m sorry, really.” Daveth said thinking that they had changed their mind about keeping him.

Idhy laughed good-naturedly at this, and smiled warmly at Daveth, “Stars, boys, you’re adorable. No, we would never do that, I promise you.”

“Nothing like that at all,” Arnran agreed, “I have to go away for a while, though, maybe as many as several months. Though likely less.”

‘W-what? What for? You’re not going to go on a secret mission are you? You going to fight Alteans? Rodge… I think Dad is going to stab Alteans this time. It would be awesome!” Daveth said with a bright smile. “And here I was thinkin’ you were tired of me already.”

“Or about bananas.” Rohjer said offhandedly pretending to be distracted. “Or something… I think it’s swell you’re going to go beat Alteans, but can’t you do that nearby, or from home or something?”

“They’re not Alteans, at least not in the sense you mean, though they are barbarians. But they are very, very far away, and it is less practical to split my time over that kind of range.”

“They’re so far away,” Idhy added, “that they’re in another galaxy entirely.”

“But how will you get there, it won’t be like in the Chronicles of Nib where you end up having to come back and already hundreds of years will already have passed when you get home, will it?” Daveth asked as his eyes widened. “I just got a Dad for the first time. That would be awful.”

“We will be travelling very, very, very fast. As much faster than light as light is than sound.” Arnran was aware of Daveth’s interest in both astronomy and science fiction.

“What kind of ship is it, do they have the net leap drives? Are they the ones that go faster than information can be transmitted over through radiation and convection heat even?” the boy asked.

“Yes,” Idhy said. “It’s far out in the virgo supercluster. I think it takes a few hours each way. Not a long trip but not practical to come home every night either.”

“Hours? That is like from Rulkdjetaasha to Vierenspire. Kind of a long trip. I remember one time that we headed there to get me tested once, and that is where I was made from a hedge mage to an apprentice.” Rohjer said as he recalled the scary experience of having been prodded with magical sensing devices earlier. “But I liked the lunch they had there, it was spicy and it had a lot of peanuts.”

“You’re missing the point, Rodge.” Daveth said with a chuckle. “So you’ll be out for how many days then? Will you be able to make it to Rohjer’s play next week, or will we be able to make changes with the professor?”

“I’m afraid I won’t, but the show must go on, I’m sure they’ll tell you,” Arnran said.

“I’ll be there, though,” Idhrindiel answered, “and I’ll make sure to take a holo and send it to Arnran so he can watch it too.”

“It’ll be the first time I get to play Escoque! I kinda wanted you to be there to see it, but I understand, do you think we can do a call when you have time when you are so far away?” Rohjer asked as he looked over at Idhy in approval.

She smiled at him, “Of course we can do that,” she said.

“Yes indeed,” he said, “That’s quite easily done,” he said.

“Well at least you’ll get to see me in costume at one point! I’m still working on it, but I think I am not as good at working on costumes as Nendis, so I have got some time on my hands this weekend when I will work on it more, maybe finally I can learn how to use the sewing machine. I never used them before and always did them by hand at home.”

“Well,” Idhy said, “I’m here as well, and I’d be glad to help you with it. And if there’s any pieces of the costume we can’t make on the sewing machine we have a fabber as well.”

“It’s practical sewing he’s meant to learn, not design, don’t let him cheat!” Arnran said.

Idhy laughed again, “I won’t,” she said, “I mean bits like buttons or particular fabrics or accessories or what have you, he’ll have to put them on the costume himself.”

“I have my understanding of how to sew, it’s the using the machine that is hard, I can control my fingers, but I can’t control the seams when the machine is doing it, after all it just does it in a row, but doesn’t let me control how far apart those are. So they end up looking like a four year old tore it apart and put it together, which is so unfair because I can do it by hand just fine, but it takes longer.” Rohjer said with his head lowered in embarrassment.

“It’s not that important a skill to master, I would not worry about it,” the necron general said, fluffing Rohjer’s ears.

“I think it’s kind of important only because you never know when you’d need it. Like I remember this one time I got stuck on a winch on a wrecked boat which tore open my pants, and then I had but two options, fix it or get in a huge amount of trouble for getting caught near the wrecks.” Rohjer said as he noted that the first option was obviously superior.

“Yes but you’re not likely to have a machine there.” Arnran grinned.

“Well, yeah, which is why I learned how to do it without one.” Rohjer said subtly catching the logic. “Ooooh, I see what you mean! So do you think I will be a good Escoque the Sorcerer? I did study up on my role and I think I can get into his mindset right, so I could probably pretend to be a really good bad guy, but I am not sure.”

“Bah, you always do the best villains, Rodge. You tend to have the scariest mad face!” Daveth said slapping Rohjer’s back reassuringly.

“I do?” Rohjer asked the pair as he raised one brow and scratched behind his ear.

“I’m not sure he does, he always looks cute to me,” Arnran said, and Idhy agreed, “Far too cute, not that that’s a bad thing.”

Arnran grinned, “Let’s see you try and look angry!”

“Hmm… well let’s see… I think this will do!” Rohjer said as he gave an uncanny expression of rage, with his furrowed brows, tight lips and his nostrils flared with the fur on his ears sticking out as is his heckles were raised, and his eyes were wide so as to simulate the anger of a madman. He then reverted back to his normal state as quickly as it had come without trouble. Of course as was also unconscious, his magic seemed to also emit a pinging sound when he was simulating the anger, with undertones of vibrations that were low and beyond the range of normal human hearing, but booming to the foxkin. “Should I add a growl?”

Idhrindiel applauded, “Wow, that was actually really good,” she said, “definitely add the growl though.”

“I was thinking of adding a little one thing I added as well, but I am not sure if it is okay, because it is magic, and I think sometimes magic is cheating. I can show you though.” Rohjer said as he balled his hand into a fist, and as he did so the light around the boy began to dwindle and become darker, and then there was a flash as he released his fist. “It would be really interesting to add, almost like a lightning flash. Boom! RAGE! OF RAGES!” he said with the raging face back on.

“Quite impressive,” Arnran said, “What do you think love?”

Idhrindiel giggled and cheered as Rohjer put on his act, and applauded even more than before. “Simply terrifying! Very good!”

“Anyway, I trust both of you little angels will be behaving for mum while I am on this jihad,” Arnran said, seeming always a little bemused by the use of magecraft by Rohjer.

“And that includes,” she added, pulling from her robe a plastic bag containing the peel of a banana, and setting it on Rohjer’s lap, “checking all your pockets before you put things in the wash.”

“I swear I forgot!” Rohjer said as he turned red in embarrassment and took the banana peel and tossed it in the cycler, where it would be broken down to its component materials, “I won’t do it again!” He said blushing pink as his ears flattened down a little, and the elf ruffled his hair.

“What’s a JEE-hahd?” Daveth asked with a raised eyebrow. He had never heard anything like that before.

“A type of religious war, like a crusade,” Arnran said, “but a crusade is a more aggressive term, in this case we’re going to hunt down a band of murderous religious lunatics, so it’s a jihad rather than an ‘expedition’ or anything of that nature.”

“A group of religious fanatics? What sort of religious fanatics are they? Are they orderites from Kashion?” The boy asked.

Arnran laughed, “Quite the opposite. They worship the principle of chaos and disorder,” he said, wondering what they’d make of that in isolation, as the culture they’ come from had prized order above all else in its religious teachings.

Both boys jaws dropped and their eyes widened in horror. “They are chaos worshippers? But Dad isn’t it dangerous to fight chaos worshippers? Can’t they twist you into some sort of monster with their powers?” The younger boy asked as his ears sharply shot upwards and back.

“They are dangerous, that is why I must go, to put an end to them. Our people are rather good at it,” he said, including them in the term, “I have fought such types many times before and won.”

“I believe you, but I am worried, so I am giving you my lucky ribbon, and you are going to give it back to me when you get home.” Daveth said as he offered what appeared to be a science fair blue ribbon, but when he won it he didn’t say.

He took it and folded it in his hand carefully, “I’ll keep it with me,” he said, though he hardly had pockets in his other form, so he would probably consider wearing it like some sort of bracelet or purity seal; that might be awkward if someone set him on fire; perhaps he could get it treated somehow, a problem to consider carefully. “Speaking of which, is there anything you’d like me to pick up from the locals on my way back kids?”

“What do the locals have?” Rohjer asked as he had always delighted in strange foreign things. There was a time where he collected old foreign coins that were dumped in a water fountain, as foreigners were wont to do for an inexplicable reason. It was odd as there was no tradition of wishing wells in Spires, so the discarded coins were always tossed in my foreigners. It of course meant he could fish for foreign coins there.

“Pretty much anything there are dozens of different societies out there.” He shrugged, “Food, clothes, anything you like really. No pets.”

“Dozens?” Idhy asked. “Hundreds. Thousands. Hundreds of thousands.”

“If they have coins, I want one of each!” Rohjer said with a smile.

“Hrmph… but what kind of food and clothes do they have? What if their food is as terrible as Imerian food?” Daveth asked.

“Everything, it’s a big galaxy, lots of people with lots of strange ideas and customs, obviously I’d try and find something good. And not anything that has ‘-balls’ in the name.”

“Okay, get me several sweets, and maybe on the day you come home, you can bring me some lunch, and we’ll share it together.” Daveth said with a nod. “And a hat. If you can find a cool hat I’d like it a lot.” The boy said pondering what their hats even looked like. To him, hats were a hit or miss.

“Maybe a nice bit of jewelry, love,” Idhy said with a grin. “Corusca gems perhaps? They might not be a girl’s best friend, but they’re in the clique.”

He smirked, “Sure, don’t go easy on me there. We’ll see what we can find.”

She smiled, leaned over, and answered with a kiss.

[Orthodox Gnosticism]

There is no ignorance; there is knowledge.
There is no fear; there is power.
I am the heart of the Force.
I am the revealing fire of light.
I am the mystery of darkness
In balance with chaos and harmony,
Immortal in the Force.

Star Wars - What Lies Beneath

It was once the Je’daii Code, the code of the first force users in the galaxy long before the great JedI Schism. It was a strange thought that crossed through Hera’s mind, as she prepared for the inevitable. The Woman in White could feel the man in black running to her, his sword pointed. His very presence in her room showed that she wasn’t as well hidden as she thought, that her previous death and return from the force wasn’t enough to fool the Wardens of Miranda.

Closing her eyes, she concentrated on what she hated the most. The Force. Her soul stirred, as she felt the blade run closer to her. It would be simply another death, another great escape, and give the warrior before her the claim that so many JedI have mistakenly claimed before, only to be proven wrong time and time again. “The Sith are extinct.”

The room felt colder to her, as her hatred built. This wouldn’t be a death, this would be a rebirth, a rebirth to a clone somewhere, far away. She wouldn’t go to the force, and merge with it as the Jedi did. She wouldn’t be consumed by the dark side. She refused, she wouldn’t allow it, The Force would not take her, no she churned the anger inside of her, no she would be the death of the force. She would be the one to consume it, before her last breath, her last true breath was drawn.

Her body began to writhe in pain. Her blood felt like it was boiling, as her hands clutched against the mattress. Death was painful, but it was the hardest part. It was a moment of transition, a birthing pain to a new life. Her breath grew short as she watched the sword plunge towards her. This was the moment. Her heart beat loudly, so loud that it filled her ears. Her skin began to grow cold, as her body, her momentary vessel was about to transcend to it’s new life, or fall to the dark side forever.

His sword missed! How in the hell could his sword have missed? The dark forces inside of her swelled like a tempest, raging back and forth against the life that this body held. She watched, as if she was about to leave the shell, as Herzer fell to his knees, and laid his head in her lap.

She was stunned, as he laid his head in her lap, the warmth of his heavy breath breathing on her leg. He didn’t kill her? He didn’t run her through. All that anger, all that hate in his one moment of weakness melted away.

The moment seemed to last an eternity, as she slowly raised her hand, and touched his hair. His head was dripping with sweat, as she gently pushed her hand through his hair. Was this even real? She took a painful breath, as the internal wounds from the dark side ached inside her body. “You didn’t kill me?” she asked slowly, as her hand slipped down the side of his painted cheek.

His skin was warm as she lifted his head towards hers and looked into his eyes. His eyes had aged since she last saw him, a few new lines and scars. Had it really been so long? “Why?” she asked stunned, “Why didn’t you do it?”

"You silly girl. The force didn't betray you. No the Creator brought me to you. Have you also forgotten that I could never hurt you...my love."

My love? He still loved her? Her head moved back and forth as she looked at his body. What in the hell was happening, and why was it happening now? How could he have…

Tears began to fall from her eyes as she looked at her former lover, and the father of her child. This is not what it should be. He should not be here. Why was the force so cruel to bring this moment into existence now. Pulling her hand back, she gently grasped his shoulders, pulling him to his feet.

He loved her, loved her so much that he was about to disobey an order. The Woman in White knew that Miranda would never forgive Herzer, he had to complete his mission. “Thank you.” she gently whispered in his ear, as she pulled her left hand up, and gently wiped the tear from her eye. It would have been a strange sight for anyone else to see the Sith cry, so fearsome was their reputation. Peace is a lie, there is only passion. Her emotions gave her strength, and she embraced each and every one of them.

“Miranda will hunt you down if you don’t complete your mission.” she said as she turned to walk towards the far side of the bed. They’ll want a sign that I am dead.” she walked around the far side of the bed, and leaned over and pulled out a simple black box, about 1.2 meters long. “Your team will never let you not have the mission complete.” she told him.

Opening the box, she pulled out a shimmering white blade, styled after a Rapier. It’s hilt was a golden colored, with a platinum weave inter woven to look like a simple rope handle. It wasn’t scary looking like most Sith Swords, with spikes or jaded edges that looked more like they were out of a fantasy sword shop, but instead was sleek, simple, beautiful. Wrapped inside the gold and platinum hilt, small etchings would reveal to most knowledgeable examiners that this was a sith sword.

It was a simple weapon from a more civilized time, not clumsy or flashy like the light saber.

She could feel the power of the dark side inside of the hilt, as she reached forward, the sword not pointed at Herzer but instead pointed straight in front of him. It would take more than a sword to prove his mission complete, and save his life from firing squad or from a lengthy jail sentence. Grabbing the edge of the sword tightly, Hera ran her hand down the blade.

The pain was intense, as she closed her eyes and screamed out in pain. The power of the dark side formed long black lines running down the length of her left hand, as the white blade turned crimson under the touch of her blood. She could feel her life being drawn into the blade from the simple graze. She gasped and winced as the blade tried to take her life, it’s mystical poison spreading further into her body, as the energy of her life felt as if it was being sucked into the blade.

The blade slipped from her hand, as she looked at the poison now in her body. Her arm now felt like it was on fire as she stared at it. She hated how the sword betrayed her intention, how it’s power was unrelenting even in the hand of it’s maker. Focusing on the anger, on the hate, she fought an invisible battle against the power that she put in the blade. She had to be stronger than her weapon, stronger than the intent that it was built on, or else she would simply perish once more.

Summoning her hate, she used the pain, the suffering of the sword to fuel her passion. Pushing back against it, she refused to let her own creation kill her. Opening her eyes, her once brown eyes turned yellow, as she watched the black lines slowly retreat from the mystical battle raging inside of her body. After a few moments, the lines dripped from her hand, as a black bile on her silk covered bed. She painfully stitched her skin back together with the force and she drew a painful and deep breath to finish the fight against the wound of her own making.

Looking at the blade, she reached down and touched the hilt once move. Her Dna was covered in her own blade. “Please!” she pleaded with him. “Take this and go, before your team decides that you‘ve been gone to long and kill this body and you!” She walked up to him, and put her sword in his off hand. Leaning forward she kissed his left cheek, as she pulled back and gave him a smile. “Come back when your debriefing is over. I’ll wait for you here.” she told him with a slight smile. “Tell our son when you see him, that I love him, and give him this for me. I want to see him as soon as I can.”

[The Ctan]

Erilnar, The Centrality

Erilnar was a world of water, more so than most water worlds. Like the distant planet Naboo, its core was composed of a salty brownwater slurry at immense pressure that made it behave not unlike ice. The crust of such worlds was formed not of solid rock but permeable detritus circled up into great coralesque growths that over time were eroded and broken down chemically into a fertile surface. Earthquakes were frequent, but not especially problematic, as the technology to predict them long in advance had long been mastered. Crevasses ran between continents where the bedrock layers of spongy coral exposed mineral crystal growths; these were formed deep in the planet and rose as islands, sometimes merging into the larger landmasses, sometimes spontaneously appearing as rising islands up to a hundred feet long that appeared unheralded in the seas; landbergs. Specks of detritus became crystal growths, which anchored the worldcorals, which created pockets of respiratory byproduct gasses within them, which reacted with the minerals to form lighter than water bubble-combs and eventually raised the land. When the landberg hit the surface its growth tripled, and over centuries they could become whole nations; of course, as they eroded, gasses were lost and the coral became dust which became sediment which sank to the depths, renewing the process.

The AT-AT-swimmers looked uncannily like turtles, beached on the land, their ramps down, their heads high in the world. There were dozens along the harbour line, and white armoured troops went hither and yon, as binary load-lifters resupplied them with tibanna cells, fuel cells, foodstuffs and more.

“Colonel!” the Scrivinir said, he still wore the uniform of his admiralty, nearly ten years ago now. Technically, Scrivinir Urist held a reserve commission, but given his presidential status it had not been activated.

“Mr Scrivinir!” the colonel, a Gand without an official name who consented to answer to ‘Deepsweep’ for his preferred postings, said, saluting as the armoured and jumpsuited men around came to attention, stopping their work.

“As you were men!” Urist said, “We’ve no time to waste honoring an old man.”

With grateful nods, they fell out again, a group going back to firing shots from the heavy blaster rifles into the water to check them, others going back to other tasks.

The colonel looked at the Scrivinir, compound eyes not showing his curiosity. “If the Gand may ask, Exalted Scrivinir,” he said, “for what cause do you visit this unit?”

“You may indeed,” Urist said, “I have a special mission for you,” obviously others could do it too, but he wanted to be seen helping his men. “The generals have an idea, and have been blasting the Capitol Gardens into a vertical tunnel. They say the most likely place the enemy will try and land is there, so they’ve set up a holodecoy. We know the enemy can be fooled by that, because the Eldar in their home galaxy use similar holo-decoys all the time. So we’ve imaged the gardens, but when their landing craft actually try and get down there… well. I want a squadron of swimmer-AT-ATs waiting under what they think is a garden. You’ll be able to blast all of their underside armour.”

Urist knew how to make a Gand smile.

Across the planet, similar conversations with less exalted personages were happening. Mines were planted in buildings and beyond them. Doors were reinforced with force fields while the roofs of major buildings and some public spaces were covered with durasteel nets of a type used to trap megafauna laced with plasma charges; drop pods trying to plough through them would be wrapped in them, unable to manoeuvre their landing legs or open petal like doors, and close pressing these charges against their undersides that would detonate before meltas could harm the netting, turning the interiors of dreadclaw type drop pods and others into superheated kilns in which the Astartes would be plastered in gelatinous incendiaries and trapped under resistant nettings that would limit egress possibilities. The astartes’ famous armour would survive most of that, of course, but that would not help them; the backpacks with their ventilation systems on the back of astartes armour and the exposed cables of the older models used by chaos forces would be liabilities, and even without, the enemy would be liable to be cooked alive as if in a frying pan; simple thermodynamics, that. And if they sent demons or demonic ichor in drop pods as they had in the conclave, well, fire was the chosen weapon of the Ordo Malleus and many others for sound reasons. These anti-drop pod nets had been dipped in concrete or mud before placement, making it difficult to detect them via spectroscopy, and strung up using spring-loaded carabiners and other civilian equipment which was weaker than the nets, causing them to snap from their moorings and wrap around drop pods rather than allow the pods to punch through. Where suitable nets could not be had easily they had been assembled from chains, and other resources. Extensive record searches indicated that this particular trick, regarded as almost elementary by the Renatasian officers who had ordered it, was never recorded, nor anything like it, as a tactic against Astartes before; all the better to take them by surprise.

Anything that did land or attempt to debark in the Capitol Gardens and a number of other tempting sites, would find that holographic ground did not support them at all; and in their heavy armour it was extremely difficult for an astartes to swim; as difficult for them with their heavy, enriched bones and dense muscles, as it would be for an unaugmented man to swim in full plate, a long slow drop to the crushing depths of the planet’s silt-slurry core would await, if the likes of Deepsweep’s squadron did not get them first. To aid in this, part of the hundreds of meters deep shaft had been fusion-formed, flattening the last fifty meters to a glass like substance of considerable hardness.

The people who had set up the defences here had other ideas they’d implemented in the week since the Conclave had fallen, orbital minefields had been set up, and shield generators configured to repel orbital bombardment in many areas, of course, but it was at the ground level that the defences were both inventive and lethal.

The Astartes would take casualties even if no one shot at them.

It would be no surprise to those who knew Centrean history. The planetary defence command of Erilnar was under the command of Renatasians. Renatasia was a low-tech world, centuries behind the galactic norm until recently, when it had been discovered by Centrality scouts, the previous administration, many of whom’s officials had since been convicted of warcrimes, had decided conquest was in order.

Relia Prendian, Surface Marshal commanding had looked at the C’tani advisor’s suggested tactics, stopped, and looked at him. “These aren’t bad for a starting point, I guess.”

The Centrality had overlooked one thing. Until Otdeffa Whett, one of the war criminals Telissat and the C'tani had tried, arranged for them to unite, Renatasians had been ruled by multiple, competing governments. Most systems in the galaxy had fallen under one governing body for quite some time.

The Renatasians had been kicking each other's teeth in for thousands of years on and off, and their different planets had pretty much tried everything; collectively their experience of planetary assaults made the astartes look like children.

Uniting against the Centrality, the native population was able to slaughter 93% of the original occupying force. The first wave of reinforcements suffered 87% losses, the second 71%, and so on, despite the Renatasians' vast technological disadvantages; they knew how to fight and they did it well. The Centran forces stepped up their response, and as the war waged on it turned into one of the bloodiest, most brutal conflicts the Galaxy had ever seen.

While they had independence now, and the Centrality had been forced to pay the Renatasians reparations, and C’tani aid had flowed to both sides, the C’tani were aware of the incredible resource that was the Renatasians; a population that had originally come from the same place as the peaceful Naboo people, joining with pre-Conclave indigenous humans who had probably once been slaves to the Rakata or some other aliens to create a uniquely fractious and pugnacious people.

Renatasian recruits in the Compact Defence Force and the Centrality’s forces were not uncommon, given the Treaty of Renatasia worked out by the C’tani, and neither were they uncommon in the C’tani federal forces either.

Everything suggested the Astartes believed themselves wholly superior in warfare to the peoples of the Skyriver Galaxy. Perhaps that was generally true; but there were nasty surprises waiting.

AT-AAs were parked under crude but thermally dispersive shrouds to make them appear to be freight containers or small buildings, bigger defensive guns occupied every continent, and interceptor fighters equipped with proton torpeodos were on constant combat airspace patrol.

There was one worry, above all others; that the chaos enemy might be able to effect exterminatus rather than landing. They would have a challenge though; many of Erilnar’s people had been evacuated to the cities that drifted beneath its surface, occupied by Naloutan, Quarren and Mon Calamari immigrants, among others, where the firestorms of a virus bombing would not affect them (boiling seas away was one thing, boiling a planet core, quite another), and shields flared strategically over much of the garden world’s surface, cutting off the potential effects of cyclonic torpedos.

But the best defence was a good offence, and happily, cyclonic torpedos and virus bombs were large, and chaos fleets lacked large numbers of torpedo armed ships; fighter squadrons were constantly ready to intercept such munitions, while capital ships would prioritize any ship armed with an exterminatus weapon or any of the Iconoclast type escorts that might be carrying torpedo tubes.

Every possible effort had been taken to draw the enemy to Erilnar, and defeat them there. More surprises waited when they reached the ground; AT-TEs hung to the sides of Erilnar’s vertiginous and picturesque cliffs, and nuzzled between buildings and overhangs like living creatures trying to escape the glare of the day and proton-artillery parks waited under local shield bubbles, camouflaged and waiting. AT-PTs and and AT-DPs waited by the dozens were prepared to support them, along with something that most of the galaxy would not believe existed or possible, AT-EDs, All Terrain Exploration Droids, cousins to the Rothana-lineage of all-terrain vehicles, but of sleeker design and with cyclopean, compound droid eyes dominating their forward section, along with other photoreceptors. These sizeable vehicles were ‘droids, those which had become sapient and therefore legally emancipated, had been clamouring for transfers chasses than nannies and mechanics and mining tools; these were those that had joined the military and exploration corps, some others with the experience to justify qualifications as commanding officers had been transferred to warships, frigates still, while others were transferred into general use frames, or cargo ships, or other vessels. A quiet revolution had been happening, and for now, it was not especially publicised beyond the C’tani and Menelmacari holdings.

It was not the only military preparation either, police forces tirelessly scoured the world for signs of deviance, enacting emergency powers to detain anyone they found meeting in clandestine groups, and stop-searching citizens of all social classes for chaotic items. Those who were found to have such items, or to be meeting in anything that looked like a coven, were arrested and immediately shipped to the Rendili Dungeon Ships that lay in orbit, making two round trips per day to the secret Stars End Prison (technically a Jail, here) in the Corporate Sector, where they would be frozen in stasis, each ship could carry, nine thousand prisoners securely; they were making a trip every day. Naturally these people would have trials later, but for now, the priority was clearing cultists off the planet.

Day by day, the preparations for the attack drew on. And all across the Centrality, similar work was happening.

Erilnar was not afraid.

[New Terminus]

Terminus System
Planet Terminus
Government District
Military Headquarters

The walls where simple here no wood or lavish furnishings adorned the halls only bright overhead light and clean cold grey durasteel walls with various coloured bands running along them to let those who didn't not know their way around find some of the more easily accessible public areas. Men, women and aliens of various species moved along the hallways with a purpose not stopping for more than a fraction of a second to salute Marcus Lorren the councilman of Defence and possibly one of the most powerful men in the whole of the Kallea Sector. He was a businessman just like many people where in the government on Terminus owning a major share of the military market and supplying the Terminus Army and Navy as well as several smaller independent factions with weapons and equipment.

Stepping into a lift he pressed his palm against the surface of the lifts console allowing it to take his biometrics with a soft accepting ping he removed his hand and keyed in a seven digit number instantly closing the lift doors and setting it on its course down deep into the crust of the planet. Being the military HQ for not only the Whole Terminus Navy and Army it made sense to not have the whole base sitting on the surface where it was susceptible to orbital bombardment. Instead the actual nexus where the real planning and strategy took place was deep under ground protected by the planets crust and a shield generator designed to withstand bombardments from a super star destroyer. The facility was massive capable of housing several thousand soldiers and all their gear and hardware. Closer to the surface there where several hangar bays each one with a Venator Class Star Destroyer berthed and under going modifications.

The whole place was a hive of activity, after all only a few weeks ago they had begun the invasion of the Greater Javin Sector. Lorren hardly felt the turbo lift decelerate a soft ping resonating throughout the small room as the doors slid open with a soft whoosh revealing more corridors even more busy than the ones he just left.

It only took a few moments to arrive at his destination once again the doors slid open for him allowing him to enter. Already in the room where an array of military generals and admirals all talking amongst themselves looking at a holographic representation of the newly established Conglomerate borders. Some where holograms, he recognised Admiral Zorl tasked with expanding to Sullust and commandeering the shipyards around the world. Admiral Pillion the man who had defeated the Pokonisians in the Helska System also stood around the table his hologram distorting slightly, he was tasked with heading west along the galactic plain he was probably navigating some of the lesser known hyperspace routes he had been given the objectives to take Utapau either peacefully or by force in order to have a staging ground for any further expansion should it be warranted.

"Eriadu is a very heavily defended world the Thrashians would never give it up without a fight and a bloody one of that" Admiral La'ku growled the Bothan was in the heat of conversation with an Army General Lorren couldnt quite remember the name of. La'Ku looked up as soon as he noticed Lorren enter snapping off a salute forcing the others to take there attention off what they where doing.

"Good evening Gentlebeings I trust I havn't been keeping you to long, the president was insistent on making it very clear to the parameters of which our operations are deemed legal by Terminus Law"

The room reverberated in a low chuckle that two anyone one else would sound like some sort of inside joke that separated the military men from the politicians. Lorren moved into the room properly and sat himself down on the chair closely followed by everyone else in attendance all except Admiral Zordain who sat off from the rest clearly in the middle of dishing out orders to his fleet. Lorren paid him no mind he was aware of the situation in the Greater Javin System and was quite content to let the man do his job properly.

"Admiral Zorl how is progress towards Sullust?"

Zorl was a proud Twi'lek who wore his uniform with pride, he had been a commercial freighter captain a before the Helska incident running a contract for Klegger Corp Mining and successfully coordinated a fighting retreat when the Pokonisians showed up. Ever since then he had been making a name for himself in the admiralty and had been rewarded with taking Conglomerate interests up the Hydian Way trade Spine.

"All is going as planned Sir, the envoy on Sluis Van reports the talks are going well how ever I have a battle group on stand by with the 112th and 60th divisions on stand by, but I doubt they will be needed. The Tantra and Steniplis sectors have capitulated with minimal resistance most of the developed worlds there are in no position to defend their space anyway so we are being seen as a blessing with the threat of chaos and the formation of this new Galactic Imperium. Airam Sector is putting up some resistance im having to bypass the Seswenna sector entirely which which will add a few days onto the operation timetable but I plan to be in orbit over Sullust in the next week."

Lorren nodded making a note of it on his personal tablet, "As for the Seswenna sector I have been told to inform you that with the formation the Galactic Imperium and one of its members nations being the Huntarian Empire all plans for the invasion of Thrashian sector are to be postponed indefinitely the council believes a two front war will be to much for us at this point instead an envoy being being sent to treat with the Thrashians in order to secure our borders from any potential backlash from this new Imperium."

Lorren waited for the military tacticians around him to complain and bluster that they could beat any one in a war but it never came, It seemed that despite any real experience fighting a war that no one was eager to piss off Thrawn and his lackeys. That at least gave Lorren hope that the Conglomerate would be able to keep the sectors it had begun annexing.

"On a final note gentle beings the Negotiations with the Amalgamate are going well if all goes as planned the announcement of the Outer Rim Compact should be given the go ahead in the next few weeks."

[The Ctan]

The Inflexible, Half a Parsec outside the Brentaal system

Philach had preferred being in the navy, he decided, when there wasn’t a war on. The strap of the E-11 the captain had mandated every crewman wear was an annoyance as he went about his work, and queueing for extra range time was a waste, as far as he could tell. It wasn’t like these guns could reliably put down an enemy marine from what he’d heard, but everything heavier was going to their own on board troopers. The queue ran past one of the Victory class’s windows. In the distance, the Brentaal star was a pinprick, the rendezvous point half a parsec from the primary, far out enough to be outside any reasonable territorial claim. They were shipping with a Crusader XX-777 class droid frigate, the High Protocol sitting in their docking bay, too, which made everyone involved a little nervous, the ship had come aboard, and while they were effective enough, not everyone trusted the notion of droids without restraining programs. Orders were, however, orders.

“Did you ever see the like?” one of the crew next to him, a senior rating, said.

“I didn’t know there were that many Munificents still around,” the petty officer replied, looking out of the window.

“I heard that they’re banking clan ones, Muun commanders and such.”

“Makes sense with the markings,” he agreed, looking out of the window. There was a slew of smaller ships accompanying the troopships that formed the core of their force, as well as several Victory-class and Venator-class star destroyers. Blocky Escort Carriers floated out in the void too, loaded with bombers and atmosphere capable fighters like V-wings, most of the ships in the fleet would strain to keep up with the Acclamators, whose hyperdrives were especially powerful, as could be told by the degree to which their hyperdrive systems protruded aft.

“Do you think we’ll get much action?” the younger man asked.

Philach contemplated his luck, or lack thereof. “Yes.”

Serenno

Dooku sat in the deep leather chair, looking at the holo. His age-lined face had a certain majestic gravitas to it, and he regarded the holonet feed before him with silent deliberation.

He had long wanted to see the Conclave fall, their corruption and decadence was one of the things that genuinely sickened the old man, he’d seen enough of their works to hold them as an organization, regardless of the good intentions of some of its members, in utter contempt. But he had never imagined such a literal or brutal fall, that was an act of terror and vandalism that disgusted him.

They tolerated corruption at any level, he had once fought a valiant battle as part of a jedi expedition, only to discover that the local government had sold all the prisoners of war into slavery the moment the jedi had left. And the conclave had done nothing.

Perhaps something stronger would emerge from the ashes, he hoped.

And the Jedi Order had done nothing. So he had laughed at the offer to join the High Council, and returned home, severing all links with them forever and renouncing his membership in the order. He retook his family title in time, as Count of Serenno, and here he found himself today. And from then he had worked hard to bring his banners to heel on Serreno and elsewhere, husbanding the finances of the house.

But as he watched the ruin of the Conclave for what seemed like the thousandth time, studying the demonic creatures, an urge came upon him. He watched them cut down the conclave and he knew, he could do better, at least, if he still had what he’d had as a Jedi. He had been considered an impeccable swordsman, and he could see mistakes. Had he been there, he would have done better.

He would have saved more of those people.

It was a thought he’d not had for years. He had thought of his own people’s safety, certainly, but he had not wanted to personally fight for others for a long time, but for days the thought had taunted him. And now, these invaders threatened everyone in the galaxy, and every blade might well be needed.

Above the fireplace, in a box of ch’ala wood lined with phrik in the form of a puzzle box, he had left it. He reached out with the force, which came to him as a long-forgotten friend, inside sat a curved handled object, he reached out to touch it.

Even with the use of life crystals he had started staving off age and senility, and giving him strange, haunted dreams of men with silver eyes erecting vast pyramids, he knew he was an old man. He was not even a jedi any more. What did that leave him?

He answered the thoughts with a single utterance, “I am a knight, and I shall die a knight.”

The handles’ conformal grip felt warm to the touch, and the power source that had sat idle for over a decade was undiminished, he could feel it, his use of the force as a sense having never ceased. He pressed his thumb to it. The snap-hiss sound of its activation accompanied the formation of a bar of purple light, the colour bestowed by the pontite crystal; taken from Ossus, hence the unusual colour; while most Jedi took their crystals from Illum, where they were comparatively common, he had taken the time as a student to hunt out one in imperial purple. He had always been aloof.

It was all coming back.

Not long after, a sloop raced from the surface, bronze-gold "solar" sail of archaic Gree technology folding out before it as it shot toward the distant system of Alderaan, if that was where the resistance was being planned, then one more old man's sword could not go amiss.